The Case of the Questionable Quadruplet

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “It arrived for another customer who changed his mind about the color,” Jeremiah said. “I had told the dealer my order was urgent, so he called me.”

  “Why was it urgent?” Rod asked.

  Surprise animated our companion’s bony face. “Because I was driving around in a car like Eric’s old one. What kind of impression does that give?”

  Rarely have I seen Rod speechless. I had no comment, either.

  With our conversation exhausted, the food disappeared rapidly. Doctors get in the habit of eating fast if we want to eat at all.

  A topic occurred to me. “Is your new nurse working out?”

  “I have not decided.” Jeremiah gripped his water bottle. “Frankly, I could use your advice.”

  This was supposed to be the nurse’s first day. How bad could she be? “Was she late?”

  “Early,” he said.

  “Mix up the patients?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Since we appeared to be playing twenty questions, Rod joined in. “Wear a Winnie-the-Pooh costume with feet in it?”

  Jeremiah answered thoughtfully. “Why would she do that?”

  “Ignore Rod,” I said. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She had a fight with her mother.”

  Not high on my list of reasons to reject an employee. “Right in the office?”

  “On the phone,” he said. “It lasted three minutes and twenty seconds before she rang off. Do you think I should fire her?”

  “Seriously?” Rod asked.

  “Personal problems do not belong in a doctor’s office,” Jeremiah replied. “And imagine, a grown woman arguing with her mother.”

  “If you ask me, it would be a rare woman who doesn’t argue with her mother,” Rod said.

  Jeremiah kept his attention on me. “Well?”

  Not only was a qualified nurse about to get the boot for acting human, but my fellow OB/GYN would then resume making life miserable for temps. “I would never cast off an employee over a minor kerfuffle,” I said.

  “A minor kerfuffle.” Jeremiah mouthed the words appreciatively.

  “Why not have your office manager suggest she confine personal calls to breaks?”

  “Excellent counsel, Eric.”

  Afterwards, the term “a minor kerfuffle” buzzed in my head. En route to my office, I realized why.

  I’d been furious with my sister-in-law this morning over a minor matter. We should both apologize. Or let the matter ride. Either way, put it behind us.

  She had a hot temper and I had a tendency to view her as Lydia’s annoying kid sister. Old patterns were overdue to be laid to rest.

  My thoughts returned to Malerie’s impulsive investment strategy. While that bore checking out, I still lacked a clear picture of why a killer might have targeted her.

  Greed over an inheritance? A dangerous old secret, or a more recent one? Like most of us, she hadn’t led a blameless existence, especially if she’d once had an extramarital affair, but that was decades ago. And why had Dee Marie been killed?

  The logical conclusion was that the stolen papers contained information that might harm the killer, but how? Did Malerie’s investments open a window into a criminal conspiracy? As for my missing file, how could old medical data shed light on the situation?

  That brought me back to her far-fetched claim about a quadruplet, which implied that my father, Isaiah and their staff had conspired to steal a baby. Why? To sell it on the black market? Nonsense.

  A busy afternoon kept my thoughts occupied with patients. It was nearly six when I arrived home, where the sight of an unfamiliar brown compact at the curb reminded me that our new cleaning lady had started work.

  My plan of dining on a salad vanished the moment I stepped inside. The dominant aromas, beyond the lemony scent of furniture cleaner, were balsamic vinegar and garlic.

  This house used to be a refuge for my father and me, and later for Lydia, its many rooms allowing each our privacy. Today, the bustle of activity, although centered in the kitchen, filled every nook and transformed every molecule of air.

  I expected a spurt of annoyance. Instead, my stomach rumbled happily. I had no desire to pitch these people out.

  At the stove, Morris stirred zucchini slices and balsamic vinegar in a large frying pan. An aproned Sandy, a scarf over her blond hair, was setting out utensils, napkins and paper plates.

  “Wouldn’t you rather use that beautiful china?” she asked. “It’s a shame to leave it in the cabinet.”

  “Too much cleanup.” At the free-standing counter that divided the kitchen from the great room, Tory was hacking a watermelon into chunks.

