Drawing Conclusions (12 page)

twenty-three

Short as it was,
the trip to D.C. left us with a long to-do list, which kept me occupied Saturday. Trina, Jonathan, and Charlie were intrigued and each offered plausible explanations for the events of the past day. Our Sunday breakfast table burst alive with conversation and the support of my friends encouraged me. Trina had made a full recovery from the egg poisoning, resuming her baking duties as her appetite increased. The menu that morning included homemade blueberry pie, scones, and hand-churned butter—all my brother's favorites. I hoped Teddy had known he had an extended family in Harbor House inhabitants.

“So Becky's gone?” I asked.

Trina cut generous slices of pie for each of us. “It was strange. We barely said goodbye.” She licked the knife as she talked. “All of her stuff fit in the back of a cab. It was sad.”

“Charlie, do you think she was mad at me?”

“I don't know what women think,” he said.

“Did she give DeRosa a forwarding address?”

Trina pulled a slip of paper out of her apron pocket and passed it to me. “She moved to the East Village.”

“Maybe we can visit her after she gets settled,” I offered.

“She mentioned that,” Trina said.

“Don't worry about Becky,” Jonathan said through a mouthful of blueberry. “You've got enough on your plate. Focus on Teddy and fill us in on the rest of the trip.”

Everyone chimed in in agreement. It wasn't all that difficult since Becky and I had never formed a solid bond, although a friendship would have seemed likely given our artistic leanings. Interestingly, I wasn't the one who had found the new tenant. Teddy, of all people, met Becky through a small publishing company engaged to print a short run of his scientific articles. She was the graphic designer on the project and responsible for translating Teddy's charts and graphs into supporting visual art. She visited the labs regularly to review material, and she and Teddy struck up a friendship. Charlie, Teddy's social director, suggested a night out and before long Becky earned a place in our circle. Trina was enamored of Becky's use of recycled fabrics and helped her develop organic dyes to recolor the materials. Charlie was smitten with her doll-like looks. She had a round face and high, broad cheekbones with sleepy lids that gave her expressions a dreamy quality. As a group, we were encouraged by her interest in building her own green fashion line, and her move into Harbor House seemed an obvious next stop. However, as my friends had noted, I had no time to babysit a whimpering tenant. Becky was a big girl and did not need our help finding a new place to live.

“So like I said, DeRosa, Cheski, and Lamendola will follow up on Igor's departure point in Brooklyn, although Frank's not hopeful on that front. A better bet is the security footage from the Metro station.”

“Any chance of the camera catching you carving out a hunk of Igor's flesh with your nails? I'd pay to see that.” Charlie leaned into Jonathan. “You should see my back.”

“Your banter leaves me speechless,” Jonathan replied, and then he turned to me as if Charlie were not in the room. “CeCe, I have no idea how you found the courage to chase Igor. You're amazing. Can you imagine if a DNA match from your sample were found at the scene of the crime?”

“Thank you, Jonathan. You're a prince next to him.” I thumbed my finger in Charlie's direction. “And as for you, Charles, if I scratched your back, I'm sorry. I was aiming
for your eyes.”

“You complete me, CeCe,” Charlie retorted.

“Anyway, I can't believe I chased Igor. It seems crazy now, especially since DeRosa says it's highly unlikely a DNA match will be found.”

“You never know,” Jonathan countered.

“We'll see.” I filled Charlie's mug along with my own. “DeRosa is looking into the source of Naomi's funding, and that could be huge. Money is often a motive for murder.”

“What about the break-in at DeRosa's apartment?” Jonathan helped himself to seconds. “This is delicious Trina,” he added, leaving a blue-stained kiss on her cheek.

“Cheski and Lamendola are going to shop my sketch of Igor around his neighborhood.” I reached for a scone. “DeRosa identified three missing items from his apartment. His passport, birth certificate, and annual medical reports from the force.”

“What could these three things have in common?” Trina wondered as she rose to refill the coffee carafe.

