by Elaine Viets
The silence stretched on. Somewhere, I heard a clock ticking.
“He didn’t get the job?” Jace prompted.
Now Iris’s voice was thick with tears – and anger. “The idiot at human resources said she wanted to give Del the ‘courtesy’ of telling him in person! Del called me afterward. He was crying. Del never cries. Never! He said he couldn’t face coming home. He said he loved me.”
Her voice broke. “I said, ‘If you love me, you’ll come home now.’
“He said… he said, ‘The life insurance will take care of you’ and the phone went dead. All day long, I’ve called and texted him. I called everyone I know, asking if they’ve seen him.”
More confirmation this was suicide. I said, “May I ask you a few questions, please?”
Iris nodded. I opened the Possible Self-Inflicted Injury form on my iPad. I knew the questions by heart, and Iris had already answered most of them. Yes, Del Corbet was depressed. No, he didn’t leave a note, but he’d told his wife goodbye. I had only a few more questions:
“How long was your husband depressed?”
“I saw the first signs about six months ago. He’d been out of work four months by then, and it was wearing him down.”
“Was your husband under a doctor’s care?”
“He saw Doc Bartlett. She was his internist.”
“Was he seeing anyone for depression?”
“No, he was afraid. The Forest is a small town. Del said it would hurt his job prospects if word got out he was going to a counselor.”
“Did he take any medication?”
“Something for high cholesterol. That’s all.”
“Did he ever talk about suicide?”
“Not really. He was worried. We both are. But I thought we’d get through this. He did say his life insurance didn’t have a suicide clause.”
“What’s that mean?”
“If he killed himself, I’d still collect a million dollars. I don’t want the damn money.” Iris started weeping again.
I waited until the new widow dried her eyes. “When did your husband mention the suicide clause?”
“About six weeks ago.”
“Did Mr. Corbet drink?”
“He’s a social drinker.” Iris sniffed. More tears welled up, and I handed her another tissue. “He likes scotch. Single malt.” Iris smiled sadly and nodded toward the nearly empty pricey liquor bottles lined up on the polished sideboard. “We haven’t been able to afford good liquor for some time.”
Until today. Instead of coming home to celebrate his new job with his wife, Delano Corbet bought a fifth of courage, slammed into a tree, and made her a millionaire.
“Do you have someone who can stay with you?”
“My sister, Melanie.”
“Would you like me to call her?”
“I’ll call. Will you stay here until she shows up?”
Fifteen minutes later, Melanie, an older, grayer version of Iris, arrived. Jace and I left the sisters to a tearful reunion.
Outside, the cold was like a stinging slap. “That poor woman.” Jace shook his head.
I didn’t want to rehash the awful scene. “Any word on the search for Juliet?”
The detective checked his cell phone. “Nothing. I’m worried she’s dead, Angela. The temperature has stayed below zero all day. I tried to trace her movements. The last time anyone saw her was when she left the party at Bella Du Pres’s house, just before midnight. That’s about all I can find out, except there was a lot of drinking. Bella’s parents wouldn’t let her talk to me.”
“That’s outrageous.”
Jace shrugged. “I gather that’s what people are like here. They lawyer-up at the first excuse.”
“But Juliet’s one of their own. I thought sure they’d talk to you. I have some news.” I told the detective about Juliet’s forbidden Toonerville boyfriend, Dexter Gordon.
“It’s a start. Are you going to the ME’s office next?”
“Yeah, I want to file this DI report.”
“I have to stop there and talk to a security guard about another case. Want to get some coffee in the cafeteria?”
I knew he wasn’t coming onto me. Jace was happily married with a son. “I’m really tired. I’d like to go home. But avoid the hospital coffee. I’d rather drink the cafeteria’s dishwater. Get the stuff out of the machine, Detective. Trust me, it’s better.”
I waved good-bye and drove off. The medical examiner’s office was at the back of Sisters of Sorrow Hospital, and the hunt for Juliet had extended to the parking lot. I saw the searchers going from car to car in the vast SOS parking lot.
