The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(38)

Dave said, “So he won you over completely. Not a doubt in your mind.”

“He told me your father wouldn’t take his meds, and that was the truth, Dave. I’ve toured Ray’s medicine cabinet, and there are prescription drugs, blood pressure meds and statins, unopened, with expiration dates from last year and the year before.”

Dave pushed his chair back from the table, got more bread and brie from the kitchen, and returned with it to the table. When Dave was facing Joe, he said, “Let me ask you this.”

“Shoot.”

“Are being a bad patient and becoming a murder victim mutually exclusive?”

Joe said, “You’re asking, if it’s true that he didn’t take his meds, can it also be true that his doctor killed him?”

“Exactly. He could have gotten fed up with side effects and didn’t take his meds. And still, his doctor could have killed him along with a few others in the same one-year period.”

“Say you’re right, Dave. What was his motive? Because unless you tell me that Murray is going to inherit the winery, I can’t think of one.”

“What about compulsion? What about psychosis? What about a God complex?”

Joe said, “Possible. What about Occam’s razor?”

“There were no razors involved, as far as I know.”

“Occam’s razor is—”

“I know what it is. I went to a good school, you know. Occam’s razor. Don’t multiply motives unnecessarily. The simplest explanation is usually right.”

“Yep.”

“So in your estimation, it’s easier to believe that Ray and another three of Murray’s patients died from heart disease rather than were murdered by their doctor.”

“Dave, Ray’s chart for the day before he died is marked ‘Patient refused MRI.’ The ME’s report says cause of death was complications from a thoracic aortic aneurysm. The other three patients you identified also died of heart ailments. I’m just one man and I don’t have a badge, so I’m going on leads and these documents.”

“You have a lot of charm, Joe. Always did.”

“Thanks. I remember when you had charm yourself.”

The two men grinned at each other, and then Joe said, “I’m going home tonight, Dave. I’m still only going to be a text and an hour-and-a-half drive away. If you need me, call me. If you have any evidence that Ray was murdered, I strongly suggest you call the police and let them do a complete investigation.”

“Thanks for all you’ve done, Joe. I know I sound like an ingrate or maybe a crank, but I know I’m right. And I also really appreciate your help.”

“I know. We’re good.”





CHAPTER 56





I WAS ELATED to see Joe’s car parked outside our apartment building.

When I opened our front door and shouted, “I’m home,” Joe appeared in the foyer and hugged me, rocked me, kissed me, danced me, and hugged me some more. It was as if we’d been separated for months, not days.

The small entranceway filled up, Julie tugging at me and hugging Joe’s legs, Martha yipping, and Mrs. Rose off to the side, beaming, saying, “This is like something out of a movie.”

I laughed. Joe thanked her for standing in for him over the last few days.

“Gloria, you’re the absolute best,” he said, then told her he’d brought her a souvenir from the Channing Winery.

He said to me, “Be right back,” and carried Gloria’s case of wine across the hall for her. I unbuckled my gun, locked it in the antique gun cabinet Dave Channing had given us as a wedding gift. Then, swinging Julie up into my arms, I asked her if she’d like to go with me to take Martha for a quick walk.

“We already did it, Mommy. Look what Daddy brought me!”

I marveled at her stuffed cow, yet to be named, and when Joe returned from across the hall, he opened our case of wine, uncorked the Channing Winery Private Reserve Cab. I poured juice for Julie, and Joe and I kept our glasses handy as we made dinner.

While Joe prodded the winery-made pizza in the oven, I brought him up to date.

“Claire is out of surgery, asleep in her private room. I wasn’t allowed to see her. Believe it or not, I’m not in her immediate family.”

He grinned. “How do they know that?”

“They had a list. Edmund told me that she’s resting comfortably, considering they took out half of her lung.”

“Half? A half of her lung?”

“Edmund told me that Claire argued for the most aggressive treatment—and that’s what she got. Sounds like she decided to take her best shot.”

Julie came back to the room with Martha, demanding to know what we’d just been talking about. Joe distracted her.

“You know, if you have a cow, that makes you a cowgirl.”

“Really?”

“And even cowgirls eat dinner.”

Joe’s reheated Channing Winery pizza was delicious, and so was the arugula salad with shaved Parmesan and fresh Napa fruit. The Channing vino was also mighty good.

As soon as was reasonable, Julie-Bug plus her new cow were tucked into her bed, the dishwasher rumbled, and, after changing into sweatpants and T-shirts, Joe and I stretched out together on the long leather sofa.