“As I told you on the phone, I’m investigating what happened with your wife.” Lizzie spoke with deliberate vagueness. No reason to tell him that they were looking into whether someone had murdered the doctor who’d treated Ashley.

  “Are you working for the hospital—or for Brenda Phillips?”

  “Neither,” Murphy said.

  “Who then?”

  “No one connected to your lawsuit, but my client wishes to remain anonymous,” Lizzie said. “We do want the truth to come out. About what happened to your wife.”

  “We’re also looking into the possibility that someone altered your wife’s medical records,” Murphy said. “You were the logical person to ask.”

  “You saw the medical records?” He didn’t seem angry. Just curious.

  Lizzie gave a wave of her hand to indicate yes and don’t ask.

  “I don’t know who fucked with them, but they’re wrong.” David rubbed Yoni under the chin, disturbing her sleep. Her tail twitched. “According to the hospital, Ashley didn’t see anyone prior to the morning when she bled out, so the hospital, Dr. Martin, the whole system couldn’t possibly be at fault.”

  “Not what happened?” Lizzie asked.

  “Hell no.” David’s voice rose. The cat’s head rose. Golden eyes opened. David lowered his voice again. “We went to her doctor’s office the day before she died. The day before. She was bleeding and didn’t want to go to the ER. We thought it was just spotting; she’d had some earlier. He brought us into the office. And… and…” He choked up again.

  “Can I get you some water?” Murphy asked. “Don’t want you to disturb Yoni.”

  David nodded and pointed towards the kitchen. Murphy disappeared.

  “He… Dr. Martin?” Lizzie asked gently.

  David nodded again.

  After taking a little longer than she should have, Murphy reappeared with a glass of ice water and pushed it into David’s hand. He drank and composed himself.

  “Yeah, Dr. Thomas Martin. He did an ultrasound in his office and then he told us that she was miscarrying.”

  “You were in the day before she died.”

  He nodded again. “He said he needed to make a call and left us. We just sat there, stunned. She was eighteen weeks pregnant, and we’d thought the miscarriage risk was over. Anyway, Ashley was crying and saying she had to call her mother. She and her mother were really close. I told her to wait—maybe there was a mistake, maybe there was a chance. Why upset her mother until we knew for sure.

  “But when he came back, he told us that there was no chance. The baby was dying. To protect Ashley’s health and fertility, he would have recommended an immediate abortion—but he couldn’t. I asked him why there was no chance. And he told us that there were fetal abnormalities, along with the detaching placenta. And he said he’d spoken to the hospital lawyer who told him that since the baby still had a heartbeat and Ashley’s condition was not life-threatening, performing an abortion was not allowed under Texas law.”

  “Texas abortion laws suck.” Lizzie looked at the wedding picture, at the happy bride with her mother standing behind her.

  “Yeah. They do. The only exception is to save the life of the mother, and the way that the hospital attorney interpreted the law, that risk had to be imminent.”

  “The attorney being Brenda Phillips.”

  “Yeah, her. Dr. Martin told us to go home and that if the bleeding got heavier, go to the ER. Otherwise wait for her to miscarry naturally. There wasn’t anything else to do. That’s what he said anyway.” David was stroking the cat gently. She stood, turned in a circle, and stretched out on his lap again. “We went home. Ashley called her mother, and I stayed up with her, holding her while she cried.” He looked down at the cat. “Yoni stayed with her, too. We went to bed around one. The next morning, I woke up to a sea of blood in our bed. I called 911. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was already dead. I asked for her medical records after she died—and what I got from the hospital didn’t include anything about the appointment when we learned she was miscarrying.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Murphy said softly.

  “I hired an attorney to sue them—all of them—the hospital, the attorney, and Dr. Martin—because I figured someone had to.” The cat stood, rubbing her head against David’s chin, and he calmed again. “Good girl, Yoni. She really misses Ashley. Still looks for her. So, as I was saying, I got a good lawyer, and I filed a lawsuit. Doctors are risking women’s lives by waiting until a woman’s actually dying before performing an abortion.”

  “You know that Dr. Martin is dead, don’t you?” Lizzie didn’t want to think that this grieving man gently petting his cat could have anything to do with a murder.

  “Yeah. I know. Killed himself, from what I read.” David shrugged. “I didn’t blame him for Ashley’s death as much as I blame Brenda Phillips. And the so-called pro-lifers who pass these laws. He should have ignored what she told him and saved Ashley, but I know he felt trapped. What really angers me,” the fury showed again “is that Ashley paid for it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Lizzie

  Neither of them spoke until they were back in Lizzie’s Lexus. But then Lizzie didn’t have much to say.

  “It’s not him,” Murphy said. “Unless I’ve completely lost my mind.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” Lizzie started the engine. “Although he could be a very good actor.”

  “He’d have to be a fucking star to pull that act off. And the cat likes him. That’s usually a good sign.”

  “Cats are sociopaths.”

  “I thought you liked cats.”

  “Yeah, so? They’re still sociopaths.” And maybe she was one as well. “Find anything in the kitchen?” Lizzie assumed that Murphy’s trip to the kitchen had been more than just out of kindness.