  “Where’s Billie?” I’d been concerned about the delivery woman after her traumatic discovery.

  Morris switched off the burner. “She felt well enough to make deliveries again. I invited Sandy to join us for dinner.”

  The housekeeper smiled, light-green eyes lively in her square face. “Good to see you again, Dr. Darcy.”

  “Glad you’re here.”

  “She’s a whirlwind,” Morris told me. “The house is spotless.”

  “I hope you’re not in a hurry to return to Iowa,” I said.

  Whack! went Tory’s butcher knife. “Idaho.”

  “Right.”

  “Why would she want to leave?” Tory prodded.

  I directed my answer to Sandy. “You moved here to support Malerie, right? I thought you might have family in Idaho.”

  “Not any more. Both my parents are gone.” She filled water glasses from a pitcher. “Boise’s beautiful. Its name comes from the French word for trees, and it lives up to that. But I prefer the weather in Southern California.”

  “Why did you leave Safe Harbor in the first place?” I noticed the rice cooker’s display indicated it had five minutes left.

  “Family reasons,” Tory filled in. Clearly, she’d questioned the witness earlier. “And she quarreled with Malerie about her affair with Dr. Abernathy.”

  “I’m no prude but I draw the line at adultery.” Sandy waved a dismissive hand. “That was ages ago.”

  “It’s quite a story,” Morris put in. “People sneaking around the hospital having affairs, like on Grey’s Anatomy.”

  “Also, the timing worked out for me to leave California, since my family needed me.” Sandy set tongs in the salad bowl. “Malerie and I stayed in touch. Even though we disagreed about her choices, we were friends.”

  “So you followed the events over the next few years.” I glanced at Tory for confirmation. She kept her gaze on the watermelon.

  “It devastated her when Winston broke it off.” Sandy shook a carafe of salad dressing. “But she respected his attempt to save his marriage. Well, accepted might be a better word.”

  “They reconnected when he was in the hospital,” Morris said eagerly. “Love bloomed all over again.”

  I’d heard about this before. “His wife had died in the car crash, right? Anything suspicious about it?”

  “Of course not!” Sandy regarded me indignantly.

  “I didn’t mean to insult Mrs. Abernathy,” I qualified.

  “A drunk driver T-boned their car,” Tory told the air. “He was convicted of manslaughter.”

  “You’ve done your research,” I said.

  “It’s called investigating.”

  “That was a compliment,” I growled. “Never mind.”

  Morris’s hands traced nervous arcs. Any hostility in the family upset him. “I forgot to toast walnuts to serve on the side,” he said. “I’ll get them.” And ducked into the pantry.

  “He has clients with allergies to tree nuts as well as peanuts,” Tory told Sandy. “Even at home, if the recipe lists nuts, he leaves them out.”

  “I’m glad he’s careful,” the housekeeper said. “I understand Malerie’s son-in-law nearly died once from—what’s it called?”

  “Anaphylactic shock,” I said. “I’m sure Rafe keeps an EpiPen at hand.” The devices provide a quick injec
tion of epinephrine, which restores breathing, blood pressure and other vital functions.

  The doorbell chimed. “Must be Keith. His stomach clock is infallible.” Tory jumped up, nearly overturning the bowl in front of her. “I’ll get it.”

  She’d rather face her ex-boyfriend than hang around me. Well, in view of her touchiness, that suited me too. Also, being alone with the housekeeper allowed me to pose a delicate question. “Sandy, do you recall anything strange about the triplets’ birth?”

  “Isn’t the birth of triplets unusual enough?” She set the fruit on the table

  “I mean, other than that. A detail Malerie might have mentioned?” I didn’t want to influence her testimony by bringing up the quad theory.

  “Not really.”

  “How did she react when the girls were born? Was she depressed?” If I followed the chronology correctly, there’d been a two-year gap between Malerie and Winston’s split and their subsequent marriage, and another two years before the triplets’ birth. Sandy would have been in Idaho that whole period.

