"The tox screen on Dr. Renick came back," Brenda said. "Normal stuff. An antihistamine, an antidepressant, an H2 blocker for reflux, thyroid medication, and birth control. No drugs, that I can tell. No cocaine, no alcohol.“
"Good to know," I said. "What about ballistics?”
"Not a match for the gun you brought in yesterday. No blood or gunpowder residue on that hoodie either. No prints on the shell casings found at the scene. Sorry. I wish I had better news for you."
A disappointed frown tightened my face. We either had the wrong gun, or Steve wasn’t the shooter. It didn’t mean he didn’t hire someone to kill his wife. "Keep me posted."
"You got it."
Brenda ended the call, and I pulled myself out of bed.
I stumbled down to the galley, put on a pot of coffee, and started grilling up breakfast. I flipped on the TV and caught the morning news.
Jack staggered into the galley a few minutes later, looking a little ragged. With red, puffy eyes and hair darting in all directions, it looked like he'd been hit by a tornado.
The smell of coffee swirled, and Jack poured himself a cup.
My phone buzzed with a call from Isabella. "I think you’ll find this interesting."
"What have you got?”
"It may be nothing, but it just struck me as an odd coincidence."
"You know how I feel about coincidences.”
"Like I told you, there were no cell phones in the immediate vicinity besides Miriam's and Dr. Halford's at the time of her shooting. I looked back through her recent calls and texts. Nothing stood out. Then I took a look at her office line. Guess who made several calls to her office over the last few months?”
I thought about it for a moment, but I hadn’t had a full cup of coffee yet and wasn't firing on all cylinders.
"Wesley Oliver," Isabella said before I could answer.
"Is that so?” I said with a slight grin.
"I’m going to go out on a limb and say he was a patient, though I haven't hacked the office database yet. It’s probably pretty secure, but nothing I can't handle. Want me to give it a shot?”
"Let me know what you find out.”
"Will report back," she said before ending the call.
I filled JD in as I finished grilling up scrambled eggs with goat cheese and chives. We chowed on the sky deck, crunching onbacon and sourdough toast. The morning was a little cooler than usual. Maybe we would see some cold weather after all.
Jack puttered around on social media and skimmed the local news on his tablet. "It looks like Wes's funeral is at 10 o'clock," Jack said. "We might want to crash that.”
"Think his dealer might show up?”
Jack shrugged. "Are we really sure he OD’d? Or did someone load his heroin with fentanyl for a reason?"
“His girlfriend? She looked genuinely distraught. Or maybe she was a damn good actress."
"Maybe I'm just being paranoid," JD said. "You're rubbing off on me.”
I chuckled. "Sometimes it pays to be paranoid.”
“What are the odds his shrink gets shot a few days after his death?”
My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff.
27