“Sounds like someone wants to steal DeRosa's identity,” Charlie said. “Or confirm it. Is it possible he's not who he says he is?”

“Like an undercover cop?” Trina asked.

“Guys, don't get off track. DeRosa was interviewed on television right after Teddy's death,” I reminded my friends. “Hard to stay undercover when your face is broadcast across the tri-state area.”

“Then tell us more about Naomi's charity.”

“DeRosa is going to subpoena the YWS bank account in order to trace the money, but basically it looks like the fake charity was her personal slush fund.”

“If some person or entity gave Naomi money, they must have wanted something in return,” Charlie suggested.

“Probably information.” Jonathan drummed his fingers on the table. “Or access to Teddy and the labs.”

“Maybe that's why Naomi was so upset Teddy broke it off,” Trina theorized. “Maybe Naomi's phony efforts to keep the relationship together made Teddy suspicious, and her charade led him to uncover the fraud.”

“Trina,” I said with newfound hope. “That's entirely possible. Maybe someone paid Naomi to get close to Teddy in order to get access to proprietary information at the labs, almost like a security leak. Maybe whoever it is couldn't pay Naomi directly, but they could pay her through a fake charity.”

“That is going to freak your dad out,” Charlie said. “He'll go nuts if he thinks information is being funneled to a competitor. I'm sure that's why he's attempting to control the investigation.”

“You're right, but on some level I'm okay with my dad protecting the labs,” I said, remembering my father's sobering comments concerning the public enormity of the labs' scientific studies. “Teddy valued his work tremendously, and I'm sure he would have done the same thing in my father's place. The problem is that my father's attempt to control or edit the investigation may limit the police. It may cause them to miss something. If there is a connection between the labs and Teddy's death, it would be a shame if my father confused his priorities.”

The thought that my father's loyalties might be skewed was not unimaginable given my childhood. My father's devotion to his career was hard for my mother, leaving her idle and depressed and turning to alcohol to numb her isolation.

“More than a shame,” Jonathan interjected. “It's criminal to withhold evidence. Especially, CeCe, since your life has been threatened more than once since Teddy's death. You've been poisoned, pushed down a steep hill, shot at, and stalked on the streets of D.C. If your father has access to pertinent information, now would be the time to make his resources available to the police without restriction. In light of recent events, I think it's imperative we get DeRosa to put
some pressure on your dad.”

Charlie rose from the kitchen table and pointed to the gardens. “Hey, there's your mom.”

Sure enough my mother and Norma were wandering through our herb garden, picking specimens from the newly sprouted stems of rosemary, basil, and thyme.

“Mom,” I called out, flailing my arms by the window. The last time I'd had this warm feeling was when my mother attended one of my grade-school plays. She always stood out of the crowd of dowdy mothers in her expensive but artsy attire. She had a flair for color, typically draped in muted silks that accentuated her angular frame. From the window I noticed her face glowing with contentment. She had shiny hair and her eyes were clear. The alcohol-induced puffiness had deflated from her face.

Before I had a chance, Charlie charged outside and wrapped my mother in an enormous bear hug. His combination of good looks and outsider attitude were an aphrodisiac for my mother. I'd often reflected that it was a wonder she ever ended up with my father.

“Mom, I can't believe you came.” I peeled Charlie off my mother and embraced her with abandon.

My mother motioned to Norma. “We thought a Sunday pop-in was in order.”

I introduced Mom to Trina and Jonathan. Although she had already met them, she'd probably forgotten in her previous inebriated state. I could see that the housemaid was highly protective of my mother, staying close to her side. But the gracious welcome they received softened Norma's guard, and we all headed into the house for a slice of leftover pie.

“Charlie, how long has it been?”

“Too long, Mrs. Prentice, too long.” Charlie's commitment issues did not apply to members of my family. He loved my mother because she was never critical of his friendship with Teddy. In fact, she encouraged it. Teddy had been a serious child, and my mother considered Charlie's carefree ways the best medicine for her overachieving son.

“Remember the absent notes?” Charlie prompted my mother.