  “Just the opposite.” She sponged juice and rind off the counter. “She and Dr. Abernathy were thrilled. He and Cynthia couldn’t have children. Three kids in one pregnancy struck Malerie as a sign from heaven.”

  “Producing triplets indicated God’s forgiveness for adultery?” I mused.

  Returning from the pantry, Morris tossed nuts into the frying pan and set them to sizzling. “That seems more like superstition than religion.”

  “That’s true of a lot of what passes for religion these days, isn’t it?” Sandy said.

  As we spoke, I tracked noises from the front: the door opening, low voices, footsteps, then Keith’s ring tone, followed by, “Detective Sparks… Yes?”

  Tory rounded the corner. “I was right; it’s Keith. He’ll just be a minute.”

  Morris slid the toasted walnuts onto a saucer. While everyone else dawdled, I filled my plate with the savory zucchini dish, rice and nuts. Feeling like a kid sneaking cookies—or a medical resident refueling—I began to eat.

  Keith’s voice grew louder as he approached. “When? Where? I’d appreciate that. Thanks for the tip, fre…friend.”

  My brain filled in the name of the tipster: Fred.

  As soon as I saw Keith’s face, I knew something big was happening. And that I might have to leap into action.

  I ate faster.

  Chapter Ten

  “Tory, call your client.” Keith’s tone was grim.

  She took out her cell. “What’s up?”

  “Rafe Tibbets has summoned the family to an emergency meeting,” Keith said. “No reason provided, and no police allowed.”

  “Can he do that?” Morris asked.

  “Yes. He’s the executor of the will and it’s a private matter.” Keith was twitching with frustration. “Tory, ask Doreen if you and Eric can attend. I need details of everything that’s discussed, including how each person reacts to whatever bombshell he drops.”

  “You got it.” She swung into action as if they were a team.

  While they sorted out the details, my cast-iron stomach absorbed multiple mouthfuls of food. Wish I’d been able to taste more of it.

  Sandy offered to join us as an extra set of eyes and ears. We declined, however, since Doreen was probably pushing her luck by inviting Tory and me. Too many people and Rafe might throw us all out.

  Tory insisted on driving separately from me. She had to be free to go wherever the case took her afterwards, she explained tersely.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” I said when we reached the hall, away from the others.

  Her chin thrust out, pointy enough to poke holes in an apology. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay the hell out of your man cave from now on.”

  “That wasn’t what I wanted to discuss.” I’d have liked to clear the air, and riding together would provide an opportunity.

  “I have work to do.”

  “Understood.” I respected her dedication. Wasn’t sure what I’d have said, anyway, since I didn’t believe I was in the wrong.

  With his taste for drama, Rafe had summoned the clan to Malerie’s house, which the police had released that afternoon. Gone were the flashing emergency vehicles, the crime-scene tape and the crowd of neighbors from four days ago. Only a porch light penetrated the evening gloom, casting a glow across the stone facing and steeply slanted eaves.

  Despite the pretty setting, dread closed over me. Why had Rafe commanded our presence? Maybe he’d stumbled across a dark secret that I should have guessed in time to save Malerie.

  Tory and I pulled up a few seconds apart. Doreen, who’d been watching, met us at the curb.

  “Whatever game Rafe’s playing, I value you both as witnesses.” She wore her nurse’s uniform and Heights View Medical Center ID. She must have driven straight from the hospital.

  “We should apprise Detective Sparks of anything we learn,” Tory said.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Heather clicked up to join us. She hadn’t changed since work either, I gathered from her tailored suit and those high heels adding inches to her small frame.

  “I don’t trust him,” she said. “I suppose that’s a given.”

  “No one trusts him.” Doreen slipped her arm around Heather’s shoulders. Whatever their differences, they hadn’t become estranged.

  Inside, Danielle greeted us with, “Oh, good, you’re all here.”

  A tiled entryway overlooked the sunken living room. Malerie’s taste ran to gold-flocked wallpaper, brocade curtains and dark wood cabinets displaying vases and figurines. In a few places, traces of fingerprint powder lingered, as did a hint of cigarette smoke. Unless it had survived for years, she’d continued smoking despite doctor’s orders.

