Page 21 of The Paternity Puzzle
“No, they don’t. I’m almost positive they left before the fireworks began.”
He thought her phrasing was odd. To describe an argument as fireworks implied it had gotten pretty explosive. And Julia had claimed that something bigger had been weighing on Dr. Matisse. Royce knew he was headed into delicate territory and needed to tread lightly. He wanted to find out if she or her mother knew anything about the looming allegations without tipping his hand. “Was it common practice for your father to have a conversation with his attorney on a holiday weekend?”
Julia narrowed her eyes to icy slits. Royce worried he’d gone too far, but she smoothed her expression and took another deep breath. “It’s not unusual. My father is—was—a demanding man. If he deemed something important, he didn’t want to wait until office hours to have a discussion. Considering the amount of money my father has paid Richard Todd over the years, it’s not too much to expect a return phone call on a Saturday.”
“Do you have any idea what could’ve been so urgent for your father?” Diego asked.
“No,” Julia replied with a sigh. “I tried to press him a little yesterday when I first noticed his mood had soured. He got brusque with me and said I should mind my own business.” Her lips trembled for a few seconds before she pressed them together. “I went behind his back and asked Mother about his mood swings, but she denied noticing anything wrong with him.” Julia snorted and rolled her eyes. “I’d like to take whatever medication her doctor prescribed her.”
“Benzodiazepine,” Royce said. “I saw the bottle next to the empty scotch decanter.”
Julia’s brow furrowed. “What is the prescription used for?”
Royce considered her question for a few seconds. He wasn’t a doctor, but he’d heard about benzos. “You’re not familiar with the medication as a doctor?”
Julia offered a bless-your-heart smile and said, “I’m not that kind of doctor. I have a PhD in theater, and I work as a director and producer in Boston.”
“Your parents must be so proud,” Diego said.
She sat as still as a statue while she assessed his remark. Was she looking for sarcasm? Then, as if someone flipped a switch, she went into action again, wringing her hands. “My mother is very proud of me, but my father believes my education and vocation are a complete waste of time, money, and brainpower. He has zero respect for creative arts and believes the only doctors that count are the ones who’ve completed medical school and the specialized training for their field.”
Royce thought her father sounded like a complete asshole, but he tried not to let his expression show that.
Julia pinned him with a penetrative stare. “You don’t approve, Sergeant Locke.”
Oops. He hadn’t suppressed his resting dickhead face quickly enough. “I don’t,” he admitted. “That isn’t the type of father I want to become to my future children.”
Genuine approval shone in her eyes. “Then don’t.”
He took her advice with a soft nod before steering them back to the reason for the conversation. “People often take benzodiazepine for anxiety and depression. Mixing them with alcohol is extremely dangerous and can be deadly.”
“And that’s what you think happened to my father,” Julia said.
“That is the working theory based on the limited evidence available. The medical examiner will investigate to see if there were other contributing factors.”
“So, he either accidentally overdosed or…” Her words trailed off as she folded into herself like a crumpled tissue.
“Juju!” a woman yelled from somewhere in the house. “What’s going on?”
Julia gasped and bolted to her feet. She ran for the door about the time an older woman with perfectly coiffed platinum blonde hair walked into the room. “Mother!”
Alyssa Matisse wore a white pantsuit with wide, flowy legs that swished when she walked. She must’ve been in her late sixties or early seventies but looked almost as young as her daughter. Alyssa stopped just shy of Julia’s outstretched arms. “Eli broke the news to me, and I insisted he drive me home right away. Tell me it’s not true.” Dark eyes implored her daughter to allay her fears.
“I’m so sorry, Mother,” Julia whispered.
Alyssa shook her head repeatedly, unwilling to believe the truth, but Julia nodded solemnly. The older woman released a keening wail and collapsed into her daughter’s waiting arms. “No. I won’t believe it.”
A silver-haired man entered the salon and assessed the situation with a shrewd, dark gaze. Mayor Barclay took both women into his arms and cradled them against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he told them.
Alyssa pulled back enough to look at Barclay’s face. “Did you see Jean Claude? Is it real?”
“Do you think I made the whole thing up?” Julia asked in a clipped voice.
“Of course not,” Alyssa said. “This situation is just unfathomable.”
“The officers prevented me from walking onto the patio, but I saw enough through the wall of windows to know it’s true.” Barclay briefly closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his gaze locked on Royce and Diego. He lowered his head and whispered something to the women before he lowered his arms and strode forward. His shoulders rose, and his chest puffed out a little when he reached them. “Who’s in charge?”
Royce stuck out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Locke, sir.”