Sass and Aubrey sat on the other couch, with Bob Don and Gretchen. Sass stood. She held hands with her son.
“Uncle Mutt. At least it was quick.” Her voice quavered. “The poor dear didn't suffer much.” As I listened to Sass speak I watched Bob Don. He would not look at me, instead concentrating on comforting Gretchen. She pressed her face into her fists and didn't respond to her husband's touch.
“When will we have her… body back for the service?” Sass asked.
Tricia Yarbrough, the justice of the peace who'd visited us before, and Victor Mendez exchanged glances. Finally Judge Yarbrough spoke. “Not quite yet, Cecilia. I've ordered further toxicology tests on Lolly's body.”
Ice trenched Mutt's voice. “That's ridiculous, Tricia. The coroner said heart attack, what else is there to know?”
“The coroner also said Lolly had no signs of heart disease. There's no reason for her heart to have given out the way it did.”
“Sometimes these things just happen…” Sass ventured.
Mendez cleared his throat. “Judge Yarbrough thought there was sufficient reason to call for the additional toxicology tests. Considering Mrs. Throckmorton's heart was healthy-and there was digitalis-based medication missing from the house.”
Mutt stared hard at the authorities. “I hope you're not implying my sister took her own life. She would never do such a thing.”
Tricia Yarbrough pursed her lips. “I'm sorry, Emmett. Truly I am. But I have no choice. We've got to know what killed her.”
“And if Aunt Lolly had no cause to commit suicide?” I piped up. Glares arrowed in on me.
“For God's sake, the woman was half-crazy,” Deborah said matter-of-factly. “I'm sorry to be so blunt, Uncle Mutt. But Lolly wasn't balanced. She had no business taking care of Uncle Jake and being entrusted with potentially dangerous medications.”
“Lolly was eccentric, not crazy. There's a real big difference, Deb,” Mutt boomed. “My sister would not take her own life.”
“If they find digitalis, and she didn't commit suicide, Uncle Mutt, that's not going to leave many attractive alternatives,” I said.
“Stay out of this, Jordan,” Mutt said. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“She was threatening me,” I said. Candace's hand tightened against mine. I glanced at Victor Mendez, who stood near the study door. I explained quickly to the family about the malicious cards I'd received, and told Mutt that I'd found another vicious note in Lolly's closet. “I'm sorry, Uncle Mutt. But you can't tell me sending those cards was the act of a balanced mind.”
“Holy hell,” Uncle Jake murmured. Uncle Mutt's face reddened with ire.
“No. Lolly would not do such a thing. She would not. Someone planted that card in her closet, Jordan.”
A hush fell over the room. “Why?” Sass finally asked. “Why would someone frame Lolly for scaring Jordan?”
“I don't know!” Mutt snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, grief painting its rictus on his handsome face. “This ain't happening. It was a heart attack, for God's sake! She didn't kill herself and she wasn't murdered.”
“Uncle Mutt, please, be reasonable,” Philip said. He began to pace back and forth before the windows as he spoke, like a lawyer delivering eloquent summation. “We have to quit kidding ourselves that Lolly was entirely sane. She very well might have ended her own life.”
Mutt sank into a chair by our couch. Deborah reached out to embrace him. He leaned against her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His face reflected his misery. “I don't understand. Why would she try to frighten Jordan away from our reunion? She said she was excited about meeting him. And why, why kill herself?”
Philip knelt before Mutt. “I'm so, so sorry, Uncle Mutt.”
I couldn't remain silent. “Philip,” I managed to croak. “Why don't you explain what I saw last night when you and Mutt and I were in the library.”
Tricia Yarbrough and Victor Mendez had remained silent during this exchange. I'd felt their eyes wander from face to face, lingering a moment, perhaps weighing us each on some internal measure of guilt and complicity. Now I felt Mendez's dark eyes rivet on me as I tried to find my voice again.
Philip stared at me. “Excuse me? I don't know what to explain because I don't know what you saw.”
“I saw you replace a book on the shelves. A copy of Bitter Money.” I blinked at Mutt and Mendez and my voice strengthened. “It was a best-seller several years ago-an account of the Maggie Mason murder case. Her husband poisoned her with digitalis-based medication.”
Mutt bolted to his feet, grabbing Philip by his shirtfront. “What? Any truth in this, Philip?”
Philip paid Mutt no heed; rather, he fixed a saucy smile at me over his uncle's shoulder. “I have no idea what Jordan's talking about, Uncle Mutt.”
I stood, releasing Candace's hand, and went to the shelf where I'd seen Philip return the book. My heart sank as I saw the slot was empty; the book mat had been next to Bitter Money leaned into the space like a weary companion.
“The book is gone,” I said, feeling my spirits sink.
“If it were ever there,” Philip snorted.
“And why would he lie, Mr. Bedrich?” Victor Mendez finally spoke. I was used to far more vocal police officers, but Mendez seemed the sort to observe and analyze, not interfere.
Philip tried to shrug, but Mutt kept his shoulders in a steely grip. “Answer the man, Philip,” Mutt demanded.
“I don't know why Jordan's fabricating this tale. We don't know him at all. He's a stranger.”
Bob Don spoke: “I can assure you all Jordan is no liar.” Throughout this tribute Bob Don kept his gaze firmly on Victor Mendez. Gretchen glanced toward me with red-rimmed eyes.
“I didn't slip any book back on the shelf. The idea is ridiculous.” Philip patted Mutt's hand, as if begging for release. Mutt eased his grip and Philip took a step backward. “If I was going to borrow the idea of poisoning Aunt Lolly, I wouldn't return the book. I'm not stupid. I'd destroy it, like I would any evidence against me.”
“You sound like a seasoned professional at this,” Can-dace said. I suppose I hadn't alienated her entirely if she could still spring to my defense. “And as you point out, Philip, the book is missing.”
“You might not want to destroy the book, if Uncle Mutt or someone else who spends time in this study would notice that it was gone,” I said. I wanted to search the shelves for the copy of Bitter Money, pulling volumes off in a frenzy. But I didn't. I forced myself to a calmness I hadn't had with Bob Don or Candace.
“Mr. Goertz? Would you notice if a particular book was gone from here?” Mendez asked. He stared at Philip, who decided to quit glaring at me and now studied the pattern on the antique rug. The glibness faded from his face.
“Hell. Uncle Jake and Lolly read more true crime than I ever did. I don't recall the particular book that Jordan mentions. I might not notice. But Uncle Jake might.” Mutt leaned toward Jake. “Uncle Jake? You know this book Jordan speaks of?”
Jake sat enthroned in a deep leather chair that looked ready to swallow him. He glared at Philip with undisguised loathing. “Yes, we had a copy of Bitter Money. I clearly remember reading it and Lolly read it as well. I don't believe we ever got rid of the book. It should still be here.”
“So where is it, Philip?” I demanded.
“How the hell should I know?” Philip snapped. But his eyes had acquired a cunning look that made my spine tense. “And if I returned the damned book, why would I get rid of it later? No logic required to make accusations here. Jordan, you don't make sense. Not a surprise, though.”
“Maybe you'd get rid of it,” I said, “if you thought I'd seen you slip it back onto the shelves. Missing, it can't be dusted for fingerprints.”
“This is insane.” Philip stormed toward me, but Mendez intercepted him. “Okay, fine, look at me. Motive and opportunity, right, isn't that what all criminals need? I don't got either. Why would I want Lolly dead? You need a motive, asshole, and I don't have one. I loved my aunt.”