  Murphy shook her head. “Nothing that tells us anything. There’re pictures of the two of them all over the place; a picture of her just starting to show, and pictures of the cat. Not much in the fridge. He seems to be surviving on Chinese take-out. There was a left-over container of sesame noodles and a bunch of cardboard containers of rice stacked up in the garbage.”

  “Chinese take-out. Confirms that he’s Jewish.” Lizzie started the car and pulled out. “If I had any doubts.”

  “You like Jewish men, or so you’ve told me. And he’s good-looking with a tragic story. What could be more enticing?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You know what. At least three times this month, you’ve tried to fix me up.”

  “Honey, everyone deserves love.” Murphy had started dating Cleo two months earlier and since then had become a little insufferable on the topic of dating and relationships. “Or at least sex.”

  “I’m not looking for a man. Even if I were, I wouldn’t go after a widower still mourning the death of his wife.” Not that she didn’t find him attractive, but he was unavailable—emotionally if not physically. Why did every man that Lizzie found interesting have to be in love with another woman?

  “Most people, even those who’ve suffered terrible losses, move on eventually.”

  “Eventually. Meanwhile, I’ve got my own life to live.”

  “You do? And that means what?”

  “Finding who killed Tom Martin. Right now, Brenda Phillips is high on my list. If she had anything to do with Ashley Wise’s disappearing medical records, that would give her a motive to get rid of Tom Martin. He’d know the truth.”

  “Girl, you need some interests besides work.”

  “Look who’s talking. What interests do you have?”

  “Besides Cleo? I’m studying French for a trip to Paris, and I sing in a choir—at least until the transphobes close us down.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “I told you—when we were on surveillance for the last case. It just didn’t register.”

  Obviously not. Lizzie did tend to hyperfocus on the problem of the moment. “Sorry. I should have paid attention. I’d like to hear you sing sometime.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, but that’s okay. I know you’re not interested in music. The question is—what are you interested in?”

  Lizzie had a flashback to eight months earlier when she’d been asked that same question—by a man she nearly killed by mistake. The same man she might have loved—if he hadn’t loved someone else. “Horses. I like horses.” Then she thought of the gray-and-white Yoni stretched on David Wise’s lap. “I like cats, too. Even if they are sociopaths.”

  “You have a horse? Or a cat?”

  “No cat. Used to have a horse. He was sold when I went to Germany. I like Lord of the Rings.”

  “Good choice. Movies or books?”

  “Both.”

  “So maybe after we get done doing whatever we’re doing next, you should either go see a horse or rewatch the movies. Or get a cat. What is it we’re doing next?”

  “Brenda Phillips. Popping by her office.”

  “Probably won’t see us.”

  “Maybe not. And maybe she will. It’s worth a try. And after that, the office, write up our notes on everything we’ve learned. Later—maybe—I’ll go see some horses.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Isabella

  If it had just been Wyatt, Isabella might have talked her way out of the situation. He had become something of a religious nut, but he still cared about her. Sort of. And he cared about Nina.

  But his friend was a different thing altogether. He had the look and feel of a someone who would be willing to kill for his fanatical ideas.

  Certainly, he’d shown that he would be willing to kill her. Imprisoning her here in the hills outside Austin, in this wooden cabin only around 1000 square feet, knowing that she could die, was evidence enough. Although, while he might let her die, he probably wouldn’t kill her as long as she was pregnant. He valued the life of the fetus, even if he didn’t value hers.

  She didn’t know his name. Wyatt called him “the Leader” or “my friend,” she assumed, so she wouldn’t know his name. She just called him “Monster.” He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

  She suspected that whatever his real name, he was the friend from high school who Wyatt had met and who had convinced Wyatt that they should have another baby. And now Wyatt and the Monster were holding her prisoner to make sure she did just that.

  The car that she’d thought was taking her to the airport had brought her instead to this cabin in the hills somewhere outside Austin. The Monster had been driving, and he’d pulled over to take her phone in a deserted spot outside Austin.

  But before that, she had managed to send Ethan a text. And then she’d erased it.

  Now here she was, stuck, with a time bomb growing inside her. How long would she have until the artery in her heart shredded?

  In the small kitchen with counters of pink linoleum, a rusty stove, and a barely working refrigerator, the whole thing probably dating back to sometime in the last century, she was fixing pancakes and eggs for Nina. Watching cartoons with Wyatt and the Monster, Nina had no idea that anything was wrong. There was no point in telling her either. It would just scare her.

  But seeing Wyatt act like the loving father when he’d put Isabella’s life at risk made her furious. With the open kitchen and the size of the cabin, she could hear every word between Wyatt and Nina.

  “This is fun, isn’t it?” Wyatt asked Nina. “We’re going to do lots of fun things.”

  Nina nodded. “We were going to get you chocolate, Daddy. Because you couldn’t come with us.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to. Because I’m here.”

  “We gonna see dinosaurs?” Nina’s voice rose in excitement.

  “Not on this vacation.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re here.”

  “But why can’t we go see dinosaurs?”

  “Next vacation. We’ll all go. You. Me. Your mom. And your little brother or sister.”

