Page 12 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I sat at Malcolm’s desk to eat. Just thinking about how much I wanted a drink made sweat break out on the back of my neck. I needed to keep busy and stop thinking about it.

I knew I had to eat, but based on the way my stomach was churning, there was no way I could eat even a fourth of what Petey had made for me. I cut off a piece of the chicken and took a bite, groaning with satisfaction.

There was no doubt Petey’s culinary talents were wasted as a short-order cook in Malcolm’s kitchen.

Scooter’s Tavern didn’t have much of a menu, which meant Petey made most of his good stuff for staff dinners.

It didn't seem like Malcolm to squander talent, which made me wonder if he had some master plan in the works. Was he planning to open an upscale restaurant under a dummy LLC? I wouldn’t be surprised.

But I’d spent entirely too much time thinking about James Malcolm. I needed to get to work.

I pushed the plate aside and moved the laptop in front of me, then opened the lid and entered the simple password to wake it up.

Maybe I should find a notebook to keep track of my notes—especially since I wasn’t in top shape.

I could have opened a word document on the laptop, but something about handwriting my notes had always helped sink them deeper into my head when I was working cases before.

And considering the fact that my back was damp with sweat, and the ringing in my ears was back, I needed all the help I could get.

Earlier, I’d wanted to blame my shaky hands on low blood sugar, but it was time to be honest with myself.

Malcolm was right—I had a drinking problem, and there was a very strong likelihood I was suffering symptoms of withdrawal. A person couldn’t drink as much as I had the last few months then abruptly stop with no consequences.

I opened a search tab and looked up alcohol withdrawal and squirmed when I saw symptoms I’d definitely experienced over the last day or two.

Sweats, tremors, anxiety, irritability, and loss of appetite—although the last three could be attributed to grieving, I had to admit everything fit.

Great.

This meant Malcolm was probably right about something else—I couldn’t go cold turkey if wanted to spend the next few days investigating my mother’s death. I was going to have to taper off. The problem was I didn’t trust myself to take one drink and stop. I needed someone to help monitor me.

I could only imagine what Malcolm would say when he realized I needed a babysitter.

I shook my head, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that slammed into my temples. I was supposed to be finding a notebook. I’d gotten off track.

I opened a few of the desk drawers and found a clean legal pad with white paper in the middle drawer on the right side. Despite the fact I was starting to feel feverish, I pushed on and grabbed a pen with the Scooter’s Tavern logo on the side and started a list of what I needed to do.

Confirm my mother had been prescribed Zoloft

Find my grandparents’ contact information

Dig into my father’s financial information

Dig into my father’s other possible business dealings

I considered contacting Detective Monahan about my mother’s supposed prescription, but if the deputy told my father that I'd asked, he might get suspicious. Besides, I couldn’t trust that the detective would tell me the truth.

I could wait until tomorrow to call Dr. Albright’s office, but it might not be necessary.

My mother had used a chain drugstore for her prescriptions for years, one where you could sign up for an online account and refill your medications.

If I could figure out her login information, then I could see if she’d filled the Zoloft there.

Her username was easy—her email address—but it was the password that threw me.

She’d given me her password for her online banking a few weeks ago, when she’d had trouble signing into her account.

Since my father had handled all the bills, it was an entirely new process for her.

He’d opened an account of his own and left the old one for her, but she’d become responsible for her own bills.

I’d been buzzing pretty hard that night, though, and now I was struggling to remember the password.

One more example of how I’d let drinking screw with my life.

Of course, there was a good chance I wouldn’t have remembered even if I’d been ten days sober, but being drunk hadn’t helped.

I’d blamed stress, blamed grief … hell, I’d blamed everything to excuse my drinking and justified it by claiming it was equivalent to taking medication. But there was no more denying the dirty truth: my body was screaming for what I’d denied it.

It would have to keep right on screaming. I was a strong woman, and I could push through this, and then I’d never, ever take a drink again.

I needed to focus on breaking into my mother’s pharmacy account.

I tried the first idea that came to mind, and the screen popped up with an “Invalid Password” message.

