Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Any note?” Tiff asked.

  Nadine shook her head, then glanced at Zak. He gave a slight nod before explaining. “You and your mother were supposed to die, too, last night. There was no reason for Marsha to leave a note.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Rosemary repeated the phrase she’d said earlier, the words heavy with anguish.

  “Rosemary, would you like to lie down while we take statements from Kenny and your daughter?” Zak knew she was emotionally fragile. Hearing all the details from last night might be too much.

  But Rosemary refused his offer. “I want to stay. I need to hear this.” She directed her next question to Nadine. “How do you know Marsha meant for my daughter and me to die as well?”

  “I’m sorry,” Nadine said. “This must be difficult to hear. But Marsha deliberately propped open the door between the garage and the house so the fumes would collect in the house. Given how cold it was last night, I’m sure all your windows were closed. With the furnace going full blast, the carbon monoxide would have circulated throughout the entire house. The gas tank was still three-quarters full, so it would have run another four hours at least.”

  “We wouldn’t have lasted that long.” Tiff obviously had no doubt about that. “We were both poisoned as it was, though Mom was worse, probably because her room is right over the garage. If not for Kenny...” She shuddered.

  “Yes. How did you know there was a problem going on here?” Nadine asked.

  “I didn’t at first.”

  Kenny was leaning against the counter, next to the coffeepot. Zak suspected he was too keyed up to sit.

  “I was awake when I heard a truck drive up to the farmhouse, around midnight. From my window I could see it was Marsha’s truck. She drove into the garage and I thought nothing more of it. I finished the movie I was watching, but I didn’t feel tired, so I decided to go for a walk.”

  “You went for a walk in the middle of the night?” Nadine looked skeptical.

  “I’m a night owl. Sometimes when I’m not ready to sleep I go for a drive. Other times I take a walk.”

  “It’s true,” Tiff confirmed. “I suffer from insomnia sometimes as well, and I’ve seen him.”

  “It was about quarter past one by then. I walked the loop we use for hayrides, probably took me about forty-five minutes. On my way back I still wasn’t ready to sleep so I meandered by the farmhouse. The night was cold, but the sky was clear and the stars were amazing.”

  Zak handed him a piece of paper on which he’d sketched the cabin, the farmhouse, the barn and the hayride loop. “Can you trace the approximate path you took last night?”

  “Sure.” Kenny took the pen and drew a path from the cabin, to the barn, along the loop, then around the farmhouse. When he reached the side where the garage was he made an “X.”

  “I was here when I heard a motor running inside the garage. I ran to the garage door and noticed exhaust seeping out from the bottom. I could smell it too. I tried to raise the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I saw the lock panel, but didn’t know the code so I ran to the front door of the house and banged and shouted, but no one came.”

  “I heard him, vaguely,” Tiff said. “But I was already feeling the effects of the gas. I couldn’t make myself wake up enough to get out of bed, let alone down the stairs to let him in.”

  Kenny wiped his palms on the sides of his jeans, as the stress of the night came back to him.

  “Have some coffee,” Zak suggested.

  Kenny took a drink then continued. “I ran to the back of the house and broke one of the large kitchen windows to get in. Once inside I opened all the doors and windows back there. Then I held my breath and sprinted to the mudroom. The connecting door to the garage was open. That’s when I saw Marsha in the truck. Dead.”

  He took a deep breath of air, perhaps remembering how his lungs must have been burning at that point.

  “I hit the button to raise the garage door to let out the fumes, then ran outside to get some air myself. I took a bunch of deep breaths then ran back to the truck and opened the passenger side door so I could turn off the ignition. I checked Marsha’s pulse, but I didn’t need to. I could tell she was dead. At that point I was most worried about Tiff and her mother so I went back into the house, opening every window as I passed by, as well as the front door.

  He paused for another deep breath and a fortifying drink of coffee. “I’d never been on the upper floor before. All the bedroom doors were closed. As it happened, the first door I tried was Tiff’s. She responded when I spoke to her, but she was too woozy to walk, so I helped her outside then went back to get her mom.”

