by Lynne Hinton
Eve was at a loss. Clearly, Megan was on something that was making her absolutely manic.
“Did you hear that?” Megan asked and jumped up again, running to the window. “It’s the mailman. Or the mail lady. I’m not really sure.” She turned to Eve. “I can always hear when they come. The mail is dropped through a slot in the door. You want to see?” And she ran from the room. There was a scream, and Eve was just about to get up and see what had happened when Megan flew back into the room.
“I have a letter!” she yelled and threw herself back on the sofa.
Eve reached out her hand, taking Megan by the arm. “What kind of pills did Ron give you, Meg?”
She laughed. “Orange ones,” she replied. “Like little sunshines. And they really make me feel so happy.” She held the letter in her hands and raised her arms over her head. “I was sad before I took them. I miss Chaz,” she said. “I miss being with him. I miss feeling like I was special.” And she fell into Eve’s arms.
“I know you do, Megan.” And she patted her on the back while the young woman buried her head in Eve’s shoulder.
She jerked back. “You don’t think I killed him, do you, Sister?”
Evangeline shook her head. “No, Megan, I don’t think you killed Charles.”
“Because everybody else does,” she said, her voice sounding like a child’s. She slumped back into the sofa.
“Who else does?” Eve asked.
“That mean ex-wife of his, for one. She’s telling everybody that I killed him because I was jealous of her.” She grabbed the pillow she had been holding earlier, pulling it close to her chest. She turned to Eve. “I’m not jealous of her,” she said.
“I know, Megan.”
“And then there’s that awful son of his, Charles Jr., CJ,” she said sarcastically. “He wrote some terrible things on Facebook, called me awful names.” She dropped her head into the pillow. “I’m not awful,” she said, her words sounding smothered.
“I know, I know,” Eve said, trying to comfort her.
“Even Ron thinks I did it.” She looked up. “He hasn’t said it, but I know he thinks that.” She started to cry, dropping her head back into the pillow.
“Why would Ron think you killed Chaz?” Eve asked.
“Because I was really mad,” she confessed.
“Because you thought he was using drugs again?”
She shook her head with her face still in the pillow.
“Because he wouldn’t divorce his wife?”
She lifted up and faced Evangeline. “I knew he wasn’t going to leave her.”
“Then why were you really mad?”
Megan punched the pillow.
“Because he had promised another girl that she could have my part in the movie.” She punched it again and then fell to the side, pulling the pillow on top of her.
“How did you find that out?” Eve wanted to know.
“She called the house in L.A. and left a message,” she answered, the words muffled by the pillow. “I heard what that girl said about being so happy to read the script and to have the role.” She sat up, still clutching the pillow, and shook her head. “Betsy Wetsy … My mom told me about Betsy Wetsy dolls. I always thought that was such a funny name. Betsy Wetsy. Did you have a Betsy Wetsy doll, Sister Eve?”
Eve looked around for a box of tissues. With all that crying, Megan was in real need of wiping her nose. “I didn’t have many dolls, Megan. I liked to play with cars and trucks when I was little.”
“Oh,” Megan replied.
“Did you like dolls?” Eve asked.
“Yes. I liked dolls. But I didn’t have a Betsy Wetsy doll.” She bit her bottom lip. “Anyway, what was I talking about?” She squinted her eyes together, her face pinched in a knot, trying to stay on topic. “Oh, right,” she exclaimed. “The girl on the phone. Betsy. She wanted to read for the role. Yeah, that’s right. But I fixed that!” she said. “I called Betsy Wetsy and told her I had that part and she was not getting it. I told her he was only lying to her and that he was in New Mexico writing the ending for me, not for her, for me!” She slid her arm under her nose. “And then I flew down here to let Chaz have it.”
No need for a handkerchief now, Evangeline thought. “Okay, okay, Megan.” She rubbed the young woman’s back. “Let me get you a cup of tea.” She eased out of her seat. “You just stay there and let me fix it for you, okay?”
Megan nodded dutifully. “But I didn’t kill him,” she whimpered.
Eve headed into the kitchen, filled the teapot, and began searching for some tea. She found a variety of bags in a canister near the stove. She chose chamomile, hoping it might provide a calming effect. She didn’t know what kind of drugs Polland was feeding Megan, but she knew she was going to have to put a stop to it. Seeing Megan so strung out frightened her, and she was concerned that when the trial began, if there was one, a drug habit might only get worse.
She waited for the teapot to whistle, poured the water into the cup over the bag, and headed back into the sitting room. She was smiling. “Here’s a nice cup of tea. Maybe this will help calm you down a bit, Megan.”
Eve looked down at the sofa, holding out the cup. Megan lay fast asleep.
FORTY-SIX
“Why is he giving her Adderall?” the Captain wanted to know. “And would you please slow down?”
Evangeline was taking the ramp from St. Francis Street to Highway 25. They were heading back to Madrid. She sighed and took her foot off the gas, slowing the truck.
“I don’t know.” She signaled and carefully merged onto the highway. She shook her head. “She couldn’t tell me. She was totally out of it. And quit complaining about my driving. You were the one who taught me.”
