First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1

by Carey Baldwin

  “What’s engraved on the harmonica?”

  She scraped her chair away from the table and leaned as far away from Danny as she could. “You think Garth did it. Just like your buddies think I did it.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What’s engraved on the harmonica, Sky?”

  “TOG…meaning to Garth.”

  He turned his palms up. “Okay. Garth was close to his mother, but the fact that he was an abused child still fits the profile. And there’s more. The goon I tangled with said his boss was friends with the mayor. Your brother is friends with the mayor. At least that’s what you said before.”

  Jumping up, she knocked her chair to the ground. “Fits the profile?”

  “Yes. Serial killers commonly were abused as children.”

  Her skin was vibrating with rage, but as Danny’s had been earlier, her voice was all control. “My offer to take you to the hospital still stands, but other than that, we’re done here.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “As a physician, I suggest you reconsider.”

  “No can do. I’m on my way to Page. I’m going there to look up your brother’s last foster family.”

  “You’re going there to try and dig up dirt on him.”

  “To collect information.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To rule him in or out as a suspect in the murders.”

  She righted her overturned chair, and then carried her teacup to the sink, turned on the water. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  “Sky, if I’m wrong about Garth, and I hope that I am, I’ll do anything I can to make this up to you. But until I figure this out, please stay away from him. And…I’m going to put a bodyguard on you.”

  Whirling to face him, she tapped her lip with her index finger. “Hmm. I will need a bodyguard, won’t I? Seeing as how I’m living with a serial killer and all.”

  Danny narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean, living with a serial killer?”

  “Garth’s moving in. In fact, he’ll be home any minute. So Danny, screw you, and screw your bodyguard. My brother is a good man, a brilliant man who’s devoted much of his life and most of his money to creating a vaccine that will prevent the deadly disease that took my mother’s life. And let’s not forget, Garth saved my life too. Yet all you and your police buddies want to do is search for ways to hang me and my brother. Which might be excusable were it not for the fact that while you’re investigating us, there’s a raging psychopathic killer on the loose.”

  “I get that you’re angry, Sky. But there’s no reason to refuse a guard,” Danny said quietly.

  “I’m not angry. I’m numb. And I know my brother.”

  “Like you knew Edmond?” His voice dropped an octave.

  She shut off the water and dried her hands with a dishtowel. Walking to the window, she placed a hand over her abdomen and took a long breath. Her back turned, and her voice even, she said, “If you send a bodyguard, Danny, I’ll return him. Garth is due back any minute.” Dry-eyed, she turned to face him. “Now get the hell out before my brother comes home.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Deputy Sherriff Scott Humphries shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel of his Jeep Cherokee, rearranging his long legs and doing his damnedest to ignore the gas pains in his stomach and the prickly numbness in his backside. This was Tuesday, and Tuesday was supposed to be date night with Corrine.

  Parked off the side of the forest road, he had a clear, if distant, view of Skylar Novak’s place. Sunset cast its magic glow over the fancy gingerbread gables that decorated her rundown Victorian farmhouse. Light suffusing through a coverlet of clouds smudged the edges of blue-green pines, and the yellow and white farmhouse seemed to have been sponged onto the textured background of a dusky red sky. The scene would’ve made a fine subject for one of Corrine’s watercolors, and he wished with an unexpected intensity that his wife were sitting beside him right now, prattling on about the ability of light to transform the ordinary world into something sublime. He never saw the world so beautiful, as when he saw it through Corrine’s eyes.

  For the past eighteen hours he’d been surveilling Skylar Novak, and even though he knew it was for her own good, he didn’t feel right spying on the woman. She’d refused police protection, and because he respected Sky, he wanted to respect her wishes as well. He hated sneaking around behind her back. But Danny Benson was a damn fine cop with great instincts, and if he was convinced Sky’s life was in danger, then Scotty wasn’t going to leave this car unless it was to piss on the side of the road. Doubling over from another shooting pain in his belly, he clenched his jaw. Even if it came down to taking a crap on the snow, it was worth getting a frostbit butt.

