"Catherine?”
"No, your other stepdaughter.”
"Oh. I'm not sure. A few days before she died. Didn't we already talk about this? Why are we talking about it now?"
"I don't know. It's still lingering in my mind. I’m hoping we can catch a break on this. You want us to find the people responsible, don't you?"
"Of course. But I think the person responsible is Eden. She was clearly unstable.”
I frowned and shook my head. "Not everything matches up.”
"This isn’t a movie, deputy. You don’t always get to tie everything up in a nice, neat bow. This is life. It's messy and raw and unpredictable."
Right now, Lisa was messy, raw, and unpredictable.
"Did you ever talk to Eden about her drug use?"
"On occasion, but as I mentioned, she wouldn't listen to me. I was the enemy.”
"Did you ever catch her with drugs?”
"Well, she came over the house one time, and I know she smoked a joint on the patio. I heard her sniffling and snorting, and I think she was doing lines of cocaine in the bathroom.”
"Did you ever confiscate any drugs from her?”
Lisa laughed. "No.”
"So there's no reason why your fingerprints would be on any drugs or drug paraphernalia that she may have possessed.”
Lisa's brow wrinkled. "No. Of course not."
"See, that's interesting, because we found a bag of fentanyl aboard her boat that’s got your fingerprints on it.”
That hung there for a moment, and her face went pale. Her jaw slacked, and her eyes rounded. It was a natural reaction, one she couldn't stifle in her drunken state.
49
Lisa regained her composure. "Yes, of course. Now I remember. When she was at the house, she pulled out a baggie of something. I assumed it was cocaine, but I wouldn’t know the difference between cocaine, heroin, fentanyl, or anything else kids do these days,” she said in the most innocent voice she could muster.
Something told me she was no stranger to the Bolivian marching powder.
Lisa continued, “Eden set it right on the butcher block in the kitchen and acted like she was going to do a line. I snatched the baggie and dangled it in front of her face and told her she wasn't going to do that shit in my house. I threw it back in her face. She stuffed it back into her purse and stormed out of the kitchen.”
I gave her a doubtful look.
I had to hand it to her—she recovered well and was quick on her feet. Sociopaths are good like that. They have increased verbal ability and can spin lies at the drop of a dime.
Lisa was good at lying.
“You know what I think?”
She leaned in and smirked. “No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”
"I think you got your bodyguard to take you out to Eden’s boat. You figured you'd scare her. She was on the verge of financial ruin. You gave her the fentanyl, hoping she'd relapse and OD. An end to your embarrassment problem. But Eden threw it back at you. She’d quit. You got frustrated, and you had your flunky do your dirty work. He shot Eden in the head and staged the suicide. You didn't have the guts to do it yourself."
Lisa glared at me.
“I think you’re going down for conspiracy to commit murder.”
