Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Ew? Desperate? Conrad flicked the tip of his tongue against an incisor. The widow is a poor judge of character. Noted.
“Did Marcus have any enemies?” Moore asked, moving on.
“Well, yeah.” She slid her red-rimmed glare from one lawman to the other. “The mistress’s husband. If you need help figuring out that part, I fear for the rest of this investigation. There’s also the person who sent me those anonymous texts, telling me about the affair. In fact, they suggested Marcus had something going with Emma Miller, too. She’s a nurse at his clinic.”
“I’ll need the texter’s contact information.”
She dug a cell from her purse and rattled off the information. “Oh, and let’s not forget Dr. Julian Garcia, co-owner of the clinic, who was impatient to buy Marcus’s half. They fought constantly.”
Conrad attempted to ask more questions, but she burst into tears. He ended up concluding the interview. Honestly? He wasn’t sorry to do it. He doubted he’d get much more from her today.
As soon as he and Moore were alone, Conrad shifted toward the sheriff. “I want a car monitoring the cemetery.” If there was indeed a town wide treasure hunt, other citizens might attempt to sneak onto the property, possibly putting Ms. Ladling in danger.
The other man stroked his beard. “With the indomitable Fiona Lawrence on alert, I’m certain the Garden will be just fine.”
Did Conrad sense something more than admiration? “Still. I’d like a drive-by every hour.”
“I can spare a unit for a few nights, but no longer.”
“Do what you can.” He hedged for a moment. “Any history between the widow and Jane Ladling?”
“Nothing that I know about. Most townsfolk consider the Ladling girl eccentric. I, myself, would liken her to organized chaos. Lives in a world of her own, that’s for sure.”
Eccentric? In a world of her own? Perhaps. It made her interesting. But organized chaos? Not even close.
He messaged Hightower, a history buff, to visit the museum, then collected Barrow. As the agent navigated to the Aurelian Hills Medical Clinic, Conrad keyed up the facility’s website to read over employee bios and prepare for the interviews to come.
“Not as many cars as I expected,” Barrow muttered as he parked.
Only four other vehicles filled the lot. “I’m betting they’re closed to the public.”
They exited into the heat of the day, then strode inside the one-story building. A spacious lobby sat free of patients. A harried receptionist perched behind a counter, making and fielding calls, canceling all appointments. Conrad made a note to speak with her later.
“We’re with Georgia Bureau of Homicide, and we’d like to see Dr. Garcia and Emma Miller,” Barrow said, speaking over the ringing and greeting.
Barely glancing up, she pointed to a door. They traversed a wide hallway with multiple closed doors and ended up at the nurse’s station, where two women huddled together. He recognized both from their employee photos. Emma Miller, dressed in corgi print scrubs, and a physician’s assistant named Caroline Whittington, who wore pale green scrubs.
The redheaded Whittington rubbed Mrs. Miller’s back in a gesture of comfort and whispered something Conrad couldn’t hear.
Barrow cleared his throat, and both women faced them. Mrs. Miller noticed their badges and paled. She appeared younger in person, displaying a wide-eyed vulnerability that probably demanded a second glance from nearly everyone she encountered. Had the doctor done more than look?
“You’re here about Dr. Hotchkins. You heard the rumor, I’m guessing.” Stiffening, Mrs. Miller wiped her tear-stained face. “No, I didn’t have an affair with him. No, I didn’t kill him.”
Ms. Whittington, who bore a tear-stained face as well, patted the woman’s shoulder, offering another dose of comfort.
“Before you ask,” Mrs. Miller continued, “yes, I fully believe my husband was capable of committing this murder.”
He blinked in astonishment. Throwing the spouse under the bus. Another interesting turn. “What makes you think so?”
“Tony gets mean when he drinks, and he’s been drinking a ton more than usual since the rumors featuring me and Dr. Hotchkins started up. Last night, we were at home, arguing again.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He threatened the doctor’s life, then stormed out and never returned. His full name is Anthony Martin Miller, by the way. I can spell it if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary.” Conrad made a note: Research the husband. And the wife.
“You were home alone the rest of the night?” Barrow asked. “Perhaps you spoke with a neighbor?”
“Nope. I stayed home all night and yes, I was alone. I didn’t speak with anyone in person. I called Tiffany Hotchkins around ten, though, to tell her Tony might stop by to harass her husband and accuse him of sleeping with me. Which never happened,” she reiterated. “Sometime after the call with Tiff, I video chatted with Dr. Garcia concerning a patient who’d been admitted to the hospital earlier in the day. I think the conference lasted two hours.”