  Police work isn’t all glory. And Sky was the reason he’d gone into law enforcement in the first place. Deep in his bones he’d known something was wrong when he dropped her off that Halloween night, fifteen years ago. At least that’s what he told himself later. But that night he let her go through the door alone. Just kissed her goodnight and drove away. If he’d seen her safely inside, he might’ve stopped her father’s killer. And if he had stopped him, if she hadn’t been assaulted that night, Sky might well have become his wife, the mother of his children.

  Reaching into his pocket, he fished out his wallet, and then flipped through the school photos of Scotty Junior and Sissy, pausing when he came upon a snapshot of Corrine. Corrine had been hopping mad when he’d bailed on date night in order to do private surveillance detail, and he sure as shit wasn’t telling her who he was protecting. She’d turned a cool cheek to him when he’d crawled out of bed at one a.m., but when he got out of the shower he’d found a thermos of coffee, a mess of his favorite liverwurst sandwiches, and a baggy of her famous oatmeal and apricot cookies waiting for him in the kitchen. The note was brief: Be careful.

  He loved Corrine more than he loved his own life. But Sky Novak had been his first love, and he’d let her down bad. This was his chance to make it up to her. Until Benson got back from Page, it was up to Scotty to watch over Sky and keep her safe, and keep her safe he would.

  Recalling the intensity in Danny’s voice when he spoke of her, of the danger she was in, Scotty realized the detective had it bad for Sky, and a pang of jealousy stabbed him in the chest. Shamed, he grabbed his cell and hit talk. The phone dialed the last number he’d called. Corrine. Goddamn voice mail.

  “Corrine, Hun, it’s me. Just checking in. Everything’s a-okay with me. I sure enjoyed those cookies. I expect I’ll make it home by nine so don’t worry. In fact, I may have time to stop by the craft store and pick you up a new set of paints.”

  A gulping breath. Just apologize. It won’t kill you.

  “Sorry ‘bout date night, hon, but I’m thinking I’ll make it up to you in spades. You still got those Hawaii brochures? Dig ‘em out. All right then, gotta go.” His wallet still lay open on the passenger seat; his wife’s sweet gray eyes peered up adoringly at him.

  “I love you, girl.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For the third time in as many minutes, Sky rose from her spindle-back chair and began prowling the kitchen. Along with Edmond’s private scribblings, the medical records of Amanda Cavanaugh, Henrietta Trueblood and Livy Petersen were stacked on the table. Pausing in front of the window, she watched the sun sink lower on the horizon. If only the ruby light that poured through the window and drenched the pile of voluminous notes could illuminate their contents.

  Reaching behind her waist, she pressed a fist into the small of her back. When it came to believing in her brother’s innocence, she couldn’t have been more unbending if her spine had been replaced by a titanium rod, and at the moment, it felt as if it had been.

  Danny had no right to point a damning finger at Garth. His suspicions were as unfounded as the accusations the police had leveled against her, only more so, because there was far more reason to suspect that she’d set fire to the clinic than that Garth had. The insura
nce proceeds would’ve been more than enough to get her clinic out of debt and allow her to reverse the financial strain that threatened to shut down operations.

  Garth, on the other hand, had nothing to profit from destroying the clinic, and yet he was being attacked from all sides. At this very moment, Danny was in the little town of Page hunting for evidence against Garth, and she, his own sister, had uncovered information that threatened to destroy his life’s work: A vaccine, that if safe, as Garth insisted it was, could save hundreds of thousands of lives.

  Rolling her knuckles over the knotted muscles that choked her vertebrae, she eased down into the chair once more and let out the interminable breath she’d been holding. Garth was right, if Isabella had lived, she never would have lost faith in Garth. With their mother gone, it was up to Sky to stand up for her brother.

  A brother who had single-handedly saved her life on the night of their father’s murder.

  A brother who had demonstrated his faith in his own vaccine not just through words, but through convincing action.

