A Mind for Murder Omnibus by Rochelle Staab

Author:Rochelle Staab [Staab, Rochelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2018-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

On the way back to Park Clinic with Nick, I picked up the three messages Mom left about the meeting with Dilly. Robin called to say she found a dress for the fund-raiser.

No message from Teresa. I hoped that meant she changed her mind about involving me and went to the police on her own. Or it meant she searched but didn’t find what she was after in Victor’s office.

I tucked my phone back in my purse. “Nick, what if the papers Victor went over with Lucia after the wake were for her legal power of attorney? What if she signed them?”

“And then he took the papers and disappeared? What would that accomplish?”

“I don’t know. I’m grasping,” I said. “I hate to say this, but maybe we should have Lucia check her bank account. What if Victor had hidden money problems?”

“Bailey can check his finances. That’s a pretty cold turnaround. Do you think Victor is that heartless?”

“I don’t. I’m trying to avoid thinking he’s dead,” I said.

We parked in front of Park Clinic near dusk. Nick used Carmen’s key to unlock the dead bolt, then disabled the alarm. We turned on the lights behind Jackson’s desk and strolled through the corridors to Victor’s office in back. I tried the knob. Locked. I reached for my phone to call Carmen.

Nick stopped me. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the hall toward reception. I heard a drawer clatter open, then a jangle and a bang. He came back with a set of keys, trying several until he found one that opened Victor’s door.

“How did you know?” I said in wonderment.

“I saw Jackson pull them out for an intern the other day. I assumed she wouldn’t take a mess of metal like this home with her.”

I turned on the overhead lights in Victor’s small, windowless office. His medical school diplomas hung on the wall behind his wooden desk. The credenza was topped with pictures of Victor with Beatrice, a lovely, open-faced blonde in her midsixties. They both appeared relaxed and happy, sitting at the edge of Rome’s Trevi Fountain, and standing side by side in Hawaiian shirts by a waterfall. A group shot showed Victor and Beatrice with Carmen, Paco, and Lucia posed behind a birthday cake. The photo on his desk displayed a much thinner Beatrice waving from a wheelchair.

Nick turned on the old desktop computer and entered the password at the screen prompt. The computer hummed and a sky blue background appeared. “I’m in.”

While he searched the computer, I sifted through the stack of mail at the corner of the desk: Global Health Magazine, letters addressed to Victor from pharmaceutical companies, medical journals, and a small “Thank-You” postcard with “You’re the best. xoxo, Ynez” written on the back. I paged through his At-A-Glance calendar. Paco’s wake last Wednesday was the lone entry for the week. The following week he had penciled in “fund-raiser” on Monday evening, “Ynez” at noon on Tuesday, and a haircut appointment on Thursday. I fanned through the remainder of the pages and found nothing.

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