Shivering, I turned toward the large mirror over the vanity, taking in my reflection. Instinctively, my fingers went to the discoloration on my right cheek and I grimaced. I couldn’t explain why my right cheek took more of the airbag’s brunt than the left. My only guess was that I must have turned my head as the bag exploded. Using a separate towel, I patted dry the ends of my hair before twisting the length into a messy bun on the top of my head.
Stepping into the bedroom, I paused at the sight of clothes littering the floor and rug near the bed. It appeared as if a tornado had come and gone. Tornado Fin. I felt my smile lifting my cheeks at the memory of Fin taking charge, telling me he had faith in me, and working my body into a frenzy.
I wasn’t a person who sought out praise or craved acclaim. Nevertheless, I needed it or wanted it more than I realized. Today’s executive meeting was difficult. Closing my eyes, I saw the table filled with family, with people who should be supportive, all voicing their opinion that I wasn’t ready to take on the role of CEO. I was inexperienced, unqualified, and too young. Thank goodness for Cammy. She stopped Grant and Uncle Darin cold when they mentioned contesting Dad’s will in court.
The will, she stated, was old, but there wasn’t a legal requirement for people to update their will. The Coopers were left to Dad’s children; being the only one, the team was mine. Whoever fills the position of CEO would be my choice. I felt I deserved the position. However, after listening to their critique, I was starting to believe that the person best suited for CEO wasn’t me.
I donned panties, capri leggings, and a soft large Coopers sweatshirt. Slipping my feet into an old pair of crocs, I took a deep breath and tried to keep my hands from shaking as I opened the door. The sound of men’s voices reverberated from down the hall, not in a loud way but simply at a conversational decibel.
“Ms. Hubbard,” the man in uniform said, standing. His eyes opened wide. “Mr. Graham mentioned that you were in a car accident today.” He nodded toward my face. “Do you have any other injuries?”
Fin stood too, as did another man, white haired and wearing a rumpled sports jacket.
“Yes. Are you here about what happened today?” I walked closer to Fin.
“No, ma’am,” the white-haired man said. “We’re here in relation to your father’s accident.”
I exhaled. “Gentlemen, it’s late, and I’ve had multiple difficult days.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” the white-haired man said. “I’m Detective Jack Oldson, and this is State Trooper Everett Daniels.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, Ms. Hubbard,” Detective Oldson said. “We’re only here to talk with you.” Before I could respond, he went on, “Trooper Daniels worked the scene of your father’s accident, and I’m part of the team investigating it. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”
I furrowed my forehead. “Why are you investigating? It was an accident. That’s what I was told.”
“When a fatality is involved, it’s not that simple,” Trooper Daniels explained.
Clenching my jaw, I turned toward my living room. “Please come in and have a seat.”
Although every fiber within my being wanted to sit next to Fin—to feel his warmth and support—I chose one of the singular chairs. The others all took seats.
“Ms. Hubbard,” the detective began, “are you all right with discussing Mr. Hubbard’s case in the presence of Mr. Graham?”
My gaze went toward Fin and back to the detective. “Anything you say to me can be said in front of Griffin.”
“Very well.” The detective pulled his phone from his pocket. “Ms. Hubbard, are you aware of the medications your father took?”
“I wasn’t. I was told that some were found during the autopsy.” I tried to think. “Beta blockers, which I believe is for blood pressure.” My mind was tired. “I’m sorry. There were others, but I can’t remember them.”
“The early tests only disclose types of drugs. The others were benzodiazepines and antihistamines.”
“I’m familiar with antihistamines, not the other.”
“Benzodiazepines,” the detective said, “are prescription sedatives, often used for anxiety, insomnia, or alcohol withdrawal.”
“Have you spoken to Daphne Hubbard?” I asked. “My father’s wife…widow, I guess. She would have a better understanding about Dad’s daily routine.”
“We have,” Detective Oldson said. “According to Mrs. Hubbard, your father only took the beta blockers.”
I shook my head. “Why is this important? Maybe Dad had seasonal allergies or trouble sleeping. I don’t know.” I’d suffered allergies most of my life. Was that hereditary? “Besides, the accident wasn’t Dad’s fault.” I turned toward the state trooper. “Uncle Darin was told by the state police—you—that the accident was caused by a semi-truck that changed lanes too quickly. The driver said he didn’t see Dad’s car.”
“I spoke with the driver,” the trooper said. “He was very shaken up.”
“He’d just killed my father. I’m sure he was.” It was a harsh reply, but my filter had stopped working hours ago.
“The truck driver works for a large distribution company,” Detective Oldson said.
