With a glance around to make sure everyone was assembled and paying attention, and giving T.C.’s boots a kick to rouse him, Reid began. “I have evidence that Hugh Barrington may be involved with Eldridge’s disappearance.”
Piper gasped, lowering her phone for the first time to gape at him. “But he’s the one who saw—”
“I know what he said he saw,” Reid interrupted. “But, remember, the burned body proved not to be Eldridge, and nothing about his previous supposed sighting has been confirmed.”
Confused looks were exchanged among his siblings. His mother blinked and shook her head. “Reid, what are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it outright. A few days ago, Hugh’s daughter contacted me about some files she found, hidden in the wall of her late husband’s office.”
“Penelope?” T.C. asked.
“Of course, Penelope, moron. He only has one daughter,” Fowler groused.
Undeterred by Fowler’s sniping, Zane turned to Mirabella and explained who Penelope and Andrew were and gave her the abridged version of Andrew’s death and the unproven accusations against Reid.
“So Penelope found some files...” Fowler prompted, impatiently waving his hand.
Reid recounted what Andrew’s files revealed, how he and Pen had searched her father’s office and computer, and how they’d been shot at soon after.
“Dear God, Reid!” Whitney cried, sitting forward and clapping her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Could you ID the shooter?” T.C. asked.
“No and no.” He went on to explain how the evidence they’d found in Hugh’s computer and safe showed Barrington had been swindling the Coltons and other clients for years.
“That rat bastard!” Alanna fumed.
Fowler cursed under his breath. “So it’s not enough he finagled his way into Eldridge’s will. That he stole our inheritance and control of the family business. He’s been stealing from us for years?”
T.C. frowned and rubbed his chin. “Hang on, Fowler. Hear him out.” Then to Reid, he asked, “What are you doing about it? Have you reported him to the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?” Whitney gasped, her hands balled tightly at her sides.
“I’m still gathering the right kind of evidence to take to the police. I don’t want them to have any reason to boggle this or allow him to wiggle off the hook.”
T.C. nodded. “Exactly.”
“In my investigation of his internet history,” he continued, “I also found proof that his computer was used to research faking a person’s death. He’d searched for old news stories about bodies being stolen from funeral homes and how burned bodies would be identified.”
“Hugh set up the burned body we thought was Dridgey-pooh?” Whitney asked, pressing a hand to her throat and looking ill.
“We already knew the medical examiner was paid off to lie and say the body was Father,” Alanna said.
Reid nodded his agreement. “Right, but we didn’t know who paid him off. Until now. I found proof in his bank records he sent the ME money before the guy disappeared.”
“He wanted us to think Eldridge had died?” Piper asked. “Why? I thought he was father’s friend?”
“To get the will read,” Zane supplied darkly. “I’m beginning to think he wasn’t as surprised by his inheritance as he wanted us to think.”
“I knew it,” Fowler grumbled, slamming a hand on the back of the settee where Whitney sat. “I’ll bury him!” He pulled his phone out and began jabbing the screen, his jaw tight.
“Hold on!” Reid put his hand over Fowler’s cell phone. “Don’t be rash and tip him off that we’re onto him. There’s more at stake here than just Eldridge’s will and control of Colton Inc.”
“You think he killed Dridgey-pooh?” Whitney squeaked, her eyes damp with tears.
Reid hesitated, startled anew by Whitney’s reaction. For years she’d endured the stigma of being a gold digger, but her distress seemed real.
“That’s what it’s beginning to sound like to me.” Zane finished his sandwich in one big bite and dusted crumbs from his hands.
“But if Father is dead, why not just produce his real body?” Piper asked. “Why fake his death and go to the lengths of stealing a burned body to pass off as Eldridge?”
T.C. grunted. “Good point.”
“There’s more,” Reid said, taking the reins of the meeting again. “Hugh also researched fatal doses of potassium chloride.”
“Potassium chloride? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Fowler asked.
“For one thing, the internet search was made about a month before I gave Andrew what I thought was an injection of insulin.” When his siblings exchanged dubious looks, Reid added. “Potassium chloride is what they found in the vial I used.”
“Whoa.” T.C. plowed fingers through his hair and flopped back on the formal couch. “So you think Hugh could’ve been involved with his son-in-law’s death, too?”
“I do.”
“Involved? Hell, if he planted a fatal chemical in Andrew’s insulin vial, that’s intent. That’s premeditated murder,” Zane said, his voice taut with anger.
“He had opportunity. Pen says he had access to Andrew’s insulin vials to tamper with them. He could have withdrawn the insulin and filled the vial with potassium chloride concentrate when he visited their house. Or planted a bottle he’d tampered with before visiting. All he had to do then was sit back and wait for Andrew to inject himself with the fatal dose. Unfortunately for me, I administered the shot that killed him.”
“Wait,” Cord interrupted, raising a hand, “Pardon my asking, but if they found potassium chloride in the vial you used and you admitted to administering the shot...” He divided an awkward look between Piper and Reid, his unspoken question obvious.