Truth-Stained Lies (16 page)

J
udge, you’ve got to listen to me,” Cathy said to the man who stood in a bathrobe on his front lawn, walking his dog. “I understand why you gave the order for Jackson to be with his grandmother and why you haven’t wanted to hear me out about this earlier, but I don’t think you understand the situation.” She explained about Mrs. Haughton’s prognosis and Jackson’s illness.

Judge Harper looked a little like Ed Asner, round, grumpy, and world-weary. “Was the illness caused by neglect or abuse?”

“We don’t know … but he got sick while his uncle was caring for him.” She knew better than to go down the road of accusing Warren of killing his sister and trying to kill his nephew. He would demand that she follow proper procedures for reporting a crime and expect ironclad evidence.

“My brother wants Jackson with my sister Juliet. I’ve
got the paperwork here. He signed everything. His parental rights have not been rescinded, so he still has the right to determine who keeps his son.”

The judge took the papers, stared down at them. “It hardly matters right now if the child is in the hospital.”

“You’re wrong, Judge,” Cathy said. “Warren is sitting with him in ICU. He’s the one making decisions about Jackson’s treatment. Jackson is not close to him, and he’s so sick that he coded this morning. He’s grieving over his mother, and he doesn’t understand where his father is. He’s close to my sister. She’s kept him a lot, and he’s comfortable with her.”

“I know his grandmother. She’s a good woman. I’m sure he’s comfortable with her too, even if she is ill.”

Cathy wanted to shake him. “He’s not with his grandmother. She’s at home trying to breathe. He should be with the relatives that his father chose. My brother is innocent until proven guilty, and he still has parental rights.”

The judge’s dog found a place to do his business. She couldn’t tell by the man’s face if he was considering her motion or not.

“Judge, you know me. I don’t make stuff up.”

“Oh, come on, Cathy. You make stuff up all the time. You write about your opinions as if they’re fact. You convict people before they’ve even gone to trial.”

“You know I’m usually right. I speculate, but I’m not pulling things out of air. I have good instincts. You’ve told me that yourself back when I was practicing. But all that is irrelevant. We’re talking about custody and whether a father has the right to choose the caretaker for his sick child. Your friendship with Mrs. Haughton shouldn’t have influenced you. In fact, it’s a conflict of interest.”

“Are you accusing me of impropriety?”

Cathy hesitated. “No, I’m just saying that your friendship with that family might have subconsciously influenced you.”

“It didn’t. I would have placed him with the next of kin no matter who she was.” Judge Harper drew in a deep breath, let it out in a huff. “The best I can do is make sure we get a quick date for a hearing. I’ll need to hear both sides before I change my order.”

“But it’s urgent. He’s in danger. Don’t you think it’s strange that he’s stricken with a life-threatening bacteria the same week his mother is murdered?”

“Cathy, if you have an accusation to make against his grandmother —”

“Not his grandmother. His uncle. At best, he’s incompetent as his caretaker. At worst, he could be culpable …”

The judge’s face flashed. “Are you seriously suggesting attempted murder when you haven’t even filed a complaint with the police?”

“The police are fixated on my brother, but it’s all going to come to light soon. You’ll see that you’ve made a terrible mistake letting the Haughtons keep custody. It’ll be an embarrassment —”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Cathy knew she’d gone too far. Judge Harper’s mouth tightened with derision.

“Cathy, you’ve made your case and I’ve given you my answer. I suggest you don’t press your luck. You’re about to make me mad.”

Cathy wanted to scream as he led his dog back into his house. They would just need to get definitive evidence to have Warren arrested. Jackson didn’t have time to wait for a hearing.

H
olly had dozed off and on at the hospital, but altogether she’d probably gotten an hour of uninterrupted sleep in the ICU waiting room. According to the doctor, Jackson’s kidneys had failed. He was facing dialysis. Beyond that, the family didn’t know what the next step in his treatment would be.

When the morning visitation time came, Holly hurried in to see her nephew. He didn’t wake up to see her. Warren sat by his side like a sentinel, refusing to move. Some good she was as a PI. Here she sat, knowing Warren was the killer but unable to prove it. He could kill Jackson under all their noses.

It would be three more hours before the next visitation. Juliet had gone home to get her kids off to school, and Michael and Cathy had left to work on the case. There must be something Holly could do. If she could just get into the
Haughton house and snoop in Warren’s room while he was here at the hospital, she might find evidence the police could use in his arrest.

She could take Mrs. Haughton breakfast, offer to make her coffee, and help her with her medications. That would get her in the door. She knew better than to ask Michael or her sisters. Juliet would freak if Holly even suggested it. But how else would they prove Warren’s guilt?

Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she left the hospital and headed for Krispy Kreme, bought a box of doughnuts and some coffee. Throwing back the coffee, she headed to the Haughton house.

