Part 9 (1/2)
Jill let it go. She scanned the Programs, found Quicken, and clicked the icon for Household Expenses, which brought a virtual check register onto the screen. ”Here we are. This will tell you your fixed expenses each month, and we can make you a budget. Easy-peasy. Where did you say the old bills were, just in case we need them?”
”Here.” Abby went to the file cabinet and rolled open the top drawer. ”This is all the bills. I went through it, looking for clues, but I didn't find anything.”
Jill let that go, too. She crossed to the cabinet and skimmed an array of files that started with AT&T Mobility and ended with Verizon. There was a file labeled Important Doc.u.ments, and she slid it out and opened it. On top was the deed to the house, which was in William's name. ”So the house is in your Dad's name, it will have to go through the estate. Let's check out the other drawers.”
”They're empty now. Victoria took it all, for the lawyer.” Abby closed the top drawer and opened the second, which was empty. ”They used to have bank statements and financial stuff.”
”Okay.” Jill straightened up. ”Okay, why don't we bring the files and the laptop to my house, and you stay with us a few days, while we get you up and running? If you have a bag or a suitcase, we'll pack it and go.”
”Great, thanks.” Abby brightened, then hesitated. ”But don't you want to see Dad's room, where he died? Please?” She gestured at a closed door off the office. ”I kept it closed after the police left.”
Jill sighed. ”Why, Abby?”
”To help me.” Abby begged Jill with her eyes. ”I need your help, Jill. There's no one else.”
”But honey, I'm not an expert. Why don't we hire a private investigator? I'll even pay for it, how's that?”
Abby shook her head. ”Why? No stranger will care as much as I do. Jeez, aren't you even curious if he was murdered? You loved him once, didn't you?”
”Of course I did, but-”
”Jill, please.” Abby grabbed her arm, urgently. ”I just want to understand, that's all. My life turned upside-down all of a sudden, and I didn't see any of it coming. Can't you just take a look in the bedroom and tell me if you see anything suspicious?”
How can you not help her, Mom?
Jill sighed. She always had trouble saying no to the girls.
”Please, Jill?”
”All right, but just one look, then we go.”
”Thanks.” Abby whirled around, and Jill followed her into the bedroom, which was large and modern, with white walls and a navy blue accent wall, a navy oriental rug, and a walnut headboard that matched the nighttable and a long, low bureau. On the bureau was a posed photograph of William and the girls, all of them in matching white s.h.i.+rts with him in the middle, his grin c.o.c.ky and his eyes flas.h.i.+ng darkly under a spray of jet-black bangs.
”Abby, I don't see anything suspicious. Can we go now?”
”Wait, listen.” Abby turned, newly animated, her gaze focused. ”I know there are no signs of a struggle, nothing out of order or searched, but that's not the way I think it happened.”
”What do you think happened?” Jill asked, trying not to sound like she was humoring her.
”I think he'd been in his office with the killer, and they had a drink, then he came in here and ... died. I found him here, on the left side of the bed, nearest the office door.” Abby gestured, dry-eyed. ”I didn't see any marks on him, like he was. .h.i.t or anything.”
”I understand.” Jill felt her chest tighten, looking at the bed. The navy sheets were in disarray, and there was a large stain on the left. It was urine, and she shuddered.
”Here's why I think it. He had on his jeans and his white dress s.h.i.+rt, like he'd been out or met someone. You remember how he used to change his pants, but not his s.h.i.+rt?”
”Yes.” Jill remembered, but she didn't want to. She just felt sad that Abby sounded so convinced.
”If he was going to stay home, he would have had on a T-s.h.i.+rt or something more relaxed. But he had on a white s.h.i.+rt, which tells me he had a meeting.” Abby walked over to the nighttable, which held two pens, a car magazine, and an empty phone charger. ”Also, there were three bottles of pills here and his cell phone. The police took them, but I know they weren't his pills. Look.” Abby dug in her dress pocket, pulled out a yellow Post-it, and handed it to her. ”I wrote down the doctor's name and number. He's not our doctor, and he's not returning my calls.”
Jill took the Post-it and read it: Dad's meds: Vicodin, 5 mg, once a day Xanax, 10 mg, once a day Temezepam, 10 mg, once a day Dr. Raj Patel # 9483636 (215) 555-2923.
All were filled same day 4/12 Broad Street Pharmacy, 1200 N. Broad Street (215) 555-9373.
Jill thought a minute. ”These could have been prescribed by a psychiatrist, and if your Dad was seeing one, he might not have wanted you to know.”
Abby scoffed. ”Please, he wouldn't've cared. I tried to Google the doctor, but you know how many Dr. Raj Patels there are? Also, I went to the drugstore and showed the pharmacists a picture of Dad, but they hadn't seen him before, and they were all women.” Abby lifted an eyebrow. ”Now, I ask you. What woman would forget Dad, only a week later?”
”It's possible, Abby.” Jill didn't press the point. She was trying to forget him, years later, but not in a good way. She handed the paper back to Abby. ”Here.”
”Keep it. I have a copy.”
Jill stuck it in her purse, which was still on her shoulder. ”You said he had a gun. Where is it?”
”Right here.” Abby slid open the drawer on the nighttable, revealing a black revolver. ”It's loaded.”
Jill didn't get it. ”Honey, if someone was trying to kill him, why didn't he use the gun to protect himself?”
”What if they drugged him? What if he didn't know it was happening, and by the time he did, he couldn't do anything to help himself?”
”He could have pressed the alarm b.u.t.ton.” Jill spotted a burglar alarm panel on the wall, near the bed. She knew it would be there because they'd had one there at their old house, at William's insistence.
”Not if he was drugged.”
”But the room is in perfect order. Didn't he fight back, at all? Your Dad was a big, physical guy.”
”What if he did, and the killer put it back together, afterwards? Without fingerprints, how would you know?” Abby's tone grew stronger, more confident. ”The police refused to call the mobile crime unit because they said there was no sign of a murder, so I'll investigate it myself, whether you help me or not. No matter what it takes, or how long. I'll do it.”
”Why would anybody kill him?” Jill asked, trying to reason with her. ”There's no sign of a robbery. Look.” She walked to the bureau, where a lacquered box was open and in full view, with an array of watches on a velveteen stalk. Then she remembered that William always kept cash in his sock drawer, so she opened the top drawer, and under his balled-up socks nestled a stack of wrinkled twenties. ”This money isn't hard to find, all anybody would have to do is open the top drawer. He wasn't robbed, even after the fact. Where was his wallet?”
”In his back pocket. The police took that, too.” Abby frowned, frustrated. ”Maybe it wasn't about money. Maybe it was personal.”
”Do you know of anybody who had it in for him?”
”No. Neil called him The Mayor. Everybody loved Dad, he had tons of friends.”
Jill let it go. She hadn't seen ”tons of friends” at the memorial service, and there hadn't been a tear in sight. ”Who's Neil?”
”Neil Straub, his business partner.”
”Oh, right. Did he get along with your Dad?”
”Totally. Neil would never do anything to Dad.”
”Where does he live?”
”New York, but he travels with Dad a lot.”