  Her brow drew down. There had to be some other explanation for the deaths of the women named in the lawsuit, and if she had to spend a hundred more hours sitting in this damned uncomfortable chair, if she had to pore over these tight-lipped notes until her eyes dripped blood, she was going to wring the truth out of these files.

  Picking up the green vaccination cards, she tapped them on the tabletop until their edges lined up, and stacked them next to the progress notes.

  Bella.

  Bella.

  Bella.

  Henrietta, Amanda and Livy all took Bella.

  She reached for her ibuprofen and chased the tablets down with stale coffee. Garth had no motive to burn the clinic. She massaged her temples, but couldn’t knead away the small voice whispering in her head. If Garth knew the women had taken Bella, then he might have motive to destroy the files…to set fire to the clinic. If Garth knew.

  But he couldn’t have known…not unless Edmond had gone to him, just as she had done, with a heads up. And Edmond had realized there was a problem, because he’d taken the trouble to protect the files in a safety-deposit box.

  No.

  That wasn’t right.

  If Garth believed that Bella was dangerous, he’d never have injected himself with it. And because Garth had confidence in Bella, he had no motive to burn down the clinic. The information contained in the patient files would ultimately lead to the truth: Bella didn’t kill those women. And Garth would know that. He would have nothing to worry over, much less kill over.

  An easy breath filled her lungs. She wasn’t helpless. She had the files, and the answer lay within them. All she had to do was prove Bella safe, and by extension she would prove Garth’s innocence. Solve the puzzle of the patient deaths, and Bella would be exonerated. Bella was safe, it had to be, because Garth was innocent.

  He had to be.

  Enough ruminating. As she’d done so many times in the past few hours, she arranged and rearranged the vaccination sheets, notes, histories, and labs, looking for a pattern.

  Amanda Cavanaugh: May fifteenth. She’d come in for a well checkup and been found healthy. Blood work had been drawn. Results normal. Due to previous confirmation that she had the BRCA gene mutation, she’d been vaccinated with Bella. No more visits until September third, at which time she presented with headache, muscle weakness and fever. Edmond admitted Mrs. Cavanaugh to the hospital for evaluation and treatment. Three days later she died.

  Henrietta Trueblood: The story was much the same. Routine health check, all labs normal, received Bella on August second. Her next visit wasn’t until September fifth. Chief complaint: headache, fever, muscle weakness. Admitted to the hospital. One week later—expired.

  As the sun set, the lovely golden ambience in the kitchen changed. Bloody fingers of light smeared the papers that shook in her hands. Her throat constricted and, she could barely swallow. This couldn’t be. But it was. Despite her resolve, the words in the third and final file hadn’t miraculously changed since the last time she’d read them, three minutes ago.

  Livy Petersen: September fifteenth. Routine health visit, everything in order. Bella. Next visit September twentieth. Presentation: headache, malaise, fever. Died, September twenty-seventh.

  Sky dropped the papers before more poisonous doubt could seep from them and permeate her skin. Her heart sank, and her stomach rose until they seemed to collide into one tumultuous organ. The simplest explanation, the obvious one, was glaring up at her from the green vaccine cards in capital letters.

  BELLA.

  Fighting off the image of a wild-eyed Garth looming over her, syringe in hand, she bit her tongue and tasted blood. Garth was her brother. He loved her, as she loved him. He would not, could not, burn her clinic to the ground, and it was inconceivable that he was the monster who had cut an unborn child from Nevaeh’s womb. Sky blinked hard and wiped away the tears that now obstructed her vision. Commanding her hands not to insult Garth with their ridiculous trembling, she picked up the files again.

  Bella was safe.

  Her brother was innocent.

  She had all the scientific training she needed to solve the mystery. She just had to apply it.

  Think, Sky. Think.

  Okay, according to Occam’s Razor the simplest explanation is usually the best.

  Correction: The simplest explanation that can account for all the salient facts.

  So marshal the salient facts.

  All the women died in the month of September. All were patients of Edmond’s. All received the Bella vaccine within three months of their demise. All suffered an encephalopathic illness followed by death due to respiratory failure.

