Helen frowned. “That was one of the reasons I suggested that he go see a doctor. Long before the party, I noticed he was losing weight, and as far as I know, he wasn’t dieting.”
“So how much?”
“Two-ten, maybe,” Helen answered with a frown, “but that’s probably ten or fifteen pounds less than he’s weighed most of his adult life. He was always concerned about the way he dressed. I noticed that his suits were getting baggy, but he didn’t seem to care.”
The Roger I’d seen earlier in the day, the guy in that pair of oversize pajamas, couldn’t have weighed in at one-seventy soaking wet. If he’d dropped forty pounds between the end of September and now, that meant he’d undergone a precipitous weight loss. It could be the result of radical dieting or indicative of some underlying health issue, but now I was wondering if it might be due to something else entirely. With that prenup in effect, maybe the easiest way for Shelley to lay hands on her husband’s money would be for him to cork off. What if she was actually starving him to death?
“How exactly did Jack Loveday die?” I asked.
“He was in a plane crash,” Helen answered. “EMTs rescued him and airlifted him to a hospital in Anchorage, where they amputated both legs below the knee. He committed suicide a few weeks after they released him from rehab.”
“Who took care of him once he was released?” I asked.
“Shelley was there, of course, but I believe a visiting nurse came by every day to help out,” Helen answered.
“A visiting nurse, as in a regular RN?”
Helen nodded.
“So Jack didn’t share his wife’s Christian Science beliefs?”
“Evidently not.”
Suddenly I found myself wanting to know a whole lot more about Jack Loveday’s death.
“Was Shelley Jack Loveday’s only heir?” I asked.
Helen shrugged. “As far as I know,” she said. “He and his first wife, Lois, never had any kids.”
At that point Helen glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. “You’re going to have to excuse me now,” she said hurriedly. “If I don’t leave right this instant, Mrs. Santa Claus will be missing in action.”
Given everything she’d just told me, I wanted to ask a whole slew of additional questions, but those would have to wait.
“By all means don’t let those kids down,” I told her, “and don’t worry about me. I can show myself out.”
I stood on the porch for a moment, pondering what I’d just learned. If divorcing Roger was a nonstarter and if hanging around long enough for him to die was the only way for Shelley to make good on the years she’d invested in the man, I had the disturbing feeling that the poor guy was in the care and keeping of someone who might not have his best interests at heart. That left me with only one question: What, if anything, was I going to do about it?
Chapter 20
I paused on Helen’s front porch and punched Todd’s number into my phone. He answered, but only briefly. “I’m on another call,” he said. “Hang on. I’ll get right back to you.”
I was prepared to stand there and wait for Todd to come back on the line, but at that point the Travelall’s horn blared and Twink waved for me to get moving.
“What’s the rush?” I asked once I was in the car.
“I ran out of smokes,” she explained. “I thought for sure that I had another pack stowed in my purse, but I didn’t, and if I don’t get some soon, I’ll explode.”
Still holding the silent phone to my ear, I told her, “By all means let’s go get some.”
The Travelall had just started moving when Todd came back on the line. “What’s up?”
There I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either I could tell Todd what I needed with Twink listening in on every word or I’d have to wait until she went inside somewhere to buy her smokes. What the hell, I told myself, and opted for the former.
“I’d like whatever you can find on two people—Shelley Hollander Loveday Adams and her deceased first husband, Jack Loveday. I also need to know if Christopher Danielson was ever issued a U.S. passport.”
“And you need this information immediately if not sooner, right?” an exasperated Todd wanted to know.
“Absolutely.”
Twink stopped at the first convenience store we saw. While she went inside, I scrolled through Todd’s e-mails, looking for the three remaining unaffiliated boys—the ones who still lived in Homer. The first of those was a guy named Alex Walker, who according to Todd’s notes was married, had three kids, and managed the local Firestone franchise.