TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  “I can do a comparison if you get me a sample. Isn’t this where you need to bring in Marco with a search warrant?”

  “How is he going to get the warrant? We have one dead woman who was poisoned with arsenic, but no proof that it was intentional. Who did it? I have a suspect, but no judge on the planet will give Marco a warrant with the circumstantial evidence I have, or my gut feeling that this woman is a killer.”

  “Point taken. Be careful, Max.”

  “She’s a coward. I’m going to rattle her cage and I’ll bet she’ll bolt.”

  “And then how are you going to stop her?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  Max hung up and called Marco.

  “I’m sleeping,” he grumbled.

  “It’s a federal crime to travel on a fake passport, correct?”

  “Yes. What did you do?”

  Max bristled. “Not me. Hear me out, Marco. And trust me. Please.”

  He sighed. “I’m listening.”

  #

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Max asked Beau. Lois and her friends had already done so much in this investigation, and if she was wrong ... or worse, right and then couldn’t prove it ... they would at best get in trouble and at worst be put in danger.

  She didn’t want what happened to Rachel Brock to happen to anyone else.

  “Rachel’s dead. Murdered, according to your friend.”

  “But we don’t have proof. We just know she died of arsenic poisoning. As soon as the autopsy is complete, there will be a full investigation ... but we have no evidence from the other bodies, no proof that Jennifer is the one behind the illnesses, and best case scenario? They rule it an accident. She’ll get away with murder, and we can’t have that.”

  “So let’s get proof.”

  Peter Markson was the only one who could get her the proof she needed. She had to convince him that his wife was guilty of murder.

  Harper had reviewed the financial information Max had sent. She didn’t want to share her opinion with Max, but Max had pushed—she was good at getting her way. Harper hedged, but she said there was some inconsistencies and that there appeared to be skimming off certain accounts.

  “But I won’t swear to it, not yet. I need full access to the books before I can make a definitive statement.”

  She’d given Max what she needed—a crumb. At this point, she’d take anything. She would take the information to Rich Warren on Monday, but with Rachel Brock dead and Flo sick, Max worried that Jennifer was going to tie up loose ends.

  And one of those loose ends might be her husband.

  Max had sent Marco the photos of Jennifer and Nadine’s fake passports, and he knew her well enough not to ask where she got them. She would never lie under oath, but right now Marco knew better than to ask questions he didn’t want the answers to.

  Beau came up with the original idea of how to talk to Peter. The administrator never missed a regularly scheduled Sunday afternoon poker game at the club house. Sundays were also the only day that Jennifer took off from work. Max had made a few calls and learned she had a standing spa appointment at two every Sunday afternoon. Max had three hours to prove to Peter that his wife was a killer.

  Max waited in a small side room off the club house. It was set up like a den—comfortable chairs and couches, a wall of bookshelves filled with books—mostly large print—and quiet classical music playing in the background. No television, no excessive talking. Beau had convinced the two men playing chess in the den to leave because he needed a private conversation. So now Max waited for Beau to convince Peter to talk to her.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Max was on the brink of interrupting the poker game and announcing that Jennifer Markson was a murderess, Beau walked in with Peter.

  “Ms. Adler,” Peter said. He smiled, but he had a hint of suspicion ... and fear. Why would he be afraid of her? “Beau said you wanted to speak with me about a matter of grave importance.”

  Being direct and honest was her best option.

  “My name is Maxine Revere, not Adler, and I’m not Lois’s granddaughter. I’m an investigative reporter and Lois asked me to look into the murder of her friend, Dorothea Holcomb.”

  He stared at her, no reaction whatsoever. Then he shook his head. “You lied about who you are? And Lois knows? I don’t understand why you would do this.” He looked at Beau. “Did you know?”

  “Yes, Peter. Please hear Maxine out.”

  “Let’s sit.” Max sat in a leather chair and motioned to the couch in front of her. Peter seemed frail. Was Jennifer poisoning him, too? He didn’t have the symptoms of arsenic poisoning, but she might have upped her game and found something harder to detect, knowing that if a very wealthy man dies at a relatively young age, the spouse is the first suspect.

  When Beau and Peter were seated, Max said, “Lois believed her friend Dotty was murdered, so I agreed to investigate. Over the course of my investigation, with the help of Lois and Beau, we’ve identified six other suspicious deaths over the last two years. There could be more. However, we know Rachel Brock was murdered. There will be an investigation into her death because a private forensic lab tested the water in her refrigerator—the flavored water Del Sol provides—and determined she had been poisoned with arsenic. The autopsy will be performed tomorrow, and my lab has given all their reports to the coroner. They’ll be able to determine whether she died of arsenic poisoning, and how long she’d been poisoned.”

  Peter paled. “Poisoned?”

  “Over the course of my investigation, I’ve collected substantial circumstantial evidence that your wife Jennifer Markson is responsible for these murders.”

  “My wife?” His voice was small, almost child-like. Max tried to speak calmly, to reassure him, but she was straight-forward. Subtly was not her strength.