“I didn’t teach you to speed,” he replied. “Did you contact Polland?”
Eve nodded. “I got Megan into bed, and I found his number and made the call. He was back in L.A.”
“What did you say?”
“That drugging Megan was not the best way to help her through this difficult time.” She picked up speed and then thought better of it. She slowed down.
“And how did he take that?”
“Actually, he sounded quite gracious and concerned. He said that he got the prescription from Megan’s doctor, and they had both agreed that taking one or two of the pills a day might help her through this.” She fiddled with the rearview mirror. “He said that he hadn’t seen how she reacted to the medication, and now that he had heard this from me, he would definitely not let her take any more. We made arrangements for a nurse to be with her until he gets into town. He said he was returning tonight.”
“Did you get rid of what was there?” Jackson was rubbing the spot beneath his knee where the prosthetic was attached.
“I flushed them,” she answered, noticing his actions. “Your leg sore?”
He stopped rubbing it. “Nah, just a habit.”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. She could tell he was lying.
“So, I guess you couldn’t ask her anything about where Cheston got his drugs?”
She shook her head. “It was a wasted visit in that aspect.” She turned on her signal, heading in the direction of Highway 14. “She could only tell me how everybody thinks she’s the murderer. Charles’s family is apparently making use of the television and Internet coverage. I guess she reads and hears it all.”
“You’d think Polland would know to protect her from all that,” Jackson groused.
“What about your visit?” she wanted to know. “How did things go at the police station?”
“Painter wasn’t too happy to see me,” he reported and grinned. “He couldn’t toss me out, though, because my old friends in Human Resources backed up my claim that I was there to find out about my pension.”
Eve laughed.
“He was so mad he left. He told his assistant that he was going over to the capitol building because he had an appointment with the governor.” He rolled his head around, giving
his neck a few good stretches. “He loves making himself sound important.”
“So, you had time to see some folks, ask some questions, read a few reports?” She pulled down her visor and sat back in the driver’s seat.
“Hinds was out, too, so yes …” He nodded. “I heard most of what they’ve got.”
“And?”
“And they know Megan was with Cheston the night he disappeared. They know he was driving a BMW while he stayed in Madrid and that his prints were found in the car, but there were no bloodstains or anybody else’s DNA. They still haven’t located his cell phone or laptop computer. Everybody in the family is cleared. Polland raised their suspicions a bit because of how he hovers over Megan, wasn’t that happy with his star director, and because he doesn’t have an alibi for the night. He claims he was home watching dailies.” He turned to Eve. “That’s movie talk for scenes shot but not yet edited.”
She nodded. “Gotcha.”
“He had been scheduled to make an appearance at some charity event, but he backed out at the last minute.”
“To watch dailies,” Eve added.
“That’s what he says.”
“I don’t really get it. Even if he doesn’t have anybody to say he was where he said he was, why is he a suspect? Didn’t he need Cheston alive to make this film? Wasn’t Cheston the golden calf of Polland Productions?”
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Jackson replied.
“Tell me,” Eve responded. She couldn’t help it, she was excited.
“Well, Polland had given Cheston a lot of money in advance for writing the film. He says Cheston came to him a couple of months before he disappeared and told him that all the money was gone. The director was asking for more.”
“Did he give it to him?”
The Captain shook his head. “He says he told Cheston that he couldn’t have any more money until they started production.”
“I guess Charles wasn’t too happy about that,” Eve surmised.
“No, I guess not. And it sounds like Polland thought Cheston was stealing from him.”
“How would that have been possible?” Eve asked.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“And the meeting Cheston was scheduled to have in L.A. the day he disappeared, what was that about?”
“Polland told the detective that the meetings arranged on the day he disappeared were meant to put the final script in the producer’s hands and to prove to the investors that Cheston and this script were worth all the trouble.”
“And Cheston agreed? He said yes to the meeting and told them that the script was finished?” Eve asked.
Jackson nodded while Eve thought about whether Polland could be telling the truth about the film and the meeting and the script.
“This script that everybody knows about, has anybody actually seen it?” Eve was still curious about the college roommate and his involvement, if any, in writing the screenplay.
“Not the last act or scenes or whatever they call it,” Jackson answered and then yawned. He rubbed his eyes. “Most of the script had been read and approved, but Polland claims that he had still not seen the ending. That was why Cheston was in New Mexico. He told everyone he was finishing the script, and he told Polland that he needed to be on location to work out the ending.” He sighed. “What we don’t know is whether Polland is lying. Maybe he already had the last pages and killed the director because he was done with him, or maybe he got tired of waiting on Cheston and found someone else who could finish it. Maybe he found out Cheston was stealing from him, and he drove down to Madrid in his black SUV, confronted Cheston, they had a fight, and he killed him. And maybe he’s hovering like a concerned friend and even feeding Megan drugs to cover up the fact that he’s really letting her take the fall.”
Eve considered this possible scenario. “But Megan called Polland when Cheston didn’t show up. If he was driving back to L.A., how would she have contacted him?”
Jackson looked at Eve. “How did you call him today?”
