Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) (4 page)

“No,” Lee replied with reluctance. “I
guess you can’t accuse a guy of murder just because he comes off as insincere.”

“If someone did kill Diane though,
I want to know who it was. I want them to pay for it.” Carey’s eyes lit up as
she spoke. “I’ve looked through the house. I probably don’t know what to look
for, but I looked through some of her personal papers wondering if I’d find
something…I don’t know… unusual. Like if she was working on something
suspicious, or if she was investing in something risky, or…” she shrugged her
shoulders. “But all I found was normal bills and receipts.”

“What about life insurance?  Did
she have any?”

“Yes. I thought of that. I thought
maybe she’d taken out a large policy recently and made Bud the beneficiary.” Carey
laughed as if the thought had been stupid.

“Don’t laugh. I think more people
have been killed for life insurance than you realize.”

“Yes, but she only had two policies.
One our parents took out when we were babies. It’s only worth about $1,500. And
another one when she worked for a time at the university. It was for $25,000.”

“Who gets them?”

Carey hesitated, her eyes studying
the floor. “We do.”

Lee blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

She waved away Lee’s apology. “Don’t
worry. I would’ve asked the same question. It’s not as if we can’t use the
money, either. Vern’s business is suffering, and he’s too stubborn to branch
out into anything else. We’ve been struggling for quite a while. I have to
admit that $25,000 looks like a million to me right now, but I could never have
hurt my sister. Not for anything.”

A strained silence stretched
between them.

“Carey, I never asked you how you
were notified. I should have called you myself that night.”

Carey sat back with a forlorn
expression. “I was home alone. The boys were out, and Vern bowls down at
Willamette Lanes every Thursday. A Sergeant Davis came over to tell me. I
didn’t want to disturb Vern, so I went over to my mother’s and stayed with her
that night.”

Lee was beginning to form a picture
of Carey’s husband, and it wasn’t pleasant. She glanced up when the clock
chimed six o’clock. Carey noticed and stood up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lee. You said you
were going out. I’ve stayed too long.”

“Not at all.” Lee got up. “I’m only
going over to a friend’s for dinner.”

Carey went into the entryway and
reached for her coat. “I’d better go anyway. I was supposed to be out picking
up pizza. Vern will wonder where I am. Thanks for your time, Lee. It was good
talking to you.”

“I’ll try to stop by this weekend. Amy
will be down. I think she’d like to come over, too.”

Carey hesitated for a moment as if
she wanted to say something else, but turned to leave. Lee caught her as she
reached the door.

“Carey, do you happen to have the
suicide note?”

“Yes. The police let us have it.”

“Could I look at it?”

“I suppose so. Why do you want it?”

“I don’t know. Just to answer some
questions of my own. Would you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll drop it off.” She
gave a brief smile and left.

Lee watched Carey walk to her car,
wondering why she had asked for the suicide note. What did she hope to learn? 
She had gone along with the initial ruling of suicide, convinced it was the
right thing to do. Now, both Patrick and Carey had expressed the same belief
Lee had secretly harbored − that Diane hadn’t killed herself. If Lee
started asking questions, where could it lead?  And how would she know if she
found anything of value?

There was one thing Lee did know. In
the four short years she and Diane had worked together, two seemingly opposite
personalities had become closer than most sisters. They had become two halves
of a very imperfect whole. Now, half of the whole was gone, leaving something
terribly wrong in its place. And Lee wanted to know why.

CHAPTER FIVE

By 6:15, Lee
was ready to go. Light rain shrouded the streetlights, turning Alder Drive into
something out of eighteenth-century London. Lee popped open an umbrella and
hurried down the front steps and around the corner of the house towards the
garage, avoiding the large bushes that crowded the walkway. Coming from
California, Lee had often complained to Diane that everything in the Northwest
was either situated on a hill, wet, or both. Her cynicism only raised snide
remarks from her friend.

