Chapter 3 - THE MEDICINE CABINET
Edward opened every cabinet in Florence’s bedroom.
He found the pill organizer beside her bed.
Monday through Sunday.
Morning.
Afternoon.
Night.
“Don’t touch anything,” the responding detective warned.
Detective Laura Mitchell was forty-two, calm, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by wealth.
She sealed the organizer in an evidence bag.
“You’re saying your wife prepared these?”
“Every Sunday.”
Florence sat wrapped in a blanket.
“She said she wanted to help.”
Edward turned away.
He suddenly remembered praising Victoria for it.
You’re good to her.
Thank you for taking care of Mom.
The memory made him sick.
Detective Mitchell examined the laboratory report.
“Who tested the pills?”
“My private physician,” Florence said.
“Dr. Mason.”
“And why?”
“Because I started feeling much worse after Victoria took over my medications.”
Edward stared at her.
“You suspected her?”
“I suspected something.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Florence looked ashamed.
“Because you loved her.”
Edward laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“I loved who I thought she was.”
Mitchell’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
Edward knelt beside Florence.
“How sick are you really?”
Florence hesitated.
“Dr. Mason said the cancer was serious.”
“But terminal?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
Edward frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The hospital records Victoria showed me said six months.”
“She showed you?”
Florence nodded.
“She came to my appointment with me.”
“Did the doctor tell you six months?”
“No.”
Edward went still.
Florence’s breathing became shaky.
“The doctor said we had treatment options.”
“So where did ‘terminal’ come from?”
Florence looked toward the hallway.
“Victoria.”
Detective Mitchell returned.
Her expression had changed.
“We found your wife’s car.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking.”
Edward stood.
“She left?”
“We don’t know.”
Mitchell held up her phone.
“Her passport under the name Victoria Hale has not been used.”
Florence whispered,
“Because she has others.”
Mitchell looked sharply at her.
“You know that?”
Florence pointed toward the safe.
“There’s a photocopy.”
They found it beneath the newspaper clippings.
A passport.
VANESSA MARIE CROWE.
Edward stared at the woman’s photograph.
His wife’s face.
Someone else’s name.
Mitchell cursed quietly.
“This just became much bigger.”
Edward’s phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He answered.
No one spoke.
“Victoria?”
A breath.
Then her voice.
“You should have burned that safe.”
Edward’s fist tightened.
“Where are you?”
“Do you really think those papers will save her?”
Edward looked at his mother.
“What did you do?”
Victoria laughed.
“Ask Florence what she ate this morning.”
Edward’s blood went cold.
“Victoria.”
“Or better yet…”
Her voice became a whisper.
“Ask the ambulance to hurry.”
Florence suddenly dropped her teacup.
It shattered.
Her hand went to her chest.
“Edward…”
He turned.
Florence collapsed sideways.
“Mom!”
The phone remained against his ear.
May you like
Victoria said softly,
“Now you know what happens when people take what belongs to me.”
