Page 88 of Lost Cause
Victor sagged, looking weak and fragile. Burke rushed over to take the older man’s elbow before he collapsed and helped him back to the chair.
Abby dragged a dining chair to sit next to him. Burke stepped back and leaned against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankle. His typical casual pose, but his expression was anything but casual. She raised a finger to tell him to hold off questioning. He arched a brow, but gave a subtle nod.
“I’ve been so worried and conflicted.” Victor spread the blanket over his legs again. “I want an answer to what happenedto my sweet wife, but I sure didn’t want you to find her in a grave. That would mean someone had killed her.”
Abby gave him a compassionate smile. “I can see how you would feel that way.”
“But now…” He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Now I’m right back where I started. Unanswered questions.”
Time to give him additional information.
Abby laced her tone with sympathy. “I can understand how you must feel, but we’re not actually back where we started. Before we get into that, did you keep your old financial records from when you and Estelle first married?”
One hand hovered near his mouth, fingers twitching like he might speak—but didn’t for a long moment. “I’m not sure how that’s relevant, but I don’t know a thing about my finances other than the monthly report Ugo gives me. Money is his domain. He’s extremely efficient and organized, so I would assume he kept records needed for taxes and discarded the rest.”
“Then you don’t know where he stores the records?” Burke clarified.
“He has his own office. Back of the first floor. I assume records are kept there, but you really need to ask him.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Enough of this busy talk. Did you find something on the property? Something to tell us where Estelle is?”
“Unfortunately,” Abby said, “the forensic anthropologist located a clandestine grave in the clearing on the cliff side. She recovered a man’s skeletal remains.”
“On my property? I can hardly believe it.” Suddenly red-faced, Victor clutched at his chest and struggled to breathe.
Abby held his free hand. “Look at me, Victor. Breathe with me.” She took slow, measured breaths in and out.
He seemed unable to calm down and follow her. She continued to breathe in this pattern, but exaggerated it evenmore. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Looked around, appearing confused.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, his speech slurred. He lifted his left hand an inch. It dropped to the arm rest. “My arm. It’s wrong. Help.”
He relaxed back, his eyes closed, and his mouth drooped on one side.
“He’s having a stroke. I’m calling 911.” Burke already had his phone in his hand. “Let Gage know to get the gate open.”
She dug out her phone and dialed Gage. Before she could connect, Victor’s eyes flashed open, his gaze vacant and unfocused.
“The crown is not the treasure,” he said his words slurred.
Baffled, she leaned closer to him. “What do you mean?”
His eyes closed.
Gage answered, and she brought him up to speed then turned her attention back to Victor.
“Victor,” she said softly, looking to make sure he was still breathing.
He was, but he didn’t stir. She offered a heartfelt prayer for him.
“Doesn’t look good.” Burke came to her side.
“We have to believe God will get help here in time.” She sat back in the chair and rested her hand on Victor’s arm. She wanted him to recover for so many reasons, and she wasn’t proud to admit one of them was so he could explain his cryptic comment.
Burke paced the floor in the emergency room waiting area. He and Abby had followed the ambulance and had been waiting fornews for almost an hour. Victor hadn’t regained consciousness, and his medics agreed his symptoms suggested a stroke. How severe, they didn’t know, but remaining unconscious wasn’t a good sign.
Burke ran a hand over his head. He hated hospitals. Hated the medicinal smell of cleaning chemicals. Of potential death lingering in the air. He’d only been to hospitals when a crime victim needed attention or was clinging to life. Never for any wonderful reason like a baby’s birth. No. This was just another incident of a crime victim needing help.
The double door swung open, and a female dressed in blue scrubs stepped through. She glanced around the waiting room. “Family of Victor Lemoine?”
Burke and Abby shot to their feet to race over to her.
