I wasn’t sure where this was going.
“You’ve probably heard of them, Security Supply. They transport industrial and MRO products.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
The detective continued, “Security Supply wants the accident further investigated. They are contesting the original report and claim your father was at fault, not their driver.”
I jumped to my feet. “Why? And why are you telling me this?”
All three men stood. Fin moved to my side. “This is something that should be discussed with the Hubbards’ attorneys, not Vee,” Fin said.
“Ma’am, we can inform you that as an heir to Mr. Hubbard’s estate,” Detective Oldson said, “if the prosecutor determines there’s enough evidence to pursue a case, you could be named as co-defendant.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“We have informed Mrs. Daphne Hubbard as well.”
My head was spinning as Fin wrapped his arm around my waist and asked, “Are you charging Vee with anything?”
“Not at this time,” the detective answered. “We simply have questions.”
I turned to Fin, unsure what to say or do.
“Ms. Hubbard,” Detective Oldson said, “I’d like to show you a picture and ask you if you’re familiar with the item.”
“Fine,” I said. “Then you can leave.”
“This was found in the glove compartment of your father’s car.”
The picture was on his phone screen. I recognized the item immediately—a small pillbox, silver with a tiny bird on the lid in what looked like a mosaic. I looked up. “It’s a pillbox.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I have one just like it.”
“Do you have yours here?” the detective asked.
I turned to Fin. “Where’s my bag?”
“It’s in the kitchen. I’ll get it.”
“Come with me,” I said to everyone as I walked toward the kitchen. My leather bag was on the island counter. Frantically, I began removing items from my bag—my tablet, water bottle, wallet, and hairbrush. I made it down to a few hair ties and pens. “It’s not in my purse.”
“What do you keep in your pillbox?”
“Benadryl.”
The two men looked at one another.
The connection hit me. “Benadryl is an antihistamine. Why are you asking?”
“Did you offer Benadryl to your father?”
“No,” I answered immediately. “Mine is over the counter, you can buy it anywhere—he could buy it anywhere. I haven’t really needed it this fall. I just have it—in case.”
“But you don’t have your pillbox,” the detective said.
“Not in my bag, but…” My mind swirled. “I was in an accident earlier today. The sheriff’s department returned my bag and phone. The pillbox could have fallen out.”