“
At least we
know when the seasons change up here,”
Diane would reply in her deep Lauren
Bacall voice.
“In California, the only way anyone knows the season has
changed is when Wal-Mart revamps its store display.
”

Despite Diane’s
obsessive attention to detail, Lee missed her. She missed the quirky mannerisms
that accentuated her extreme moods and the carefully chosen words delivered in
carefully crafted phrases to make a point only Diane cared about. It was all
the things others disliked about Diane that Lee had grown to understand and appreciate.
Diane
had
been a pain in the ass − picky, obstinate, even
small-minded at times. Yet, Lee had been able to ignore that. Underneath all of
her obsessive and irritating traits, Diane had also been one of the most
generous people Lee had ever known. More than that, Diane had found something
worthy of friendship in Lee.
“A glimmer of hope
,” Diane used to call it.
And for that, Lee would be forever grateful.

Lee swallowed
to relieve the lump in her throat as she climbed into the car. She backed out
of the driveway, making a crisp right turn onto Alder Drive. She noticed the
tan sedan that had cut her off earlier that day was parked across the street
with its motor running, the exhaust sending plumes of gray smoke into the cool
night air. As she passed, Lee glanced into the driver’s side window and was
startled when a pale, ghostly face floated into view staring at her, its
identity obscured by water streaming down the glass. The disembodied image gave
her a sudden chill, and she pressed down on the accelerator. The Pathfinder
jumped ahead, and the sedan flicked on its headlights. A moment later, Lee saw
it pull away from the curb, going in the opposite direction.

Lee hit the freeway
on-ramp now anxious to be with her friends. It took her only a few minutes to
cross over the Willamette River into Springfield, a small neighboring community
where her hospital was located. Red-tipped smokestacks from the Weyerhaeuser
paper plant billowed drafts of white steam against the blue shadowed Cascade
Mountains that rimmed the valley. Although many high tech companies had moved
into the Willamette Valley, there was still plenty of evidence the timber
industry owned this part of the Northwest.

Lee exited the
freeway and followed Marcola Road north to the open countryside. The rain was
moving south, leaving behind patches of stars peeking out from behind a bank of
clouds that threatened to overtake the moon. Lee sped on, crossing the Little
Mohawk River before passing the golf course on her right.

Alan and Robin
lived on five acres where they kept two horses, a goat, and a few chickens. At
well over six feet tall, Alan was a bear of a man and an imposing figure. He’d
served on the Eugene police force for twelve years and earned a reputation for
being a no-nonsense kind of guy. Yet, he also had a gentle side that Lee found
intriguing. While Robin owned the horses and loved to trail ride up in the
hills, Alan owned two rabbits, which lived in the garage and were often allowed
into the house.

Robin greeted
Lee at the door dressed in black muslin pants and an Asian print tunic top. Her
thick black hair was cut to her shoulders and bounced back and forth when she
walked. She led Lee into the kitchen where Alan was just removing a Mexican
casserole dish from the oven. The strong scent of cheese and onions made Lee realize
she hadn’t eaten all day.

“I hope you’re
hungry,” he smiled. Dressed casually in brown pants and a long-sleeved brown
shirt, he looked a little like a giant teddy bear.

“I’m starving,
and I brought the wine,” she announced, producing a bottle from her leather
bag.

“Terrific,” Robin
exclaimed as she grabbed a corkscrew. She poured the wine and handed a glass
and an envelope to Lee.

“Happy
birthday, Lee. I’d sing, but Alan said he’d divorce me if I did.”

Alan turned
from the counter where he had just placed the casserole. “You should thank me
for that,” he grinned.

Robin slapped
her husband’s butt. Lee’s laugh was short of being lighthearted, but her smile
was genuine.

“Birthday
celebrations aren’t high on my list of priorities right now.” She ripped open
the card, read it quickly and looked up at Robin with a tearful smile. “Thanks.”

