Come Home (13 page)

“Yes, it has to be. Only one doc is given that license or DEA number. They’re unique.” Jill shook her head. It meant that she couldn’t put the matter to bed, not yet. “If it’s William, he’s up to his old tricks, using stolen prescription pads. But I don’t know why he’d fill them himself, if it wasn’t his meds.”

“Wonder where he got Dr. Patel’s pads?”

“He could have called on the practice in the old days, or got them from the office trash.” Jill opened the enlarged photo of the man in the black ballcap, eyeing it in confusion. “None of this makes sense. William knew enough about drugs to know not to mix them with alcohol.”

“Is there life insurance?”

“Yes, for a million bucks. The girls benefit.”

“We’re worth more dead than alive, too.”

Jill blinked, thinking. “That’s funny. What if he took the pills intentionally? What if it really was suicide, but insurance companies don’t always pay off for suicides. He wanted the policy to pay off, so he made it look like an accidental death? What if he staged the whole thing?”

“Why would he do that?” Katie’s eyes narrowed, sharply blue. “He had money, so he didn’t need it from the insurance company. Unless he doesn’t really have the money, and it’s all a sham.”

“True, but I can’t find that out. Victoria and the lawyer took his financial info, but some of it should be in Quicken.”

“Definitely, if he pays his bills online.”

“He didn’t, at least when we were married. He said he didn’t trust it.”

“The pot calling the kettle.” Katie snorted. “I don’t see him killing himself for them. It would be a supremely unselfish act.”

Both women fell silent a minute, thinking, and Jill picked at the pile of rejected potato pancakes. “I wonder if I should call the cops. Tell them about Patel and the faked script. They can check out the surveillance video.”

“No reason not to call, but why would they care? It’s not evidence that he was murdered, and they don’t care if he committed suicide.”

“The insurance company does.” Jill thought of the implications. “But if it’s suicide, and I start raising questions, I could do the kids out of their benefits.”

“Right.” Katie looked over, her brow wrinkling with new concern. “Can I ask you a question? Why do you care?”

Jill smiled, but Katie wasn’t kidding this time.

“Who cares why or how William died?”

Jill answered, “I told you, Abby thinks it was murder.”

“I’m asking why
you
care.”

“I don’t care, I’m just exploring it.”

“It sure looks like you care. You’re running around to drugstores and researching licenses online.”

Jill realized she was right. She valued so many things about Katie, and her honesty, above all. “Okay, good point. I care because of Abby. She believes it was murder and she’s going to try to figure out who did it. She reached out to me, after so long.” Jill knew it now, she felt it inside. “I care because Abby does, and I can help her. She needs to get her life back on track, and she won’t do that as long as her father’s death is a question mark.”

Katie shrugged. “Okay.”

Jill smiled. “That easy?”

“It was such a good speech.”

“So glad we had this little talk. Do you think I’m wrong to help Abby?”

“I don’t judge you, honey. I understand why you’d want to help, and why you feel you have to.”

“Sam doesn’t.”

“He didn’t know her, and he’s not a mother.”

“He’s a father.”

“It’s not the same. Sorry to be politically incorrect, but it’s true.” Katie ate a piece of blackened pancake. “Paul is a great father, but he got to take the kids out while I stayed behind, and I guarantee, he’ll read the computer magazines while they pick out their books. He won’t sit with them, helping them pick one like I would, and he won’t worry if they get out of his sight. Men don’t worry like we do, but we know, things go wrong.”

“True.” Jill saw it in her practice, when a child’s eye got injured by a paintball gun, or an arm sliced with a fishing knife. She knew things went wrong, and some made wounds you couldn’t suture.

“My real worry is my godchild. Megan.” Katie’s features softened. “You’re talking about Abby’s loss, but Megan lost a father, too, and William’s death comes at a bad time for her, with you about to get married. And now Abby’s back in the picture. Even if Megan’s happy about it, it’s a change. Megan’s got a lot going on, for a kid.”

“You’re right.” Jill felt a guilty pang. “It’s like the King is dead, long live the King.”

“Exactly.”

“I guess I haven’t been paying enough attention to Megan, with Abby so needy.”

“It’s understandable. Like my mother says, you give to the kid who needs it the most.”

