The Fallen Angels Book Club (13 page)

The thickness of Rory's file had little to do with actual information. There were at least eight pages of address changes. A blackmailer probably had to stay on the move. His last address was here in Oakland. The file hadn't been updated with his death notice.

I needed a break. Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair. It was only days since Abby had been killed and almost a week since Rory's death. Abby was the closest I'd had to a friend. I wanted to find her killer for her sake and mine. One thing I was willing to bet on: whoever killed Abby also killed Rory.

I called and made an appointment with Lily's doctor, Wade Walker. At first the receptionist was reluctant to give me a time slot, but when I dropped the name of the law firm, she graciously put me down for fifteen minutes the next day. I was glad I'd have time to think of what to say.

“Dr. Walker will be fitting you in, so please don't be late.”

Unfortunately, when I slipped away from work and arrived the next day, it was Dr. Walker who was late. He rushed in the waiting room with his arm outstretched. We shook hands.

“Miss Morgan, how can I help you?” He led me to a large office with a wall of windows facing the bay, where we sat in comfortable overstuffed chairs around a small coffee table.

“I'm actually here about one of your patients and our client, Lily Wilson.”

Dr. Walker's face flashed an emotion I initially read as annoyance; then he quickly shifted to seeming indifference.

“Lily Wilson, yes, of course. She's a wonderful woman. In relatively good health, considering her age.”

“Uh, can you tell me if she has cataracts?”

“I'm sorry. You're an attorney for Mrs. Wilson?”

I was afraid of this. “No, I work for the law firm that represents Mrs. Wilson's estate.”

“I see. Then you know I can't reveal any medical information.”

I was treading on thin ice, but all I could think of was the worry on Marla's face.

“Doctor, we have reason to believe Lily Wilson may be receiving the wrong medication. Before I go any further down this trail, it would be very helpful if you could verify she's receiving the proper medicine.”

“Are you making an accusation against me?”

I sat up in the chair. “Oh, no. Not at all. It's just some of the residents have seen a recent change for the worse in her behavior and maybe health. There's some question as to whether her medication has been adjusted.”

“Has anyone spoken with the director?”

“I can't answer that. I don't know.”

He went over to his desk and tapped on his keyboard. He evidently found what he was looking for and read the screen.

After a moment he turned to me. “As I said, there's nothing I can say to you about Mrs. Wilson. However, I'm scheduled to give her a regular examination in a few days. I'll review her chart and dosage.”

On my way home, I remembered my mother once told me, “If you were a dog, you'd be a rottweiler.” Once I got something in my head, I wouldn't let go. At first I thought she meant this as a put-down, but now I considered it a compliment. Until I hit a wall I couldn't see my way around, I'd go forward with finding Abby's killer. I wouldn't let that person get away with Abby's death or kill my chance for a pardon. There was this thing with Lily, too. I really hoped Marla was overreacting.

It was ten p.m., and I realized I hadn't gone through my mail. On top of the stack was a tan envelope from the Department of Corrections & Rehabilitation. I opened it with growing trepidation. There was just one sheet of paper. I could hardly bear to read it. The words were few. The notice indicated the date, location and time of my hearing.

I consulted my watch and did the calculations—six weeks, eight days, ten hours and forty-seven minutes to freedom. If nothing screwed it up.

T
he next morning I went to Mark's office to put several date holds on his calendar. We needed to prep our cases together. Avery would be back late in the afternoon and it was a chance for Mark, with me pushing him, to shine. He wasn't there so I left him a note. I caught myself. Except for the seniors, I hadn't helped anyone in a long time. I'd almost forgotten how it felt to help someone.

It was a slow workday, so I used the rest of the morning to lay out potential killer interview questions on a legal pad. I went through my Inquiry First pages. It was clear the only way I'd get tough questions answered would be with direct confrontation.

“What are you concentrating so hard on?”

My head snapped up. Mark stood in my doorway eating an apple.

I rolled my chair to the left of my desk, hoping to block any view he might have of my monitor. “I'm working on getting the Landry matter ready for Avery. Did you get my note?”

“That's why I'm here. Avery indicated Mrs. Landry left no heirs and no will, but I remembered something in the paper about her having a strong participation in her church. Mrs. Landry wasn't stupid. She worked hard for her money. I checked with the pastor at the church where she was buried and, sure enough, she had a will, or what we'd call a poor excuse for a will.”

“Bravo, Mark. Good work. So, let me guess, the will was handwritten on the back of an envelope?”

“Just about. It was on the back of a paper church fan, but it still had two witnessed signatures.”

“Why hadn't the pastor come forward?”

“He was going to. He didn't think things would move so quickly and he had several church issues that were taking up his time.”

“Well, I guess that means I can move on to getting the estate documents ready for probate. Did you get the fan?”

“I'm on my way to pick it up now.” Mark stood tall. His tone was confident.

“Great. We can have everything set up by the time Avery gets back.” I smiled. I had to hand it to him. Mark deserved full credit on this one. “We won't get as many billable hours, but it will give us a little breathing room to work on new clients.”

He grinned and gave me a mock salute.

I smiled. I needed breathing room all right, but not to work on new clients—to finish obtaining references.

The office of the center's director, Opal Murray, was the farthest from the front door. In the years I'd been coming to visit the seniors, I'd never been inside. It was furnished modestly in neutral tones and had three small windows covered with drapes and sheers. With its carpeted floors and small colorful area rugs, it exuded warmth, which was negated by the cold looks cast by the woman sitting at the large desk.