Robin saved the
moment by pouring a glass of wine for her husband, then grabbing a glass for
herself before drawing Lee into the dining room.

“Well, you
deserve much more than a card. When this has all settled down, I’ll take you up
to Portland for a day of shopping and lunch. How are you doing?”

“It’s been
tough,” Lee admitted, sitting in a high-backed chair across a walnut dining
table.

“I’ve been
thinking of you all day,” Robin sympathized. “I’m sorry I had to miss the
church service. How was it?”

“Actually, it
was good. Carey read a poem Diane wrote as a child. It was very touching.”

“I saw Bud at
the graveyard,” Robin grimaced. “Was he at the service, too?”

Lee’s jaw
clenched and she set her wine glass down with a rigid hand. Bud Maddox reminded
her of something prehistoric, with his dark, penetrating eyes and heavy brows. She
pondered everything she didn’t like about the man before realizing she hadn’t
answered Robin’s question.

“Yes. Bud was
there,” she squeezed the words out, lifting her finger to the rim of the glass.
“Although he never approached the family that I could see. I’m sure they wouldn’t
have had much to say to him.”

“I never did
understand that relationship,” Robin said, echoing Lee’s thoughts.

Lee got up to
look over a short wall that set off the sunken living room. She watched what
was left of the rain float past the flood lamps outside the sliding glass doors
that led to the deck. She and Robin had spent many a weekend summer afternoon
sipping Margaritas on that deck, but now nothing was visible past the railing.

“God,” Lee
finally sighed in exasperation, “I hope I never get that desperate.”

“Do you think
that’s what it was - desperation?”

“Maybe she
loved him,” Lee said, thinking the rain looked like fairy dust against the
blackened backdrop of the night. “I’m sure she believed she did, although I
can’t imagine why.” Lee grew silent as she turned inwards. Her final argument
with Diane had been about this very subject.

“You okay?”
Robin asked.

“Bud was at the
funeral with another woman,” she said after a moment. “He was discreet. They
didn’t hold hands or anything, but I’m sure other people noticed. It was rude,
to say the least. I think she works in the Emergency Room.”

“What a turd!”

“I agree,” Lee
whispered, staring at her hands.

“I can’t
imagine what it must have been like…I mean…to find her,” Robin commiserated. “I’ve
never been around a dead body. It had to be awful.”

The comment
brought all movement in the room to a stop. Even the overhead fan seemed to
pause. It was several long seconds before Lee turned. When she did, her voice
was barely above a whisper.

“It
was
awful.
It was the most awful thing I’ve ever had to do. I sat on the floor next to her
until the police arrived, wishing with all my might that she’d just open her
eyes and be okay. But she didn’t. I stayed to answer questions and finally
watched the police cover her up and search the house for any clues. They opened
drawers and looked under pillows as she lay at their feet with a sheet over her
head.” Lee took a deep sigh. “I had to watch one officer photograph her from
every angle and then lift the syringe out of her hand and place it into an
evidence bag. And when another officer found a note in the paper tray of the
printer, they all converged into a tight little ball like a group of sixth
graders with a dirty picture. And when they finally let Amy and me leave, all
the neighbors stood gawking at us in the parking lot as they watched the
coroner load her dead body into a van.” She paused, sucking air in through her
teeth. “I watched it all. And it was awful.”

Robin got up
and put her arm around Lee’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lee. I’m really, really
sorry.”

Lee realized
she was trembling and clasped her hands into a ball in front of her. Just then,
Alan called from the kitchen.

“I think we’re
ready. You girls want to help carry this stuff to the table?”

Forty-five
minutes later, Alan and Lee sat in front of an imposing stone fireplace that
reached all the way into the beamed ceiling, while Robin prepared dessert. A
blazing fire cast a warm glow across a silk embroidery that covered one full
wall. Although Robin had been born in the United States and barely spoke any
Chinese, her parents had emigrated from Hunan Province when she was very young.
She kept her heritage alive through books and collectibles.