  He glanced at Rosemary. “I tried to rouse Mrs. Masterson and when I couldn’t, I called Dr. Pittman. He sounded awful, like he had a bad cold or something, but he agreed to meet us at the clinic. I carried Rosemary outside and that’s when you showed up, Zak.”

  “Do you have any idea why Marsha would have done this? Was she depressed? Did she ever talk about suicide?” Nadine looked from Rosemary to Tiff.

  Both women shook their heads, only Tiff answered.

  “Something was bothering her. The last couple of weeks she’d been acting strangely. I discovered she’d been talking to people behind my back, trying to sabotage my efforts to open a business in Lost Trail. When I confronted her, she tried to convince me she’d done all this for my own good.”

  “She’d talked to me, as well,” Rosemary said quietly. “She said I had to encourage you to leave. That I’d be a bad mother if I didn’t.”

  “My aunt and I were arguing yesterday evening when she got a call from Dr. Pittman. In the course of their conversation he must have told her I’d been tested at the stem-cell clinic for Justin. My aunt was livid because she’d specifically asked me not to be tested. Before I could figure out what the big issue was, she ran out of the house and that...” Tiff blinked rapidly and swallowed back a sob. “That was the last time I saw her alive.”

  “None of it makes sense,” Rosemary said quietly.

  Nadine leaned over the island. “Kenny said he saw your aunt drive home around midnight. What time did she leave the house?”

  “It was about an hour after dinner. I’d say around seven-thirty.”

  “Any idea where she went?”

  Tiff shook her head no. “My aunt spent a lot of time in Hamilton. She said she had friends there, but she didn’t like to talk about them.” She took a moment to think. “But I suppose she could have been anywhere. I don’t think either me or Mom actually knew much about her life outside of this house.”

  She hesitated, then added, “She’s worked for Dr. Pittman a long time. He may know more about my aunt’s life than Mom or I do.”

  Nadine pushed a pad of paper into the center of the island. “We’re going to need written statements from all of you. I’ll leave you this and come back in a few hours to witness your signatures and collect the statements.”

  “While we’re here we should go through your aunt’s bedroom and any other place in the house where she might have kept items of a personal nature,” Zak added.

  “Yes we should,” Nadine said, giving him a what-the-hell look.

  He was over-reaching his role, Zak realized. What surprised him was how naturally it came to him and how much more satisfying it was to be the one on the front-line, asking the questions, seeing things firsthand for a change.

  Tiff hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll show you her room.”

  Zak and Nadine followed her up the stairs. Tiff hung back at the door. She seemed to be considering whether to say something. In the end she did, but it was quite innocuous. “Just let yourselves out when you’re finished.”

  Though Zak and Nadine searched thoroughly for half an hour, they didn’t find any further evidence in Marsha’s tidy bedroom. No clue why she would have wanted to end, not only her own life, but that of her sister’s and niece’s as well.

  Tiff felt guilty for not showing Zak and Nadine the items she’d already re
moved from Marsha’s bedroom. But she needed to do a little research before she exposed her family’s dirty laundry to the world.

  In the kitchen, she picked up the pad of paper Deputy Black had left behind. “I can’t face this right now.”

  “Me, either.” Kenny rubbed his eyes. “We need sleep. I’m going to head to my cabin for an hour or so. You and your mom should try and rest as well.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” Rosemary pushed herself up from the counter. “I’m not sure I can face my bedroom yet, though.”

  The house had been thoroughly aired, but Tiff knew what she meant. “Let’s put on an old movie and nap in the family room. You take the sofa, I’ll curl up on the love seat.”

  The opening credits for Miracle on 34th Street hadn’t finished by the time Tiff went under. She slept deeply and heavily for over an hour. When she finally opened her eyes, she felt as if she’d been drugged. The feeling was eerily reminiscent of last night’s carbon monoxide poisoning.