  Her initial working hypotheses had been thus: Following the administration of Bella, Edmond’s patients had developed Guillain-Barré. A mysterious syndrome characterized by severe muscle weakness leading to paralysis, and on occasion, death.

  Though rare, Guillain-Barré may be associated with the administration of certain vaccines. So…applying Occam’s razor, the diagnosis seemed to fit.

  Amanda, Henrietta and Livy died from an adverse reaction to the Bella vaccine: Guillain-Barré Syndrome. That would account for all the salient facts.

  Shoving the papers aside, she lowered her head to the desk. The cool oak of the breakfast table soothed her cheeks, and the Advil finally kicked in. Her headache was fading, and her thoughts started to sort themselves into a different configuration.

  Maybe the problem was that she persisted in starting off with the same old working hypothesis: Bella caused the patient deaths. But suppose she started with a new hypothesis instead:

  Bella did not cause the patient deaths.

  If her new hypothesis was correct, and she stuck to Occam’s Razor, that meant she hadn’t truly accounted for all the salient facts. Bolting upright, she reached for Edmond’s private notes. In his search for answers, Edmond had written down, in minute detail, everything he knew about the women and the course of their illnesses. Like Edmond, she needed to broaden her definition of salient. Perhaps there were other, seemingly unimportant, clues in his notes that would turn out to be the key to solving the riddle. What other common factors were at play here?

  As she studied Edmond’s writings, one thing jumped out at her immediately. She was amazed she hadn’t noticed it before. The patients received the Bella vaccine in different months, but they all died in the same month: September. She grabbed a note card, wrote down the word, September, then resumed scanning the pages.

  Here was something else interesting. The vast majority of clinic patients were from a “notch group” of individuals who made too much money to qualify for state funded healthcare and too little to afford private insurance. But these three women all had private health insurance with excellent coverage. Edmond had originally treated Amanda, Henrietta and Livy in his upscale practice near Country Club Estates. When he’d given up that practice to start a nonprofit clinic with Sky, the wo
men had followed him. Seemed like a pretty big coincidence. But she wasn’t sure how it signified.

  Guillain-Barré didn’t choose its prey based on social status. The poor were as likely to fall victim as the rich. Her fingers tapped the tabletop. A contagious disease, on the other hand, might cluster by social status, if the women traveled in the same circles, attended the same parties. She added the words, contagious disease, to her note card.

  Her eyes landed on the three face sheets laid out above the progress notes. Each woman listed two different addresses. One in Flagstaff, the other in Phoenix. They were all snowbirds. Retirees who migrated between the diverse Arizona climes. She didn’t see how that could be relevant, but she added the words, snowbirds and Phoenix, to her list anyway.

  The light in the kitchen was growing dimmer by the minute. She switched on the table lamp and reread her notes. Her fingers worked a long tendril of hair into a sloppy knot. Danny would most likely be back from Page this evening. Time was running short, and she was getting nowhere fast.

  When she’d spoken with her attorney, he’d said the women hadn’t known one another, that it was their attorney who’d aggregated the suit. The women had never met. And the clinic records showed no appointments on the same date. So, if they didn’t hang out together, and they never sat next to each other in the clinic, it seemed unlikely that they had all contracted the same contagious disease. The odds of three strangers being in the same place at the same time and infecting each other with a communicable disease was a long shot. A clear violation of Occam’s razor. A contagious disease was out.

  Her eyes burned, and her shoulders ached as she scratched out the word, contagious and stabbed the card with her pen. But…if her hypothesis were true, and Bella wasn’t responsible, the disease had to be infectious. Stubbornly, she rewrote the word, contagious. Each letter left a visible indentation in the note card. With her elbow, she shoved her hair off her forehead, and then she sighed. She seemed to be going in circles.

  Maybe if she read the list aloud… “September. Snowbirds. Phoenix. Contagious. September. Snowbirds. Phoenix. Contagious.” As she chanted, a soft tickle drew her attention to her forearm, and she swiped away the offending gnat. “September. Snowbirds. Phoenix. Contagious. September. Snowbirds. Phoenix. Contagious.”