Everyone had
been polite during dinner and avoided the recent tragedy, focusing instead on
Alan's culinary talents. Now, waiting for dessert, Lee struggled with how to
broach the subject with him.

“What are you
thinking, Lee? You look like you’re twisted in knots,” Alan interrupted her
thoughts.

As Lee sat
slouched in a big pillow chair, she felt like a child waiting for Alan to read
a story rather than someone about to suggest something that sounded like it came
from a cheap crime novel. Alan shifted his weight on the stone ledge of the
fireplace, crossing his huge arms on his knees while he waited for her to
respond.

“Let me guess,”
he decided to answer his own question. “You don't think Diane committed
suicide.”

Lee looked up
with surprise. “I didn’t know I was that easy to read.”

“Most people
are when they’re grieving. You’ve probably been stewing about this all weekend.”
He dropped his chin and looked at her under raised eyebrows. “So, what makes
you think she didn’t kill herself?”

Lee took her
time in answering. She figured she had one chance to make an impression without
sounding stupid.

“Three things.”

Alan’s eyebrows
arched. “Three things?  Okay, what are they?”

“First, Diane
would not, and I repeat NOT
have left a suicide note with typographical
errors in it. Second…”

Alan held up a
hand. “Hold on. What typographical errors?”

“The police
showed me the suicide note that night. I noticed the mistakes immediately. Diane
had me trained. Someone had left the apostrophe out of the word don’t, and
there was a misspelled word. She didn’t write that note.”

Alan's eyebrows
curled into a question this time. “An apostrophe?  You've got to be kidding.”

Lee sat forward
to defend her comment. “I know they sound like small mistakes, Alan, but
believe me, they wouldn't be to Diane. This was a woman who called the phone
company once to report an error on their Government Listings page. She was
habitually correct when it came to grammar. If that was her last note—she would
have read and reread it a hundred times to make sure it was perfect.”

“Hard to prove,”
he countered, shaking his head.

“I'm not trying
to prove anything, Alan. I only know what I know about Diane. I'm not
exaggerating. I worked with her for four years. I was her boss. I knew this
woman.”

He eyed her
carefully. “I don’t doubt that.” He rubbed his hand back across head. “Second?”

Lee took a
breath. “She wouldn’t have used the kind of syringe they found next to her
body.”

This time his
eyebrows raised his hairline an inch. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Diane had a
diabetic cat and had small syringes at her disposal. The one found on the floor
was much bigger than the ones she used for the cat.”

Robin called in
from the kitchen. “Anyone for ice cream?”

Alan continued
to watch Lee. After a moment he shifted his attention to Robin. “No, Hon, I
don't think so.”

“Diane was
never comfortable giving the cat injections,” Lee continued, ignoring Robin. “She
didn't even like having the syringes in the house, but she was forced to. I
know for a fact the syringe found next to her body wasn’t the kind she used for
the cat.”

Alan looked at
his hands, contemplating her comments. “If she was going to kill herself and
didn’t think she had the necessary syringe, all she'd have to do is go out and
buy another syringe. They’re fairly easy to obtain.”

“Why would she
buy one if she already had a box-full?”

“I don’t know.
But we know for sure she had insulin in the house,” Alan shrugged.

Alan relayed
this last piece of information as if delivering the final statement at a
college lecture. No question. Pure fact. Lee felt a defeat she didn't want to
admit, making her gaze into the fire. To fill the space, Alan pulled out his pipe
and slipped it into his mouth. He tapped his pockets, searching for the tobacco.
Robin interrupted the silence by entering the room with a tray filled with
plates of apple pie topped with whipped cream. She looked at the two mute
figures.

“Don't tell me…we're
talking about Diane.” She extended a plate to Lee.

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”
She approached her husband, and he lifted a plate off the tray. “I think we all
need to talk about it. I mean, let's face it, it’s a stretch to think she
killed herself.”