Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 46
“So, you were already investigating him?” Luther asked, surprised.
“I told you, I’m out to find your sister, and since spouses are almost always the main suspects in disappearances, then yes, I’m already investigating him.” I leaned in and added, “Like I would be you if you were a suspect.”
Monica asked, “Are the cops looking in the same direction you are? Does the FBI consider him a suspect?”
“Hon, the FBI considers everyone a suspect,” I said, answering her question without actually giving her any information. I had to admit, with a brother-in-law like Luther Dean, I was a little surprised the doctor would pull something like this. Maybe, for some reason, he was desperate. And again, desperate men did desperate things. Which did not bode well for Teresa Yost.
The spark of hope that ignited inside Monica humbled me. She seemed to have a lot of faith in my abilities.
“There a restroom in this place?” Luther asked at last, glancing around the bar.
“Right through there.” I pointed to the men’s room and watched as he strolled in that direction. A little because I wanted to make sure he was out of hearing range when I asked Monica my next question, but mostly because he had a nice ass.
When he pushed past the door, I turned to her. “Okay, we only have a few seconds. What are you not telling me?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“Tick-tock,” I said, glancing back at the men’s room. With any luck, Luther practiced basic hygiene, but one just never knew with guys. Offering Monica a sympathetic gaze, I said, “I can see the burden of guilt you carry.” When she blinked and lowered her head, I added, “I won’t say a word, Monica. Whatever it is. I just need to know all the angles of this case.”
Her mouth thinned into a sad line, and she said reluctantly, “Luther doesn’t know this, but I’m sick.”
I thought she might be. Her skin had a yellowish, unhealthy tint as did her nails with the exception of the white lines spanning them in horizontal rows. But I wasn’t sure why that would conjure the guilt I’d been picking up on. “I’m sorry, but—”
She shook her head. “No, Luther doesn’t know for a reason. When our mother died…” She stopped to touch a tissue to her eyes before planting her gaze back on me. “He took it very hard, Charley. She was sick for a long time, and when she passed…”
After a moment, I placed a hand over hers, encouraging her to continue.
She turned it over and laced her fingers into mine gratefully, then leaned into me and whispered, “He tried to kill himself.”
To say I was shocked would be an understatement of the highest form. My jaw dropped before I could catch it, and Monica saw.
“I know. We were all surprised. He just took her death so hard.”
I glanced once again toward the bathroom. With the coast clear, I asked, “Is he getting help?”
“Yes. Well, he was. He’s doing so much better.”
“I’m so glad. May I ask what you have?”
“You can ask all you want,” she said, a sad smile sliding across her face. “The doctors don’t know. I’ve been diagnosed with everything from chronic fatigue syndrome to Hutchinson’s disease, and nothing ever pans out. I just keep getting sicker and nobody knows why.”
Luther was headed back toward us when I asked one more question, “Monica, why would your being sick make you feel guilty about Teresa’s disappearance?”
She pressed her mouth together as guilt washed over her again. “The insurance. There was a clinic in Sweden Teresa was looking into, lots of breakthroughs. I think she took out the insurance for me, so I could go to Sweden.” As Luther neared, she leaned into me and said quickly, “He can’t know that I’m sick.”
I gave her hand a quick squeeze before we broke apart. As Luther sat back down, my dad strolled in through the front door, and I had to hustle to put my sunglasses back on.
“Hey, Dad,” I said with a big smile. “These are my clients, Monica and Luther.”
“Nice to meet you.” His voice and posture were nice enough, but his innards were not the happy camper type. They were more like a disgruntled bear who tried to eat the happy camper only to find the happy camper was a champion sprinter. He bent down to kiss my cheek. “Have you given any thought to what we talked about earlier?”
“Do elephants glow in the dark?”
“You can take off your glasses,” he said, a look of disappointment lining his weathered face. “Your uncle Bob already told me.”
I gasped. “Uncle Bob ratted me out?”
“I’d like to talk to you later, if you have a minute.”
“I’m pretty booked today,” I said, sunglasses still on my smiling face, “but I can try to come down in a bit.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll leave you to your business.” He nodded to Luther and Monica, then strode away to his office.
After questioning the Deans a little while longer, I said good-bye and took the stairs up to the office two at a time, excited to share the latest with Cookie. Was this an insurance scam? Surely Dr. Yost found out about the policy his wife took out. Maybe he saw it as an opportunity. I needed his financial records. But for that I needed a subpoena. No, I needed Agent Carson.
I started across the balcony that looked down into the bar. My office was just past the elaborate iron elevator, but the little girl with the knife stood blocking the way. I stepped around her and inside my office.
