Exhume (Dr. Schwartzman Series Book 1)

by Danielle Girard

  Hal wasn’t going to be able to press charges against O’Malley. She was obviously an unwitting participant, but maybe she could help him find the killer. He set his pen on the notepad and pushed it toward her. “We need that website and every detail about this job. What they told you to do, the directions. Every last thing you can think of.”

  “Of course. Absolutely.”

  “Start with your full name and contact info,” Hailey told O’Malley.

  Hal tried to move the pieces around. All of it done through the web, a specific site, no interactions. He’d have to get the tech guys in on this. He watched her. “The money was good, but did you get paid?”

  She nodded, but something in her body language made him pause.

  “What?” he asked.

  She licked her lips again, standing up enough to slide her foot back beneath her. “It was actually the getting paid that made me start to wonder about Sarah.”

  Hal leaned in. “Explain.”

  “The check I got was from her . . .”

  “From her?” Hal repeated.

  “Yes. It showed up as a check written by her.”

  “Where is that check now?”

  “I deposited it,” she said, looking a little chagrined. “I had to,” she added. “But wait. I took a picture.” She rummaged through her purse for her phone.

  She showed them an image of a check. Handwritten. Made out to Stephanie O’Malley. Five thousand dollars. Dated and signed by Sarah Feld, it was a personal check.

  The only problem was that on the date that check was written, Sarah Feld had already been dead for three days.

  35

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Schwartzman parked along the curb in front of Ava’s house. She’d never seen the house totally dark before. Ava always left on the upstairs bathroom light to filter through the small hallway and into the two front bedrooms.

  Was it off the night Ava died? Had someone else turned that light off? Was it on when she was there yesterday?

  Beyond the house, the sky was the deep blue of nightfall. There were maybe ten or fifteen more minutes before it would be dark. She should go inside, take a look around before everything was pitched in black. She could have stayed in Savannah with Melanie for the night or gone back to the hotel, but she had driven here.

  She had come back to Ava’s. This was where she needed to be.

  Here, where she could feel Ava and her father, and, hopefully, some strength to fight.

  Cancer. Spencer. To figure out a next step.

  She gripped the steering wheel. Go inside.

  Her phone buzzed again on the passenger seat beside her as it had been doing all day. Messages from Hal, from Harper. She felt terrible not answering. She owed Hal more than the silent treatment. But she couldn’t face him now. Ava’s house already felt like too much.

  Tomorrow. She would call him tomorrow.

  The curtain in the bedroom moved. She stared at the window. No motion at all. It had to be a trick of the light. She cracked the car door and put one foot on the asphalt. She took a deep breath. What choice did she have? She wasn’t going to sleep in the car. She stood and let the door close behind her.

  “Dr. Schwartzman?”

  She yelped, spun toward the voice. Adrenaline rushed through her limbs, her pulse an angry thumping.

  A man stood on the sidewalk.

  She froze, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said,

  Her fingers cupped the car’s door handle.

  He wore a police uniform. Hands raised, palms out, he moved slowly toward her.

  “Stop right there,” she commanded. Her fingers slipped off the handle before regaining her grip. She cranked the handle up, pulled the door open.

  “I’m Officer Sam Pearson,” he said, stopped in the street. “Detective Leighton asked me to keep an eye on your aunt’s house tonight.”

  Harper had mentioned parking a car in front of Ava’s. Schwartzman scanned the street. “Where’s your cruiser?”

  “Just there, ma’am,” he said, pointing one raised hand across the street.

  The cruiser was parked on the far side of the street. “Okay,” she said, not convinced. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am. I’ve been here since about two. Haven’t seen anything suspicious.”

  She stood between the door and the car. “Okay, then. You can go. I’ll take it from here.”

  Sam raised his brows. “Actually, the detective instructed me to go through the house when you came home.”

  If Spencer had never left Greenville and still managed to kill Sarah Feld and stab Macy, she had no reason to think he couldn’t buy his way into the police department. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go.”

  “Excuse me, Dr. Schwartzman?”

  “No way you’re coming in that house,” Schwartzman said.

  Sam looked stunned.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He touched his breast pocket. “How about if I call the detective? You can talk to her yourself.”

  There was a chill in the air. Ava’s coat was in the backseat. She shivered. “All right. I’ll be in the car.”

  She got back in the car and locked the doors.

  Through the windshield she saw Sam on the phone, and she kept an eye on the gun in his holster. If he pulled a gun, could she drive away fast enough? He’d have to shoot her. She wasn’t going anywhere with him willingly.

  He scratched his head, motioned to her car. Who was he talking to? Harper? Or Spencer? She started the car.

  Sam pointed to the phone in his opposite hand. He was coming closer. Too close. She put the car in reverse, backed up a few feet.

  “The detective wants to talk to you,” the officer yelled.

  She cracked the window. “Have her call me, then.” With that, she pulled into the street and drove away from Ava’s house. She was not playing into any more of his traps. She would take nothing for granted. Her phone rang only seconds later. She hit the “Talk” button, took an involuntary breath of air, and said nothing.

