Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  The sheriff worked his jaw forward and backward, like a bulldog gnawing on a bone. Zak could tell he didn’t want to ask any more questions, but eventually he gave up trying to figure it out on his own. “Why didn’t she tell her family what she was up to?”

  “She was too angry. The family was squabbling instead of respecting her grandmother’s memory.”

  “Huh.” The sheriff shrugged. “Well, we told the family Nikki was in Great Falls. And we were right. You want to go color in the details with the family that’s okay with me.”

  Fine. He’d known Ford would find a way to spin the story so he would look good. Zak went to get his jacket.

  The sheriff waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “So what’s your theory about Lacy?”

  Zak glanced at his watch. “I don’t have time to explain now, but you’re welcome to come to the Lazy S with me while I lay out the entire story.”

  “I got better things to do with my time than watch you make a fool of yourself. Maybe I’ll put out an ad for a dispatcher who actually stays in the office and does their job.”

  Zak ignored the threat. He’d known the sheriff would refuse his offer. Ford didn’t care about Lacy, or the truth. He just didn’t want to look bad in front of the Stillmans. If his “crazy” theory turned out to be true, Ford would find some way to take the credit.

  He went to the door and pulled it open. The last thing he saw on his way out the door was Nadine. She was grinning and giving him a thumbs-up.

  Chapter Twenty

  Vanessa Stillman opened the door to Lacy’s house when Zak arrived. Unusually for her, her face was makeup-free and her hair was in a simple ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a blue sweater. Interestingly, the simple outfit only made her natural beauty more apparent.

  But for once, he could tell, Vanessa wasn’t thinking about her appearance.

  “The family’s in the living room.” She took his coat and waved him inside.

  Clayton and Eugene were in the leather armchairs that flanked the fireplace. Luke and Tom sat at either end of a long sofa, and Em was standing by the window, looking out at the snow-covered peaks of the Bitterroot Mountains. Worry and fatigue hung in the room with them.

  “Any word from Nikki?” Clayton was the first to ask the question they were all thinking.

  “No, but she’ll be home soon.” He’d called the gallery on his way over and had been told that yes, a Nikki Stillman had been negotiating a transaction with the gallery. They’d reached a conclusion yesterday afternoon, at which time she’d said she had to go as she had a long drive ahead of her.

  “Are you sure?” Clayton looked as if he was almost afraid to hope too much.

  “Yes. She left Great Falls yesterday. I’m quite confident she was heading here.”

  “Thank God.” Vanessa went to perch on her husband’s chair. Clayton took her hand and squeezed it between both of his.

  “Any idea what she’s been up to?” Luke asked.

  “I have a theory,” Zak began. “She may have taken Lacy’s Charlie Russell to Wrangler’s Art Gallery. They specialize in the old western masters.”

  “I wondered what had happened to Mom’s painting.”

  Eugene looked at the empty space above the mantel, the space Zak had seen as well several days ago when he’d let himself into the house.

  “Is it valuable?” Clayton asked.

  Zak looked at all the blank faces. Apparently none of them appreciated the quality of the art Lacy had invested in.

  “I’m no expert,” he said. “But from what I’ve seen on the Internet, I’d guess well over a million dollars.”

  The brothers looked at each other with wide eyes. Zak could see the gears working in their brains. He was about to explain further, when the front door opened and a cold draft of air snaked through the room.

  Nikki appeared in the arched opening, wearing her parka and Sorel boots. Her expression was a mixture of anger and triumph. She held a piece of paper in the air. “I hope you haven’t signed the agreement to sell the land. I’ve found another way to get the money.

  “Nikki!” Her mother ran to her and threw her arms around her. After a few seconds, Nikki returned the embrace.

  “We’ve been so worried. Where were you? Is Zak right—were you trying to sell your grandmother’s picture?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I just needed to get away. Grandma’s dead and all anyone around here cared about was selling a chunk of the land she loved so much.”

  A guilty silence settled over the room.

  Nikki handed the piece of paper to her father. “I got this appraisal certificate from a gallery in Great Falls. The owner of the gallery was on holiday when I first got there. I had to wait for him to return. But he came back yesterday and he’s definitely interested in buying it. I hate to sell the painting Grandma loved so much, but it’s better than selling her land.”

  Her father studied the certificate. “What made you think we needed this much money?”

  “I saw the notice from the bank, Dad. I know you owe over a million dollars.”

  “You owe a million dollars, Clayton?” Em’s face was pale. “I hope you didn’t use shares in the ranch for collateral.”

  “My brother and I both owe that money,” Eugene confessed. “Clayton and I had to borrow a year ago to cover an operating shortfall and to buy some of the equipment Mom kept insisting we didn’t need.”

  He turned to Nikki. “Your grandma was a woman of her era. She was a fine rancher fifty years ago, but you can’t make a living these days without modern equipment. Your dad and I did what needed to be done. And yes, Em, we used our shares in the ranch for collateral. Unfortunately the ranch hasn’t generated the revenue we projected the last couple of years.”

  “I had no idea that painting of Mom’s was worth so much money.” Clayton looked at his daughter with wonder. “How did you know?”