I didn’t really have an office. The ME took most of my allotted cubicle space for a shower in his oversized executive suite. I got a narrow desk and a decade-old computer terminal, with a bonus – my freedom. During my shift, I didn’t have to stick around the office, as long as I could be quickly reached.
I struggled with Delano Corbet’s death investigation report. I couldn’t get the gruesome vision of the dead man out of my mind, or Iris’s grief. His widow had lost her husband and her peace of mind. She would forever wonder if she could have saved him.
Corbet’s suicide led to another awful thought: What if Juliet had killed herself? My stomach clenched. She’d had a fight with Brock, a Forest blue blood who’d wanted to have sex with her. Brock called her a slut and slammed his fist into a wall. Bella told Juliet that her first lover, Dex, had laughed at her body and her romantic notions, and insulted her sexuality. Bella’s mother made her cry, then gave Juliet a mysterious white powder. Juliet was drunk on beer and vodka when she left with Dex. Teenage girls could be emotional and unstable. Did Juliet kill herself after that horrible evening?
I was sick at the possibility. I finished my report, then hurried to the office of my friend, Dr. Katie Kelly Stern, the assistant Chouteau County ME.
Brown-haired Katie, practical as a pair of wool gloves, should have been plain, but her sense of humor and quick wit added charm to her ordinary looks. She had captivated the Forest’s most eligible lawyer, Montgomery Bryant.
Katie was typing at her desk in her closet-sized office. When she saw me in her doorway, Katie looked alarmed. “Angela! What’s wrong? You look like a week’s worth of bad news.”
“Nothing serious. Just a bad death investigation.”
“The guy who slammed into the tree? I saw what was left of him.”
“That’s him. Delano Corbet. His wife is devastated.” I told Katie the story. “Iris said he called and told her he couldn’t face coming home, but he loved her. He must have hung up, then drank scotch and drove around until he got the nerve to crash into the tree.”
“That was thoughtless,” Katie said. “And cruel.”
“I think he was in so much pain he didn’t realize the effect his death would have on Iris.” I squeezed into Katie’s guest chair and bumped my knees on the desk.
Katie studied my face. “It’s also affected another widow, Angela Richman. That’s why you look like recycled shit.”
I hurried to change the subject, and tell her my fear. “Suicide death investigations are always bad. I’m worried we have another one.” I told Katie how I’d been pulled into the search for Juliet and my encounters with the missing girl’s two friends. “I don’t like either one.”
Katie shrugged. “That’s what kids are like. I’d be tempted to slap Daisy. Bella just needs to be locked in a closet and not allowed out until she’s at least thirty. Honesty, my ass. The mean girl mentality is alive and kicking.”
“Last time I checked, you didn’t have any kids, Katie. When did you get to be an expert on teenagers?”
“When I was growing up, my fifteen-year-old cousin lived with us for two years. Two long years.” Katie tried to lean back in her chair, but there wasn’t room. She’d papered the wall behind her desk with an autumn woods scene. Lurking between the tree trunks was a plastic skull glued to the wall. It was wearing a plastic poinsettia – the only sign
of the holidays in her room.
“You haven’t taken down your Christmas decorations yet,” I said.
Katie looked up and smiled. “Tradition says you keep them up until after the twelve days of Christmas. It’s more like the twelve years of Christmas now that Monty’s sixteen-year-old nephew Nate is staying with him for the holidays. He’s here to give Monty’s sister in California a break. The kid’s been running wild since his father took off with his secretary.”
“Couldn’t Dad have a more original mid-life crisis?” I crossed my legs and whacked my shin on the desk.
“I know, it’s a cliche. That’s why it happens. Nate’s mad at his dad and lashing out. He wants to be a lawyer with the Innocence Project, but he’s also a car nut. Seems to me he’s been talking about a kid named Dex, who works on hot cars.”
“Really? Was Nate at the party last night?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “How long have you lived in the Forest? Dex is a Toonerville kid. I have no idea how he wheedled an invite to Bella’s party, but I know damn well Dex doesn’t have the clout to invite his friends.”
