Come Home

by Lisa Scottoline

  “No, thanks,” Sam answered. He was leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, with Beef sitting at his side. The rain was beginning to dry on his polo shirt. They both were still dressed from their run, in polo shirts, gym shorts, and sneakers.

  Abby sighed, heavily. “Dad died four days ago, on Tuesday. The cops said it was a heart attack, caused by alcohol and prescription meds.”

  Jill blinked. “I thought you said he was murdered.”

  “I think he was.”

  “You do, but the police don’t?”

  “Right.” Abby straightened up, her tone newly firm. “I think they’re wrong. Rather, I know they’re wrong. You’re a doctor, and you know Dad. He didn’t take any prescription meds. He was murdered, no matter what the police say.”

  Jill cracked some eggs into a bowl, hiding her confusion. She’d never known William to take prescription meds, but she’d never known the real William Skyler. He was the ultimate con man, fooling her, Megan, and even his own daughters. “So the police say it wasn’t murder. What do they think it was?”

  “They say it was an accidental overdose. The cocktail, whatever that means.”

  “It means that certain drugs can kill you, in combination with alcohol.” The coffee was ready, and Jill set the full mug in front of Abby. “What drugs did he take?”

  “He didn’t take them.” Abby picked up the coffee and held it in two hands, warming her fingers. “The report came back today and said he had the drugs in his body, but I know he didn’t put them there. He never would have, and I went on the Internet and it doesn’t say those are lethal drugs, anyway.” Abby sipped some coffee, then set it down, sniffling. “The cops found pill bottles in his bedroom, but I never saw them before, and they didn’t dust for fingerprints like on TV, to see how they got there.”

  “What pills did they find?” Jill retrieved a fork and beat the eggs.

  “Three bottles. Xanax, Vicodin, and one other, T-something.”

  “Temezepam?”

  “Yes. I knew you’d know.” Abby brightened a little.

  “They’re common drugs for anxiety and pain, honey.” Jill drizzled a dash of vanilla into the egg mixture, veining the light with the dark, then beat it again.

  “Not common for Dad.” Abby shifted forward, and water dripped from a curling tendril that had escaped from the towel turban. “Plus, there was a bottle of whisky in his office, but no glass. When did you ever know Dad to drink out of a bottle? Never, and the drugs had to be planted there, by whoever killed him.”

  “What does Victoria say?” Jill picked up a pan that had been drying on the counter, cut in a pat of butter, and set it on the stove, firing up the gas.

  “She says I just don’t want to accept that Dad’s dead.”

  Jill could have guessed as much. Victoria was always the sensible one to Abby’s free spirit. “Couldn’t she be right? It’s a hard thing to deal with—”

  “She’s wrong, they all are. I know it, and we’ll prove it.” Abby looked down as Beef trotted over, wagging his tail, sending droplets flying. She rested her hand on his coppery head, where his wet fur spiked at the crown, like a doggie punk rocker. “I missed Beef, too. Remember the day we got him?”

  “Sure.” Jill did. It had been a cold, sunny afternoon at a golden retriever rescue in Delaware County. The three girls cooed over a passel of fluffy golden puppies, and Abby scooped up the fattest one, naming him on the spot. This one is Beef on the hoof!

  “Where’s Megan?” Abby asked, adjusting the towel.

  “At a sleepover.” Jill opened the bread and dunked a slice into the eggs.

  “Aw, I wanted to see her. I miss her, too.”

  “You’ll see her in the morning. Stay over with us. Right, Sam?” Jill realized with embarrassment that she hadn’t introduced them, at all. She abandoned the slice of bread. “Yikes, I’m sorry. Abby, this is my fiancé, Sam Becker. Sam, Abby Skyler.”

  “Hello, Abby.” Sam smiled at her, with sympathy. “I’m sorry about your loss, and of course you can stay here tonight.”

  Abby seemed to be leaning away from Sam, almost recoiling, though she said, “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

  “Yes, thanks, Sam,” Jill chimed in, trying to smooth over her own awkwardness. It struck her as odd that Abby and Sam had never met, as if her life had been hacked into pieces, not only the Before and After of two marriages, but the Before and Before and After, of three. She had been a widow when she’d met William, and Sam would be her third husband.

