Courtney seemed to accept this, and we left the room together. We traveled every wing in silence, passing a few other “pacers” on the way. When we started the same route over, Courtney finally spoke.
“My dad wasn’t such a bad guy.”
“I didn’t know him very well, but he sure did step up to the plate the day his brother died. That showed character. So tell me what you liked about him.”
“He was funny and smart. Yeah, he drank too much. But he would have been okay if my mother hadn’t died.”
“And maybe you would have been okay, too?” I asked.
She fell into silence again. We kept walking, with me matching her rapid strides past closed doors, kitchens, and therapy rooms. I shouldn’t have mentioned her mother. She probably wasn’t ready to deal with that right now.
About five minutes later she spoke again. “That shit the doc was saying about needing to be perfect? It must run in the family, because my dad was that way, too.”
“Did he want to be perfect for you?” I asked.
“Nah. For Uncle James. He always looked up to him—the big brother and all that crap. But then Dad had to go and ask for his job back. Uncle James practically laughed in his face.” Her tone had turned bitter.
“You were there?” I asked.
“Oh, I was there, all right. It happened the first night we arrived, and the family went out to dinner. Uncle James humiliated Dad in front of Megan, Aunt Sylvia—hell, everybody. And it got so quiet at that table I had to split. Made my first score in Houston that night. Another shining moment in Courtney’s life.”
“How did Roxanne handle that wonderful dinner moment?” I asked.
“She pretended it never happened. But Dad didn’t. He got even. I was there for that, too. ’Course he didn’t know I was just around the corner listening.”
My heart sped up. Was she about to tell me she saw her father kill his brother? “You heard or saw something?”
She halted. Turned to me. “My father did not murder his brother, if that’s what you think.”
“I was thinking that, but obviously I’m wrong. Set me straight. Help me solve these murders, Courtney.”
She cocked her head, her expression serious, the anger gone from her face. “You hardly ever hear I’m wrong. Everyone wants to be right. Hell, I want to be right. But I was wrong, too. I was so wrong to do what I did.”
This time I made a conscious effort not to prejudge or assume. I just wanted her to keep talking. I touched her emaciated upper arm and gently squeezed. “We all make mistakes. God knows I’ve made plenty in my lifetime.”
“I heard him make the phone call, Abby. I heard every word.”
“What phone call?”
“He called Megan’s birth mother. He knew her. He knew where she was, and he called and he told her that her daughter was getting married in a week.”
So that’s how Laura Montgomery found out about the wedding. “And you feel guilty for eavesdropping? That’s not exactly a crime, Courtney. Did you tell the police?”
She started walking again, and I followed.
“No way. See, I was looking out for myself, and I could have gotten in big trouble. But now, without the big C, it’s sunk in that I blackmailed my own father. Makes me feel like I drank Drano. What do you think of a person who blackmails her own father so she can buy cocaine? What kind of person does something that despicable?”
“A person who isn’t thinking clearly,” I said evenly. “Did you threaten your father, tell him you would talk to your uncle James about Megan’s birth mother?”
She nodded. “Dad so wanted to make Uncle James pay for being an asshole. Wanted to see his face when this woman showed up at the wedding. So he gave me five grand to keep my mouth shut for a week. And every fucking penny went in my arm or up my nose.”
She sounded so disgusted with herself it was almost scary. She obviously needed the protection this place offered. I said, “Kate is a wonderful therapist, and you’re getting the help you need now.”
“Too late. Way too late. And now Roxanne has—” She stopped herself.
“What about Roxanne? Is she feeling as guilty as you do?”
Courtney shook her head vehemently. “I can’t talk about her. I can’t hurt the only person left in the world who loves me.”
“We need to get to the truth,” I said firmly. “For everyone’s sake. Does Roxanne feel as responsible as you do for your father’s death?”
Courtney stopped walking and stared straight ahead, arms limp at her sides.
I came around and stood in front of her. “Do you think Roxanne killed them?”
Courtney closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. “She didn’t know what to do with her anger. She wasn’t like me. I picked the perfect way out. I medicated myself. But Roxy is so . . . different. She just pretends all the time. Lives in this big fantasy world. And when she found out Dad and Uncle James sent away the guy she loved—and that the jerk went willingly—she got all calm and syrupy. But she had to be pissed off. So pissed off.”
“And you think that’s why she killed them? Over something that happened months ago?”
“I don’t want to believe it, but maybe she had no other way to deal with her anger.”
“So why choose what was supposed to be the happiest day of Megan’s life to settle the score? Don’t you think she cared way too much for Megan to do something like that?”
“Maybe she was jealous of Megan’s happiness?” But Courtney didn’t sound so sure now.
“Then why not kill Megan, or better yet, Travis? Make Megan feel the same loss your sister had felt.”
“That’s ridiculous. She adores Megan.”
“Exactly my point,” I said. “I don’t think she killed anyone. Have you considered the possibility that she was protecting you?”
Courtney’s lids slowly closed and opened. Then I could tell by her eyes that she was putting something together. “She could have had another motive. If she killed them, then I’d have no money for drugs. And the way her mind works, she probably believed that would be a solution to my problem.” She paused, stared into my eyes, then whispered, “Oh my God. What have I done?”