  “Anna?” Harper’s voice.

  “I’m here,” Schwartzman said, her pulse slowing from its gallop. She could trust Harper. God, couldn’t she trust Harper? She kept driving. You have to trust someone.

  “Are you okay? I’ve had someone at the house all day.”

  She eyed the rearview mirror. No one in sight. “I had to take care of some things.”

  “Okay,” Harper said. “But you’re all right?”

  Schwartzman said nothing. She was tired, on edge, and wary. She needed to go to bed but wanted nothing to do with going inside that house. Taking a left at the corner, she considered going back to the hotel.

  “Anna?”

  She did trust Harper. This wasn’t a trap. Harper had a patrol car parked at the house for protection. To protect her from Spencer. “I’m here.”

  “Okay. Listen, I’ve got another patrol car headed your way. It’s Andy, the officer from the garage yesterday.”

  At the mention of the garage, Spencer’s warm, wet tongue was again on her face. Her stomach rolled. She pulled to the curb and opened the window all the way. Breathe.

  “I want Andy and Sam to go through the house before you go inside.”

  Schwartzman clenched the steering wheel. She was letting the fear take over. Pull it together. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Slowly.

  “Anna!” Harper’s voice was sharp.

  “Okay,” she conceded.

  “Sam said you were driving away. Where are you going?”

  She exhaled. Harper had talked to the patrol officer. He was with Harper. They were not with Spencer. This was not like the times in Seattle, when the police didn’t believe her. These officers were on her side. You are okay. “I’ll go back. I didn’t know who he was—I didn’t know if he was really . . .”

  “He’s one of the good guys, Anna. Promise.” There was a pause befo
re Harper said, “I’m at my daughter’s volleyball game, but I could come meet you.”

  “No,” Schwartzman said. She had to pull it together. It was okay to be vigilant. But not crazy. You cannot let him make you crazy. “You stay with your daughter. I’m sure Sam and . . .” She couldn’t recall the other name.

  “Andy,” Harper supplied.

  “Right. I’m sure they will call if they find anything.” And she had Harper’s number. She could reach out. He’s not coming back, not so soon. But she didn’t know that. Not really. Spencer was nothing if not unpredictable.

  “I’m going to leave a patrol car there tonight.”

  “It’s not—” She stopped. But it was necessary, wasn’t it? So she could sleep through the night?

  “Just tonight,” Harper pressed. “You sound like you could use a good night’s rest. You’re heading back to the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got my phone if you need me.”

  Schwartzman exhaled. The police were there to keep Spencer away. Harper was keeping the house protected, keeping her safe. “Okay. Thanks.”

  Schwartzman returned to Ava’s. A second patrol car was parked out front, another officer standing beside Sam Pearson. The second officer offered his hand as Schwartzman approached. “Dr. Schwartzman, I’m Andy Hill.”

  Schwartzman dug into her pocket for Ava’s house key, offered it.

  “We’ll take a look around and be right back.”

  The two men started up the stairs.

  “Officer Hill,” Schwartzman called after them.

  Andy turned back.

  “Would you turn on some lights upstairs?” She pointed up to the house. “Maybe the one in the bathroom . . . so it’s not . . .”

  “Sure thing.”

  Schwartzman retreated to the rental car and waited. The men reappeared a few minutes later, Andy leading the way. He gave her a thumbs-up. She met him on the curb, where he returned Ava’s key.

  “You’re all set. Doors and windows are locked up, and the house is empty.” He motioned to the other officer. “Sam will be here all night, and I’ll be back in the morning.”

  She thanked them both and climbed the stairs to Ava’s house, noticing the light in the upstairs bedroom windows. Despite the light, the two bedroom windows seemed to stare into the darkness like a blind man.

  Inside, she locked the door behind her. For several minutes, she stood in the entryway, listening to the sounds of the house. There was a light wind, which made the windows on the south side chatter. She would sleep in the den. But first she had to take a look at the place where Ava died. Her medical examiner instincts forced her up there.

  She couldn’t stay in the house without seeing where Ava had died.

  She walked up the stairs with purpose, but froze halfway up. Covering her nose, she stumbled backward, barely caught herself from falling.

  Gucci cologne.

  Was he here? The police had just checked the house.

  She scrambled downstairs to the kitchen, checked the back door, the windows. The front door was locked. The patrol car sat on the street. The officer sat up front. He turned his head.

  Alive, alert.

  “Damn it.” She stomped back up the stairs. This had to end. The fear, the cowering.

  “You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it,” Ava used to say, quoting Coelho.

  Now was Schwartzman’s time to rise to the surface and swim.

  At Ava’s room, she gripped the knob, turned it slowly, and pushed the door open without moving into the room. She was sure she would see him standing there, his taunting smile, or hiding behind the door, waiting for her to close it. Her heart raced. Would he tie her up the way he had Ava? She waited. Three beats, five, and stepped into the room.

  Smelled gardenias, rosewater, death . . . grooves were scratched into the footboard of Ava’s bed where the ligatures were secured. The headboard, too.

  She had fought.

