by Mary Feliz
“I’ll call the doctor,” Paolo said, blushing. “Maybe it was something less important than that, less urgent, and that’s why they sent the letter.”
I shook my head. “If it were nothing, Sarah would have tossed the letter. But look at the envelope. It’s grubby and creased, like it spent time in her purse.”
Paolo frowned. “It’s not evidence, but maybe it’s a lead. I’ll see if we can get a warrant to look at her medical records.” He tucked the letter into an evidence bag and put it in his backpack.
“You need to talk to the nurse,” I told him. “She’s the one who would have had the reassuring conversation with Sarah, encouraging her to come in. She might be willing to tell you how Sarah took the news even if she can’t tell you what the news was.”
I stopped for a moment. Something was bothering me. A memory that was begging for attention. I took a minute to clear my head.
“Paolo, didn’t you ask Linc yesterday whether Sarah was ill? Didn’t he say she was fine? But if you put all this together . . .” I waved my hand in the direction of the desk drawers and refrigerator. “Her hair was falling out, she wasn’t eating, and she got a strange report from her doctor. Maybe she thought she had cancer? Her mom died from cancer and so did her sister. She had no family that I know of. April’s been going through breast-cancer treatment. Sarah might have confided in her if she were worried. What if Sarah so feared cancer treatment that she decided to commit suicide?”
“It’s a theory,” Paolo said. “I’ll look into it.”
My brain threw up another memory then, one that made me feel dizzy and cold. I sank into Sarah’s chair and leaned my head on my hands.
“Maggie, are you okay?” Paolo asked. “Can I get you anything? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed after losing Sarah.” I couldn’t tell Paolo what I was thinking, not now. According to Linc, the lawyer had suggested we keep everything from the police until he’d had a chance to talk to us. Even the most innocuous detail. And there was nothing innocent about the thought that had erupted in my brain.
* * *
After saying a hasty good-bye to Paolo, I dashed to the car with Belle, who pranced alongside me, hoping for a run. She tugged her end of the leash toward the sidewalk, toward Tess’s house, a walk we often made after dropping off Brian. Visiting Tess and her dog, Mozart, was a highlight of any day for Belle.
I stopped for a moment and pulled my phone from my back pocket. Belle stared at me, tilting her head and lifting an ear as if to say, “Well, why wouldn’t we visit Mozart? What could be more important?”
“Don’t try that, Belle,” I said more sternly than I meant to. “I’m on to your golden retriever mind tricks.”
I walked toward the sidewalk and turned right, toward Tess’s house, while I punched the number to reach Linc at his lab. But then I turned off my phone and shoved it back in my pocket.
I couldn’t discuss what I’d remembered with Linc. It was too explosive. Maybe Linc’s lawyer was the person to call. He’d know what I should do. And he needed to know the information I had. I couldn’t be sure whether Linc would tell him.
What I’d remembered was earthshaking, or could be, but discussing it with the lawyer would cost money. Linc’s money, probably. Was it right for me to use Linc’s money to tell his lawyer something that might very well convince him of Linc’s culpability? I didn’t think so; not yet, anyway.
I phoned Tess, but the call went straight to voice mail. My hands shook as I scrolled through my list of contacts. I checked my watch. It was ten o’clock. I could talk to Jason, but he was a cop, and the lawyer had told Linc not to share anything with the cops. Not yet. But what about Stephen?
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. I knew I could trust Stephen. He was ex–Special Forces, and he’d protected my family and kept me sane back in September.
“Come on, Belle,” I said. “Let’s go visit Munchkin.”
* * *
At Jason’s, Stephen sat on the front step, looking uncomfortable, twitchy, and unable to settle.
I pulled my car to the curb and opened the door for Belle, who leaped from the car and flew into Stephen’s arms. Laughing, he stood and told Belle to sit and stay. She was almost successful. She sat, but certainly didn’t sit still. She licked Stephen’s hand and nudged it. Belle squirmed forward and head-bumped Stephen’s arm, then froze, remembering she was supposed to be sitting. She did it over and over, looking much like a canine version of a bobblehead. I laughed. There is nothing in the world like a dog for helping you to find joy in a rotten day.