“I told you, I’m out to find your sister, and since spouses are almost always the main suspects in disappearances, then yes, I’m already investigating him.” I leaned in and added, “Like I would be you if you were a suspect.”
Monica asked, “Are the cops looking in the same direction you are? Does the FBI consider him a suspect?”
“Hon, the FBI considers everyone a suspect,” I said, answering her question without actually giving her any information. I had to admit, with a brother-in-law like Luther Dean, I was a little surprised the doctor would pull something like this. Maybe, for some reason, he was desperate. And again, desperate men did desperate things. Which did not bode well for Teresa Yost.
The spark of hope that ignited inside Monica humbled me. She seemed to have a lot of faith in my abilities.
“There a restroom in this place?” Luther asked at last, glancing around the bar.
“Right through there.” I pointed to the men’s room and watched as he strolled in that direction. A little because I wanted to make sure he was out of hearing range when I asked Monica my next question, but mostly because he had a nice ass.
When he pushed past the door, I turned to her. “Okay, we only have a few seconds. What are you not telling me?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“Tick-tock,” I said, glancing back at the men’s room. With any luck, Luther practiced basic hygiene, but one just never knew with guys. Offering Monica a sympathetic gaze, I said, “I can see the burden of guilt you carry.” When she blinked and lowered her head, I added, “I won’t say a word, Monica. Whatever it is. I just need to know all the angles of this case.”
Her mouth thinned into a sad line, and she said reluctantly, “Luther doesn’t know this, but I’m sick.”
I thought she might be. Her skin had a yellowish, unhealthy tint as did her nails with the exception of the white lines spanning them in horizontal rows. But I wasn’t sure why that would conjure the guilt I’d been picking up on. “I’m sorry, but—”
She shook her head. “No, Luther doesn’t know for a reason. When our mother died…” She stopped to touch a tissue to her eyes before planting her gaze back on me. “He took it very hard, Charley. She was sick for a long time, and when she passed…”
After a moment, I placed a hand over hers, encouraging her to continue.
She turned it over and laced her fingers into mine gratefully, then leaned into me and whispered, “He tried to kill himself.”
To say I was shocked would be an understatement of the highest form. My jaw dropped before I could catch it, and Monica saw.
“I know. We were all surprised. He just took her death so hard.”
I glanced once again toward the bathroom. With the coast clear, I asked, “Is he getting help?”
“Yes. Well, he was. He’s doing so much better.”
“I’m so glad. May I ask what you have?”
“You can ask all you want,” she said, a sad smile sliding across her face. “The doctors don’t know. I’ve been diagnosed with everything from chronic fatigue syndrome to Hutchinson’s disease, and nothing ever pans out. I just keep getting sicker and nobody knows why.”
Luther was headed back toward us when I asked one more question, “Monica, why would your being sick make you feel guilty about Teresa’s disappearance?”
She pressed her mouth together as guilt washed over her again. “The insurance. There was a clinic in Sweden Teresa was looking into, lots of breakthroughs. I think she took out the insurance for me, so I could go to Sweden.” As Luther neared, she leaned into me and said quickly, “He can’t know that I’m sick.”
I gave her hand a quick squeeze before we broke apart. As Luther sat back down, my dad strolled in through the front door, and I had to hustle to put my sunglasses back on.
“Hey, Dad,” I said with a big smile. “These are my clients, Monica and Luther.”
“Nice to meet you.” His voice and posture were nice enough, but his innards were not the happy camper type. They were more like a disgruntled bear who tried to eat the happy camper only to find the happy camper was a champion sprinter. He bent down to kiss my cheek. “Have you given any thought to what we talked about earlier?”
“Do elephants glow in the dark?”
“You can take off your glasses,” he said, a look of disappointment lining his weathered face. “Your uncle Bob already told me.”
I gasped. “Uncle Bob ratted me out?”
“I’d like to talk to you later, if you have a minute.”
“I’m pretty booked today,” I said, sunglasses still on my smiling face, “but I can try to come down in a bit.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll leave you to your business.” He nodded to Luther and Monica, then strode away to his office.
After questioning the Deans a little while longer, I said good-bye and took the stairs up to the office two at a time, excited to share the latest with Cookie. Was this an insurance scam? Surely Dr. Yost found out about the policy his wife took out. Maybe he saw it as an opportunity. I needed his financial records. But for that I needed a subpoena. No, I needed Agent Carson.
I started across the balcony that looked down into the bar. My office was just past the elaborate iron elevator, but the little girl with the knife stood blocking the way. I stepped around her and inside my office.
