Clara smiled.
It was the first time Sketch had seen her smile.
She handed Sarah the bottles.
Sarah wrote down every label.
Then she took photographs.
An hour later, she called a pharmacist she trusted.
By the time she ended the conversation, her face had gone pale.
Bear was in the garage with Sketch when Sarah came outside.
“You need to hear this.”
Bear wiped grease from his hands.
“What?”
Sarah held up the photograph of Clara’s medication.
“One of these drugs can cause severe tremor, stiffness, slowed thinking, confusion, and symptoms that can look like Parkinsonism in older patients.”
Sketch stared at her.
“Okay.”
Sarah continued.
“Clara says her symptoms started after Evan took over her medical appointments.”
Bear went very still.
“You saying she doesn’t have Parkinson’s?”
“I’m saying I want another neurologist to examine her before anyone assumes she does.”
The garage fell silent.
Bear looked toward the house.
Through the kitchen window, Clara sat at the table folding napkins.
Her left hand trembled against the fabric.
For the first time, Bear wondered whether the hand that had reached toward him in the diner had been shaking from disease at all.
The lawyer arrived that afternoon.
Her name was Lena Ortiz.
She was fifty-three, five foot two, and possessed the unnerving ability to make men twice her size sit straighter simply by removing her glasses.
She listened to Clara for almost two hours.
She asked precise questions.
Who controlled the bank accounts?
Evan.
Who had access to her mail?
Evan.
Who drove her to medical appointments?
Evan.
Who had discouraged friends from visiting?
Evan.
Who possessed keys to the house?
Evan.
Who had prepared the transfer documents?
A lawyer named Paul Renshaw, according to the footer.
Lena wrote the name down.
Then she asked the question Clara had been avoiding.
“How much money do you believe Evan has taken?”
Clara stared at her hands.
“I don’t know.”
Lena waited.
Clara whispered, “He stopped showing me statements.”
“How long ago?”
“Maybe eighteen months.”
Lena closed her notebook.
“We’re going to find out.”
The following forty-eight hours changed everything.
The bank froze transfers after receiving notice from Lena.
A temporary restraining order was filed.
Clara revoked a financial power of attorney she had not remembered signing.
When Lena obtained copies of the previous year’s accounts, she called Bear instead of Clara.
“Are you sitting down?”
Bear was standing beside his motorcycle.
“No.”
“You should.”
“How much?”
“Forty-seven thousand six hundred dollars in direct transfers that I can identify immediately.”
Bear’s jaw tightened.
“That all?”
“I said immediately.”
There was more.
A lot more.
Credit cards.
Cash withdrawals.
A life-insurance policy.
Property valuations.
And a draft petition, never filed, seeking guardianship on the grounds that Clara suffered “progressive cognitive deterioration.”
Signed medical support had already been prepared.
By Dr. Marcus Vale.
Sarah took Clara to a different neurologist.
Dr. Elaine Morrison spent ninety minutes examining her.
Then she requested medical records.
Then bloodwork.
Then medication history.
She told Sarah privately afterward, “I’m not comfortable with the Parkinson’s diagnosis.”
Sarah’s pulse quickened.
“What are you thinking?”
“Drug-induced Parkinsonism is possible.”
Sarah had expected the possibility.
Hearing it aloud still felt like being struck.
“How possible?”
Dr. Morrison glanced toward the room where Clara was buttoning her coat.
“Possible enough that I want her supervised while we carefully change the medication regimen.”
“Could someone intentionally cause it?”
The neurologist looked at Sarah.
“That is a different question.”
Sarah did not blink.
“Could they?”
After a long silence, Dr. Morrison said, “Yes.”
Evan did not disappear.
He became more dangerous.
Three days after the diner, two police officers arrived at Sketch’s house.
Clara was sitting on the porch knitting.
One officer approached slowly.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
“Your nephew reported that you were taken from a restaurant by members of a motorcycle club.”
Clara stared at him.
Then at Sketch.
Then back at the officer.
“I walked out.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Yes.”
The second officer looked toward Sketch.
Clara continued.
“Of my nephew.”
That changed the conversation.
Maya gave a statement.
The diner had security cameras.
The footage showed Evan gripping Clara’s wrist.
It showed Clara walking voluntarily toward Bear.
It showed Evan leaving alone.
The officers departed after forty minutes.
But before getting into their cruiser, one turned toward Bear.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Bear nodded.
“Keep this legal.”
Bear almost smiled.
“That was the plan.”
The officer looked unconvinced.
It was not the last time Evan tried.
He contacted relatives.
There were not many.
He told them Clara had fallen under the influence of criminals.
He called Dr. Vale.
He tried to access the bank account and discovered it frozen.
Then he drove to Clara’s house.
The security camera Lena had ordered installed recorded him entering with his key.
He remained inside for twenty-three minutes.
When he emerged, he was carrying a cardboard box.
Clara watched the footage at Sketch’s dining table.
“What was in that box?”
Nobody knew.
Her face went pale.
“My basement.”
Bear looked at her.
“What about it?”
“Harold kept records.”
“What kind?”
“Everything.”
Lena leaned forward.
“Financial?”
“Taxes. Property papers. Insurance. He never threw anything away.”
“Could Evan know?”
Clara looked at her.
“He used to complain about Harold’s filing cabinets.”
Bear stood.
“Then we’re going to the house.”
Lena raised a finger.
“You are going with Clara, because Clara owns the property. You are not confronting Evan. You are not breaking anything. You are not threatening anyone.”
Bear picked up his keys.
“You done?”
“No.”
He waited.
Lena pointed at him.
“If you make me defend you on an assault charge, I will bill you until your grandchildren cry.”