22
Kate stepped in after my talk with Courtney and took her to her room for another therapy session. Even though I had tried to reassure Courtney that no one knew for certain that Roxanne committed murder to protect her sister, Courtney wasn’t convinced and had started talking about how worthless she was.
Meanwhile, I went out to my car and sat there thinking while Kate stayed behind with the once again agitated Courtney. I’d played my role of the concerned friend at the rehearsal and wedding while all the time Courtney and Roxanne knew I had another agenda. And Travis, the one person Megan wanted to protect the most, knew about me, too—and lied to the police. And what about Sylvia? Was she really in the dark when everyone else seemed to know Megan was searching for her mother?
I inserted the key in the ignition, but the questions kept coming. What about Graham? Had he researched my background because he knew why I was hanging around his niece? And who confronted James in the study that day with a Waterford vase in hand? Was it Laura Montgomery? And did she then get rid of Graham so he could never tell Megan the truth? From what I saw of her last night, she was certainly desperate enough to have committed murder.
So many possibilities, and as much as I hated the idea, I had to tell Fielder what I’d learned. I pulled out of the hospital parking lot wondering where I would begin with the story—and if she’d let me finish talking this time.
When I arrived at the Seacliff Police Station a half hour later, the place was back to normal. Guess the reporters got tired of being stonewalled. Henderson didn’t even hear me come in. He wore a headset and was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. And I knew why.
A woman was crying, sounding like a calf calling his mama—a piercing, loud, insistent noise that would have had me wearing headphones, too.
I walked up to Henderson’s desk and poked his shoulder.
He started and nearly fell backward, then hastily took off the headset and said, “What do you want?”
“I need to see her. Now.”
“You sure? Because she is in one foul mood.” He nodded in the direction of the noise. “Ever since that Beadford girl got here last night we’ve been subjected to Roxanne’s special brand of torture. You’d think she’d get tired.”
“Roxanne is making all that racket?” I looked toward the hall where the noise was coming from.
“We’re thinking about calling the county mental health officers to cart her off.”
“All the more reason for me to talk to Fielder.”
“She’s pretty busy. Between rounds with Beadford, she keeps looking at pictures and video from the wedding. I told her she needs to leave it alone for a while, but ever since the preliminary autopsy and forensic reports came in this morning she’s been working nonstop. She’s majorly stressed out.”
“Did you see those reports?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? She doesn’t trust anyone with this case.” Henderson stood. “Come on. Let me take you back there.”
Once we reached Fielder’s office, he rapped on the door. The crying was obviously coming from inside.
He called, “Miss Rose is here to see you, Chief.”
“I’m busy,” came the curt reply.
But then Roxanne spoke. “Abby’s here? My Abby?”
Oh brother. Now I belonged to her.
Fielder said something indecipherable, and then Roxanne shrieked, “I need to talk to her!”
The click of shoes on the wood floor told me Roxanne might just get her wish.
Fielder yanked open the door and stepped aside for me to enter. “If you think you can make her quit crying, you are more than welcome to try.”
Roxanne had been sitting in the chair opposite the desk, but when she saw me, she jumped to her feet and rushed over.
Hugging me so tightly I felt like I was dancing with a grizzly. Roxanne said, “Why doesn’t she put me in jail where I belong? Why, Abby? Why?”
I gripped Roxanne’s forearms, pushed her away, and held her at arm’s length. “Can the three of us talk?”
“I have been talking, but she doesn’t listen,” cried Roxanne.
Sad, but true, I thought. I turned to Fielder, who looked run over, run down, and wrung out.
She said, “Can I release Miss Beadford to you? Otherwise, we might have to commit her. She refuses to leave the premises even though I have told her I have her statement and she’s free to leave.”
“I’ll be glad to take her home if we can discuss her confession first.” This was a bribe, pure and simple, but one I was betting Fielder might accept.
“And why should I do that?” she said wearily. But she turned, walked to her desk, and sat down. She was definitely ready to negotiate.
“I’ve learned a few things about this case in the last few days, things that might interest you,” I said.
Roxanne and I had followed her, and we sat in the two chairs facing Fielder. Roxanne wore Dallas Cowboys sweats and her stringy hair looked like she’d combed it with a dead fish.
“What have you told the chief?” I asked her.
She sniffed and her lower lip trembled. “The truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. And now I’m going to rot in hell!” She let loose with one of those calf calls, and it was loud enough to rupture my eardrum.
Fielder looked like she might jump across the desk and strangle her.
I gripped Roxanne’s knee and squeezed. “Shut up. No wonder she doesn’t listen. Who could stand that noise?”
Roxanne stopped in midwail, snapped her mouth closed, and stared at me for a second. Then, in absolute control, she said, “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior, but this has been an extremely emotional time for myself and my family.”
“Right. So what’s with this confession? Did you kill them to protect your sister?”
Fielder offered one of those frustrated and disgusted sighs she was so good at. “Protecting Courtney? All I’ve heard is some cock-and-bull story about a fiddler boyfriend her uncle and her father sent out of town.”