  “I’m taking a risk telling you what I’ve learned because if you don’t believe me, you’ll tell your wife and every man and woman in this community is at risk—including you. I’ll then take the information to Rich Warren at Premiere and he may or may not fire both of you. I can be extremely convincing, and while I don’t have solid proof—yet—I have enough to convince Warren to terminate Jennifer to avoid potential lawsuits.”

  Peter sank deeper into the couch and looked at Beau, his dark eyes sadder than a Labrador puppy. “Beau? Why would you and Ms. Adler—Ms. Revere—say such things? Did you know what she would say? That this is why she wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes,” Beau said. “I believe Maxine.”

  When Peter didn’t say anything, Max sat down and laid out everything she had learned about the victims and Jennifer’s role in their deaths. She told him about Suncrest, what Pedro Chavez said about the lawsuit, and that she was seeking a Freedom of Information Act request into the sealed court filings.

  “Why?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. I think the primary motivation is greed. I have an accountant reviewing all public records and statements from several of the residents here, as well as other financial records I uncovered.” No use telling him she broke into Jennifer’s office. “My accountant needs more information, but preliminarily findings lead her to believe that Jennifer—with the help of Nadine Delacruz—is embezzling money from the Del Sol accounts.” That was a stretch—but one Max believed was the only logical explanation. “My accountant is preparing a report for the Warrens itemizing the inconsistencies. On Monday I’ll present it and convince them to audit every account, in particular the escrow accounts. Jennifer has an off-shore bank account with regular monthly deposits that started at about three thousand dollars a month and are not nine thousand a month. It’s under another name—Jennifer Gardner. She also has a passport under that false name.”

  “Passport?”

  “Does the name Gardner mean anything to you?”

  He shook his head. “Jennifer has no access to Del Sol funds.”

  “But Nadine does.”

  He didn’t say any
thing. Max was fishing, but it was clear from his silence that she was right.

  She said, “Did you know they went to college together?”

  “Yes—though not until after we started working here.”

  “You knew that Jennifer had been married to Dr. Christopher O’Neal, correct?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you know that she physically and emotionally abused him?”

  His face drained.

  “And I think she’s doing the same to you.”

  He slowly shook his head.

  “I’ve been watching you—and Jennifer—closely for the last week. You’re scared, Peter.”

  “Jennifer is my wife. We’ve been married for five years. I love her.”

  But he was staring at his hands, not looking at either her or Beau.

  “It’s difficult to admit abuse. I spoke to Dr. O’Neal’s girlfriend who said that Jennifer broke his wrist and nearly cost him his career. When she divorced him, she threatened to ruin him if he said a word. He hasn’t spoken publicly against her, but I’m working on him.” Max didn’t think he would talk now, but if Jennifer was arrested Kerry might be able to convince him. “How do you know this?” He seemed genuinely curious.

  “I’ve been talking to everyone I can find who knew Jennifer from college until she started working here. Proving abuse is difficult—sometimes impossible—but if you come forward, it would go a long way in convicting her.”

  When he didn’t say anything, Max continued. “People are dying, Peter. And people will continue to die if you don’t help me stop her.”

  Peter sat there for a long minute, then tears leaked from his eyes. She hadn’t expected that reaction and didn’t know how to respond.

  Beau moved to sit next to Peter. “Peter, I’m here for you. Anything you need.”

  “I don’t know what to do. She’s my wife.”

  Beau asked quietly, “Peter, is Jennifer hurting you?”

  When Peter didn’t answer the question, both Beau and Max knew that he was an abused spouse.

  Max wanted to skewer the bitch.

  “Would you be willing to file a report to that affect?” Beau asked.

  Max winced. She wanted to get Peter out of his bad situation, but she also needed proof of what Jennifer was up to.

  “No one will believe me,” Peter said.

  “We do,” Beau said.

  “But if she really killed someone ... and there’s no proof. I never thought ... yes, Beau, she hurt me.” He rolled up his sleeve. Bruises on his upper arm were faint, but still evident. “This was last week. I don’t really even know why. I was in her way and didn’t move fast enough. She said she didn’t mean to, that she was having a bad day.”

  “It wasn’t the first time,” Max said.

  He shook his head. “It didn’t start until we moved here. She wanted ...”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to move into my family home in West Palm Beach. It’s a beautiful house, but it’s far too big for us. My cousin—my only family, really—fell on hard times. He has a lovely wife and five children. I let him live there. Expenses only. He went back to college, got his teaching degree. His wife is a sweetheart. We go over there for dinner occasionally, but ...”

  “But what?”

  “He hasn’t invited us in a while.”

  “Because of Jennifer.”

  Peter rubbed his damp eyes. “She said cruel things to my cousin-in-law. I don’t know what specifically, but my cousin said he didn’t feel comfortable with Jennifer coming over. I wish I’d asked for details. But ....” He stared off, his face pale and pained.

  “Is that when she started hurting you?”

  “I told her they were my family, they needed the house more than we did, and she slapped me.” He sobbed heavily, drew in a deep breath. “I ignored it. Tried to forget. I married her, after all. I’d never been married before. I never found anyone who was interested in me. Jennifer had her own money, so I didn’t think she married me for money. And I don’t take money from my trust, other than a small allowance. At least, I hadn’t until I married Jennifer. I didn’t think—the expenses were justified.”

