Chapter 6 - The Death We Never Questioned
Grandpa Theodore’s body had been exhumed once already.
Nobody had told me.
Arthur explained it that afternoon.
When investigators recovered the key from Grandpa’s burial jacket, they had also taken biological samples under sealed authority.
At the time, the examination was related to possible estate fraud.
Now, after hearing the recording from the safe-deposit box, the purpose changed.
Detective Beckett entered my room shortly before sunset.
He did not sit.
That was how I knew the news was serious.
“The medical examiner found something.”
Wyatt reached for my hand.
“What?”
“Theodore Monroe’s original cause of death was listed as acute myocardial infarction.”
“A heart attack.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The preserved tissue samples show evidence of a medication that was not listed in his medical file.”
I stared at him.
“What medication?”
“Digoxin.”
Samuel, standing near the window, went still.
I knew the name only vaguely.
“Was Grandpa taking it?”
“No.”
“Could it have been given at the hospital?”
“We checked.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“He was never prescribed it?”
“No.”
I felt sick.
“What does it do?”
“In certain amounts, it can affect heart rhythm.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened.
“You think he was poisoned?”
Beckett chose his words carefully.
“We are investigating whether his death was intentionally caused.”
The sentence felt unreal.
My grandfather.
The man who smelled like cedar soap and peppermint.
The man who tucked handwritten jokes into birthday cards.
The man whose funeral had filled a church.
Possibly murdered.
By someone in my family.
I stared out the hospital window.
“Who had access to him?”
“Your family.”
“Which family?”
“During his final week, records indicate your father visited twice. Your mother visited three times. Melanie visited once with your parents.”
“Melanie was seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“My uncle?”
“Dr. Martin Monroe visited every day.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
He was a physician.
Nobody would have questioned him.
“Where is he?”
“Arizona.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“We tried.”
“Tried?”
“He left his home yesterday.”
Wyatt looked toward Beckett.
“After Grant’s arrest?”
“Approximately forty minutes after local news first reported it.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where did he go?”
“We don’t know.”
The door opened.
A nurse entered, checked my medication, then quietly left.
Only after she was gone did Beckett continue.
“We also recovered something from your mother’s second phone.”
“What?”
“A recent call to Martin.”
“How recent?”
“Sixteen minutes after the attack.”
I stared at him.
“Mom called Uncle Martin after Dad hit me?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Four minutes and twelve seconds.”
“Do you know what they said?”
“No recording.”
“But we know they spoke.”
“Yes.”
“What did she do next?”
Beckett looked at his notes.
“She called a number associated with North Ridge Development.”
I recognized the name.
That was the company interested in my family’s land.
“Why?”
“We obtained their correspondence this morning.”
Samuel straightened.
“And?”
Beckett looked at me.
“Your parents had scheduled closing for Monday.”
The day after the trust audit.
“They were selling the property?”
“For twenty-six million dollars.”
I nearly stopped breathing.
Wyatt swore under his breath.
Samuel asked, “All acreage?”
“Yes.”
“That sale could never legally close if the conservation covenant was disclosed.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Or if Sadie’s trust ownership was disclosed.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then Grant was committing fraud on both sides.”
“That appears likely.”
I felt numb.
Twenty-six million dollars.
They needed the sale before the audit.
They needed me removed.
Maybe dead.
Maybe incapacitated.
Maybe simply too frightened to object.
“Why Melanie and Wyatt?”
Beckett looked toward Wyatt.
“That part may be more straightforward.”
Wyatt’s expression darkened.
“They wanted my money.”
Samuel nodded.
“If the North Ridge transaction collapsed, Grant needed another source of liquidity.”
My father had seen Wyatt’s company sale as salvation.
Except Wyatt loved me.
And apparently my family believed the easiest solution was to replace me with my sister.
The absurdity almost made me laugh.
They had rearranged human beings like pieces on a financial board.
“Where is Mom now?”
“At home.”
“Why?”
“She has counsel. We do not yet have enough for conspiracy charges.”
“And Melanie?”
“Also released pending further investigation.”
I looked at him.
“So they’re both sleeping in their own beds.”
“For tonight.”
I hated those words.
For tonight.
That evening, Wyatt helped me walk slowly down the hospital corridor.
Every step hurt.
But I needed to move.
I needed to feel that my body still belonged to me.
At the end of the hallway, we stopped by a large window overlooking the parking lot.
“You don’t have to be strong every second,” Wyatt said.
“I know.”
“You’re doing it anyway.”
I looked at his reflection in the glass.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
His expression sharpened.
“Never.”
“My face might not heal completely.”
“I know.”
“One doctor said I might need three surgeries.”
“I know.”
“My vision—”
“I know.”
I turned toward him.
“Then why aren’t you scared?”
“I am.”
“Of what?”
“Losing you.”
That silenced me.
He touched my cheek carefully, avoiding the injured side.
“Not how you look.”
I leaned into him.
For the first time since the attack, I let myself believe our future had not disappeared.
Then his phone rang.
Samuel.
Wyatt answered.
“What happened?”
Samuel spoke loudly enough that I heard every word.
“They found Martin.”
“Where?”
“At an airport?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“Outside Arthur Bell’s motel.”
Wyatt and I looked at each other.
Samuel continued.
“He had a gun.”
My blood ran cold.
“Is Arthur okay?” I asked.
“Yes. Police intercepted Martin before he entered the room.”
“Why would Uncle Martin go after Arthur?”
Samuel exhaled.
“That’s the interesting part.”
“What?”
“When police searched Martin’s rental car, they found a syringe.”
Detective Beckett had told us about digoxin only hours earlier.
My mouth went dry.
“What was in it?”
“They’re testing it.”
Wyatt tightened his arm around me.
Samuel continued.
“They also found a handwritten note.”
I didn’t want to ask.
But I did.
“What did it say?”
“Arthur knows what happened to Theodore.”
I stared through the window at the parking lot below.
“And below that?”
Samuel’s voice dropped.
“There was another sentence.”
May you like
“What?”
“Sadie knows too much now.”
