Brenda lifted a surprised brow.
"His name is Cameron. He's a friend of Wesley Oliver’s.”
That hung there for a minute.
Jack muttered, "I'm beginning to think this definitely isn't a coincidence.”
Cameron was kind of a nerdy guy with medium-length curly brown hair that hung mid-ear. He had a narrow face and sad blue eyes. They were blank and staring at the asphalt now.
I stepped back to the sheriff and updated him.
He stifled a groan. "What do you think the connection is?"
"So far, we have Wesley, his shrink, and his friend from college.”
"Maybe all three of them knew something that somebody didn't want getting out," Jack said.
The sheriff sighed. "Notify his wife. Put the pieces together. I'm tired of people dying." The sheriff paused. "How much have you two had to drink tonight?"
JD and I exchanged a sheepish shrug.
"On second thought, I'll send another deputy. Talk to the wife in the morning when you don't smell like a distillery.”
I wouldn’t say we had overindulged or anything, but we certainly had a few adult beverages while chatting up lovely ladies on the strip. I didn't feel like doing a death notification at this time of night, anyway.
We walked back to Oyster Avenue and caught a cab to the marina. We’d pick up the Porsche in the morning. No sense in risking it.
It was around 10:00 AM the next morning when we caught up with Cameron’s wife, Lily. She lived in Whispering Heights on Rum Hollow Drive.
She greeted us at the door, looking like a zombie. I don't think she had gotten much sleep, not after being awoken by deputies at close to 3:00 AM. Lily was a gorgeous woman with wavy red hair that hung past her shoulders, elegant bone structure, fair skin, and a light dusting of freckles. Her hypnotizing emerald eyes were red and puffy. "Please come in," she said, holding the door open for us.
We stepped into the foyer, and she led us into the living room.
The house was quaint and cozy. A French colonial with teal paint, white trim, bleached hardwoods, and a light, airy feel. French doors opened to the patio and a small pool.
We took a seat on the couch, and she sat catty-corner. She blotted her teary eyes with a tissue and sniffled. “It doesn’t seem real, you know.”
We offered condolences.
“I had no idea he was visiting such establishments.”
“Where did you think he was last night?” I asked.
It was a double whammy. Not only had Lily lost her husband, but she had also lost trust in him. "He told me he was going out with Landon for a few drinks to watch the game," she said in utter dismay.
"We believe this may be connected to the deaths of Wesley Oliver and Dr. Miriam Renick," I said.
She looked at me with astonished eyes. "How so?"
"There are some pieces we haven't quite put together. Did your husband have any enemies that you were aware of?”
She exhaled a frustrated breath. "No. But apparently, there were quite a few things about his life that I was unaware of." Her eyes welled, and the tears spilled over. She blotted them away again. "I don't know how I'm going to break this to the kids. I still haven't told them."
"Are they here?"
Lily shook her head. "I called my sister to take them this morning. I needed some time to collect myself.”
"Was your husband ever a patient of Dr. Renick's?"