  Schwartzman retrieved the small orange evidence marker that had fallen under the bed, turned it in her hand. The residue of powder remained where they had tried to retrieve the assailant’s fingerprints and found none. The sheets had been removed as evidence, the quilt thrown back over the bed. She pulled it down, saw the stains on the mattress pad where Ava had lain. The acrid smell of urine, sweat. Fear.

  She yanked the comforter up over the bed, pulled it down on the sides to hide the sheets.

  On the bureau was a picture of Ava and her father as children. On the dressing table lay her grandmother’s silver mirror and brush, the ornate monogram engraved on the silver. E for Esther. She touched the cool metal, fingered the etched letter.

  Her family home was tainted, forever connected with him.

  He had stolen her future, but he had her past, too. He’d left her with nothing.

  She could not escape him.

  As long as he was alive, she would live in fear.

  36

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Schwartzman slept fitfully and was up well before the sun. She cleaned the kitchen, tossing out the perishables and fighting the memories of that room. Ava still kept buttermilk in the refrigerator for pancakes, still filled the little jar on the counter with Fig Newtons, something Schwartzman thought she’d only done for her visits. The smell of her favorite citrus dish soap. The peach tea she’d always brewed in the summer sun.

  She ran the dishwasher and wiped down the countertops before going through Ava’s closet. This time she moved slowly, searching for something that Ava could be buried in. She found a simple green dress that she’d seen her aunt wear. Chose an outfit for herself to wear to the attorney’s office, black slacks and a cream sweater. The sweater with the slacks was dull, something Ava herself likely wouldn’t pair together. Finally, she chose a simple black dress and laid it across the bed to wear to Ava’s funeral.

  She arrived at the attorney’s office five minutes late. Ava’s attorney was a man not much older than Schwartzman.

  “Colin Glazier.” He shook her hand and invited her to sit. He motioned to the green dress Schwartzman had brought with her to take to the mortuary after her meeting. “She liked that one,” Colin said. “She wore it to a fund-raiser for the museum back in January.”

  Schwartzman wanted to know about the fund-raiser, to hear about Ava in the context of something so normal. January was months ago. He’d likely seen her since then. He would have seen her regularly.

  Ava had come to her graduation from medical school. That was the last time she’d seen her aunt, more than seven years ago.

  “Would you like us to deliver it to Woodward’s for you? The dress, I mean,” he added when she gave him a puzzled look. Polite, straightforward, it wasn’t hard to imagine why Ava had selected him.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He buzzed his assistant, who came to take it, and Schwartzman watched the dress go in a new wave of loss.

  “You are the sole beneficiary of her entire estate,” the attorney told her when she’d taken the seat across from his desk.

  Schwartzman said nothing. Her mother had told her as much.

  “Would you like to go through the assets now? Or would you prefer I put you in touch with her investment adviser?”

  Schwartzman sat up in the chair. “Was there a letter or anything?”

  “Yes. Of course.” He passed her a sealed envelope.

  Schwartzman opened it and pulled out a piece of heavy stock paper. Let out a shaky breath. The letter was typewritten. How she longed to see Ava’s narrow handwriting.

  My dear Annabelle,

  I’m afraid I’ve left you quite a list, so don’t hesitate to get help from Colin or his staff with all these old-lady details. Just because I lived in that house my whole life doesn’t mean you should. I know it will always find a wonderful family like ours if you should decide to sell.

  Some things to remember, though:

  Light fixtures in the entryway and d
en are original. If you sell the house, those should go to Christie’s Auction first. Colin will have the number . . .

  Schwartzman stopped reading, scanned the page, flipped to the end. It was nothing more than a how-to guide to taking the house apart. The second page was a list of people who could care for the house if Schwartzman wasn’t ready to sell.

  Where was the personal note?

  She saw the letter was dated February, only a few months before. “Did she update her will recently?”

  “The will itself hasn’t been updated in more than a decade,” he said. “But Ava tended to rewrite that letter to you every few months.”

  “Was there another version?”

  “Ava always took the last letter with her and replaced it with the new one. She was very meticulous that way.”

  She wondered if something had happened in February, something that would make her draft this version. Had the earlier ones been more emotional? Or had those feelings Ava once had toward her niece simply dried up over the years? Stop, she told herself. Of course Ava loved her. She didn’t need a letter to tell her that. But how she wanted one.

  She blinked back tears and glanced down at the letter again. A full household, assets, investments. All of it coming to her. She folded the note and returned it to the envelope. She couldn’t do this now.

  “Thank you,” she told Colin, standing.

  “I know it’s overwhelming.”

  She nodded.

  He handed her a business card. “Let me know how we can help.”

  As Schwartzman started to turn for the door, Colin added, “She was really proud of you. She talked about you all the time.”

  “I appreciate that, thank you,” she said, tears threatening to fall. She reached out to shake his hand.

  He held on to hers. “One more thing. I know you’ll be going through the house a little at a time. She didn’t put anything about this in writing, but your aunt often mentioned that she had saved a whole shelf full of books that she wanted you to have.”

  Schwartzman ignored the tears that trailed over her cheeks. “Books?”