Nervous, she knocked on the door, dreading the idea that Mrs. Haughton would have to hobble to the door to answer it again. But soon she heard the woman’s feet shuffling across the floor. She heard the door unlocking, then it creaked open.

Mrs. Haughton seemed out of breath and fragile as she peered out.

“Mrs. Haughton, I’m so sorry to get you up,” Holly said. “I hope you weren’t asleep.”

She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on last night. “I was dozing on the couch,” the woman wheezed out. “Is Jackson all right?”

“Yes, he’s holding his own.”

“Oh, thank heaven. I thought you’d come to tell me …”

“No, nothing like that.” Holly smiled and brandished the box of donuts. “I brought you some breakfast, since Warren wasn’t here to help you this morning.”

Mrs. Haughton didn’t answer. Hunching over her cane and wheeling her oxygen tank, she shuffled back to the couch, dropped back down.

Holly followed her in and cleared off a place on the
table, set the donuts down. “Can I make you some coffee? Get you your medicine?”

The woman looked as if she couldn’t think. “Yes … I guess so.”

Holly went into the kitchen, looked around. Of course Warren wouldn’t have a clown suit sitting out here. In fact, if he had one at all, it would be hidden, since he couldn’t let his mother know anything about it.

Holly started a pot of coffee, poured Mrs. Haughton a cup of water for her pills, took it back to her. “I hate to ask, but may I use your bathroom?”

Mrs. Haughton waved a hand toward the hall. “It’s probably a mess. We haven’t cleaned since Jackson got sick here. Warren fired my maid … got in a quarrel with her …”

Of course, Holly thought. He didn’t want her catching him at anything. “It’ll be fine,” she said.

Mrs. Haughton reached for a bottle of pills, opened it, her hands trembling. Holly headed for the bathroom. In the corner by the tub, she saw a pile of pajamas and other clothes that Jackson had soiled. The smell hung in the air, making her nauseous.

She should offer to wash those so Mrs. Haughton didn’t have to deal with it, but she supposed the less she moved things around, the better. If the police had to search …

She came out quietly, hoping Mrs. Haughton wasn’t paying attention. She stepped into the room across from the bathroom — Warren’s room. The bed was made and everything was neat. She wouldn’t have expected that of him. She’d figured him to be more like her, never making his bed, dirty clothes piled on his floor. Quickly she opened his closet. There were a few shirts and several pairs of jeans folded over hangers. No clown suit hung there. There was no chifforobe or armoire, but there was a chest of drawers.
She crossed the room, pulled the bigger drawers open, looking for anything red with polka dots. Nothing.

Getting on her knees, she pulled the bed skirt up. Only a few pairs of shoes.

As she got back to her feet, she scanned the closet shelf. Nothing red.

Disappointed, she turned back around, looking for his trash can. Finally, she saw it under his bed table. She stooped and looked inside.

A stack of mail had been tossed away. She flipped through it without removing the letters from the can, looking at the addresses on the labels.

It was mostly junk mail addressed to Resident. She kept flipping through it …

Then she saw something. A sale catalog addressed to Doug Streep, at the post office box they’d been watching! Doug Streep … the name of the man who’d ordered the clown suit!

Should she take it with her? No, she had to leave it here. Quickly, she took a picture with her cell phone.

She slipped back across the hall into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and ran some water in case Mrs. Haughton was listening. Hands trembling just like the sick woman’s, Holly texted the picture to Michael, Cathy, and Juliet. She wrote,

She hit S
END
. Then, trying to behave normally, she came out of the bathroom and went back to the living room. Mrs. Haughton was nibbling on a donut. Holly couldn’t look her in the eye. The cancer-stricken woman had no idea what was going on in her own home. She had no idea that her own
family was being ripped apart by a selfish, psychopathic son. She had no idea that she was nothing more to him than an inheritance.

“Mrs. Haughton, I have to go. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, I’m fine, dear. Thank you for thinking of me. Let yourself out.”

Holly burst out of the house, got back into her taxi, and quickly called her sister.

“Holly?” Cathy answered, out of breath.

“Did you get my text?”

“Yes, I got it. What are you
doing
there?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, it’s there, in his trash can in his room.”

“That was dangerous, Holly, not to mention illegal.”

“Are you kidding me? I just proved who Annalee’s killer is, and you’re chastising me? Besides, I didn’t break in. I took Mrs. Haughton breakfast. She invited me in.”

“Where are you now?”

“Leaving their house.”

“Good. I have to talk to Michael and figure out what needs to be done.”

“Do a three-way call. I want to talk to him too.”

“Okay, hold on.”

She waited as Cathy got Michael on the phone. When he came on, he said, “Holly, good work.”

Holly couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, boss.”

“That gives us an unmistakable link. We can prove he’s the one who bought the clown suit.”

“I knew it was him!” Cathy said. “So do we call the police yet?”

