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That’s the last thing she wrote.
Pop reads over my shoulder, and he stiffens.
“Do you read your daughter’s diary, Mrs. Grayson?” I ask.
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. All of Marci’s doctors warned us against that kind of thing, and because of my own history, I know how important it is to have something you can keep to yourself. It’s imperative to recovery.”
“I understand. Did the detective who spoke to you read her diary? Perhaps make a copy?”
Mrs. Grayson frowns. “No. There was no need for that.”
“Who was home the day she fell?”
“Harold, my husband, was at work—he’s an attorney in his family’s firm—and I was at a ladies auxiliary meeting. Marci didn’t want to go, and I gave her permission to stay here alone. I trust our staff and they’ve been with us for years. Sonia, the woman who answered the door, found her.”
I open my mouth to ask another question, but Mrs. Grayson clutches her cardigan closed and says, “I think you should go. Harold often comes home for lunch, and he wouldn’t appreciate finding you here. We’re trying to move on the best we can. Marci was a good girl, but there’s no denying she made life challenging at times. A parent can never stop worrying about their child.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grayson. We’re sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
We follow her down the stairs, and she navigates the stairway just as carefully as she went up.
She ducks into the library, and the woman wearing the black dress mysteriously appears and shows us out.
I step onto the wide stone porch with more questions than answers.
“Maybe JodiAnne wasn’t so paranoid after all,” Pop finally says halfway to our office.
“But why? Who would be after two young girls?”
“Not sure. What do they have in common? They were close in age. Came from rich families, had mental health issues.”
“That’s not enough for murder,” I say, and Pop knows I’m right. Life isn’t like books and movies. Sometimes things happen. Like losing your footing and falling down a long set of stairs or your heart giving out. Marci’s diary entry exhibited a paranoia that could have been created by the antidepressants she was prescribed and JodiAnne had a whole bucketful of problems that could have given her the same sense of paranoia—with or without drugs.
“Maybe you’re right. It looks black on white on the outside. On the inside, it sounds fishier than hell but I’ve still got nothing.” Pop blows out a sigh.
“You tried. That’s the best you can do. We’ll talk to JodiAnne’s shrink and we can tell Polly Donnelly her daughter’sdeath was a terrible byproduct of her treatment. Just like Dr. Krout said it was.”
Pop doesn’t say anything and I ask, “What else is on tap?”
He shifts in the seat and adjusts his ball cap. He wants to keep chewing on Marci’s death but says, “A family on the south side can’t find their daughter. They think she ran off to get married. Next on the list is a fiancée who wants to make sure her potential husband is on the up and up.”
I hate cases like that. If you don’t trust the person you’re going to marry, you have no business getting married.
Pop scowls. He wants cases with more substance, too. I get that, but PIs are like fancy water. You got the kind that has the flavoring and the antioxidants. A little caffeine to perk you up. Then you have the plainer stuff, good tasting water but not so expensive, and last there’s the swill that tastes like fountain water. A public fountain at that. We aren’t designer water, and unless we get lucky and elevate our rep, those are the kinds of jobs we’re always going to be destined to work.
“We’ll freeze our asses off, but we can track down the girl easy enough.” It’ll be a lot of legwork, but it will keep my mind off Zarah and when I’ll see her again.
“Yeah. Ever think about getting out of the game?” he asks.
I turn into our office parking lot. It’s time for lunch, and Baby needs some chow. “No. Is this because of Zarah?”
I’ve never known my father to sound so defeated. I agree the good jobs may be sparse right now, but we’ll stay afloat. We always have.
“Nah. Well, kind of. I guess I thought we’d be doing better after all these years.”
I laugh. “We do okay. Tracking down kids is important, especially if no one else cares. But you’re right. Rotten fiancés I can do without. I’ll bug Ross. Maybe he can throw some meat our way.”