  He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her, Max thought.

  She said, “Jennifer had her own money only because she got half of Dr. O’Neal’s money.”

  “She told me it was her money, money she brought into the marriage from her family.”

  Peter had been a lonely man, losing his family at a young age, and Jennifer had seduced him. Kerry said she was good at manipulation. Not just good—she was a master.

  “We need proof,” Max said. “Will you let me into your house? I know what I’m looking for.”

  “What?”

  “Arsenic.”

  #

  She didn’t know what she was looking for.

  No way would Jennifer have a box labeled “arsenic” on the shelf.

  Peter was nervous. He and Beau stayed on the front porch, in case Jennifer came back early.

  Max called Iris. “Where would she store it?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You said it was white liquid?”

  “I said white arsenic, likely in liquid form. The more detailed chemical breakdown will take more time. It’s a process. I don’t have a magic machine that I can run it through and it tells me when and where it was manufactured.”

  “Guess.”

  “Guess?” Iris made it sound like Max had asked her to jump off a bridge.

  “I’m in the suspect’s house. I need to know what I’m looking for. I only have an hour.”

  “A liquid would be easier to slip in undetected. Powders can be dissolved. Arsenic is corrosive. It can and will damage surfaces, including skin. The liquid would most likely be clear. She could make her own if she has access to white arsenic. You know, arsenic is very easy to test for. Someone should have noticed earlier.”

  “She went after old people.”

  “I see your point.”

  Max looked around. Though the house was bigger than any others on the property, it wasn’t that large. Three bedrooms, three baths. It was immediately clear that Peter and Jennifer each had their own bedroom. They were both immaculate, but Jennifer’s was done in pinks and white. Almost like a little girl’s room. Kind of ... odd.

  “I’m in her bedroom.”

  “Well, if I were a killer, I would keep my poison where I wouldn’t mistake it for anything else, but where no one would find it. Bring me something, I’ll test it.” Iris hung up.

  Max started in the bathroom. Then the bedroom. Nothing unlabeled.

  She could easily replace something like rubbing alcohol with an arsenic solution. But Max couldn’t take every bottle in for testing.

  Peter rushed in. “Jennifer just turned in at the gate. You need to leave.”

  Dammit, she thought she’d have more time.

  “It’s up to you, Peter,” Max said. “You need to confront her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. She thinks she controls you.”

  “She does,” he said quietly.

  “No, she doesn’t!” Max didn’t want to snap at the man, but he needed to stand up for himself. “I get it, Peter, I do. You’re a wealthy man, you don’t have to work, but you love your job.”

  He nodded. “Few people understand.”

  “I, too, have a trust fund. But I work because I love what I do. I solve cold cases. It’s obvious that you care about these people. I know you didn’t want this to happen, but you have to man up.” She hoped she hadn’t pushed too far. “I planted a recording device in the living room and in her bedroom. I’ll be listening. If you’re in trouble, Beau and I will come in.” She didn’t tell him that in Florida the recordings weren’t admissible in court because all parties being recorded needed to consent, but at a minimum, she could use the recordings to get Jennifer off the Del Sol property so she couldn’t hurt anyone else.


  Then the police could prove she killed Rachel Brock and she’d go to prison. Max would enjoy watching the trial.

  Peter relented. “All right.”

  “Don’t eat or drink anything in your house that isn’t factory sealed. None of the enhanced water. Don’t let her feed you, okay?”

  “This is really happening.” His voice was a whisper.

  “You’ll be fine, Peter.”

  “What do you want me to do? I can’t—accuse her.”

  “Tell her that you spoke to Rachel Brock’s family. That the doctor said he suspects arsenic poisoning and has requested a full autopsy. That is the truth. Jennifer has been taking care of her since she’d been sick, right?”

  Peter looked white and Max feared he wouldn’t be able to do this. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaky.

  “Ask her anything that you feel works—did she notice anything odd, did she suspect anything, say that you’re going to have the community water tested, whatever feels organic to the conversation. But the key is to tell her about the autopsy in the morning. Got it?”

  He nodded. The door in the front opened, and Max slipped out of the back.

  She jogged to her golf cart which Beau had parked just out of sight of the Markson house.

  “Where’s Lois?” she asked.

  “With Flo at the hospital having the tests your friend Iris suggested.”

  “Do they have the results back yet?”

  “No. Lois promised to call as soon as they know anything. The doctor said it wouldn’t take long. Will there be any evidence if it was an accident?”

  “Because she may have accidentally drank the poisoned water at Rachel’s house? Still makes it attempted murder, even if Jennifer didn’t intend for Flo to get sick. I want this woman to suffer for what she’s done.” Max heard the door shut on the listening device she’d planted. She put her fingers to her lips. “Showtime.”

  “What happened to your poker game?” Jennifer said over the recording. “Chris said you left early.”

  “I had a call from Rachel Brock’s daughter.”

  “Brock? Why?”