Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(89)

“It’s Mr. Beaumont,” I said. “Where are you?”

“We just now got to the ER,” he said. “Mom went inside with the EMTs. She said I have to wait in the lobby.”

“We’re on our way, Jimmy,” I said. “Stay put.”

I ended the call. “The hospital,” I told Twink.

“Figured as much,” she replied. “We’ll be there in less than five.”

Which meant I had less than five minutes to prepare whatever I was going to say to a twelve-year-old kid who’d spent his whole life being lied to by all the people he loved—by his mother, his Aunt Penny, and his Uncle Wally. Everything real he’d been able to learn about his background was information Jimmy had gleaned on his own from the Internet.

Twink dumped me out at the entrance to the ER. “Call when you’re ready to go,” she said. “I’ll be in the visitors’ parking area out front.”

After exiting the car, I stood for a moment gathering myself before approaching the door and recalling those unyielding words—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. On the other hand, how much truth could a twelve-year-old take? Struggling to find middle ground between the two, I squared my shoulders to walk into the hospital and face down Sue Danielson’s grandson.





Chapter 33




When I entered the hospital lobby, there were three groups of concerned family members huddled around the room worrying about their own ailing or injured. Jimmy Danielson sat in desolate isolation in the far corner, staring down at his feet. He didn’t glance up when the entryway doors slid open behind me.

“How’s it going?” I asked as I approached.

He looked up at me briefly, shook his head, and then dropped his gaze.

I sat down beside him. “Have you heard anything?”

Jimmy shook his head again and said nothing. So far this was turning out to be a very one-sided conversation.

“Did they say anything about his condition?”

“They're pumping his stomach. Will that work?”

“Let’s hope,” I said, “but it’s hard to tell. It’s probably a good thing you and your mom went to the house when you did instead of waiting for us to get back to the hotel. By then it might have been too late.”

“Did they catch her?” Jimmy asked. “His wife, I mean?”

I wasn’t sure how much Jimmy had overheard as Twink drove us to the Driftwood Inn, but obviously he’d been paying attention.

“Yes,” I answered. “She’s been taken into custody.”

“Good,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “Mom’s father was handcuffed to the bed when we found him. Mom said his wife was trying to kill him.”

I nodded. “I believe your mother is right. That’s exactly what Shelley Adams intended.”

At that point Jimmy seemed to be talked out. In the moments of silence that followed, I thought about the house on Diamond Ridge Road. It had looked more like a log-walled fortress than a house. I remembered the heavy oaken door, to say nothing of the dead bolt.

“Was the door locked?” I asked.

He nodded.

“How’d you get inside?” I asked.

“Through the window in what used to be my mom’s bedroom,” Jimmy answered. “There’s a big tree next to the house. We climbed that, and then she used a tool from the car—a putty knife—to jimmy the window. When she said that, I thought she was making fun of me.”

“No,” I told him. “That’s what it’s called—jimmying. It’s when you get into a locked house through a window by messing with the lock rather than breaking the glass.”

“Anyway, that’s how we got in. Mom climbed in first, and then she helped me. She said that’s how she used to sneak in and out of the house when she was a girl.”

“Have you ever snuck in and out of a house like that?” I asked.

In reply Jimmy ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders. In other words, asked and answered.

“If that’s how you and your mother got in, how about the EMTs? Was she able to find the dead-bolt key?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Mom remembered the door code on the garage because it was her mom’s birthday. We were able to let the medics into the garage, but they had to break down the kitchen door to get into the house.”

The old code was probably Roger’s doing. Had Shelley known about that, she would have changed it.

Jimmy paused for a moment before continuing. “Anyway,” he said, “we found Mom’s father in one of the bedrooms. He was asleep with one arm handcuffed to the frame of the bed. Mom tried to wake him up but couldn’t. She tried to call 911 from the bedside table, but the phone didn’t work. It had been unplugged. We had to plug it back in.”

That made sense. Even if Roger Adams had tried to call for help, he wouldn’t have been able to.

The boy shivered, and not from the cold either. “Why would anyone do that, Mr. Beaumont?” he asked.

Because they’re evil, I thought. “Greed,” I answered aloud. “We’ve uncovered evidence that Shelley Adams has been using fake IDs to sell off your grandfather’s properties without his knowledge or consent.”