  “Grandma and I used to visit art galleries when we went on road trips. I was with her the day she bought it.”

  “Why didn’t you, at least, send us a text message to let us know where you were and that you were okay?” her mother asked. “We didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

  Nikki looked stricken. “It didn’t occur to me that you would be so worried. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. And I was mad that no one else was sad about Grandma being gone.”

  “We are sad,” her father said gently. “I sure as hell am, anyway. Your grandmother was one-of-a-kind. She was old, but I wasn’t ready for her to go. I was sure she’d be around until she was a hundred, at least.”

  “She might have been,” Zak said. He needed to say his piece here, then leave and let the family deal with their private affairs. “I believe Lacy would still be with us if not for something she said to Marsha Holmes during her checkup the day before she died.”

  Everyone turned to him with puzzled expressions.

  “Excuse me while I backtrack a minute.” He turned to Nikki. “You’ve missed some big news while you’re away. Marsha Holmes committed suicide four days ago. She’d been protecting a big secret for a long time, and suddenly the truth was out. It was this same secret your grandmother almost exposed three weeks earlier.”

  “You’re talking about the baby swapping?” Em asked.

  Zak nodded.

  “I heard about it in town yesterday.” Em shook her head. “It was so crazy, I couldn’t believe it.” She turned to Nikki. “Justin Pittman and Casey Masterson were born on the same day in the clinic in Lost Trail over thirty years ago. Marsha was there at the time and she switched the babies. She gave the sickly baby to her sister, and the healthy one to the Pittmans.”

  Nikki stared in wonder. “Are you saying Justin should have been a Masterson?”

  “That’s right,” Zak confirmed. “To get back to your grandmother...according to Gwen Lange, who’s the receptionist at the clinic, Lacy and Marsha spent a lot of time chatting during her appointment. Gwen overheard your gran
dmother comment on how strange it was that the older Justin got the less he looked like his own father and the more he resembled Irving Masterson.”

  “She said that?” Em looked shocked. “Do you think she guessed the truth?”

  “Maybe she’d become suspicious. Lacy was sharp as a tack, right to the end.”

  “So you’re suggesting Marsha somehow had a hand in her death?” Eugene asked.

  “I can’t prove any of this,” Zak was quick to point out. “And I’m speaking to you as a private citizen, not an employee of the sheriff’s department. But I strongly suspect Marsha convinced your grandmother she was giving her a special vitamin K shot that would improve her health, when in actual fact she gave her a dose of slow-acting insulin.”

  “But that’s crazy!” Eugene got up from his chair and began to pace.

  “Marsha was a desperate woman. So desperate that once her crime was exposed, almost a month later, she killed herself.”

  “But what would the insulin have done?” Luke had been listening without comment to this point. Zak was sorry for ambushing his friend this way. But it was only fair that the entire family hear this news together.

  “For a non-diabetic person like your grandmother, as the slow-acting insulin was gradually absorbed into her body she would have gone into a hypoglycemic coma, and then eventually died. The process would have taken anywhere from four to six hours. Her appointment was the last one of the day at the clinic, so it was a safe gamble on Marsha’s part that Lacy would be at home alone and probably in bed when the full effect hit her.”

  “The tiredness must have hit her suddenly. That’s why she wasn’t in her nightgown,” Clayton said.

  “Yes. The evening of the wake, I took a look in Lacy’s bedroom. I found a small bandage in her bed. I had it tested and the speck of blood on it belonged to Lacy. I believe Marsha affixed it after the insulin shot.”

  If it had still been on her body, maybe Dr. Pittman would have investigated. Then again, maybe not.

  “Can you prove any of this?” Tom asked. “Can we have the body exhumed and get an autopsy?”

  “Unfortunately no. Since insulin is a natural substance, it wouldn’t show up in a toxicology report.”

  “But you believe this is what happened?” Eugene said.

  “I do. I could be wrong. But given the things we’re learning about Marsha Holmes, she had motive, opportunity and means to murder Lacy. And she was certainly unscrupulous enough to do it. Then last night, when Gwen Lange told me a vial of slow-acting insulin was missing at the clinic, I figured it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

  There was a long silence as the family digested this.

  “I think you’re right,” Nikki said softly. “Grandma was old, but she wasn’t ready to die.”

  “I loved Lacy like she was my own mother,” Em said. “But she did like to stick her nose in other people’s business. If only she’d kept her thoughts about Justin to herself.”

  Zak stayed a bit longer to answer questions. When it was time to leave, he realized he’d forgotten one thing. “Nikki, the night you took off, did you take one of the leftover cans of barn red paint with you?”

  A guilty flush colored her cheeks. “It was childish I know. But like I said, I was so damn mad.”

  “What’s this about?” Vanessa asked. The rest of the family looked puzzled as well.

  Zak dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t going to rat Nikki out. Not to her family and definitely not to old Cora.

  “Thanks for everything Zak. It’s good to know the truth. You’ve got a smart head on your shoulders.” Eugene clapped him on the back.

  “It’s about time you were promoted to deputy don’t you think, son?” Clayton asked.

  “Hell, why stop there?” Eugene said. “This county could use a shake-up. You should run for sheriff.”

