Page 61 of Luck of the Devil

My head was beginning to throb, so I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple. “Lisa, other than my father leaving, have you heard any other rumors about my mother?”

“No. I didn’t even know she was taking an antidepressant.”

I blinked in surprise. “How did you find out she was?”

“Dr. Duncan’s nurse, Zoe, told her cousin, who told Linda Gill.”

“And Linda told you?”

“Not exactly.” She was silent for a moment. “It came out at the funeral luncheon.”

Of course it did. “And what was my father’s reaction?”

“He didn’t look pleased, but he also didn’t contradict her.”

My mother was probably rolling in her barely covered grave, and I felt a strange surge of protectiveness. But if Dr. Duncan’s nurse was spreading the information, I could use it to my advantage to get information. I could threaten to press charges for breaking HIPAA if she didn’t tell me how my mother had gotten her prescription.

“What’s Zoe’s last name?”

“She’s a sweet girl, Harper,” Lisa cajoled. “Don’t be bringin’ trouble on her head. She’s a bit naïve, but she meant well.”

If she was a nurse, she should have known better, no matter what her age. “I don’t plan to cause any trouble for her. I just want to ask some questions.”

Lisa didn’t answer for several seconds.

“I am going to talk to her,” I said in a stiff tone. “It would be far less embarrassing for her if I don’t have to call Dr. Duncan’s office to reach her.”

“I’ll give you her last name, but you have to promise to go easy on her.”

Lisa had some kind of attachment to Zoe, but what could it be? She said she was young and naïve, so that meant she was probably in her twenties. I took a shot in the dark. “How are you related to Zoe?”

“How did you—” she asked in shock, then turned sober. “She’s my niece.”

“I’m surprised Zoe didn’t come directly to you with the information. Seems like it would be a hot commodity.”

“Her mother and I aren’t speaking. She’s a loyal girl.”

“I see.” I took a beat. “I’ll be kind to her, and I promise I won’t get her in trouble.” That didn’t mean I wouldn’t threaten her with legal action if she didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.

“So what’s her last name?”

“St. Martin. Zoe St. Martin.”

“What’s her phone number?”

“I can’t do everything for you, Harper Adams!” she snapped, then hung up, and I realized I hadn’t gotten her cell phone number or email address to send the photo.

Damn it.

“Interesting call?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah. Give me a second.” I tried calling her again, but it rang until it went to her answering machine. I’d really fucked this up. Now I’d need to find someone else to call.

But when I reached for the address book, my phone pinged with a text.

My stomach clenched, worried Mason Deveraux had resorted to texting me, but a number I didn’t recognize appeared on the screen.

Send me the photo via text and I’ll tell you what I know. But only if you PROMISE you won’t get her in trouble.