“I’m sorry. When Ryder asked me to help him find out who Chelsea had been seeing, the last person I thought it would turn out to be was your husband.”
“I never thought it would happen to me.” Mallory looked me directly in the eye. “Juliet, my husband may be a cheater, but he’s not a murderer. I know it. And…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I want you to help me prove it.”
My eyes widened. Me? I kind of thought Jack was guilty, or at least a strong suspect. He was in this up to his eyeballs. And as for trying to take it upon myself to prove his innocence, the last thing I wanted to do was go up against Cromwell and Ryder of all people.
“I don’t know what I can do….”
“You proved Pete was innocent. Do exactly what you did before.”
That scone started churning in my stomach. I had gone to great lengths to prove Pete’s innocence, but I did what I had to do because it was Pete. I didn’t have it in me to do it all again, especially in my current condition and for a guy who’d quite possibly caused my current condition.
“I don’t know, Mallory. I’m not in much shape to—”
“I’ll do the legwork. You tell me what to do.”
I frowned. “I’m not really that good at—”
“I heard you’ve solved two murders. That’s good enough for me.”
“ ‘Solved’ maybe isn’t the most accurate term to describe my involvement in those cases.” Ryder always used to say I “bumbled onto the truth,” but that was the most credit he ever deigned to give me.
Her eyes filled with tears again. “You’re the only person I know and trust who can do this kind of thing.”
A thought popped into my head. “A friend I know and trust is a private investigator. Would you care to pay for the real deal instead of relying on my questionable talents?”
Relief washed over her face. “Yes. If you trust this friend of yours, that’s good enough for me. Will you get us a meeting with your friend as soon as possible?”
Us. She said us. She was adamant about me being a part of her quest to free her husband. I wanted to help her because she was my friend, but I couldn’t bring myself to commit to a cause I didn’t at least somewhat believe in. I would need a lot more convincing.
“What about the things you said to Jack at the club? Someone told me you said he put your career on the line and that the phone the police found at your house was a smoking gun. What did you mean by that? Are you involved in some way, too?”
She shook her head and raked her hands through her shiny blond hair. “No, but I know some things I’d rather keep quiet about.” Leaning closer to me, she whispered, “Jack hasn’t been himself lately, so I started digging around at home. I found the phone a couple of weeks ago. I was afraid that…well, you know. So I called the last number and a young woman’s voice answered. That’s when I realized he was cheating on me. I confronted him about it, and he promised he’d end the relationship.”
I didn’t care for her choice of words. In a hushed voice, I replied, “And when he said ‘end,’ he meant break things off, not…end, right?”
“Of course. I’m telling you he doesn’t have it in him to kill anyone.”
I’d been through enough to know that nearly everyone had it in them to kill. It was frightening what people would do with the proper motivation.
“Why is the phone a smoking gun?”
“I overheard the police say his phone is the one they were looking for. That it matched the number the dead girl had been calling on her prepaid cell.”
That was the phone Cromwell and Ryder had been searching for at Trevor’s apartment. This didn’t look good for Jack.
“Go on,” I said.
“As for my dig about him ruining my career, yesterday I noticed that my hospital account had been logged into last week at a time when I was at home sleeping. I keep all my passwords and account information at home in my safe. No one besides Jack has access to them. I never dreamed my husband of all people would be the one to steal my identity.”
“What did he do while he was in your account?”
“I’m not sure. Looked at some patient charts, maybe? I’m sure the hospital’s IT department could figure out what he did, but I don’t want to tell them because I don’t want to get either one of us into trouble, especially now.”
The wheels in my mind began turning as I remembered the conversation I’d overheard between Ryder and Brooke. She said both girls’ hospital records had vanished into thin air.
I cleared my throat. “Could he have deleted patient records?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
My heart sank. This was getting more complex by the moment, and now everything pointed to Jack. I rubbed my forehead.
“What?” she asked.
“You know Brooke Nussbaum?”
“Yes, she’s a friend. Poor girl. She’s not doing well.”
“Right. I overheard her saying that she’d treated both Amelia Zhou and Kira Gibson for similar symptoms prior to their disappearances. She didn’t put it all together until Kira disappeared. When she went back to compare the girls’ charts, their records were missing. The day after she told the police about her findings, she was attacked. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
Mallory’s face went white. “Surely you don’t think Jack…”
“That’s my problem in all this. The more I learn, the guiltier Jack looks.”
“It’s not possible,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “Maybe…maybe someone’s setting him up.”
“Who and why?”
“I don’t know!” she wailed, getting a few stares from other customers. “That’s why I need you. Will you help me? My other friends have all turned their backs on him. The only kind of support I’m getting right now is people throwing business cards at me for good divorce lawyers.” She looked at me, her eyes haunted and desolate. “Jack only has me to help him. And I have no one.” She put her head in her hands and began sobbing quietly.