  Shut up. Isabella wanted to say what the truth was—that the odds were very good not only that there would be no little brother or sister but that she wouldn’t be going to any museums ever again. That she’d be dead. And while Nina would sooner or later learn the truth about her father—about what her father had done—Isabella had to be careful, and she had to be smart. So she stayed quiet, as much as she now loathed Wyatt and the devoted father act he was putting on.

  She had her own act: the devoted mother. Only it wasn’t an act.

  She flipped two pancakes onto a plate next to scrambled eggs, poured syrup over both, and carried the plate to the small round table that was the only place to eat. “Nina. Breakfast.”

  Nina loved cartoons, but she also loved pancakes. She came on being called and climbed into a booster seat, with Isabella’s help. Isabella cut up the pancakes, and Nina started in.

  “Where’s my plate?” Wyatt approached the table. “I like pancakes.”

  Isabella looked up at him and didn’t answer.

  He puffed out his chest. “Isabella, answer me.”

  “I only made enough for Nina. The kitchen’s over there. Eggs. Flour. Help yourself.”

  “Stop being a bitch.”

  Nina looked up from her breakfast.

  “Everything’s okay, sweetheart.” Isabella reassured her daughter.

  Nina looked from her mother to her father. He had the grace to at least look embarrassed. “What your mother said. Everything’s okay.”

  Nina returned to eating pancakes.

  Isabella returned to the kitchen, and Wyatt followed her.

  “That was your fault.” He spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re the one who upset Nina. I’m doing this for you. You’ll thank me when it’s all over.” Wyatt had the nerve to blame his cursing in front of Nina on her.

  She waited until Nina pushed her plate back and slid down from her seat. “Bathroom. Wash up.” Isabella pointed, and the small figure disappeared behind the bathroom door. Then she turned to Wyatt to confront him. “When it’s over, I’ll be dead. You know that. The doctor told both of us how dangerous it would be if I were to have another child.”

  Her anger seemed to make him uncomfortable. The belligerent tone he’d taken earlier lessened. “It won’t happen. I’ve got all sorts of vitamins and supplements that’ll protect you. And the baby.”

  “Vitamins and supplements aren’t going to stop spontaneous artery dissection.”

  “I told you, you’ll be fine.” Wyatt’s voice rose. “The minister said it would be fine. He knows. He knows what God wants—what God will do. I’ve prayed on it.”

  God? If there was a God, she wouldn’t have nearly died last time. If there was a God, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

  “Only a doctor can tell if anything’s happening with my heart.”

  “Women have had healthy babies for thousands of years without doctors.” The Monster didn’t turn around, but his voice held a threat. “We have everything you need here, including your daughter. We’ll have a nurse check you and get you a midwife when it’s time. Now make us both some fucking pancakes.”

  “Make your own fucking pancakes,” Isabella said.

  He turned from the television and stared at her, a cool gaze of evaluation.

  The look of someone capable of killing without a second thought. Isabella felt a chill.

  “It’s okay,” Wyatt said. “I can cook something.”

  Hmmmm. Wyatt was a little afraid of his “friend.” That was an interesting development.

  “You can’t cook for shit, Wyatt. That’s her job.” The Monster looked at his watch. “I need to eat something before I drive back. You need anything Wyatt—make up a list. I’ll be back in a day or two with supplies and to check up on everything. Now you,” he turned his words to Isabella, “you do what women are supposed to do.”

  Isabella pushed down the retort she wanted to make.

  He’d be taking the car, which meant that Isabella couldn’t just sneak the keys and drive off with Nina. Still, with the Monster gone, maybe Isabella could come up with an escape plan, even if she didn’t have a phone or a car. A neighbor within walking distance? Maybe Wyatt’d hidden a phone somewhere.

  Maybe she could even work on Wyatt to let her go. He claimed to still love her.

  A lot of maybes. She could explore those maybes better with the Monster gone.

  Still, the Monster’s voice had held a threat. He wouldn’t kill her, no, that would kill the all-important embryo, the embryo that was worth more than her life. But he could hurt her. Or Nina.

  Was it worth it to push it now?

  Not if he was about to leave.

  She returned to the kitchen and mixed a new batch of batter. She considered burning the pancakes or dumping in a load of pepper, but either option would be detectable. Either could bring wrath down on her or on Nina. Instead, she waited until Nina returned from the bathroom, and settled in front of the television again in between the two men, all three of them focused on a Road Runner cartoon.

  Then she spat into the mixing bowl.

  CHAPTER 21

  Lizzie

  As expected, Brenda Phillips was busy. Very busy, the receptionist at the front desk said.

  “We only want a few minutes.” Lizzie took in the waiting room, designed to impress the rich and corporate clients that supplied the firm’s income. Gold and crystal lamps. Gold lettering for the firm’s name prominently displayed behind the receptionist’s head. White-and-black patched leather couches that made Lizzie think of cows.

  “She has a full day.” The receptionist wasn’t backing down.

  Neither were Lizzie and Murphy.

  “It’s about the Ashley Wise case.”

  That got a response. The receptionist’s eyebrows went up. She dialed a number, spoke a few words into the phone, and hung up.

 

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