  Well, under the circumstances, she no longer risked cancer, stroke or emphysema.

  The thin man pacing in front of the fireplace cocked an eyebrow at me but didn’t comment. There was no bulge under Rafe’s jacket as far as I could tell.

  Behind him on the mantel, a photo showed the teenage triplets laughing, red hair blending into a swirl. More framed shots: Malerie with Winston Abernathy, his face wreathed in happy wrinkles; Malerie with her girls, about age five; Danielle and Fred in a wedding pose; Dee Marie alone in a white gown; Doreen in her nurse’s uniform. No Rafe, and, not surprisingly, no Heather.

  Family members settled around the room. Fred occupied a recliner that accommodated his bulk, with Danielle perched on the arm. Heather and Doreen sat side by side on the flowered couch. Tory and I remained standing on the tile.

  To our right, I had a partial view of the kitchen with its checkered wallpaper and shelves of country-style ceramic ware. Past French doors lay the pool area where Malerie had breathed her last.

  I couldn’t shake the sense that she was depending on me. That, as I’d told Keith, she’d handed me a key.

  Rafe cleared his throat. “Let do this.” Grim determination replaced his previous air of bravado. “As executor, it’s my job to track the deceased’s assets. Although my access is limited until I have a death certificate, I’ve started preliminary inquiries. Because you all mistrust me, and to avoid any appearance of secrecy, I mean to keep you fully informed.”

  “Get to the point,” Fred grumped. I’d have bet he, too, had been dragged from his meal.

  “Today, I contacted Malerie’s stockbroker, bank manager and insurance agent,” Rafe said. “The bottom line is that your mother appears to have been pretty close to broke when she died.”

  A stunned pause reflected our shock. I’d assumed the estate was worth as much as a million dollars.

  Follow the money. If we did, where would it lead?

  “That’s impossible.” Doreen leaned forward. “Dad left her well provided for.”

  “I’m aware of that.” For a change, Rafe didn’t appear to relish his position at center stage. “But he died four years ago.”

  “Money doesn’t simply vanish. Where did it go?” Fred dema
nded.

  Rafe studied a paper in his hands. “According to her stockbroker, Malerie insisted on placing investments against his advice. I’m trying to determine what influenced her choices.”

  That matched what Rod Vintner had told me, except that things had been worse than I’d imagined. Tory, meanwhile, was taking rapid notes on her phone, presumably forwarding them to Keith.

  “Have you looked into this stockbroker?” she asked.

  “He handled Winston’s account for decades. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

  So, I presumed, would Tory and Keith.

  “Hold on,” Danielle said. “Even if Mom lost her savings, my parents each had a quarter-million dollar life insurance policy. Dad insisted on it.”

  “According to her agent, she had a twenty-year policy that matured last year,” Rafe said. “Since she was turning sixty and faced a hip replacement, the insurance company jacked up the premium. She decided not to renew.”

  “She can’t have lost it all.” Heather squeezed Doreen’s hand. “I mean, she wouldn’t be that foolish.”

  “There’s a small amount left in mutual funds,” Rafe said. “Plus a few thousand in savings and checking accounts. I can’t find any record of a safe deposit box, but I’ll keep searching in case she did business at a second bank. With most of her documents missing, it’s hard to tell.”

  What a cascade of disasters. “Mrs. Abernathy owned this house, didn’t she?” I said. “It has to be worth a substantial amount.”

  “When the cash ran short, she took out a reverse mortgage,” Rafe said. “That provided a lump sum. Properly invested, it should have produced an adequate monthly income.”

  Fred’s eyelids lowered as if he were about to dive into icy waters. “Don’t tell me she gambled that away, too.”

  “She invested it with her usual creativity.”

  “Who the hell was advising her?” Doreen snarled. “Whoever it was, they killed her to cover their tracks, didn’t they?”

  “The stockbroker claims not to know,” Rafe said. “Maybe she was following Internet tips.”

  “From who?” Fred pressed.