by L. T. Vargus
The paramedic in back aimed a no-touch thermometer at Marjory’s forehead and frowned at the reading. Opening a small door near the floor, she pulled out two more blankets and draped them over the pale form on the gurney.
The ambulance lurched to the left and angled up a ramp, tires screaming a little.
Charlie turned to watch out the windshield, and the khaki facade of the hospital rapidly grew larger as they approached. Then everything started happening very quickly.
The ambulance parked, and the EMT in back threw the rear doors open. They unloaded the gurney and wheeled Marjory up onto the sidewalk, her limp limbs flopping like noodles with every jostle. Then they jogged off toward the building where glass doors waited, open and ready.
Zoe’s cruiser came to a halt behind the ambulance a moment later, and the two of them hurried to catch up with the paramedics.
A team of doctors and nurses were waiting for them, and everyone was talking at once, barking out commands or saying encouraging things, though Charlie couldn’t really understand any one of the voices.
She felt wrong exiting the shelter of the back of the vehicle, striding up onto the sidewalk. Exposed. Cold wind whipped at them, an endless gust that seemed to slam into the concrete wall of the hospital. It smashed her hair to the left side of her face, twisted a strand of it under her nose to flap around like a flag.
Zoe stopped, and Charlie pulled up beside her.
“We should hang back,” Zoe said. “Call the family and everything.”
“Right,” Charlie agreed.
They stood and watched the gurney wheel through the gaping place where the glass doors of the hospital had slid aside. The building swallowed Marjory like a mouth, her and the two paramedics vanishing into the structure.
Everything seemed quiet for a beat, apart from the endless hiss of the wind. And then the doors glided shut.
SIXTY-TWO
After Zoe contacted Marjory’s family, the wind eventually drove the pair of them inside to one of the small waiting areas.
“None of this makes sense,” Charlie said, seating herself on a hard bench.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s an obvious motive for Marjory to kill Dutch, which is the inheritance. But why kill Gloria? And how? Marjory has a solid alibi for the time of Gloria’s death.” Charlie sighed. “But let’s say, for the sake of argument, that her alibi falls apart. Let’s say Marjory did kill Gloria. What was her motive then?”
Adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose, Zoe pursed her lips.
“You said Gloria was coming to you with information. Maybe she’d found proof that Marjory killed their father.”
“Maybe.”
Charlie had considered this herself. She didn’t know if it fit.
“But there’s another problem,” she said, turning to face Zoe. “If Marjory was driving the red car that ran me off the road, I think we can assume she was trying to keep me from taking the computer to the police, right? She wanted to keep a lid on the Ponzi scheme.”
“Right.”
“OK, well whoever was driving the red car saw me go off the road and into the water. They would have believed their efforts were successful.”
Zoe frowned and then began nodding slowly as she put it together.
“So then why would she run home and off herself?” Zoe said. “She shut you up and destroyed the computer in one stroke by running you off the road, or at least she would have thought so. Trying to kill herself after that doesn’t really make sense.”
“Exactly.”
Zoe’s eyes went wide.
“You think it means someone’s trying to set Marjory up?”
“I don’t know what I think right now,” Charlie said, massaging her temples. “But something about this doesn’t add up.”
They lapsed into silence for a moment, and then Zoe spoke again.
“On the other hand, if Marjory is somehow responsible for killing Dutch and Gloria, it would be a pretty powerful reason to try to commit suicide. I mean, if I’d gone to all this trouble—murdering my family members and all that—only to find out the fortune I was after didn’t exist, I’d feel pretty low.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “In some ways, Marjory’s suicide attempt is the one part of this that has some logic to it.”
Her gaze slid over to the door, where she spotted Wesley and Brandon making their way down a hallway toward the waiting room.
“Zoe, do me a favor,” Charlie said quickly.
“What’s that?”
“Marjory’s family is here, and I don’t want to mention the crash to them. Nothing about my run-in with the red car at all.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”
Zoe shrugged.
“Fine with me. They’ll find out sooner or later, but there’s no reason we have to tell them about it now.”
They rose to their feet as Marjory’s brothers entered the waiting area. While Zoe explained the exact state they’d found Marjory in, Charlie tried to assess the two men, analyzing their responses.
Wesley did most of the talking, his eyes stretching a little wider than usual, which gave him a perpetually surprised look. Beside him, Brandon barely uttered a word, but Charlie could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. One shocked and one grave. Normal enough reactions, given the circumstances.
“Oh my God!” Wesley said for the third time, running a hand through his hair. “Was there a note?”
It was a second before Charlie realized he meant a suicide note, but Zoe had apparently taken his meaning right away.
“No, sir,” she said.
“I still don’t understand why she’d do this,” Wesley muttered, staring at the floor.
Zoe and Charlie exchanged a glance, and then Zoe cleared her throat.
“Have you spoken with any of the staff here about your sister’s condition?”
Wesley nodded.
“Yes. She’s with the doctors now. They had to give her a blood transfusion, and there were some additional complications because she apparently took sleeping pills on top of the…” Wesley trailed off, apparently unable to find the words to describe what Marjory had done to herself.