I suddenly felt a small surge of hope. “Could I talk to Nate about Dex?”
“Hell, you can have him for the rest of the holiday. I haven’t had more than half an hour alone with Monty since the kid got here. I can’t wait to pack him back on the plane New Year’s Day. Then it will truly be a happy New Year.”
“When can I talk to him?”
“He’s with Monty at the law office. I’ll text him right now.” The exchange was quickly completed. Katie’s cell phone pinged, and she told me, “You’re all set. You can come over.”
“Can I bring anything?”
“Maybe a pizza. Make that two pizzas. Nate can eat a whole one by himself.”
I started to stand up. “Wait! I got off the track when we were talking about mean girls. Do you think Juliet could have committed suicide?”
After I laid out why I was worried, especially Juliet’s boy trouble, Katie said, “Good lord! How did this girl get lost with every boy in the Forest chasing after her?”
“Maybe that was part of the problem.”
“Did Juliet make any statements that sounded suicidal?”
“She told Bella that Dex was the only boy she ever loved and if he didn’t love her, she’d kill herself. Daisy claims Juliet never said anything about killing herself.”
“Still, that doesn’t sound good.” Katie steepled her fingers.
“She definitely left the party with Dex and she hasn’t been seen since,” I said.
Katie’s chair creaked. “Juliet’s under a lot of pressure at her age. That’s tough. We had another suicide here in November – a sixteen-year-old Toonerville girl who broke up with her boyfriend. That’s one big reason why kids kill themselves. At that age they can’t think past next week. With their hormones raging, they take everything too hard.”
I felt sick. “How would she kill herself?”
“If she killed herself. Girls tend to be cutters or take pills. A romantic like Juliet would probably take pills. That’s what the Toonerville girl did. Girls think they’ll die romantically and look beautiful. They don’t realize they’ll be puking their guts out and shitting themselves.”
“Where would Juliet get the pills?”
“From her friends, though her group seems pretty straight. Daisy’s brother Rick said that, right?”
“He said Daisy didn’t use pot.”
“And they hang out at the Olive Garden, not the mini mart? That’s where kids would be exchanging pills – often ones they stole from their parents’ prescriptions.”
“Maybe I should ask Juliet’s mother if she’s missing any pain pills.”
Katie sat straight up. “Whoa! Maybe you should think about avoiding career suicide. You can’t call up Midge LaRouche and say, ‘Wanna check your oxy supply? Could be your darling daughter’s offed herself with mother’s little helpers.’”
“If it would save Juliet’s life, I would.”
“Very noble. Also, freaking useless. Who’s running this case now that Greiman and Chetkin are out?”
“The new detective, Jace Budewitz.”
“He’s a cutie, and he’s got that all-American look. Let him ask the tough questions. Where’s he at?”
“I think he’s still here. He had to talk to a guard, then he wanted to warm up with some coffee in the SOS cafeteria.”
“Go track him down. Get him to pop the hard questions. That’s his job. Then go pick up those pizzas and talk to Nate and Monty.”
I found the detective sitting at a table in the cafeteria, reading a newspaper and drinking machine coffee. He smiled at me. “Are you sure this is better than the cafeteria coffee, Angela? It tastes like chicken soup. The machine dispenses that, too.”
“Trust me, even soup-flavored coffee beats the hospital brew.” I sat down across from him. “Listen, do you think Juliet may have committed suicide?”
Jace looked surprised. “Never occurred to me. I’m more used to street kids. These rich kids’ problems don’t seem real.”
“They’re very real. They’re under tremendous pressure from their families. Last year, a Forest girl nearly killed herself because she didn’t get into the Ivy League school her parents wanted. She barely survived.”
Jace shook his head. “That’s terrible. I don’t know how these people think. They’re so different from the street types.”
“Look close and they’re surprisingly alike. They’re gangs in designer labels, motivated by greed and fear of work.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Jace smiled. “If she tried to kill herself, it’s good we’re dealing with a girl.”
“Katie said girls either cut themselves or use pills.”