“Do I? It got to where I could sign your mother's signature better than she could.” My mother tilted her head back, remembering her unusual approach to parenting.

After we finished the pie, I offered to give her and Norma a tour of the house and gardens. We spent the most time in my attic studio, where my mother seemed especially pleased to view my artwork. She did, however, make an elaborate show of turning over Naomi's portraits so her visage faced the wall. “I never liked that girl.”

The half-finished portraits of my “mystery” man consumed most of her attention. The paintings entranced her. Of course, she hadn't met DeRosa yet, and I wondered if she would presume it was Teddy's face I was struggling to capture, as I had initially. With shaky legs, she bent down on her knees and leafed through the canvases, carefully scrutinizing the progression as the man's face filled out.

“You've always communicated through your art, Constance. I think painting Teddy is your healing. You should finish the portrait. It will make you feel better.” My mother rose awkwardly with Norma's assistance, and I could see her strength waning. I decided to forgo explaining the similarities between DeRosa and Teddy. My mother's constitution was fragile, and parading pictures of my brother's doppelganger—who just happened to be investigating her son's death—didn't seem to be a positive healing tool.

I suggested some fresh air, and we wound ourselves down a back staircase and headed to the gardens. As we circled the greenhouse, we came upon the detective. I guessed Mom would have to deal with the doppelganger after all. I took the lead.

“Frank, I want you to meet my mother, Elizabeth Prentice. Mom, this is Detective Frank DeRosa.”

“Mrs. Prentice. This is good timing.” DeRosa shook her hand, but I could tell he was all business. His jaw was stiff, and he didn't make eye contact with either my mother or me. “The results of Teddy's autopsy just came back.”

The spell of the lovely afternoon broke. Conversation halted. My mother's lower lip trembled, and I noticed Norma wind her arm through my mother's elbow. DeRosa plowed forward, seemingly ignorant of my mother's adverse reaction.

“Mrs. Prentice, to your knowledge, did your son ever complain of an itchy tongue or develop red blotches around his mouth?”

“Not that I'm aware,” she responded cautiously, knowing full well that this question could be better answered by the revolving door of nannies and maids that ran her household.

“CeCe, do you have any recollection of your brother experiencing discomfort after eating?”

“I don't, Frank,” I said coldly. I intended to shut him down, but it was evident that this unexpected opportunity to interview my mother would not be squandered.

“Mrs. Prentice, did the pediatrician ever mention the possibility that Teddy had a food allergy?”

“That's a loaded question,” my mother replied, her voice straining to stay on keel. “The children never saw a traditional pediatrician. All their medical exams were conducted at the labs by staff members.”

“Is this true, CeCe?”

Just when I thought there was nothing more in my personal history that could possibly be intertwined in my brother's case, DeRosa hit upon a sore point. Since the time I was a child, I received all medical attention through the labs. I had, in fact, never seen a doctor off the labs' campus. If only my connection to the labs had stopped as an adult. Unfortunately, Freeganism does not provide medical insurance and as a result, I still relied on Teddy's access to the labs for my medical needs. All my records were housed on the campus and at Teddy's insistence, I kept up with annual visits.

“My mother is correct. Teddy and I never saw a doctor outside of the labs. Neither has my mother.”

She lowered her head as if in embarrassment at revealing the ultimate control my father had over all of our lives.

“Well then, I regret to inform you both that the esteemed Sound View staff neglected to inform you that Teddy had a severe allergy to macadamia nuts.” DeRosa banged away at his iPad. “I'll forward the coroner's report to you, but according to the summary notes, Teddy had an anaphylactic reaction to a macadamia nut. There were faint marks at his neck, drawn downward to his chest. The coroner suspects they were made by Teddy's own hands.”

“Mom, is that possible? A macadamia nut?”

“I don't know. You're father handled all this. Maybe he knew. I never even filled out the school medical forms. Anyway, no one worried about these things when you were children. It's only now that food allergies are a big deal.”

“Can't you develop allergies later in life?” I asked DeRosa.