Some websites gave you a limited number of attempts before locking you out, so I needed to be careful with my next guesses.

I closed my eyes and willed the memory to surface. It hadn’t been any of our names, which had surprised me. I’d expected her to use a combination involving Andi’s name, but it had been a plant and numbers instead of a random set of letters and characters.

After a few minutes, I was feeling worse and considered lying down for a bit, but I had work to do, and I wasn’t going to let my problem interfere with my investigation. I just needed to focus and figure out this password situation. I made a few more attempts, getting all of them wrong.

The solution was to go to her house and open her laptop.

I’d taught her how to save her logins and passwords onto her browser, so I could instantly gain access—but I was impatient.

There was no way Malcolm would let me go to my mother’s house on my own, so I’d have to wait for the end of his shift.

And if I were honest, at the moment, the thought of going to my mother’s house and trying to sort through her laptop sounded like climbing up a hill with ten cinder blocks strapped to my back.

My phone vibrated on the desk, and I realized I hadn’t checked it since I’d called my dad. Louise had tried to call me three times while I’d been up front, and she'd just sent a text.

Harper, I’m really worried about you. You’re not home and you’re not answering your phone. Where are you?

I called her immediately. “I should have let you know I wasn’t going to be home,” I said as soon as she answered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said. “I was just worried about you. Where’d you go?”

“I’m with my dad.” The lie fell out before I could think twice, not that I could tell her I was sitting in James Malcolm’s office at the tavern. “I guess I lost track of time. I should have been more considerate.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she said reassuringly. “I’m just glad you’re not alone. Maybe we can get together tomorrow.”

I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as a wave of pain hit and a shiver ran through my body. I was sure I was running a low-grade fever. “Actually, I’m going to be gone for a few days.”

“Oh? Where’re you going?”

I understood her surprise. She knew I didn’t have anyone else other than her and my father.

Kara, my roommate in Little Rock, had stopped talking to me after she’d moved out.

“I need to go see my grandparents in Jonesboro. After Andi died, my mother and my grandparents had some kind of falling out, and they weren’t in contact.

I just found out my father never notified them about her death. They have no idea.”

She gasped. “Oh, my God. That’s horrible.”

“I know, which is why I think I need to go and tell them in person.”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding distracted. “Of course. I didn’t realize you had grandparents.

” Then she hastily added, “I mean, of course, everyone has grandparents. I just didn’t realize they were still alive.

While I can understand your dad not getting along with them—mother-in-law horror stories are a dime a dozen—I still can’t believe he didn’t tell them. ”

“I know. I haven’t seen them since Andi’s funeral, so I could call or have law enforcement in Jonesboro contact them, but that just seems wrong. Besides”—my voice broke—“I feel like I need to see them.”

“Of course! It’s a way for you to feel a connection to your mom.”

Not exactly, but I wasn’t going to confess that I also wanted to ask questions about my dad. If I told her I suspected my mother had been murdered, I’d have to explain where I’d gotten the idea. And there was no way I could confess that.

Which gave me pause. If you felt the need to hide something, it meant you were either ashamed or knew you were in the wrong.

Was either acceptable?

“I think it’s a good idea,” Louise said. “But you shouldn’t go alone. I can try to get off work and go with you.”

Would I have wanted her to go under different circumstances? It wasn’t like it was a girls’ trip. But it was a moot point.

“I think I need to do this alone,” I said. “Plus, I’m not sure how long I’ll be there. The law firm told me and Dad to take off as much time as we need.”

“You aren’t working on any cases?”

“PI cases?” I’d only gotten my PI license a couple of weeks prior, and I hadn’t told many people other than Louise, one of the law firm partners, and Malcolm. In fact, just last week, I’d considered opening my own office instead of working for my father’s law firm.

That seemed like years ago.

She released a soft laugh. “Of course. What else?”

I tried to laugh too. “Sorry. My brain’s moving a little slow right now. No, I don’t have any cases, but then again, I haven’t really hung out my PI shingle yet. I found out about my mother’s accident practically moments after I wrapped up the Hugo Burton case.”