“But they’re expecting her to pull through it,” Brandon finished the thought.
“That’s good,” Zoe said, tucking her thumbs in her belt. “We’ll need to talk to the lot of you at some point—”
“About what?” Wesley asked, and his eyes darted over to Charlie.
She’d forgotten about Wesley asking her to hold off on delivering the computer to the police. She pondered that for a moment. Had he asked her that and then come after her in the red car to get rid of the evidence once and for all? If so, he should have been surprised to see her standing here, alive and well, when he’d first come in.
“… a few questions about some matters concerning the family, that’s all,” Zoe was saying. “Anyway, we don’t need to do that now. You all have your plate full at the moment, and we certainly understand that.”
A nurse entered with a stack of forms she needed the family’s help filling out, and Zoe and Charlie moved into the hallway to give them some privacy.
“So I’m heading out now,” Zoe said. “You want a lift home?”
Charlie thrust her hands into her pockets and gave a shake of her head.
“I’m gonna stay. I want to be here to observe when the rest of Marjory’s siblings show up.”
Gripping Charlie’s shoulder, Zoe gave it a friendly squeeze.
“Well, be careful, will you? The whole lot of them seem like a nest of vipers, if you ask me.”
It wasn’t long after Wesley and Brandon had finished up the paperwork with the nurse that Jude and Dara arrived. Dara ran ahead, her long hair swaying behind her.
“Is she going to be OK?” Dara asked, her face streaked with tears. “Have they let you in to see her yet?”
Embracing her, Wesley shook his head.
“She
’s still in the ICU, but the doctors are very optimistic.”
“Oh, Marjie,” Dara sobbed. “Why would she do this?”
“Well, the police didn’t find a note,” Wesley said, his eyes flicking over to Charlie as he lowered his voice. “But I suppose the obvious conclusion would be that it was all the stuff with Dad.”
“Shit. Yeah,” Jude said. “That’s what happened to Bernie Madoff’s kid, right? Same exact thing.”
Charlie hoped that Wesley’s pointed look wasn’t a subtle suggestion that he thought it was her fault that Marjory had attempted suicide. She’d only been the one to uncover Dutch’s deception. Then again, the phrase “don’t shoot the messenger” existed for a reason. Someone, somewhere, had wanted to shoot the messenger.
“It’s just one disaster after another, isn’t it? We can’t catch a break.” Before anyone else could speak, Jude whirled around, searching the room. “Where’s Trevor? He’s Marjory’s husband, for God’s sake.”
“He’s been out of town,” Wesley explained. “I called him from the car. He’s getting the first plane back.”
Jude threw himself into a chair and crossed his arms.
“Well, he should be here.”
“Be sure to tell him that when he gets here, won’t you?” Wesley said sarcastically. “I’m sure it will help things.”
Spittle flung from Jude’s mouth as he sat forward to shout at his brother.
“Oh, fuck off, Wes! Just fuck all the way off, OK?”
Wesley only raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
“What about Percival?” a small voice asked after a few minutes had passed with no one speaking.
It was Dara. Charlie had noticed when she’d first entered the room that she had dark bags under her eyes and seemed paler than usual.
“What’s that, Dara?” Wesley said.
“She’s asking about Percival,” Brandon explained. “Marjory’s dog.”
Jude scoffed and muttered, “You can’t be serious.”
“Enough.” Wesley didn’t say any more than that, but his tone made it clear that this was a warning.
Jude responded by holding up his middle finger, though he remained silent.
From her seat in the corner, Charlie cleared her throat.
“Marjory’s dog is fine,” she said. “I made sure he had food and water before we left the house.”
Charlie kept waiting for someone to ask how they’d known to go to Marjory’s house in the first place, and then she’d have to explain about Dutch’s red car and the candy wrapper they’d found, but so far no one had asked. She supposed they were all still in shock. They’d had a lot to digest in one day. Still, it was only a matter of time before someone started trying to line up the events and began to wonder.
Thankfully, Dara only nodded and said, “That’s good.”
“He’s gonna shit and piss all over the place,” Jude said. “Marjory’s gonna be furious. I mean, if she even makes it.”
“Goddamn it, Jude!” Wesley slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Why do you always have to look at things that way? It’s like you want everything to go poorly.”
Jude shrugged and crossed one leg over the other.
“I’m just telling it like it is,” he said. “Being honest, which is a concept I know you have no comprehension of. Is there a class you have to take when you become a politician that removes your ability to be authentic?”
Wesley wiped a hand over his face.
“I swear to God, Jude, one of these days…”
A malignant grin spread across Jude’s mouth.
“One of these days… what, Wes?” He leaned forward, the knuckles of his fingers turning white as he squeezed his hands into fists. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson? Kick my ass? Finish the sentence, dickface.”
“Jude.” Brandon kept his voice low, but the tone was sharp enough that Jude’s head whipped around to face him.
When he had his brother’s attention, Brandon continued.
“Shut. Up.”
An angry breath puffed out of Jude’s nostrils. After several minutes of tense silence, he spoke again.