  Leaving her mother asleep on the sofa, she forced herself to move. First she had a glass of water, then she showered. Once she’d dressed in clean yoga pants and a sweat shirt, she stripped the beds in her and her mother’s rooms. She couldn’t bring herself to go back into Marsha’s room.

  Once the washing machine was going, she was ready to face the contents of the shoe box she’d found in her aunt’s room. She took out the bubble wrapped medications prescribed for Rosemary Masterson by Dr. Pittman. Marsha had shown her these days ago, when she’d asked about her mother’s drugs.

  But there were eight more medicine vials in the box, prescribed by two unfamiliar doctors and filled by pharmacies in both Hamilton and Missoula. Tiff googled the drug names typed on the labels.

  Some of the medications were for treating anxiety, some for depression, some were sleep aids. On their own, she supposed the drugs would meet their intended purpose. But as a cocktail, well, she had a good idea now why her mother was so tired, listless and confused all the time.

  But she was a layman, and she needed her theory confirmed. So she called Dr. Pittman on his cell phone, expecting to hear a message that he would return her call after closing hours at the clinic.

  To her surprise, Clark Pittman answered on the first ring.

  “Tiffany. I’m glad you called. I’ve been wondering how your mother is doing?”

  “She’s resting. We’re both still shell-shocked from last night.” It was hard to absorb the fact of her aunt’s death. Tiff wondered how you grieved for someone who had tried to kill you. Yet she knew she would eventually mourn the loss of the loving aunt she’d thought she’d had.

  “I’m so sorry. Marsha was a complicated woman. She had a dark side, but I never imagined she would do something like—” His voice choked on a sob. She heard him swallow. “Sorry. This is terribly difficult.”

  Tiff had so many questions. But right now she had to stay focused. “I found some medications in my aunt’s bedroom. I’d like to talk to you about them. Can I make an appointment to meet you at the clinic later?”

  As she waited for his answer—which was a long time coming—she remembered how terrible he’d looked last night. Not simply tired, but like a broken man. Whatever the true nature of his relationship with Marsha, whether it was simply work colleagues, or, as she suspected, a deeper, possibly romantic relationship, her death must have been as hard a blow for him as it had been for herself and her mom.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’ll come to Raven Farms,” Dr. Pittman finally said. “And I’d like to bring Justin with me. We have some news that will shed light on your aunt’s motives.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the hallway outside her bedroom Tiff heard the sound of her mother’s shower. A good sign. She went downstairs to heat some soup and make toast. Fifteen minutes later her mother joined her. She looked markedly stronger than she had before her nap and shower.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  Tiff set the bowls of soup and the plate of toast on the island. She was happy to see her mother pick up a spoon and start eating. She waited until the meal was over to tell the news.

  “Dr. Pittman and Justin are coming over later. The doctor says he has something to tell us that will explain why Marsha did what she did last night.”

  “Oh.”

  Worry glazed her mother’s eyes.

  “Should I put them off until tomorrow?”

  Her mother lifted her chin. “We need to face this. All of it. Part of me feels absolutely sick to my stomach and part of me feels like crying for a week. But more than anything I have a tremendous sense of relief. And I can’t quite figure out why that should be.”

  Something felt off to Tiff the moment she opened the front door. Dr. Pittman looked just as terrible as he had last night. As for Justin, she’d never seen his eyes so cold. He was standing with his shoulders broad, his arms behind his back. The moment she said hello, though, the firm line of his mouth softened.

  “Tiff. I’m so sorry for what you went through yesterday. What a relief you and your mother are okay.”

  “We have Kenny to thank for that. And Zak and Dr. Pittman too, of course. Come in. Mom thought we’d be more comfortable in the family room so she’s waiting there.”

  Once all the hellos had been said and their guests were seated, Tiff brought out the shoe box and handed it to the doctor.