“What if they all need it the most?”

“Margarita time.”

Jill smiled. “Sam wants to get out of the kid business.”

Kate scoffed. “Gimme a break. Moms never get out of the kid business. Last time I checked, motherhood had no expiration date.”

Jill laughed. “How’d you get so smart?”

Katie smiled. “Hanging around you, except for the padiddle part. First off, can I just say, I hate all car games?”

“Do you think the black SUV is following me? Or Abby?”

“No, that’s totally paranoid. Don’t worry about it.”

“But what if the driver is the man in the black ballcap?”

“The man in the ballcap had the worst disguise ever, and anyone who would follow you in a padiddle is the worst stalker ever.” Katie snorted. “Come to think of it, maybe it is the same guy, but he sucks.”

“If he killed William, he doesn’t.”

“Tell me about it.” Katie raised an eyebrow. “If he killed William, he deserves a medal.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jill pulled into her driveway and cut the ignition in the dark. She hadn’t seen any padiddle on the way home, and she was starting to think Katie was right about her being paranoid. She got out of the car, breathing in the cool night air, damp from all the rain. She closed the door behind her, looking down at the end of the street where she’d seen the black SUV.

What SUV? I parked around the corner.

Jill thought a minute. She had first seen the SUV in front of the Bakers’ house, but they didn’t own an SUV, so on impulse, she walked down the street to the Bakers’. The lights were on inside the house, a Dutch colonial, and a flickering TV shone through the curtains in their living room, so she walked to the front door and knocked. It was answered in a minute by Janet Baker, an older woman with a round, sweet face.

“Hello, Janet,” Jill said. “Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s okay.” Janet smiled, pleasantly. “What brings you here?”

“Last night, during the rainstorm, did you have a visitor who drives a black SUV? I saw one pull away from the front of your house.”

Janet frowned, shaking her head. “Why, no. We were home alone. Just us.”

“Do you know if the DiLorios did, or the Jacksons?”

“I have no idea.”

“Thanks. Sorry to keep you. Goodnight.” Jill backed off the steps, wondering, then put it out of her mind. It had to be nothing. She walked back down the street to her car, retrieved the box with William’s files and laptop, then closed the door and went into the house, juggling her house keys, purse, and the box to open the door, which was when her cell phone started ringing, with Megan’s ringtone.

“Arg.” Jill clambered into the house to the sound of Lady Gaga, plunked the box on the console table, and slid her phone from her purse, pressing
ANSWER
. “Honey, aren’t you home?”

“No, I’m at Courtney’s. Can I sleep over?”

“Again?” Jill sat down in a ladderback chair, and Beef came over, wagging his tail and sniffing the box, which had a paper plate of pancakes on top, covered with tin foil.

“I know, but we’re working on our English project, and we’re not finished yet.”

“What is this project, anyway?” Jill could hear the sound of the TV, playing in the family room.

“We’re studying
Romeo and Juliet,
and we have to memorize a scene and do it for the class, so we have to practice together. I’m Juliet.”

“How much longer will you take to finish?”

“A while, Mom,” Megan answered, with theatrical impatience, and Jill let it go, trying to take it easy on her.

“You can come home after you finish it. I’ll pick you up, whenever.”

“Why can’t I just stay here? Her parents are home.”

“But I was hoping to see you tonight. I know it’s been a tough weekend for you, and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Megan sighed, and in the background, Courtney was saying something.

“I have fresh potato pancakes,” Jill offered, though the days of food bribes had gone. Pizza bagels used to be her trump card. “Wait, don’t you have a meet tomorrow?”

“Yes, but I’ll sleep, I promise.”

“Okay, you can stay, but don’t make it a habit.”

“Thanks. Courtney’s mom will take me to the meet, if you can bring my bag. It starts at noon, at the high school. Also, did you order that book for my report?”

Jill had forgotten. “No, but I will. When do you need it by?”

“Next Monday. Courtney orders online all the time, by herself, from her iPhone. Why can’t I do that?”

“Because you don’t have an iPhone.”

“That’s not funny, Mom.”

Jill laughed to herself. “I’ll take care of it, honey.”

“Thanks, I gotta go. Love you, too. Bye.”