My heart twisted. I gave her an awkward pat on the back. I’d known Mallory as long as I’d known Pete. Sure, we’d lost touch over the years, but she’d been a major part of my life at one point. She’d been like a big sister to me when I was first away from home and trying to get used to life alone in a big city. She’d let me cry on her shoulder when I was homesick. She had been there for me when I needed her. Now she needed me. Against my better judgment, I was caving.
I blew out a breath. “If I’m going to jump on your bandwagon here—and I said if, then you’re going to have to give me something more than ‘I don’t think he killed Chelsea’ as proof.”
She sniffed. “If I had proof, don’t you think I would take it to the police and get him released?”
“Okay, let’s go the other way. What if we start digging and find something you don’t like?”
Mallory lowered her eyes. “If he’s guilty, then I think he should be punished. I promise not to hide anything we find from the police—good or bad.”
That was definitely a point in her favor, but something was still nagging at me. “What does Jack say about all this? What’s his excuse for his odd behavior?”
She frowned. “He admits to having a relationship with Chelsea Stone. I didn’t have a chance to speak with him privately about whether he hacked into the hospital database with my credentials. I didn’t want to bring it up when I visited him at the police station in case anyone was listening in. Plus, he’s…he’s shutting me out.”
“Why would he shut you out if you’re the only one willing to believe him?”
“I don’t know. I assume he’s doing it to protect me.” She smiled wistfully. “At least that’s what he always would have done. He was my hero. My everything. Now I feel like…like I don’t even know him.” Rubbing her red eyes, she added quietly, “Like I never really knew him.”
That did it. “I’ll help you, Mal.”
Her face lit up. “You will?” Throwing her arms around me, she cried, “Oh, tha
nk you, thank you!”
“Ouch,” I whimpered, as her arm pressed against my road rash.
She let me go immediately. “Sorry. I should have known better, right?”
“Yeah. Let’s call Maya and get this going. Then I want to talk to Jack.”
—
Maya agreed to meet us at Mallory’s house at noon, which gave us just enough time to visit Jack before my sleep clinic appointment. It didn’t take terribly long for the police to get us into the small, stark room where I’d visited Pete. It held some unhappy memories.
A uniformed officer brought Jack into the room and shackled him to the table. Jack glared at me and barked at Mallory, “Why is she here?”
“Jack, sweetie,” she said tentatively, “Juliet is going to help me prove you’re innocent.”
“I think she’s done enough,” he sneered.
“I’ve hired a private investigator as well. I’m sure we can—”
He cut her off. “No, Mal. Go home. Go on about your life. They can’t charge me for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Actually, they can, if enough evidence points to you,” I said.
Jack stared daggers at me. “I’m not talking to you. I don’t need your help. Nor do I want it. You stay away from my wife, and don’t go digging around any more in my life, or you’ll be sorry.”
I stared right back at him. “Sorry like when I got run over?”
Straining against his shackles, he brought his hands up a few inches and slammed them down onto the metal table. Mallory jumped, but I didn’t flinch.
“The cops are looking at me for that, too, thanks to you!” he yelled.
“For the record, I didn’t point the finger at you.”
“Well, someone did. Pete, maybe?”
I shrugged. “Someone ran me over. You’re the only one at the moment who seems to have a serious beef with me.”
“I didn’t do it!”
I changed the subject. “So why don’t you want anyone trying to help you? Think we’ll find another skeleton in your closet if we go looking?”
His eyes widened and his face paled. “Stay out of this.” He looked over at Mallory. “Both of you. Mal, promise me.”
Tears were running down her face. “I won’t let you rot in here when there’s something I can do about it.”
“Mallory, please. Please just go home and pretend it’s business as usual.”
“How in the world can I do that when you’re locked up in here?”
His eyes became glassy and strained. “You have to. It’s the only way.”
I couldn’t take the veiled subtext anymore. “Okay, Jack. Spill it. Who’s pulling your strings? You’re willing to be tried for a murder you didn’t commit rather than ’fess up to what’s really going on. Why?”
“Shut up, Juliet,” he said quietly between gritted teeth. “This is bigger than you know. You’re in over your head.”
The door opened, and the uniformed officer removed Jack’s shackles and replaced them with handcuffs. Mallory whimpered at the sight of him, disheveled and defeated, being led away in chains. I put my arm around her shoulders as she wept.
With one last look back, Jack muttered, “Remember what I said.”
Once Mallory composed herself, we exited the room, but our path down the hallway was blocked. Ryder was standing in our way, arms crossed and mad as hell.
Chapter 30
Ryder growled at Mallory, “Go on. I need to talk to Juliet alone.”
Mallory cut a worried glance at me. “I’ll pull the car around, okay?”
“I’ll be along soon,” I replied.
As Mallory hurried down the hall, Ryder turned his angry stare on me. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Visiting a friend.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Just once it would be nice if you’d tell me the truth.”
My jaw dropped. “Me? I don’t think you should be the one bitching about people not telling the truth.” I fake-smiled at him. “By the way, thanks for your concern over my injuries. It was so kind of you to check on me.” I dropped the fake smile and replaced it with a real frown. “Oh, wait. You didn’t.”
