Page 31 of Juan

“And we’re all grateful for it,” Callie said.

Clara nodded. “After we found Zoe, you can imagine that I took an interest in Anthony Ely. I started watching his comings and goings from my attic perch. I even installed some cameras to keep an eye on him.” She paused and met Ryan’s eye. “Overboard, possibly. But they were all pointed to the street, not at the house. Couldn’t see it anyway through the trees.”

“Then one day, I recognized one of the cars,” Adrian chimed in. “Rolly Masterson. He has a vanity plate and is on the board of one of the hospitals I frequently sub in at. I didn’t really think anything of it since he and Anthony run in the same circles. But then a week later, I heard that his mother—his very wealthy mother—died while on a short stay at their coastal property.”

“What was the cause of death?” Ryan asked.

“Officially, it was suicide,” Leo said, his eyes fixed on his computer screen as they often were. “But the house was so torn apart that at first, they suspected someone else was involved.”

“What changed their minds?” Callie asked.

“There’s CCTV all around the building and a state-of-the-art alarm system on all the windows and doors. Nothing tripped during the night. They found fingerprints of the women who cook and clean, but not in places you wouldn’t expect, and both had ironclad alibis for the entire night.”

“So they decided she went into some sort of psychotic event and ended up killing herself?” Juan asked. “Did she have a history of that?”

“What about drugs?” Callie asked.

“Yes to your first question, Juan. No to the second. As to yours, Callie, I’ll pull the full tox report and see what they tested for,” Leo replied. “The police report confirms a call from her son, Rolly, shortly after she arrived. It lasted twenty minutes and, according to his statement, he wanted to check in and make sure she arrived safely. Then they chatted about a few upcoming social events.”

“Not really the actions of someone who’d have a mental break—with no prior history—and commit suicide,” Callie said. “Then again, we only have his word on what they said.”

“Okay, so the situation was weird, but there’s hardly enough to point to murder, let alone a murder scheme involving Anthony,” Amber said. “There must be more.”

Clara snorted, then took a sip of tea. “Two weeks after Rolly’s visit, we recognized another car. Beatrice Collier. She has a burgundy Mercedes SUV with a matte paint job and pink lights that circle her license plate.”

“She, too, runs in the same circles as Anthony, but we know her through her husband, who is a donor to the local St. Vincent De Paul society that my mom is on the board of,” Adrian said. “Her husband, who died four days later in a car accident on a rural mountain road. Again, single-car accidents aren’t uncommon, but we found it weird since Jacob probably hadn’t ever set foot in the mountains in his life. I liked the man, but he was fastidious, and nature wasn’t his thing.”

“What about his autopsy report?” Ryan asked Leo.

“Injuries consistent with a fatal impact. No medical event. I’ll pull the full tox screen on him, too,” Leo replied. “His car showed no signs of tampering, and there were no skid marks on the road. It took them two days to find him.”

“What did the wife say?” Stone asked.

Leo tapped a few keys. “According to the accident report, he told her he was visiting a friend in Nashville and decided to drive. She didn’t know why he took the back roads over the mountains rather than the interstates and didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t call. It was common for them not to talk when they traveled. Officially, they concluded he fell asleep at the wheel and drifted off the road and down the embankment.”

“After that, we took more notice of who came and went from the house,” Adrian said.

“I have a friend in the local police department, and she ran a few plates for us,” Clara added. “I won’t tell you who it is as we’re well aware she was outside the bounds of her duties, but I’m glad we did. I’m glad she did.”

“And what did you find?” Juan asked. The possibility of retribution hummed under his skin, but so far, he hadn’t heard anything that would definitively nail Anthony’s ass to the wall.

Clara leaned forward and sorted the pictures she’d laid on the coffee table. “These weren’t his only visitors, but these are the ones who had someone close to them die within a couple of weeks of visiting.”

Juan glanced at the images, most of them just the backs of cars, license plates visible. The number shocked him, though. Nine images lay spread across the table. Adding in the first two, that was a total of eleven people. What he wouldn’t give to place the murders of eleven people at Anthony’s feet.

“This one’s sister fell off a bridge,” Clara said, pointing to the first image. “This one’s uncle tried to rob a bank and was killed. The family members of these three died in car accidents, and these two by suicide,” she said, pointing as she went. “This one’s mother died in her sleep, and this one’s son,” she said, pointing to the last image, “died in a fire the department believes was started by knocking a candle over.”

“What makes you think Anthony had something to do with these?” Ryan asked, his tone curious rather than questioning. Juan gave him credit for that. What Clara and Adrian were implying seemed far-fetched. Even to him. As much as he wanted it to be true.

“All of the deaths resulted in a financial windfall for the person who visited him, to start,” Clara responded.

“You’re certain about that?” Callie asked.

Adrian nodded. “The only thing that flows faster than gossip in those circles is the alcohol. Mix the two and it’s nigh on impossible to keep a secret.”

“And if you’re wondering how we heard that gossip, my granddaddy invented a couple of features used in most modern manufacturing. The money from those has ensured we’re invited to every high society event in the surrounding three counties,” Clara said. “We don’t tend to go.”

“Not really our thing,” Adrian chimed in.