“See you tomorrow. Sleep tight. Love you.” Jill hung up, set the phone down, and petted Beef on the head, his brushy tail awag. Sam hadn’t greeted her, which wasn’t like him, and she owed him an apology. She got up and went into the family room, but he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his book open on his chest and his glasses pushed onto his head, so his hair puffed through the nosepiece. The TV played on low volume, and Jill thought of the scene that Abby had described, when she found William lying in bed with the TV playing.

Dad never filled those scripts. They were planted there by the killer.

Jill shuddered, going to the kitchen, where she slipped Beef a piece of pancake and put the rest in the fridge. She went out to the entrance hall, got the box with the laptop and files, brought everything back into the kitchen, set it on the island, then sat down and dug in.

The manila folder on top was labeled
MEDICAL INFO
, and she opened it and skimmed through. It contained William’s lab reports for his bloodwork, and the results were normal. The only drugs William reported as taking regularly were Crestor, 10 mg, and Co Q 10, commonly taken with statins. There was no mention of any other prescription drugs, so either he wasn’t taking them or he was lying.

Jill went through the rest of the files, determined they were nothing but old bills, so she closed the box and opened the laptop, plugging it into the island outlet and getting busy. An hour later, she’d gone through William’s laptop, but had found nothing unusual. His email was between his golf buddies, Abby, Victoria, Neil Straub, and various women, a sharing of blog posts, articles, YouTube links, and plans for golf dates or dinners. The email was more significant for what it didn’t contain rather than what it did. There was nothing about his business investments, which had to be what was paying for his house, lifestyle, and the girls.

She navigated back to Quicken and skimmed the entries, which were equally mundane, and he still wasn’t paying his bills online, so she couldn’t connect to his bank files. It only took her twenty minutes to make a spreadsheet for Abby, because the household expenses were so routine, and there were no other financial files. She went back to the Programs files, but the laptop had only the programs the computer came with, and not much else.

She eyed the laptop, in thought. It was almost generic, as if it had been sanitized or kept purposely clean. She went online, clicked on the online history, and it was empty, erased. She went to the deleted email file, and it had been completely emptied, too. So either William had cleaned out this laptop or someone had done it for him.

Jill tried another tack. If she worked under Abby’s theory and assumed that somebody killed him, it had to be someone close to him, since there had been no sign of a struggle or break-in at the house. So all she had to do was figure out who was close to him. She went into My Computer, scanned the list of programs, and found My Pictures. She clicked to open the file, and there were three file icons, the oldest dating only from a year ago:
London trip with girls, Victoria’s graduation weekend, Neil at Pebble Beach
. She skipped to the folder with Neil, to see if he was a viable candidate for the man in the black ballcap, despite what Abby had said.

Jill opened the pictures folder, and there were photos of William on a golf course with Neil, who was wearing a white Callaway ballcap and aviator sunglasses similar to those worn by the man in the black ballcap. The outfit obscured some of Neil’s features, but he had a winning smile and a strong, jutting chin and he was tall and well-built, about William’s height and weight. Jill clicked, and more of the file photos flashed by, but they were all taken outdoors and Neil wore sunglasses in every one, and so did William, in a few shots. She clicked a photo of them together and hit
PRINT
.

She went online and Googled Neil Straub, but there were no listings. She checked him on Facebook, and he was on, but he’d blocked his profile except to his friends and had no picture. She logged onto www.whitepages.com for his address and plugged in New York, but no address came up, so it must have been unlisted. Neil Straub kept a low profile, and Jill wondered why.

Just then her phone rang, and the screen flashed a number she didn’t recognize. It was almost eleven o’clock at night, and it could have been a patient. She answered the phone. “Jill Farrow.”

“It’s Victoria. Let me speak to Abby.”

“Victoria,” Jill repeated, startled at the sound of Victoria’s voice. She had heard it so many times before that she could’ve picked it out in a choir, and had, at so many school concerts, when Victoria was growing up. Victoria sang in a clear, strong alto, ringing with certainty, always pitch-perfect, more than a match for the showy top notes of the sopranos in the Stafford High Select Chorale, and her voice stood out so much for its clarity that the choir director had given Victoria a solo, even as a freshman, which had terrified the reserved young girl. That night, Victoria had called Jill from backstage, in a panic before she went on.