“Do you guys have little meetings or something?”
“Now what are you talking about?” Wesley asked.
“It just seems like a team effort, you know? How the lot of you are all equally shitty to me. It’s never one-on-one, which would at least be fair.” Jude’s right leg bounced up and down. “It’s like you’re always working together.”
“Oh, please,” Wesley said, and Jude repeated him mockingly.
“Oh, please.”
“That’s not true at all, Jude,” Dara protested. “In fact, I think it’s really unfair of you to say that.”
Jude laughed bitterly.
“Jesus Christ! You’re literally doing it right now.” He shoved himself to a standing position. “Forget it. I’m gonna go find somewhere I can vape in this godforsaken place.”
“Why does he always act like this? Like it’s a contest or something?” Dara asked.
Charlie was barely listening by then, though. She was still stuck on something Jude had said before he stormed out.
It’s like you’re always working together.
And suddenly Charlie thought she had an idea of how Marjory having an alibi for one murder but not the other could make sense.
If she’d had an accomplice.
SIXTY-THREE
A tingle spread over Charlie’s body. She stood. Mumbled something about how she’d be right back. Walked out into the hall on legs going numb.
She thought moving might stave off some of the pins and needles, but it was no help. The surface of her flesh throbbed with electric jabs and twinges that only seemed to gain intensity with each passing second. All those nerves lurching and spitting inside. Overloaded.
By the time she pushed through the door into the restroom across the hall, she felt like she was floating over the ceramic tiles.
She leaned forward, bracing herself on the end of one of the sinks. Splashed cold water on her face, eyes closed. The thoughts tumbled rapidly in her head.
If Marjory hadn’t acted alone, it opened up a number of possibilities. She had an alibi for the time of Gloria’s death, but the day Dutch was murdered, she was in her home, just up the road, sleeping off a headache. Or so she’d said. And while her assistant, Killian, had vouched for this story, he hadn’t been in the room with Marjory. He couldn’t account for her whereabouts other than that he’d seen her that morning, before she’d retired to her room. She could have slipped out to murder her father and snuck back to the house without Killian even noticing she was gone.
An accomplice. Yes. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
Charlie opened her eyes. Stared into her wet face in the mirror. Blinked a few times. Cold droplets formed along her jawline and plummeted to the sink below.
But who would the accomplice be? Charlie’s mind kicked back into hyperdrive, riffling back through all that happened, searching for some telltale detail, some overlooked clue. Marjory and Jude had been against the idea of Charlie continuing her investigation. But Jude was the other sibling with a solid alibi for the time of Gloria’s death, being with a client all day, so he was out.
A husband would make a likely enough accomplice, but Marjory’s husband had been out of town. Then again, had anyone checked that? Or had Charlie and the police taken Marjory’s word for it?
In any case, Charlie knew what she needed to do next: go back to Marjory’s house and look for clues.
She nudged open the bathroom door with her elbow and glanced in the direction of the waiting room, where the remaining members of the Carmichael family still sat. She considered telling them she was leaving but decided it was better to keep them in the dark for now. Could she really trust any of them?
It was only once Charlie was outside on the sidewalk that she remembered her car had just gone for a swim in Lake St. Clair.
“Crap,”
she murmured, reaching for her phone. But that had also been destroyed.
Back inside, a hospital employee directed her to a row of courtesy phones near the entrance. Charlie called her uncle Frank.
SIXTY-FOUR
Charlie parked Frank’s Buick down the street from the house, around a bend that kept it just out of sight from Marjory’s driveway. Despite her clandestine parking job, she strode purposefully up the drive and to the front door, as if she were an expected guest.
She’d been the one who’d closed up, when they’d been here with the ambulance, and she was pretty certain she hadn’t locked the door behind her. Sure enough, the door knob turned easily when she tried it, and she smiled to herself. Had her subconscious mind somehow known she’d be returning here tonight?
Charlie opened the door and stepped inside. There was a noise, and she froze. A weird mechanical chime. One note.
What the hell was that?
Her eyes swiveled to the right and she spotted it. A sleek white box set into the wall with a number pad and a bunch of buttons on it. And then Charlie remembered her first conversation here with Marjory, when they’d talked about the break-in and the high-tech security system her husband had insisted on installing.
She took a step toward it and saw a message blinking on the small LED screen: ALARM OFF.
That was good, but Charlie swore Marjory had said something about cameras everywhere, and she had no idea whether those were also off.
Shit. Video evidence of her breaking and entering? That was definitely not good.
OK. Think.
Just then, Marjory’s dog trotted out from the back of the house.
Ah. Yes.
Charlie wasn’t breaking and entering! She’d come here to check on precious… what was his name again?
Percival. That was it.
Charlie lifted the dog and carried him with her into the kitchen. There was still plenty of kibble left, but Charlie dumped the water bowl and refilled it, mostly to look busy.
There was a leash by the back door, so Charlie hooked it to Percival’s collar and took him outside. He spent several minutes distributing his pee on various flowering plants and bushes before Charlie led him back inside.