“You have a very nice office.”

“Thank you,” Opal responded primly. “I've never taken the time to formally tell you, but I want to thank you and your firm for all you're doing to assist the seniors. It's a tremendous help to us and I know the seniors are happy as well.”

I smiled graciously. “We feel pretty good about our participation.”

She smiled back and paused. She was obviously waiting for me to get to the point.

“Ms. Murray … Opal, this is a little awkward, but I'm going to just jump in. I've noticed Lily Wilson doesn't seem to be herself. She's become more absentminded and frail, almost overnight.”

She tapped her left forefinger to her lips. “I see. Do you think she needs special care? Is she a danger to herself, or others?”

I shook my head. “No, she told me she was taking this new medicine and I thought it might be having a detrimental effect on her.”

Opal frowned. “I'm not aware of any new medication for her. She's a long-time resident and her treatment regimen hasn't varied for the last two years. Maybe you misunderstood.”

I was now out on the proverbial limb with a saw in hand. “Well, she didn't actually tell me, I just happened to notice she's taking a pill of another color. She has been dealing with a heart condition and—”

“Hold on a moment. I can't discuss her condition with you.” She opened a folder. “Her physician is due to see her later on this week. I'll alert him to your concerns.”

My frustration gauge was starting to climb. If I was having this much difficulty trying to communicate, how much harder must it be for the seniors?

“I've spoken with the doctor. He couldn't tell me anything, either.” I sighed. “I just want to make sure she's getting the proper medication.”

A knowing smile came to Opal's face. “I understand and appreciate your efforts. We'll take it from here.”

I got up. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and you can tell Marla Jacobs she can stop pulling the fire alarm.”

Clay handed back my manila envelope.

“It's a good statement. Heartfelt but not a soap opera. I like the fact that you made a point of accepting responsibility. That will go over well with Pine.”

I nodded. I had no problem writing complicated legal briefs for Avery's clients, but this simple statement had taken a lot out of me.

“Thanks, Clay. I'll get the changes back to you before the end of the week.” I put the envelope in my backpack. “I know my reference letters have to be in at least two weeks prior to my hearing date.”

He came from around his desk. “
At least
two weeks prior. I'd like to file them three weeks in advance.”

“I don't know if—”

“I'm going to push you on this. Get them in as soon as possible. Is that going to be a problem?”

I didn't try to hide my deep sigh. “No. I'll make it happen.”

I made sure he couldn't hear me mumble that it would be at the same time I was trying to get off the murder suspect radar screen.

I checked the time. Gene had called and asked if I wanted to attend Abby's memorial with him.

He had apparently decided to forgive me after our last conversation. “I would have asked the same questions, if the shoe had been on the other foot.”

I was glad to be in his company.

The service was small and low key. Abby would have liked it. At the front of the chapel was a picture of a younger, smiling Abby. Her husband appeared to be in a fog. My heart went out to him. Gene and I sat in the last row, next to the door. No one else from the club was there.

“Had any luck?” Gene whispered.

“Ssh … wait until this is over. I came to say goodbye to Abby.”

“Sure, sorry.” He leaned in. “Since when did you become so situation appropriate?”

I focused on the service. Gratefully, it was over in less than an hour. Not wanting to explain how we knew Abby, Gene and I didn't think it wise to pay our respects to the family. We walked silently back to the car.

“So, are you having any luck?” He buckled himself in and drove the car out of the church lot.

“No.” I was ready to take him off my list of possible suspects but couldn't totally let go of considering his strong motive. “I talked with Richard and he seemed unduly agitated. I've got a lot of little pieces, but nothing sticks together.”

“I know a lot of people in San Francisco real estate. I could check around and see if any of them knew Rory.”

I nodded absently in agreement. I was ready to move on to my next suspect.

“I couldn't believe it when I saw your name show up on caller ID,” Richard said.

“Thank you for taking my call.”

“Believe me, it crossed my mind not to. What do you want?”

Best to cut to the chase. “I'm taking you up on your offer to help figure out who killed Abby and Rory. I mean, I know now that Rory pointed at Abby, not me. I didn't lie to you.” I took a deep breath. “So who from our club would want her and Rory dead? The only person we … well, the one I don't know anything about is Rena.”

“Since I brought her into the club, you think I introduced a murderer to the group?”

When he put it that way, I understood his wary tone of voice. “Believe me, I'm as unhappy as you are. You were right about me wanting to solve the murders. I have a reason I want to see them solved.”

“Apology accepted.”

He agreed to meet me after work.

Considering that the small downtown Oakland Plaza was off the beaten path and backed one of the older storefronts along Telegraph Avenue, it had quite a few patrons. We sat on stone blocks that circled a raised flower bed.

“Let me share what I've been thinking.” I looked straight at Richard. “Rena is our biggest unknown. The killings didn't start until after she joined our group.”

Richard nodded. “That's true enough, but what's her motive?”

“That's where my theory breaks apart. Maybe she's a sociopath?”

He rolled his eyes.

“All right. You tell me why I should eliminate her from my list.”

“What list? You've been watching too much TV or reading too many books.” Rubbing his buzz cut, he sounded more than a little agitated. “I knew this would happen if I got involved. Get real, Hollis. We could be the next ones to be killed.”