“I just told Max,” Michael said. “But he doesn’t think it’s enough for a search warrant. We haven’t proven he’s done
anything wrong yet. It’s not illegal to have a post office box or to order a clown suit. If Holly had found tainted food …”

Cathy grunted. “But Warren’s the one who brought the food from their house. He surely disposed of the contamination. He works at the lab where they test for E. coli. He had access to it. He fed Jackson Sunday!”

“Those things will matter. Holly, again, you’re doing great work.”

Holly beamed. When was the last time anyone had said that to her?

“What if we went to the house and showed Mrs. Haughton what we found? Maybe she would consent to allowing the police to search her house.”

“I don’t think she would,” Holly said. “She’s protective of Warren. If she had any reason to think he could be arrested …”

“But if we convince her that he killed her daughter?” Cathy asked. “That he almost killed her grandson?”

Holly closed her eyes. “That poor woman. She’s sitting there dying alone, and she doesn’t have any idea what’s going on. She can’t take this.”

“She has to take it, before she loses her grandson too.”

“I hate to make matters worse,” Michael said. “But Jay called this morning to ask about Jackson. He got cut off, and it sounded like a fight. We have to get him out of there.”

“Oh no.” Holly’s throat closed.

Cathy managed to speak. “I’ll call and get his attorney to find out what happened.”

“We have to talk about this,” Michael said. “Plan a strategy. Call Juliet, and all of you come to my office. We’ll figure it all out.”

“We have to hurry, Michael,” Holly said. “Time could be running out for both Jay and Jackson.”

J
uliet had gotten home at seven a.m., after spending the night in the hospital waiting room. Bob was already dressed and ready to head to his office, but he hadn’t bothered to get the kids up for school.

She had thirty minutes to get them up, feed them, and drive them, since they’d missed the bus. Popping pop tarts in a toaster — something she rarely did — she dragged Abe and Zach up and hounded them into their clothes. When Abe came into the kitchen, he was wearing yesterday’s outfit. The shirt still had a spaghetti stain on it.

“Abe, go change clothes. Those are dirty.”

“But it’s my favorite shirt,” he whined. “I want to wear it.”

She grabbed the pop tarts out of the toaster, wrapped them in napkins. “Change now, Abe. Your blue shirt is clean. It makes your eyes pop.”

“I don’t want popping eyes.”

“Go!” She turned to Zach, who stood in front of her with groggy eyes. “Zach, did you brush your teeth?”

“I scraped them with my fingernail.”

“That’s gross, son. Go brush. Hurry.”

Abe appeared back in the kitchen with the clean shirt, but the same pair of dirty jeans. She decided it was good enough.

“Get your backpack. You’ll have to eat in the car.”

Abe took his pop tart, bit into it. “I didn’t finish my homework,” he said with his mouth full.

Juliet gaped at him. “Are you kidding me? Your dad didn’t help you?”

“He didn’t finish helping me.”

Wonderful. What had he done last night? She got the kids into the car. “Abe, you’ll have to take a lower grade. It’s your responsibility to do your homework.”

“Even if I don’t understand it? I was waiting for you to get home.”

“Is Jackson gonna be all right?” Zach cut in.

“I hope so.”

“What about Uncle Jay? Dad says he’s in jail. What did he do?”

She winced. What had her husband been thinking to tell them that? “Nothing. It’s all a big mistake. It’ll get worked out today, I hope.” She reached Zach’s school, kissed her son before he got out of the car. “Remember who you are,” she said.

She watched Zach trudge in, then glanced at Abe, who had pop tart jelly on his clean shirt. Sighing, she pulled a wet wipe out of the box on her floorboard and rubbed it off.

“I have a headache,” Abe said.

“No you don’t, kiddo. You’re fine. Going to school.”

“But I’m sad about Jackson and Aunt Annalee.”

She sighed as she reached the line of cars at his school. “I know, son. I’m sad too.”

“What if people ask me if my uncle killed his wife?”

“They won’t know you’re his nephew.”

“But I already texted some of them.”

She groaned. “Well then, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Can’t I just stay home and hang out with you today?”

“No, honey. I have a lot to do today to help Jackson and Uncle Jay.”

“I could help too.”

“You’ll help best by going to school. The fourth grade can’t possibly go on without you.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the car door. “Remember who you are,” he said before she could get the words out.

She smiled and grabbed his face with both hands, smacked a kiss on his mouth. He grinned and wiped it off, then scampered up the walk.

As she was pulling away, her phone rang. Cathy. She clicked it on.

“Juliet, we need a quick powwow at Michael’s. Have you seen Holly’s text?”

“No. I’ve been getting the kids to school.”

“She found a catalog addressed to Doug Streep in Warren’s room.”

“What? How did she —?”

“We’ll tell you everything at Michael’s office.”

Juliet turned her car around and headed to Michael’s office.