  Abby kept an eye on Sam. “Not gonna lie, Sam, I feel like you’re mad at me or something. Are you? Don’t be mad at me, okay?”

  Jill tensed, and she could smell the butter starting to burn in the pan. She hated burned butter. She turned off the gas for a moment.

  “I’m not angry at you, Abby, I’m concerned,” Sam answered, gently. “You drove here, drunk. That concerns me, for your sake and for the sake of others.”

  Jill turned to Abby, puzzled. “You drove? I thought that SUV dropped you off.”

  “What SUV? I parked around the corner. I looked up your address online but couldn’t find the street.” Abby looked down as Beef nudged her with his muzzle, his bid to keep getting petted. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

  “I know you won’t, sweetie.” Jill didn’t have the heart to lecture Abby, not tonight. “What did you have to drink?”

  “Just some vodka and orange juice.”

  “Hard liquor?” Jill hid her dismay. Abby used to be so wholesome and healthy, a competitive swimmer. All the girls swam, Jill had taught them.

  “I’m sorry, I know, I was upset, because of Dad.” Abby stroked Beef, who rested his big head on her lap. “It’s so good to see Beef again. I was worried he died.”

  “He’s not that old, is he?”

  “Sure he is.” Abby patted the dog, and her wet dress gapped at the neckline, revealing a flowery tattoo above one breast. “He’ll turn ten, this Valentine’s Day.”

  “Really?” Jill tried not to stare at the tattoo, lost in time, for a moment. When did Abby start drinking, or get old enough for a tattoo? When did Beef get so old? Where did all the time go? Abby had arrived out of nowhere, and it was as if Jill’s past had crashed her present like a house party, leaving her disoriented.

  “You said you remembered, Jill. We picked him out on Valentine’s Day. It was Dad’s present, for you.”

  “Oh right.” Jill had forgotten that part. She let the moment pass, eyeing Sam’s back as he turned around, tore off a paper towel, and wiped his face and glasses.

  “This is such a pretty room.” Abby was looking around the kitchen. “It’s so you, Jill.”

  “Thanks.” Jill glanced around, too, proudly. The house was still a work in progress, but the kitchen was warm and homey, ringed by white cabinets and countertops of ivory granite veined with butterscotch. The walls glowed a golden hue, which set off a cherry dining table and kitchen island, where they all ate, used the laptop, or did their homework, like the sun to their family solar system.

  “I’m really sorry about the drinking, Jill.”

  “I understand.” Jill was curious where she got the liquor, but didn’t want to torture her, not now. “I saw on Facebook that Victoria’s in law school, at Seton Hall. How’s she doing?”

  Sam looked over, but he didn’t say anything, and Jill read his mind. He was surprised that she followed the girls on Facebook. She had never told him that.

  “Victoria loves law school, which isn’t surprising. She was doing great, until Dad.” Abby paused. “You know how she is. She’ll be fine.”

  “You both will, in time, but don’t rush it. Grief takes all the time it needs, no matter what you do.” Jill knew that Victoria would internalize her grief, much like Megan would.

  “She lives with some roommates, near school. I was living with Dad in town, but now I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Why aren’t you in college, honey? You’re so smart.” J
ill kept her tone non-judgmental, but Abby still avoided her eye.

  “I’m waitressing. I guess you saw, I started at art school but I broke up with Santos and that kind of messed me up. I’ll go back someday, I know it’s a good thing.” Abby seemed to deflate again, her shoulders sloping and her turban sliding to the side. “Anyway, Dad’s memorial service is tomorrow. They already cremated him. Victoria arranged it, I couldn’t deal.” Abby sighed. “Can you come to the service, Jill? And can Megan?”

  “We’ll see. I have to ask her. I know she’ll be so sad about your Dad.”

  “Afterwards I can take you over to the house, and you can see what I mean. Dad was murdered, I know it.”

  Jill felt torn. “I can’t do that, honey, especially not with Megan.”

  “But I’ll prove it to you, I’ll show you Dad’s medical papers. You’ll see he didn’t take those drugs, there’s no record of it. You know Dad used to save all his medical stuff in one place, because of his cholesterol.”

