Drawing Conclusions by Deirdre Verne Page B

baggie holding a greeting card. “I brought this because I wanted to match Naomi’s handwriting, stamps, and pen color to anything we find in her apartment.”
    DeRosa wiped the table down, unzipped the baggie, and presented the card. We read Naomi’s inscription in tandem. “ Teddy, I did what you said, but it’s not what you promised .” Naomi’s crisp lettering was confident yet tired. Her signature seemed rushed, and I sensed from the card that her resolve had faded.
    â€œHow do you read this?” Frank asked.
    I had a slight advantage over him because I knew Naomi when she was alive. The it’s not what you promised part definitely sounded like Naomi. She had a way of getting what she wanted. I had a distinct and unpleasant memory from the first summer Naomi and Teddy dated. In an effort to establish her power position, she purposely made elaborate plans for Teddy’s birthday, refusing to recognize our birthday picnic tradition on the shores of the labs. Through gritted teeth, I even went so far as to invite her along—an honor not even bestowed upon Charlie. With her high heels sinking into the mossy grass and a stern finger wagging at Teddy, it appeared her tantrum was in vain. I watched as my brother marched resolutely away from Naomi and down to the water toward me.
    â€œI think Teddy wanted something from Naomi,” I said tentatively. “Naomi gave him whatever he requested, but he did not deliver on his promise.”
    â€œHe purposely screwed her,” DeRosa said.
    â€œYes.” I felt my grasp on the facts getting fuzzier. “In fact, she was so angry that she found a way to renege on the NIH grant.” I searched for a plausible ending. “Teddy’s denial of her was so overwhelming, she hung herself?” My voice rose with uncertainty.
    â€œDoes that sound like Teddy?”
    â€œActually, it doesn’t,” I said. “He was a stickler for following through. Especially when it had to do with promises he made.”
    â€œWhat if Naomi wanted something from Teddy,” Frank said, reworking the scenario.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Frank confessed. “What is the goal of a medical researcher?”
    â€œRecognition.” Having listened to years of my father and his cronies discuss the merits of authorship and publication, I was sure of that answer. “Scientists want their names to be associated or assigned to a particular discovery or breakthrough. Recognition would be a definite motivator for Naomi. She needed to be noticed.”
    Frank tried a new angle. “Okay, so what if Naomi participated in one of Teddy’s studies, but he refused to give her credit?”
    â€œIf she deserved it, Teddy would have been happy to recognize her, but maybe she didn’t deserve credit.”
    â€œBecause her results were incorrect, a case of bad science,” DeRosa said. “That must be professional suicide for a scientist. Is it possible that Teddy helped her undo her mess, but the problem snowballed? Maybe that’s why he didn’t communicate in his final days.”
    I nodded my head slowly and let the snippets of logic fall into place. “Let me try something else. Maybe Teddy didn’t want something from her,” I offered a reverse scenario. “Maybe he wanted to stop her from doing something.”
    â€œInteresting.” He used that word again. “Is it possible Teddy wanted Naomi to deny the grant because the application was based on something false that she had provided?”
    â€œNow that sounds like Teddy,” I said with glee. DeRosa’s realistic portrayal of Teddy brought back positive memories of my brother. “But why did she kill herself?”
    â€œDo you think Teddy led her to believe he’d take her back if she resolved the issue?”
    â€œI’m going to have to give Naomi some credit here. I don’t remember her as