Roxanne jerked in Fielder’s direction. “Violinist. And I loved him. Uncle James and Father conspired against us. Just like Romeo and Juliet, we were doomed. So I made them both pay with their lives.”
“Okay,” said Fielder. “And why don’t you tell your beloved Abby how you killed your uncle.”
“I hit him over the head with a vase.”
“And what color was the vase?” Fielder said.
“You’ve asked me a dozen times. Why do I have to keep answering the same questions over and over?”
“Because you give me a different response every time,” said Fielder.
“I was too overwrought to remember much about that afternoon. People in homicidal rages do not remember details. But Megan received several vases as wedding gifts and I know it was one of them. I think it was the blue and white Wedgwood.”
“Right.” Fielder looked my way. “You see what I’m dealing with here?”
I did. If you hit someone over the head hard enough to knock them senseless, wouldn’t you remember what you used? Maybe Roxanne needed a good shock to refresh her memory. “I don’t think Roxanne killed anyone, Chief. She’s protecting Courtney because she knows her sister was blackmailing her father.”
My words had an immediate effect. Roxanne leaped to her feet and stared down at me. “How dare you come here as my friend and then betray my sister and myself in this manner?”
“Courtney is willing to come clean,” I said. “I suggest you follow her lead.”
Roxanne slowly reclaimed her seat. Her frown reminded me of a kid whose gerbil had just died. I hoped she wouldn’t start crying again.
“She admitted she killed them?” Roxanne said.
“Huh?” I said.
Fielder echoed my surprise with a “What?”
“It was most certainly the drugs,” Roxanne said quickly, her eyes darting between Fielder and me. “She wasn’t herself . . . but she’s getting better. She wasn’t responsible. You can’t send her to jail for something she probably doesn’t even remember doing.”
“She didn’t kill them, Courtney,” said Fielder. “Despite what some people think”—I received a pointed stare—“I have been doing my job. Your sister is one of the few people with an alibi for both murders. The easiest part of this whole case was finding out who was selling her drugs and when. She met with her dealer outside the Beadford house during the reception and in the funeral home parking lot right about the time her father died.”
Roxanne turned to me. “Is this some sort of ruse, Abby? Because I am more than willing to go to the big house—that’s vernacular for prison—because I am guilty.”
“From what you’ve told me,” Fielder said, “you’re merely guilty of telling your father that Megan Beadford was looking for her birth mother. That’s not a crime, Roxanne.”
“It is to me,” she said quietly. “Because that’s what started everything.”
I had to agree with her there, but I didn’t say this out loud. I wanted no more calf calls in my immediate future.
Fielder said, “Could you please recant this confession now?”
She crossed her arms and looked downright defiant. “I’m not recanting if it means Courtney goes to jail for her drug problem.”
Man, Roxanne had more grit in her craw than I ever gave her credit for.
Fielder pointed a finger at her. “You are wasting my time. Courtney is not going to jail—at least for now.”
“See, Abby? She’s lying. She does think Courtney is a cold-blooded murderer.”
“Don’t you get it?” I said. “Number one, your sister has an alibi. Number two, if Courtney killed your father and your uncle, how would she get money for drugs? After all, your uncle James was supporting your father. That’s how the m
oney flowed in your family, right? From Uncle James through your father and then to you.” Yes indeed, combined with what Courtney had told me, it all made sense now.
“How did you know?” a wide-eyed Roxanne said.
“I put two and two together. After you told your father that Megan was looking for her mother, he wasted no time contacting the woman. He knew where to find her, which means he knew his brother’s secret, and he figured Megan would learn that secret soon enough, too. James would have no reason to continue paying your father for his silence. Your dad wanted his revenge before the money stopped coming in, right?”
Roxanne hung her head. “Uncle James humiliated him so many times, and Dad thought he finally had a way to get even.”
“So,” I said, “with the money cow about to dry up, what better way to end their relationship than with a hefty dose of payback? I’ll bet he loved seeing the look on James’s face when Laura Montgomery showed up at the wedding.”
Fielder said, “Wait a minute. Who’s Laura Montgomery?”
“The woman in the composite. Megan’s birth mother.”
And I had to admit I loved the look on Fielder’s face right now. Stunned and dismayed about covered it. And I was hoping she also felt like an idiot for having gone bucktooth and hangnail with me from the minute we met.
As it turned out, I was saved from having to take Roxanne home. Between Fielder and me, we convinced her that Courtney wouldn’t be sent to jail. Courtney had an alibi, she was in rehab, and Fielder had no reason to go after her. So Roxanne called Sylvia, who agreed to pick her niece up.
While Fielder and I stood by, and Henderson smiled as wide as a game show host, Sylvia ushered Roxanne out of the police station like a mother duck, telling her she needed to bathe and rest up to be ready for the visitation tonight.
Once she was gone, Fielder said, “I never thought I’d be grateful to you for anything.”
“So you are thanking me?”
“Yeah. You want to have dinner or something? Talk this case over?”
Henderson folded his arms and nodded, looking satisfied. “Very classy, Chief. I think you’re getting the hang of this job.”
A Wedding to Die For Page 22