CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cecilia meets me for coffee in the morning. The day is bright and cloudless, and there's even birdsong outside. The cheer the songbirds evoke is incongruous with the dread I feel.

Cecilia smiles warmly at me, and I try desperately to feel the same connection to her I feel the day before.

But it doesn't come. I don't know the woman in front of me, and the glimpse I get when she sneers at Johnathan's memory combines with the clue from his crossword to make me wonder if I've ever even met the woman behind the smile.

Fortunately, I am better equipped to lie today than I am yesterday. I return an equally warm smile and say, "You seem in a good mood. I take it the phone calls you made worked well?"

"Very well. Let's just say that if Elena decides to press the issue, she'll find the board's mind unchanged."

I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I assume it means they'll support Cecilia. "That's wonderful!"

Her smile widens and she tosses her hair saucily. "Nice to have a bit of good news."

The move is girly and quite pretty on her, but it reminds me uncomfortably of the sneer the day before. I need a moment to collect myself, so I stand and say, "I'll get you some coffee. I need a refill myself."

"Oh please, you sit," she says. "I insist. After you defended me yesterday, I should be serving you coffee."

I feel like I should protest further, but it seems I'm not as strong-willed today as I think I am. I smile gratefully and return to my seat.

Why would Cecilia kill him? What would she possibly gain from that? Money? To what end? She has everything she could possibly wish for. I don't sympathize with Theresa at all, but she had a point when she said that Cecilia didn't even miss the jewelry. What could a woman with everything she wanted wish for?

Power? She said she didn't want to run the company. She only wanted to resist Elena to protect Johnathan's memory. True, I encouraged her and suggested she could take his place if she wanted, but I only said that to make her feel better. She didn't really appear enthused about the prospect.

Escape? From what? To where? I can't believe that Johnathan was abusive. The children revere his memory, and Cecilia shows no signs of being a battered woman.

Elijah said that his mother loved herself. He implied that she didn't love Johnathan or perhaps anyone else. But to murder him? I just can't see it.

She returns and hands me a coffee. I sip and frown when I taste a sharp tang that isn't there before.

"It's a Costa Rican blend," she says. She smiles sheepishly. "Johnathan preferred dark roast, but I was more of a blonde roast girl."

"Ah. It's… unique."

She laughs. "I take it you're not a fan. That's all right. You can make the dark roast again if you want."

"Oh, that's fine. Besides, light roast has more caffeine."

"You know I heard that wasn't true," she says. "I heard it's a misunderstanding of the roasting process."

"Oh. I suppose you learn something new every day."

"Speaking of learning things," Cecilia said, "I've thought about what you said about the children's schooling. I think they should return to school. So, I'm taking them back today."

I blink. "Today?"

"Yes. Those were some of the phone calls I made as well. The schools expect them this morning."

"Oh. Well. I'll speak to Javier, and…"

"No. You should take the day off. You've worked very hard, and the children are blooming under your care. You've earned some time to yourself."

"Oh, Cecilia. That's kind, but—"

"I insist. Besides, it's their first day back at school. I want to be there to encourage them."

Her eyes show genuine love, genuine grief. It can't be possible that she's responsible for their father's death.

I smile again, and this time, I don't have to force it. "I understand. Thank you."

"Of course. I'll leave Javier at your disposal today. I prefer to drive my own car."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't always a rich man's wife, you know. I never really got used to having everything done for me. It's nice to have some control over my own life for once."

And just like that, my suspicions are raised again.

So it's freedom she wants. I'm reminded of an old parable I read of a bird in a gilded cage. Surrounded by finery and given the best care possible, yet it wastes away and dies because no amount of wealth can sweeten its captivity.

My head starts to hurt. I can't wrestle with this problem and still maintain decorum in front of Cecilia. "Thank you, Cecilia. I look forward to hearing about the children's first day back at school."

I turn to leave, and she grabs my arm. I suppress a shiver and smile down at her.

"Thank you, Mary. You're a good friend."

Her words stay with me as I leave the house and head toward the garage. I've never been to the building since the car always picks me up and drops me off at the porch, but today, I hope to avoid Javier.

Javier is asleep when I arrive, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The garage has spots for twelve vehicles, and all are filled. I count two boats, one small, two-seat helicopter—how they got it into the garage, I have no idea—and nine cars.

One is the car that picks me up. I gamble that it's not the same car that Miss Cecilia intends to drive and leave a note for Javier on the desk by the front to let him know I've taken the car for the next few hours and will return it.

The key is in the center console of the sedan, and after some trial and error, I learn which buttons operate the garage door. I feel a strange rush of freedom as I proceed down the drive and through more trial and error learn which button activates the gate.

