I grabbed a cell phone from the nightstand, held it in front of Whitney's face, and the security screen cleared. I accessed the video doorbell feed and reviewed the footage. The last clip in the timeline was from yesterday afternoon when a delivery guy had left a package at the front door.
There was nothing that evening.
I grimaced with disappointment. "I'm guessing her visitor came and left by the back door."
"Talk to the husband and to the neighbors," Daniels said. "See what you can find out. Talk to Dr. Feelgood, too.”
While I was in the phone, I scrolled through the recent text messages. There were quite a few juicy ones between Whitney and Jett Pool Service. The conversation had been going on for most of the prior evening. Whitney sent him several sexy photos and told him to come over. The last text from Jett read:[On my way.]
I grabbed screenshots of the conversation as well as recent calls, then sent them to my device. I listened to the last several voicemails, but there was nothing juicy.
I set the phone back on the nightstand and told the forensic guys to log it as evidence.
JD and I left the bedroom, strolled down the hall, and descended the grand staircase to the foyer. The stunning chandelier glimmered in the Florida sun as it filtered through the transom windows.
We stepped into the living room, onto the bleached hardwoods. Mr. Hollingsworth sat on the couch with his head in his hands in shock. Deputy Faulkner kept an eye on him.
Hollingsworth was a handsome man with short brown hair, an athletic build, and light eyes.
JD and I approached, and Faulkner stepped back. I flashed my badge and made formal introductions. "I know this is a difficult time, but I need to ask you some questions."
Mr. Hollingsworth pried his face from his hands and looked up at me with misty, tortured eyes. He nodded and said in a weak voice, "Sure."
6
"It’s my understanding you’ve been out of town," I said.
Ford Hollingsworth nodded, still in a daze.
"What time did you get home this morning?"
He thought for a moment. "I guess it was about 9:30 AM. The home was so quiet when I stepped in. I know the kids are at school, but still… Something was off. I mean, the TVs are usually always on."
"Did your wife work?"
He shook his head.
"When did you discover the body?"
Ford took a deep breath. "I called out for Whitney, but she didn't answer. I went upstairs and found her in the bedroom like that. At first, I thought it was some kind of prank. But when I touched her skin, she was so cold," he said, his lip trembling. His eyes filled again.
"Did you attempt CPR or anything?"
He shook his head. "No. I mean, I just figured she had been dead for a while. Like I said, her skin was like an ice cube.”
"Tell me about the drugs.”
A frown tensed his face. Flustered, he said, "I don't really know. I mean, I know she would take a little something here and there for anxiety."
"Did she have a prescription for that?"
"No.” He bit his tongue.
"What about the pet medication?”
Ford frowned. "She would take those from time to time." He sighed. "She didn't want to go to her regular doctor for that kind of thing. She didn't want to get labeled with some kind of mental illness. She didn't want that in her chart. That kind of thing sticks with you, and they start looking at you like you’re crazy. Her back would bother her occasionally, and she'd take an oxy. Her regular doctor wouldn’t prescribe anything that strong. What he did prescribe didn’t work, according to her."
"So she went to the vet and got it for Diesel.”