  Jill returned to making the French toast, while Abby talked. William had always taken excellent care of himself. It was everybody else he disregarded, even his daughters.

  “He never would have taken those pills on purpose. So he had to have been murdered, and you can help me figure it out.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m a pediatrician, not a detective.”

  “You’re a doctor, and Sherlock Holmes was a doctor. You told me that, remember, for that English paper? I got a B plus, because of you.”

  Jill felt touched. “What I said was that the author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, was a successful doctor, and Dr. Watson was as important as Sherlock.”

  “But you said that the way they solved a murder case was the same way you diagnose a disease.” Abby leaned over, urgent. “Please, will you help me? We can do it together.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “Ladies, I’ll let you two spend some time alone.” He came over and kissed Jill lightly on the cheek. “Love you. Call me if you need anything.” He turned to Abby, straightening. “Goodnight, Abby.”

  “Goodnight.” Abby gave him a little wave, and Sam left the kitchen. When he was barely out of earshot, she leaned over and said, “He’s kind of old for you, don’t you think?”

  “No. Hush.” Jill saw Sam turn around, but she knew it was the liquor talking. “Now, drink your coffee.”

  Chapter Three

  “I think a shower might be a good idea for you, before bed, don’t you?” Jill climbed the stairs with Abby, who was still in her turban and towel.

  “Yes. Clean me up and tuck me in, huh?”

  “That’s the idea.” Jill put an arm around her, and Abby looked over, her expression sad and soft.

  “Dad never got serious with anyone after you, Jill, you know. We met a few of his dates, but he didn’t have a girlfriend.”

  “That’s too bad.” Jill kept her thoughts to herself. They took a left at the landing, past a lineup of candid photographs of her and Megan. “Come this way. We have a guest room you can sleep in, with its own bathroom.”

  Abby stopped on the stair, at the photographs. “These pictures are so nice. Did you guys go to a photographer or something?”

  “No, Sam took them. It’s a hobby of his.”

  “This is the best one, of you alone.” Abby lingered at one photograph, a candid taken at the Jersey shore, and Jill was laughing, her hair curling in the salty air. Sam had been trying to get her to relax, pretending that he’d dropped his camera in the sand, and Jill loved the photograph because she loved the photographer.

  “Ah, I was younger then.”

  “You’re still young, and your hair is so sexy, that way. You should wear it down all the time.”

  “Please. I don’t have time, and it’s not doctor hair.”

  “Remember when I was little, we looked so much alike, people thought I was your daughter? I mean, your real daughter?” Abby gestured at the photo, waving her dark fingernail up and down. “See, your nose is little and straight, like mine. Our eyes are the same shape and almost the same brown, only yours are lighter. Our hair is more different, I don’t have the reddish brown like you, but we have the same exact smile. I think our smile is our best feature.”

  Jill managed a smile, but couldn’t ignore the wistfulness in Abby’s tone, and put an arm around her. “You know, I kept track of you, on Facebook. Your Dad asked me not to write you there or post on your wall, but I read your feed, all the time.”

  “I bet you were, I knew it.” Abby smiled at her.

  “I know about your cat, Pickles, and your ancient car, and how sad you were over your breakup with your boyfriend.” Jill didn’t add that the boyfriend looked a little rough around the edges.

  “I love my cat.” Abby smiled, more easily, and Jill warmed at the sight, happy to lighten her heart, if only for a moment.

  “I can see why. He’s the cutest cat ever.”

  “Did you see that photo of him in the laundry basket?”

  “Yes, of course, and orange tabbies are my favorite.”

  “I know. Dad told us to unfriend you, and Victoria did, but I didn’t. I just made my settings private, so he didn’t know.” Abby’s smile faded. “I feel bad saying that about him, now.”

  Jill gave her a final hug. “Let’s get you showered up, girl.”

  “Okay.” Abby hugged her back, and they went to the guest room, where Jill switched on the overhead light. It flickered off, and the room went dark.

  “Damn. I’ll get a new bulb and some clean sheets. The last time this room was used was when Sam’s son Steven visited. He’s an architect, in Austin.”