  Tiff did a lot of thinking on Thursday. She read the material she’d been given several times and checked the facts with some online research as well. When she had her mind made up she told her mother her decision.

  “If it feels right to you, then I support you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She called Justin next. “This is going to sound strange, but I’d like to talk to you and I was wondering if you’d meet me at the cemetery?”

  “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  Tiff put on the warm coat and boots she’d ordered online. “I’ll be back in time for dinner,” she told her mother, before stepping outside.

  The sun had already dipped behind the field of balsam pines in the west. The color of the sky had settled into layers, like a blueberry parfait. Pinkish on the bottom, then a layer of gray, followed by a dark turquoise.

  There was absolutely no wind and the world felt peacefully silent. She glanced toward the barn. All was quiet. The workers were home with their families. Kenny would be making his dinner in the cabin.

  She drove to town slowly, she had plenty of time. She could still change her mind, it wasn’t too late, but she knew she wouldn’t.

  The cemetery was at the end of Winding Down Way, across from a row of small bungalows that had been built in the nineteen fifties. Cora Christensen lived in the one on the corner, and Tiff had mixed feelings as she looked at the neat little house, curtains drawn tightly on the front windows.

  The years when she’d had Miss Christensen as a teacher, she’d really liked her. She’d heard others complain she was teacher’s pet, but until recently, she hadn’t thought much of it, or considered the potential harm a teacher could inflict by constantly putting one child down, comparing them to another, and finding them wanting.

  Miss Christensen wasn’t responsible for the way her aunt had turned out. But her style of teaching had added to the hatred and envy Marsha felt for her sister.

  Tiff locked her car and removed her flashlight from the glove box. This had been her first stop when she’d come home in October. She’d wanted to spend a quiet moment at the graves of her father and brother, to remember them and grieve for them.

  Now she needed to see them again. And she thought Justin did, too.

  She’d only gone through the gate when Justin drove up. She waited for him to get out of his car and join her. Like her he was wearing a heavy parka and serious boots. This wasn’t weather to play around with.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” she asked.

  “Everything’s still sinking in. It’s a lot to process.”

  They were standing under a streetlamp and she had a clear view of his face. “You have Mom’s eyes.” As did she. “I never noticed that before.”

  “I always wondered why I had blue eyes when my father’s were hazel and Mom’s brown.”

  “I keep thinking of things too. Like I always thought it was strange Casey was so small when Dad was quite tall—like you. I figured it was because of his heart.”

  But it had been simple genetics. Both Clark and Franny were shorter than her parents.

  Tiff started walking and Justin fell in beside her. It was cool that he hadn’t asked why they were meeting here. After a few minutes, she took a side path. “Dad’s grave is over here.”

  “Do you mind if we stop at Mom—Franny’s first?” Justin pointed out a beautiful, white marble grave marker with a heavy shroud of snow. “In the summer there are rose bushes. Dad visits every few weeks to look after them.”

  “He must have really loved her.”

  Justin nodded, his gaze fixed on the tombstone. After a few moments of silence he said, “I’m always going to think of her as my mother. Even though she wasn’t.”

  “And Casey will always be my brother.”

  Justin took a deep breath, then looked at her. “Right. Show me where he’s buried? I assume it’s near your father?”

  “This way.” She turned left and walked about twenty yards before she found the familiar double plot. She played her light on the engraved granite so he could read the words. Reached out to touch the inscription: Irving Masterson, beloved hus
band and father.

  “Do you have any memories of him when he was alive?” she asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. My clearest memory is of him giving us all—you, Casey and me—a ride in the hay wagon. It was just a few days before Christmas. There were so many lights on the trees; it was magical. Afterward we had cocoa around the fire pit. And cookies.”

  “I remember that, too.” She’d gone on so many hayrides with her father and Casey. But just that once with Justin. She couldn’t help but think of how much he’d missed out on. “But Dr. Pittman was a good father, too, right?”

  Justin hesitated a long while. “He was. In many ways. That’s what’s hardest for me.”

  “Because you’re angry. But you still love him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I hope the anger goes away eventually. My aunt was a toxic person. She’s hurt a lot of people over the years. More than any of us will ever know, I’ll bet. Last night Zak told me he thinks she killed Lacy with a dose of insulin because Lacy noticed how much you looked like my dad.”

  “No. That’s—crazy.”

  “That’s the point. My aunt was crazy.”

  “Does Zak have proof?”

  “He says it’s all circumstantial evidence. But he’s pretty confident. I trust Zak. He has good instincts for crime.”

  “Yeah. That’s what my dad thinks, too.”

  Tiff noticed Justin had called his father ‘dad’ without even noticing this time. A good sign.

  “Let’s go,” Justin said. “It’s insanely cold out here.”

  “One more thing.” She grabbed him by the arm and stopped him from walking away. “About the stem-cell transplant. I want to do it.”

  He studied her eyes. “I want you to be sure, Tiff. You don’t have to. They might find a donor for me from the national registry.”

  “But the transplant has a better chance of being successful if it comes from a blood relative.”

  “That’s true, but you shouldn’t feel obligated.”

  “If our positions were reversed, you’d do it for me.”