Leaning in toward me, he lowered his voice. “Juliet, I do care. It tore me up inside to know you were hurt but not be able to come to see you.”
The sincerity in his eyes had me biting back the flippant remark I was poised to make. “Oh,” was all I could manage.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Yes, but it’s manageable.”
“I can’t stand seeing you like this.” He reached out and touched my arm lightly, only to shake his head and draw his hand back quickly. He changed the subject. “Ed and Bonnie told me they were going to visit you.”
“They did. It was nice to see them.” After an awkward pause, I added, “They’re worried about you…and I am, too.”
Wiping a hand down his haggard yet still handsome face, he said, “I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m fine.”
I smiled slightly to soften the blow of what I was about to say. “No, you’re not. You need to take a break. And eat a cheeseburger or something. You look…frail.”
He crossed his muscular arms and stared down at me. “I look frail? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
With great restraint, I chose not to engage. Instead, I said quietly, “I probably should get going.”
Ryder’s shoulders slumped, and he hung his head. “Juliet, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you got mixed up in this whole damn mess.” He cupped my chin in his hand. “The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt. I screwed up. I—” He stopped himself and took a step back from me. “Never mind.”
I studied his anguished face for a moment, trying to figure out what was tormenting him so much. “Are you talking about our breakup or my accident?”
He looked away and clenched his jaw. “We can’t be in contact anymore.”
I was totally confused. “Okay…How is that going to be different from our lack of contact for the past few days?”
“I can’t—”
Ryder wiped his brow. He was sweating, even though it was as freezing as it always was in the police station. I’d chosen to wear a sleeveless dress today because I couldn’t stand fabric rubbing on my arm or my knee, and I was paying for it. I felt like I was one big goosebump.
He continued, “You also can’t come back to see Jack Beaumont.”
Still puzzled, I replied, “Okay.”
“You need to go live your life. Forget about me. Forget about these cases.”
I regarded him suspiciously. The last time we spoke (fought) he’d said there were things going on I didn’t know about and that he couldn’t tell me about them. “What is it you’re not telling me? Jack said the same thing to Mallory a few minutes ago—that she should go on about her life and not worry about him. What has both of you so spooked?”
“You need to leave. Now!” he barked.
Judging by the vein that popped out of Ryder’s forehead, I’d hit upon something. “Whatever you say.”
I limped away, trying to cover what a total klutz I was on crutches. I misjudged the corner as I rounded it and caught my right crutch on it, nearly losing my balance. Head held high, I tried not to think about how much of an idiot I must have looked like in front of him.
—
I got to the sleep clinic on time and was taken back promptly to an examination room. It looked like any other doctor’s office, with the exam table and general medical equipment present. A pleasant woman came into my room and introduced herself.
“I’m Dr. Dana Herrin. I hear you’re a friend of Dr. Kingston-Malloy.”
“Yes, a new friend. We met last weekend and hit it off quite well,” I replied.
“I don’t doubt that. She’s a joy to work with.” She removed her stethoscope from around her neck and listened to my back and chest. When she was finished, she made a note on her clipboard. “So you’re having trouble sleeping. Is this a ne
w problem or a recurring problem?”
“I started having trouble last week, but it’s happened before. Never this bad, though.”
Dr. Herrin nodded, placing a blood pressure cuff around my arm and beginning to pump it up. “Anything change in your life?”
Where did I start? “Um…I…found a friend dead. Then one of my employees went missing, and then my boyfriend and I broke up, and then I found another dead person, and then I was hit by a car.”
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at me for a good ten seconds. Shaking her head, she said, “No one could sleep after that.”
“I kind of figured that, but Lucinda seemed to think a study could help.”
“It certainly can. I’m a neurologist, but we’ll be sure to have Dr. Kingston-Malloy present during your study as well.”
Of course. Make sure the shrink is on hand to corral the crazy chick.
Dr. Herrin noted my blood pressure, her expression aghast, and removed the cuff from my arm. “It wouldn’t hurt to follow up with your GP about your elevated blood pressure,” she said pointedly as she went over to the counter to retrieve a packet, which she handed to me. “You’ll need to complete a weeklong sleep diary and fill out our standard questionnaire. The receptionist will schedule your study appointment when you leave.” Placing a hand on my good arm, she said kindly, “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot lately. I’m hoping we can help you get some rest.”
“Thank you. I could use a good rest,” I replied.
“Oh, I forgot something. I’ll be right back,” she said, exiting the room.
I looked in the packet. There was a huge stack of paper in there. I did not relish the thought of filling out a long, invasive questionnaire.
Dr. Herrin returned quickly with a much smaller packet. She said tentatively, “Dr. Kingston-Malloy mentioned you thought your insurance might not cover the study. So I thought, if you were interested, you could read through these materials. We frequently treat overachieving college students who suffer from stress-related sleep problems. And we find that these students are often good candidates for a local donation program.”
A Whole Latte Murder Page 27