If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [151]
“Yes. Altitude sickness.”
“I doubt it. He broke a glass, remember? It was juice. Steve was drinking orange juice from a carton yesterday.”
“You think the juice went bad? Or—” Realization dawned on Patrick. “You think they were drugged.”
“I read a letter Steve’s father left him in his will. It was written two years ago, when Steve was eighteen, and Leo said there was plenty of money to support this property, even during the lean years. That was his exact quote. I think Steve believes his dad lied to him.”
“In a will?”
“Yes, but I don’t believe he lied. I think there was money. Beth was a bank manager before she came here, and she’s the one who mentioned that Leo had spent all the emergency funds.”
“You think she stole the money? Why?”
“This property is worth a small fortune, at least I’m guessing it is. It’s close to the ski resort, it’s in its own little valley, and has its own road. With no mortgage, it’s owned free and clear. But if there’s no money to keep it going or to expand—which according to Steve was his father’s dream—then they would have to sell.”
“And how does that benefit Beth?”
“I don’t know that it does, but we don’t know how much money was in the accounts in the first place.”
“If she’s guilty, we can’t ask her.”
“But we can find the books.”
“Lucy—”
“I know what to look for. Beth has her room off the kitchen. I’ll get Angie to keep her occupied.”
“You trust Angie?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to tell her why.”
“I’ll do it.” Patrick tried to stand, but fell right to his knees. His skin paled.
“Or not.” Lucy helped him back into bed. “Patrick, you stay here. My plan is contingent on the killer thinking that you’re too sick to investigate and we’re just waiting for the sheriff to come for Vanessa’s body.”
“Lucy—you need to be careful.”
“I promise.”
“Why would Beth drug Steve?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to distract him—or Grace—from her embezzlement.” She frowned.
“Okay, spit it out.”
“I don’t know. It’s Grace, too. She was really angry about the spilled juice.”
“When Kyle fell?”
“Yes. It seemed … over the top.”
“It’s a stressful time,” Patrick pointed out. “A dead guest, her sick stepson, then another guest fainting.”
“You’re probably right.”
“But Luce—trust your instincts. Please. Don’t trust anyone. My gun is in my truck. I didn’t think I’d need it, but I want you to get it. If it’s safe to go for it.”
“Where? Under the seat?”
“Yes. I have a holster strapped to the underside. It’s loaded. Extra bullets are in the glove compartment. It’s a forty-five; are you comfortable with that?”
She smiled. “Jack taught me everything I know about guns.” Jack was their oldest brother and retired Army.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “I thought I gave you some good lessons.”
“You did. But you know Jack. Repetition.”
“Yeah, don’t I?”
Lucy wanted to check out Grace’s and Steve’s rooms as well. They were in the cottage, and that was on the way to Patrick’s truck.
“What?” Patrick read her expression and snapped. “You’re thinking about doing something you know I won’t like.”
“You’re right.”
He paused. “Well?”
“You won’t like it.” She stood. “Stay here and be sick. If anyone comes, moan. If anyone offers you food, don’t eat it. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Lucy, wait—” He sat up, but became immediately queasy and lay back down.
“Trust me,” she said and left.
Beth had just put out a small breakfast buffet. She looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep. “How are you doing?” Lucy asked.
“I’m worried about Grace. This has been so hard on her. And Steve—the poor kid. I don’t know how to make it better, and it’s killing me.”
“My brother woke up sick this morning.”
“Sick? Like a cold?”
“Like puking-his-guts-out sick. I cleaned up after him, but I was hoping to get some ice and a little juice or something.”
“Of course.”
Lucy followed Beth into the kitchen. Angie was there, as Lucy had prearranged.
“Oh, good,” Angie said to Beth. “I was hoping you could help me with Trevor. He went up to the extra room, but he’s hungover