Stephen moved off the steps to greet me.
“Jason’s therapist rescheduled for this morning, and she’s still inside. He’s cursing over his physical-therapy routine. His therapist looks about sixteen, but she’s tough as nails—stricter than my boot-camp sergeant. I’m not going back in there until she comes out.”
“Is Munchkin around?” I asked. “Belle would love to play.”
We walked around the side of the house and opened the redwood gate into the backyard. We weren’t two steps through the gate before Munchkin plowed through his dog door with a deflated rugby ball in his mouth. He growled, shook the ball, and play-bowed to Belle: front feet forward, head down, rump in the air, and tail waving wildly enough to upend a less sturdy animal. Belle bowed to Munchkin, and they were off, chasing one another around the yard.
“What’s up, Maggie?” Stephen asked, inviting me to sit on the cracked concrete back steps. A former owner had enclosed the back porch, and I knew that Stephen and Jason were debating how to create an outdoor living space they could both enjoy. Stephen wanted to re-landscape, creating a stone seating area and fire pit. Jason was pushing for a redwood deck and a pool. Munchkin, as far as I knew, had no opinion on the matter.
I bit my lip and looked up at the hummingbird feeder that hung from an apple-tree branch near my head. A hummer paused and thrummed in the air nearby, apparently gauging whether we posed a threat, and whether he could outpace us if we did.
Stephen put his hand on mine. “You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you if you don’t want to, but you sure look like you want to.”
“It’s Linc and Sarah . . .” I began. It was a statement that could go anywhere. I half-hoped that Stephen would think I was talking about the situation in general and pick up the conversation so that I didn’t need to go on. He didn’t, so I continued. “Stephen, did you know Linc’s first wife?”
“Mei? She died about five years ago, didn’t she? Of cancer? I moved here shortly after that. Never met her.”
“Neither did I, but Sarah told me about her a few months ago. It was just after I found out that April was being treated for breast cancer.”
“April’s doing well, isn’t she?”
“As far as I know. But Sarah was telling me about Mei and Linc. Apparently, Sarah and Linc had been talking about moving in together, but they each had some issues. Sarah’s biggest concern was Linc’s disorganization and I offered to help them find ways to work with that. But Linc was reluctant to commit because of all he had gone through with his first wife.”
I stopped and watched Munchkin and Belle fly around the yard and stop on opposite sides of a redwood trunk that was nearly four feet in diameter. Their tongues lolled from their mouths and they feinted, first one way, then the other. They were about ready for water and a break. But not yet. Munchkin made a move, Belle grabbed the rugby ball, and they were off again.
“Go on, Maggie,” Stephen said. “I haven’t heard this story.”
“I’m not sure I should tell it,” I said. “It might make Linc look bad. The lawyer told him this morning not to say anything to Jason or Paolo or any of the other police officers. That applies to me too, I think. The not-talking part, I mean.” I sighed, stood, and walked toward the base of the apple tree. Belle walked over, dropping the ball at my feet. I tossed the ball to Munchkin, who caught it but then sprawled on t
he ground. Belle collapsed, panting heavily.
“You could wait to talk to the lawyer,” Stephen said. I nodded and told him my concern about spending Linc’s money.
Steven rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “You could talk to Linc.”
He whistled to Munchkin and bent to turn on a tap at the side of the steps. He filled a plastic dish tub with water. Munchkin and Belle slurped loudly from the tub, splashing more water on the ground than they got into their mouths.
“Or, you could talk to me,” he said, sitting down and patting the step next to him. “We’ve still got a few minutes before Jason’s torture session is finished. I can’t promise I won’t say anything to him at some point, but I could tell you whether I think it’s pertinent to the case and suggest folks you could talk to. I’ll keep your secret as long as I can.”