She nodded, understanding where he was going with the question. “On his cell.”
The Captain shrugged. “He could have been anywhere and taken the call, acted upset, and told Megan and the pilot to come back and hunt for Cheston, all while he was driving as fast as he could to get back to California before anybody noticed he had gone out of town.”
“Something else.” She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “If Cheston was really finishing the script and planning to bring it to the meeting, there had to be some proof of that in the house. Did anybody ever find any evidence that he had been writing?” She figured there should have been an office, a desk, a home computer, pages, something to show his work at the house he had rented.
Jackson shook his head. “There were copies of the unfinished script that Polland and the others had seen. But there were no new pages or any evidence of writing being done anywhere at the house or in L.A. But Megan said he never worked on a desktop computer anyway, only on the laptop.”
“And that’s still nowhere to be found.” Eve recalled that bit of information.
Jackson leaned against the headrest and grew quiet.
Eve glanced over and could see he had closed his eyes. Deciding not to engage him in any more conversation, she took advantage of her father’s rest, pressed the gas pedal, and hurried home.
FORTY-SEVEN
“Is it infected?” Evangeline had closed the door to the Captain’s room and was following the nurse up the hall to the kitchen. “He’s not been letting me look at it since he’s gotten the prosthetic. When I saw it this morning, I knew it wasn’t good.”
The nurse stopped at the kitchen counter and waited for Eve to join her.
“I thought he was doing so well. Yesterday, he was up all day. He went to Santa Fe, seemed to be feeling great.” She walked past the nurse and stood beside the table. She suddenly recalled his nap in the truck on the way home, the way he kept rubbing his leg. She should have realized then, she thought.
“He is doing fine,” the nurse replied. “His blood sugar readings have been normal every time I’ve checked.” She stopped. “Although it is a little high right now, so I gave him a shot of insulin. I think it’s time, right?”
Eve glanced at the clock. She nodded.
“Good. His blood pressure is normal, pulse is great.” She gave an encouraging smile. “All in all he has done very well since the amputation, much better than most of my patients once they’re home from the hospital.”
“But an infection in his leg, that’s not good. That’s what led to the surgery in the first place, right, an infection in his foot that wouldn’t clear up?” Eve pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.
“That was a really bad wound, and it had been infected a long time. This sore doesn’t look that bad. It may not even be infected, just a little raw from the prosthetic rubbing it. By using ice and getting more rest, extending his antibiotics for a couple more weeks, I think this will clear up. And he can still use the crutches. He doesn’t have to stay in bed.”
“He can’t wear the prosthetic, though, can he?” Eve looked at the nurse.
She shook her head. “No, he’ll need to be off the leg for a week or so. And I’ll talk to the prosthetist and see if we can find a way to keep the top strap from digging into his skin. I’m sure this happens all the time. It just takes awhile for the stump to heal and then awhile for the fit to be just right. I’ve heard patients say it was a year or more before they felt comfortable using the artificial limb. I’m pretty sure your father pushed things a little too fast.”
The nurse walked around to the other side of the kitchen counter where she had left her files, her tote bag still on the barstool. She pulled out a file and made a few notes in a chart and then reached into her bag, rifled through the papers, and pulled a piece from another file and handed it to Evangeline.
“This tells you what signs to look for that might indicate the sore has become infec
ted—more redness, swelling, hot to the touch anywhere around the bottom of the stump, a fever, blood sugar above 250, delusional or irrational behavior. If any of those things happen, call 911 and get him to the hospital.”
Eve glanced up. “Irrational behavior? You mean like he suddenly becomes kindhearted and sweet and says ‘Thank you’ and ‘Please’ and doesn’t fuss when you tell him he can’t have things his way?”
The nurse laughed. She gathered up her belongings. “Exactly.”
Eve smiled. She stood up from her seat. “Would you like a bottle of water or a piece of fruit to take with you to your next appointment?”
The nurse shook her head. “No, but thanks for offering. I’ll be heading to the office once I leave, and I have something waiting for me there.”
“Okay,” Eve responded. She walked over to the door and opened it. “Thank you so much for coming when I called.”
She turned and squeezed Eve on the arm. “Any time, Sister,” she said and headed out the door and down the front steps. “He’s really lucky you were able to get time away from the convent and be here with him.”
Eve forced a smile. She watched as the nurse waved and got into her car and drove away. She closed the door, glanced in the direction of the back of the house, and sighed. With everything heating up with Megan’s case, she knew the Captain would think the same thing she was thinking: This was not the best time for a setback.
FORTY-EIGHT
“One of us has to go to Los Angeles.” The Captain was sitting up in his bed. He had spent the morning at the office trying to run down a few facts, including the exact time that Ross Biltmore would be arriving at the Albuquerque airport the following day. “One of us has to stay here and talk to Biltmore, and one of us has to go to L.A. and check out the house Megan and Cheston shared, see if there’s anything there that can help out her case.”
“I thought you had the creepy guy working for you in L.A.” Evangeline knew the only one with the ability to ask the right questions and get the necessary information from Ross Biltmore was the Captain. She was trying to figure out alternatives to handle the situation.