Page 22 of The Paternity Puzzle
The mayor shook his hand and looked to Diego for an introduction. He gestured for Royce to join him for a private conversation, and he obliged the man. “What can you tell me so far?”
“We’re still in the preliminary stages of the investigation, but I’d just discussed what evidence we’d found so far with Julia when her mother arrived. If it’s okay with them, we can have this discussion together. Maybe you can offer invaluable insight on the situation.”
“I can try.” He looked over at the women, who huddled together crying. “I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible tonight. Perhaps we can have a longer discussion tomorrow or Monday. Julia and Alyssa will be overwhelmed with funeral arrangements.”
“I understand that, and I will accommodate them as best I can. There are a few more things I need to ask this evening.”
“Okay,” Barclay said. “Do you mind if I sit in and provide moral support?”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate that,” Royce replied.
“I’ve been like an uncle to Julia.” He glanced over at the women again. “More like a father figure, if I’m telling the truth. Jean Claude spent ninety percent of his time ensuring other people achieved their dreams of parenthood and left very little energy for his only daughter. That didn’t change when he retired either. Alyssa and Julia were his accessories and nothing more.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Julia has spent her entire life chasing his approval, and now she’ll never receive it.”
Royce knew Julia’s daddy issues were about to get much worse, but he just nodded sagely. He and Barclay returned to the others and sat down. He gestured to his phone and informed them he was recording the conversation. Then he noted the recent additions to the conversation and the time before continuing. “Mrs. Matisse, I need to ask how your husband seemed before you left for Mayor Barclay’s house. Julia said he’d been agitated before she left an hour prior.”
Alyssa scowled briefly in her daughter’s direction. “Jean Claude was just a little out of sorts.”
“Mother,” Julia chided. “The officers need you to take off your rose-colored glasses where Father is concerned and answer their questions honestly.”
“Julia! I think you forget who the parent is here.”
“Ladies, please,” Barclay cajoled. “This isn’t the time to argue. The officers want to figure out what happened to Jean Claude, though I don’t know why they’re asking about his mood.”
“Because Father either accidentally or purposely overdosed on expensive scotch and Mother’s antidepressants.”
Alyssa gasped and clutched her chest. She sucked in short bursts of air, and Royce worried she’d gone into cardiac arrest until Julia got her to calm down through repetitive breaths, counting for her mother during her inhales and exhales. “Impossible,” Alyssa whispered raggedly.
“What’s impossible?” Barclay asked.
“He couldn’t have mixed my pills and booze,” Alyssa said.
“Lyss, people do it all the time.” Barclay looked at Royce. “Jean Claude was furious about something yesterday. He phoned me in the afternoon to inquire if Richard Todd would be at the party. That’s our mutual friend and Jean Claude’s former attorney. I told him that Richard was spending the day with his son’s family. That only seemed to irritate Jean Claude more. I asked if there was something I could do to help, but he insisted only Richard would do.”
“Does anyone know if Dr. Matisse ever spoke to Richard?” Royce asked.
The three of them shook their heads.
Then Alyssa sniffled delicately. “Jean Claude and I briefly argued after Julia left for Elliott’s. I told my husband it was silly to mope around the house like a teenage girl waiting for the phone to ring.”
Julia scoffed. “You did not say that, Mother. You never stand up to him.”
Alyssa leaned forward to peer around Barclay. “I absolutely did, and those were the last words I said to him.” She looked at Royce, her expression somber but determined. “Jean Claude couldn’t have taken my prescription pills because he didn’t know about them. My husband thinks—” Her words stopped as if abruptly hitting a brick wall. “Thought,” she said hoarsely. Alyssa paused and closed her eyes. Tears trickled from the corners and ran down her face. She took a few more breaths and met Royce’s gaze once more. “Jean Claude thought depression and anxiety were excuses people gave to avoid difficult things.”
Royce hazarded a quick glance at Julia in time to catch her subtle flinch before she said, “And he said pharmaceutical companies got rich off making people sick.” Julia raised her hands. “Not saying I believe that. I know damn well anxiety anddepression are real conditions and that those medications save lives.” She exchanged a look with her mother. “I believe you.”
As touching as the moment was, it didn’t get them any closer to figuring out the events of the afternoon. He only disliked the dead man even more than before he arrived. Then he realized what Alyssa said. He hadn’t known about her pills. “Are you sure he didn’t know about your prescription?”
“No way,” Alyssa said. “He would’ve berated me for being weak and discarded them.”
“Mother, he would’ve had to care about you to go to that extreme. As long as it didn’t get back to his friends, Father wouldn’t have given a damn what you did with your body.”
“You ungrateful brat,” Alyssa snarled.
Mother and daughter spoke at once, yelling over one another. Alyssa extended long, pink nails toward her daughter, who batted her mother’s hands away. They looked like they were seconds away from snatching each other bald.
“Ladies, ladies, please,” Barclay implored as he tried to separate them back to their couch cushions. He had the patient demeanor of someone who’d done this more than once. “This spiteful back-and-forth isn’t helping anyone, especially not the officers trying to figure out what happened with Jean Claude today.”
The women stopped yelling, but they continued leaning forward to glare at one another.