“I don’t think it’s actually a secret,” I said. “And Jason may already know. I’m not sure how long he and Linc have been friends. If he knew Mei, he probably knows this story anyway. Sarah didn’t have any hesitation telling me and she hardly knew me at the time.”
I sighed again and took a deep breath. Not telling Stephen the story was taking a lot out of me.
“Apparently, Mei had ovarian cancer,” I said quickly, as if it were all one word.
“Slow down, Maggie.”
“It was bad. Stage four before she even knew she had it. There was very little anyone could do. It progressed quickly and spread to her bones. It was incredibly painful and she wanted Linc to help her commit suicide. She’d been involved in some kind of medical research at Stanford and had arranged for Linc to get everything she’d need. I’m not sure exactly how.”
“It’s not important,” Stephen said. “Not now.”
“According to Sarah, Linc wanted to help her, but he couldn’t do it. Mei was angry. She’d asked Linc to help her because there was no one she trusted more. She saw it as a way of honoring the bond between them and as a last act of complete intimacy. Linc couldn’t do it. Mei saw that as a betrayal. But she wasn’t the sort of person who could hold onto a grudge. A day or two later, she told him she respected his decision. She was so calm and peaceful he wondered if she’d found someone else to help her. Within a few hours she slipped into a coma and died peacefully the following day.”
Stephen didn’t say anything. We both looked at the dogs panting and were silent.
Stephen sighed. “That’s a lot. Linc’s a tough guy. First Mei, now Sarah?”
I whipped my head around. “You knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That Sarah had cancer too?”
“What? No. Really? No, I didn’t know. I just meant that he’d lost two people he loved very much.”
I pushed my hair back with both hands and looked up at the sky through the bare branches of the apple tree. “I don’t know for sure whether Sarah had cancer, but Paolo is checking up on some evidence we found in her desk.”
“What then?”
“When Sarah told me the story, she said Linc was reluctant to move forward with their relationship because of what he’d gone through with Mei. Apparently, at least back in September, he still felt guilty about being unable to help Mei with the most important thing she’d ever asked of him. He felt he’d failed her.”
My mouth was dry and I wrung my hands together. I looked at Stephen, wishing he would pick up the thread of my fear and run with it, coming to the same dire conclusion that I had.
“So you’re terrified that . . .”
“That Sarah had cancer. And Linc knew. And decided to help Sarah end her life before she experienced the same symptoms that made the final stages of Mei’s life so difficult that she had to beg her husband to kill her.” Again, I blurted it out as if it were all one word. Forcing myself to voice my fears had been more difficult than I’d imagined.
Stephen said nothing. He leaned down to rub Munchkin’s belly.
“Okay,” he eventually said as he brushed off his hands and slapped them down on his thighs. “A prosecutor could make that look bad. But on the other hand, here’s a guy who couldn’t help his first wife with an assisted suicide, no matter how much she begged for his help, nor how horrible her symptoms were. Do you really think he’d kill Sarah? Especially before she had obvious symptoms? Linc was meeting with the Nobel committee, right? That’s a really big deal. Yet all he talked about in the last month or so was how happy he was about the wedding and how hard he was working on getting his house cleaned out. If he were going to kill Sarah, why work so hard on things that wouldn’t matter afterwards?”
Stephen leaned down and tilted his head to stare into my eyes as if he were verifying that my fears were baseless.
“Oh, come on, Maggie. Let’s say he actually decided to kill Sarah—he didn’t, I’m sure of it, but let’s say he did. Electrocution? Seriously? There had to be an easier way for both of them. He’d gone through all the planning with Mei—he’d know what to do to make it easy on Sarah. He might even still have the pills. There’s no way he wanted Sarah to go through what she did. No way. You saw her body. Electrocution is horrible. You have to know that.”