  “I found this in my aunt’s room. There are eight bottles of pills in there. Some of the prescriptions are from a pharmacy in Missoula, others from Hamilton. All of them have my aunt’s name on them. But I don’t think she was taking them. I suspect she was giving them to my mother. Some she was giving in pill form while I’m guessing others she dissolved in Mom’s tea or ground up in her food.”

  Which explained why her aunt had been so controlling about her mother’s diet and why Tiff’s presence in the house had been such a problem for her.

  The doctor looked through the collection with trembling hands. “You could be correct. Someone being over-medicated with this cocktail of drugs would suffer similar symptoms to what Rosemary’s been going through. Extreme tiredness, confusion and memory loss, among others.”

  “I’m guessing Marsha varied the dosage, depending on how my mother was behaving and what was going on in their lives. For instance, when I was home she upped the drugs so I would believe that my presence had a bad effect on my mother’s mental wellbeing.”

  “A few days ago your theory would have sounded preposterous,” Justin said. “But after yesterday, I’d believe Marsha Holmes capable of anything.”

  “I just don’t understand why she would want to keep Mom drugged.” Tiff held up her hands. “I really thought she loved us...honestly I considered her a second mother.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about your aunt,” Dr. Pittman said. “And most of it goes back to before you were born.”

  Tiff’s mother leaned forward, her attention rapt. “Tell us, Clark. Tell us everything.”

  “It began more than three decades ago, on March twenty-second.”

  Rosemary’s eyes rounded. “Casey’s birthday.”

  “Yes. And—” The doctor’s gaze shifted to his own son.

  “Mine, also,” Justin said.

  “That’s true,” Rosemary murmured. “I’d forgotten you were born the same night. It was the second day of a terrible spring snowstorm. The roads were too dangerous to drive to Hamilton. Irving was out helping a neighbor bring his cattle into shelter when my labor started a week early. I couldn’t get hold of Irving, so I asked Marsha to drive me to the clinic.”

  “I’d been there with Franny for several hours already,” Clark said. “We were alone and I’d put up the Closed sign, though of course I didn’t turn Rosemary away. I was relieved when I saw Marsha with her. I thought her help would be useful.”

  “She scrubbed up as soon as we arrived,” Rosemary said. “She asked me if I wanted pain relief. Demerol, I think it was. I said no
, but she talked me into it.”

  “Shortly after Rosemary and Marsha arrived, Franny’s baby crowned. Marsha helped with the delivery. As soon as we saw the baby we knew something was wrong. The baby was weak, struggling. I put him on oxygen and told Marsha to call the hospital in Missoula and tell them we needed emergency air transport stat for this baby and mom.”

  “I remember wondering why Marsha left me for so long,” Tiff’s mother said. “It seemed like hours. When I got the urge to push, I called out for help. Finally Marsha came and she stayed with me until my baby was born.”

  “She never let you hold him, did she?” Justin asked.

  He sounded bitter and Tiff realized he knew where this story was headed. A sudden flash of fear made her want to yell at everyone to stop. But the words were flowing now—there was no way to dam them back inside.

  “Marsha told me the doctor needed to examine the baby. The way she said it scared me and I started to cry, but she said I shouldn’t worry, just wait and she’d be right back to fill me in. If I hadn’t taken that Demerol I would have jumped out of my bed and followed her. Instead I did as I’d been told. It felt like another hour before Marsha returned and told me my son had been born with a heart defect. As soon as the weather cleared enough for a helicopter to get through they’d be sending me and the baby to a pediatric cardiologist in Missoula.”

  Rosemary closed her eyes. Tiff couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her mother speak for so long. She squeezed her mom’s hand, and Rosemary gave her a weak smile.

  “And that’s what happened,” she continued. “At dawn the next morning they sent the helicopter and Casey and I were flown to Missoula. Once the highway had been plowed, Irving drove after us. He was there by noon.”

  Retelling the story had drained her mother. “Why did you make her relive that?” she asked Dr. Pittman.