  “So Sam lives here, with you and Megan?”

  “Yes. I bought this house after the divorce, and he sold his condo in Philly and moved in.”

  “When are you guys getting married?”

  “This summer, in July.” Jill felt suddenly uncomfortable, telling her the details, and Abby smiled, shakily.

  “So Steven’s going to be your new stepson? Does that make this the steproom?”

  Jill smiled, then the bedroom brightened from a flash of lightning, with a loud thunderclap.

  Abby made a nervous face. “Do you think I could sleep in Megan’s room tonight? Since she’s not here?”

  “Sure.” Jill didn’t think Megan would mind, in the circumstances. “Follow me.”

  “Thanks.” Abby walked down the hall with Jill, and Beef stayed between them, panting and trembling, because of the storm. “He still hates thunder, I see.”

  “You have such a good memory, honey.” Jill stopped at Megan’s door and flicked on the light. “Here we are.”

  “Sweet room.” Abby stood in the threshold, taking in the large room, with its white canopied bed and a pink-patterned comforter. The far wall had a panel of windows with a padded windowseat, next to full bookshelves and a matching oak desk. A bulletin board hung above the desk filled with swimming awards, team photos, and stills from the school play, as well as glossy pictures of Michael Phelps, the Phillies, and the Twilight crew, which Megan had cut out of magazines.

  “Bathroom’s to the right.” Jill gestured, but Abby was already walking there with Beef.

  “She was always so neat.”

  “She still is.” Jill went to the threshold of the bathroom, and Beef settled down on the bathmat. She pointed at the shower stall, where overpriced shampoos and conditioners were lined up. “Put the caps back on, you.”

  “You remember the orange juice?” Abby smiled, sheepishly.

  “How could I forget? It was funny.” Jill smiled back. She’d taken a jug of fresh-squeezed out of the refrigerator and shaken it, but Abby hadn’t put the cap back on and the walls were orange for a week. “You take a nice, warm shower, and I’ll bring you some clean towels, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks.” Abby leaned over and kissed her suddenly on the cheek, and Jill felt a rush of emotion. It felt right to be taking care of Abby again, and at the same time, it felt strange to be taking care of Abby aga
in. She left the bathroom, went to the linen closet, got the towels, then stopped to see Sam.

  “Still up?” Jill asked, entering his home office, which was small, lined with bookshelves filled with medical textbooks and teaching awards. Sam taught at Penn’s medical school and was also a researcher in diabetes.

  “Just waiting on you.” Sam looked up at Jill, with a worried smile. He was sitting at his old wooden desk against the window, raking his floppy hair with his fingers as he read a book online. “How’s the kid?”

  “Okay.” Jill looked at him anew, after what Abby had said. His tortoiseshell glasses reflected two white pages with tiny footnotes, and behind them were sharp blue eyes, full of intelligence and humor. Sam was only eight years her senior, and his deep crow’s feet and laugh lines only made him more handsome to her, in a lived-in sort of way. The gray in his hair reminded her of the weathered cedar of a comfy rocker, and Jill felt lucky to have him. “Thanks for being so nice to her.”

  “No need for thanks.”

  “She’s upset tonight, obviously. She’s really a sweet girl.”

  “I’m sure.” Sam slid off his glasses and set them on his desk, which was clean except for his laptop and iPhone. He touched her arm. “I’m sorry about your ex’s death. How are you feeling, really?”

  “Honestly, it’s upsetting, mainly because of the girls.” Jill set down the towels and looked behind her, to make sure Abby wasn’t within earshot. “Megan will take it hard, because she was so conflicted. She loved him, but after the divorce, he didn’t answer any of her calls or texts. That killed her, and now she’ll never get the chance to ask him why, or understand.”

  “I’ll be there for her. We’ll get through it.” Sam buckled his lower lip, pained. “I was supposed to meet Lee tomorrow, he’s coming in from Cleveland. But I can see him after the memorial service, if you want to go.”

  Jill felt touched. “But Lee’s flying in just to meet with you, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I can delay meeting him. It’s a death in the family, more or less.”

  “No, don’t. Thanks for the offer, but you don’t have to come. If Megan wants to go, I’ll take her.”