I thought back and shuddered. “You’re right. No one who loved her could ever have set Sarah up to die the way she did. From the outside, her body looked relatively undamaged, but the smell . . .” My stomach lurched with the memory. “It was a vile combination of burned meat and hot metal—a smell that made me want to run away as fast as I could. And Linc’s first move was toward Sarah. We had to hold him back. If he’d set up the accident, surely he, more than any of the rest of us, would have known how deadly a situation it was. He would have been holding us back, not the other way around.”
Stephen stood, looking at his watch. “I think it’s time to go in,” he said. “Feel better?”
I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll still suggest Linc tell his lawyer about Mei’s death, but it’s not eating at me the way it was.”
“Thoughts can do that,” he said. “Sometimes having an imagination can be a very bad thing.”
* * *
I felt better after talking to Stephen, but when Belle and I climbed back into my SUV, I started the car, put it in gear, and then stopped. Where would I go from here?
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, just the way I was told to do in the mindfulness meditation sessions Tess and Elaine dragged me to. The sessions were relaxing, but I was still having trouble remembering to use the techniques in my daily life.
I thought about what I knew so far. Officially, Sarah’s death could still possibly be ruled an accident, based on the findings of the medical examiner and Santa Clara County crime lab’s expert in electricity and electrocution deaths. According to Paolo, the expert was off hiking the Pacific Coast Trail with no reliable cell access and wouldn’t be back in the Bay Area until early the following week. I expected they’d borrow an expert from another jurisdiction. In the meantime, I wondered if we could hire our own expert to look at the scene. After all, if her death could be ruled an accident, Linc would be off the hook, and there would be nothing more for me to do. I made a note to ask Linc’s lawyer and Paolo what they thought of the idea. I wondered whether any electrician could look at the scene and render an opinion, or if they needed an official license or certification.
I rummaged in my bag for a pen and a pad of paper to make a list of who had access to Linc’s house. I nibbled on the end of the pen. Linc, Sarah, Tess, and I, of course, and apparently Boots. I wrote the names down. Theoretically, anyone could have broken in, but the five of us had easy and explainable access. I knew everyone well except Boots. I circled her name several times.
I needed to look at the garden and rule out, at least in my own mind, the idea that Boots had something to hide. A secret she’d kill to keep hidden. Something Sarah could have seen or overheard, given the proximity between the community garden and Linc’s house.
I sighed heavily but stopped myself from wallowing in sadness, which would get no one anywhere. I
needed to be doing something. I pushed my hair back from my forehead, and remembered that I needed a haircut.
Sarah had urged me to phone her hairdresser. And as I’d told Paolo, there might not be anyone else in all of Orchard View who would know more about Sarah’s life.
I rattled Belle’s leash. “Hey, Miss Belle, let’s go ask Stephen if you can stay a little longer.”
Chapter 7
I try to arrive at appointments at least ten minutes early. Some people find this practice annoying, but it means that I don’t have to waste time fretting if an accident slows traffic or I can’t find a parking space right away. But being early might not work for you. All organizational ideas are suggestions. Pick the ones that work for you.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, November 4, 12:30 p.m.
I found the garden address on my phone, plugged it into my GPS system, and drove around in circles for twenty minutes before I gave up. The garden plots occupied a parcel of land in the center of a housing development that had been built in the 1920s. Dead ends, circles, and pedestrian shortcuts made maps of the area difficult to read and impossible to follow, even with locally grown technological assistance. I parked in front of Linc’s house and approached the garden via his backyard.
I hoped to start my investigation with Boots. I followed a path through the grass, thinking that we’d need to arrange to have it cut soon. The house had been the site of a sudden death. We didn’t need to have it looking haunted to add to its stigma.
Overgrown shrubs I should have been able to identify marked the end of Linc’s property. I pushed through a break in the hedge and frantically wiped a spider’s web from my face.
I couldn’t see anyone in the garden and took the opportunity to look around. Split-rail fences enclosed the parcel, which I estimated at about four acres—a rare expanse of open land in the overbuilt Bay Area. A small, open patch in the center had park benches laid out in a circle around a recirculating fountain. Nearby plots included bird feeders and what looked like birdhouses.