hadn’t Shelley talked to her about this change?
Regret and guilt tied big knots in CJ’s stomach. Because her sister knew that she wouldn’t believe her. She’d promised to get clean too many times.
Dammit. There had to be something here. This was Shelley’s home. Her haven. A scribbled note, anything, indicating what had turned her around. Made her want to give up the drugs and pull her act together. She’d been trying to get clean for years. What had suddenly made it happen? Even if only for a few days.
CJ turned to leave her sister’s bedroom, but stalled at the door.
Wait. Wait. Wait
.
The bathroom.
CJ hurried down the hall to the only bathroom in the house.She stared a moment at the antiquated medicine cabinet that hung over the wall-mounted sink. How had they done this?
Open the door first or don’t open it? She couldn’t recall.
Screw it.
CJ grabbed hold of the glass door, a hand on either side, and pulled. She pulled so hard she stumbled back and hit the wall when the cabinet pulled free so easily. The contents jangled around inside the cabinet.
“Damn.” Using her foot, she closed the toilet lid and placed the metal and glass cabinet on top of it. She’d already gone through the contents of the cabinet. Aspirin and miscellaneous store-bought pharmaceuticals. Nothing CJ didn’t know about already. Her sister kept an array of over-the-counter pain killers and sleep aids on hand at all times.
Holding her breath, CJ tiptoed, leaned over the sink and peered into the wall cavity. A smile stretched across her lips. “Ah ha!”
When she and Shelley were kids, they had discovered quite by accident that the crosspiece that was supposed to support the worn-out medicine cabinet was actually six inches too low. They’d been fighting over who got the last pink Flintstone vita-min and had ripped the medicine cabinet right out of the wall. Evidently there had been a longer cabinet there at one time or another. Either that or the carpenter who’d installed it hadn’t bothered with proper brace work. He certainly hadn’t secured it properly.
Anything they didn’t want their mother or any of her “friends” to find, they’d hidden in that cavity.
Holding her breath, CJ reached in. Three items sat on the aged two-by-four crosspiece: a bottle, what appeared to be a business card, and a folded piece of paper.
Anticipation sent her pulse into a faster rhythm. As a doctor, she couldn’t help herself. She looked at the bottle first. Large. Vitamins? Then she read the label and the attached prescription sticker.
Prenatal vitamins.
CJ’s chest tightened.
Did this mean . . . ?
The business card wasn’t a business card. It was an appointment card. Shelley had had a doctor’s appointment at the village clinic at the end of next week. CJ dropped the vitamins and the card onto the counter and focused on the paper. Hands shaking, she carefully unfolded it. Standard clinic visit form. Shelley had seen the doctor at two o’clock on July thirtieth.
Friday.
The day before she was murdered.
Diagnostic code . . . Adrenaline pumping through her veins, CJ scanned the form until she found the entry she sought.
Positive pregnancy
.
Shelley was pregnant?
That ferocious pounding that accompanied her treatment of every trauma victim rushed into the ER erupted in CJ’s chest now.
Her sister had been pregnant.
CJ sagged against the doorjamb.
No wonder she’d been so excited when she called and left that voice mail. She wanted to share the news with CJ.
So . . . who was the father?
Ricky Banks?
Did he even know about this?
Oh, God
.
The form fluttered to the floor. CJ shoved the medicine cabinet off the toilet and yanked up the lid.
She heaved again and again though she’d eaten nothing but toast this morning.
CJ collapsed onto the floor, flinching when her knee hit the corner of the medicine cabinet. Medicine bottles were scattered over the battered linoleum. Dust and grime had collected on the
Regret and guilt tied big knots in CJ’s stomach. Because her sister knew that she wouldn’t believe her. She’d promised to get clean too many times.
Dammit. There had to be something here. This was Shelley’s home. Her haven. A scribbled note, anything, indicating what had turned her around. Made her want to give up the drugs and pull her act together. She’d been trying to get clean for years. What had suddenly made it happen? Even if only for a few days.
CJ turned to leave her sister’s bedroom, but stalled at the door.
Wait. Wait. Wait
.
The bathroom.
CJ hurried down the hall to the only bathroom in the house.She stared a moment at the antiquated medicine cabinet that hung over the wall-mounted sink. How had they done this?
Open the door first or don’t open it? She couldn’t recall.
Screw it.
CJ grabbed hold of the glass door, a hand on either side, and pulled. She pulled so hard she stumbled back and hit the wall when the cabinet pulled free so easily. The contents jangled around inside the cabinet.
“Damn.” Using her foot, she closed the toilet lid and placed the metal and glass cabinet on top of it. She’d already gone through the contents of the cabinet. Aspirin and miscellaneous store-bought pharmaceuticals. Nothing CJ didn’t know about already. Her sister kept an array of over-the-counter pain killers and sleep aids on hand at all times.
Holding her breath, CJ tiptoed, leaned over the sink and peered into the wall cavity. A smile stretched across her lips. “Ah ha!”
When she and Shelley were kids, they had discovered quite by accident that the crosspiece that was supposed to support the worn-out medicine cabinet was actually six inches too low. They’d been fighting over who got the last pink Flintstone vita-min and had ripped the medicine cabinet right out of the wall. Evidently there had been a longer cabinet there at one time or another. Either that or the carpenter who’d installed it hadn’t bothered with proper brace work. He certainly hadn’t secured it properly.
Anything they didn’t want their mother or any of her “friends” to find, they’d hidden in that cavity.
Holding her breath, CJ reached in. Three items sat on the aged two-by-four crosspiece: a bottle, what appeared to be a business card, and a folded piece of paper.
Anticipation sent her pulse into a faster rhythm. As a doctor, she couldn’t help herself. She looked at the bottle first. Large. Vitamins? Then she read the label and the attached prescription sticker.
Prenatal vitamins.
CJ’s chest tightened.
Did this mean . . . ?
The business card wasn’t a business card. It was an appointment card. Shelley had had a doctor’s appointment at the village clinic at the end of next week. CJ dropped the vitamins and the card onto the counter and focused on the paper. Hands shaking, she carefully unfolded it. Standard clinic visit form. Shelley had seen the doctor at two o’clock on July thirtieth.
Friday.
The day before she was murdered.
Diagnostic code . . . Adrenaline pumping through her veins, CJ scanned the form until she found the entry she sought.
Positive pregnancy
.
Shelley was pregnant?
That ferocious pounding that accompanied her treatment of every trauma victim rushed into the ER erupted in CJ’s chest now.
Her sister had been pregnant.
CJ sagged against the doorjamb.
No wonder she’d been so excited when she called and left that voice mail. She wanted to share the news with CJ.
So . . . who was the father?
Ricky Banks?
Did he even know about this?
Oh, God
.
The form fluttered to the floor. CJ shoved the medicine cabinet off the toilet and yanked up the lid.
She heaved again and again though she’d eaten nothing but toast this morning.
CJ collapsed onto the floor, flinching when her knee hit the corner of the medicine cabinet. Medicine bottles were scattered over the battered linoleum. Dust and grime had collected on the
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