“Right. They’re easier to save than boys, who use guns or hang themselves. Often the girls don’t take enough pills, so we can pump their stomachs. I’ll ask Juliet’s mother if she’s missing any prescription meds.”
Good, I thought. He took the bait.
Jace stood up, and tossed the paper and half-empty coffee cup in the trash. “We’d better find Juliet soon. Whether she’s lost or she’s suicidal, her chances are running out.”
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday, December 27, 7:37 p.m.
Before I drove to Monty’s law office, I checked the local TV station on my iPad, hoping I’d hear good news. Instead, I saw a clip of Midge LaRouche pleading for her daughter’s life again.
“Please.” Midge’s voice was hoarse with tears. “If you saw Juliet any time after midnight Monday – that’s actually today, Tuesday – please call me. Or call the tip line, if you want to be anonymous. No questions asked. Any tiny bit of information can lead to Juliet’s safe return. No matter how unimportant it sounds, please call.
“And Juliet, honey, if you’re staying overnight with a friend, please call your daddy or me. You won’t be in trouble, we promise. We just want to make sure you’re safe.” The sentence seemed to be cut off in mid-sob.
Midge’s heartrending pleas were underscored by the solemn announcer and a grim video of hopeless searchers on a gray day: “Hundreds of searchers have been looking for Juliet LaRouche in Chouteau County, but so far there is no trace of the missing sixteen-year-old. Juliet’s parents have offered a reward of $25,000 for the safe return of their daughter, a Chouteau Forest Academy honor student.”
Not good, I thought. Not good at all. The sickly winter daylight had faded, along with Juliet’s chances for survival. I prayed the girl was safe and warm with her boyfriend or sulking at a friend’s house.
Overhead, I heard the whump, whump of a helicopter – Juliet’s search had expanded to the air. Monty’s law office was near SOS. Other, less successful lawyers said the location made it easier for him to chase ambulances. I had to swing through Toonerville to pick up the two pepperoni pizzas. Now they perfumed my car, but I’d lost my appetite. As I drove through Toonerville, groups of bundled searchers combed the small yards
, checking tool sheds and looking in garages for the missing girl.
At Monty’s office, the lights were warm and welcoming. I parked in the circular drive, and the lawyer opened the double brass doors and hurried out to meet me with a hearty welcome. “Angela! You brought pizza. Come in, come in. You’ll freeze.”
To call Montgomery Bryant handsome was like saying the weather was cold. The man was breathtaking—broad shoulders, thick brown hair, eyes the color of new blue jeans. Better yet, he didn’t seem to realize his startling good looks.
Young Nate had the early signs of his uncle’s good looks – the same dark hair and dark blue eyes with long, smoky eyelashes. Now the kid was a scrawny six feet tall and couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands and feet. Monty handed him the pizza boxes.
“Angela, meet my nephew, Nate Bryant.”
Nate turned dark red with embarrassment and managed a hello. “Nate’s the strong, silent type,” Monty said. “He wants to be a pro bono lawyer.”
The boy nodded, tripped over nothing, and shambled into the law office’s staff room where napkins, soft drinks and paper plates were waiting on a round table. The two men dug into the pizzas. I picked at a slice on a plate.
“Any word on the missing girl?” Monty asked.
I shook my head. “It seems like the whole Forest is searching for Juliet, but so far, nothing. The temperature’s dropping, Monty. If Juliet’s outside, she doesn’t have a chance.”
Nate looked stricken, though I wasn’t sure why. “I think Nate knows Dex, her boyfriend,” Monty said.
Nate had just taken a gigantic bite of pizza. He nodded and turned a deeper shade of red. We watched him chew, which seemed to embarrass Nate even more. I felt sorry for the kid and tried to start a conversation. “I understand Dex restores old cars.”
Nate finally swallowed the pizza, Adam’s apple bobbing. He took a drink of Mountain Dew. “Yeah, I got to ride in his GOAT.” I knew that was the nickname for a GTO.
“Now he’s working on another amazing old car. A ’79 Camaro with headers, and a scoop through the hood. The hot cars are different here than in California. Here there aren’t many JDMs.”