Perhaps Cecilia's feelings are just as innocent.

***

I'm not sure where I'm going until I pull into the parking lot of Happy Healthcare Pharmacy and RX. I'm not entirely sure if I still suspect Simon Trent of Johnathan's murder, or if I only want to dispel my suspicion of Cecilia and choose him to be the focus of my investigation for the moment.

Either way, I am strangely grateful to see him blanche when he catches me walking inside. With much the same purposefulness as I show the day before when I confront Theresa, I stride toward him. He looks around desperately for someone else to occupy his time, but I reach him before he can find a convenient excuse.

I lift my bandaged hand and smile. "I've burnt myself rather badly, I'm afraid. Could you recommend me something for the pain?"

He swallows nervously. "Cer—uh, certainly. Aisle four has—"

"Oh, I'm afraid the normal medicines simply don't work for me," I interrupts. "I was hoping you could offer something a little stronger?"

He swallows again. "Well… um… If you have a prescription—"

I laugh. "Oh, Simon, come on." I lean forward conspiratorially. "I know you have stronger stuff."

He blanches further. "I… I don't know what you're talking about. I have to go see to…"

He starts off, but I grab his arm and hold him. "Be honest with me, Simon. I heard from Johnathan before he died that you're the person to talk to if you need… help."

I gamble that he doesn't know I arrived after Johnathan's death and never met the man personally. The gamble pays off. He turns a shade of green and yanks his arm away. "You heard wrong. Aisle four or talk to your doctor. We don't do that here."

I let him take three steps, then say, "I was in Johnathan's study last night." He stops, and his shoulders bunch. I turn to face him and say, "I found some rather… interesting… documents."

He spins and looks shrewdly at me. I feel a touch of fear at his expression. I could be staring into the eyes of a murderer.

Still, I hold my gaze. I feel I'm on the cusp of a breakthrough if I can only see this through.

He bares his teeth in a sharklike grin and holds my eyes until he returns behind the counter. He picks up the PA handset and calls, "Amy? Please watch the counter for me. I have a private consultation."

A girl of perhaps nineteen trounces over, her expression the perfect one of bored contentment only found in the young. She glances at me, then at Simon, and a knowing expression comes to her face. "Here boss. Enjoy your private consultation."

She looks back at me, and it's clear what she thinks this is. Oh, bless your heart, sweetie.

Well, let her think that. We're less likely to be interrupted if she worries she'll walk in on more of her boss than she ever cares to see.

Simon leads me to an office, and I quietly slip the keys into my palm so they extend past my fingers. I can only count on one blow if it comes to a fight, so I need to make sure that blow counts.

He closes the door behind us, and I steel myself. Rather than threaten me, however, he quickly rushes behind a desk and stares warily at me.

A coward, then. That doesn't mean he's innocent. He has access to poisons that can kill as effectively as violence.

"Listen, I don't know what the hell you saw, but if you saw anything , then it was Johnathan's deal. I gave him painkillers, okay? That's it. Sure, I wasn't as strict with the prescription requirements as I could have been, but all that crap about selling on the side? That was all him."

"So Johnathan Ashford, billionaire investor, wanted to run a drug empire with the great and august owner of the massive conglomerate of Happy Healthcare?" I say, my voice dripping with contempt.

"I didn't say it made any damned sense," Simon snaps, "I just said that it wasn't my idea."

I press my advantage. "So all that evidence you found—"

In a flash, he's up and in front of me faster than I can react. He glares into my eyes, and for the first time, I see the violence that could make him a killer.

"You didn't find shit!" he hisses. "Nothing! Just the idle speculations of a fucking idiot with more money than sense. Nothing happened. You want to go to the cops about me dealing drugs to a billionaire? Go ahead. I made sure my bases were covered there. You want to act like I'm some wannabe Pablo Escobar? You have nothing but chicken-scratch and a few voicemails that don't mean shit!"

A chill runs down my spine, and I don't reply.

"Yeah," he says when I don't reply after a moment. "That's what I thought. Run your hand under some cold water and change the bandages every twenty-four hours. All those ointments and creams are just placebos some dipshit convinced the world worked. Now he's living it up on some tropical island, getting his rocks off with a bunch of girls half your age while I'm here selling ibuprofen to hypochondriacs. Trust me, if I was half as smart as I needed to be to run an illegal drug business, I would not run it here on the left ass cheek of Greater Buffalo."

He plops down behind his desk, and I take that as my cue to leave.

As I drive home, the elation I feel at learning something new fades. By discovering the answer to the Simon Trent question, I've only added another suspect to an ever-growing list.

Elena, Simon, Theresa, and Ce—and others. As Johnathan would say, Whodunit?

The answer to that question grows more uncertain by the day.