“I know.” My eyes meet his, and somehow the thought pops into my head that Keith and I haven’t had sex in six months. At some point, he stopped asking for it, and I was never one to bring it up. He probably has someone like Courtney on the side, and the crazy part is, I don’t care. “I better go, Riley.”
He doesn’t try to stop me, although part of me wishes he would. I have too much to think about. Maybe I’m not working, but I have a lot going on in my life. And I just found out my neighbor and best friend might be a murderer.
Chapter 40
Now that I have this information, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.
Maybe April killed Courtney Burns. Maybe her mother was her alibi, and she stuck her in a nursing home when she threatened to go to the police. Maybe all of that is true. But if that’s the case, what can I do about it? It’s not like Janet is in any condition to testify right now.
There’s the added complication that April is my best friend. Do I really want to investigate her? Do I want to risk ruining her life, especially if she might be innocent?
Yes, April has a dark side. But that doesn’t mean she would kill somebody. She is, in many ways, exactly what she seems to be. She’s the sort of person who would bend over backward to help her friends. If somebody is going through a tough time, she is the first one there with a casserole. It’s hard to believe she would kill a woman just because she was sleeping with her husband.
Back when I was a prosecutor, I spent a lot of time investigating cases. I was extremely meticulous. I wanted to make sure nothing could come up in court that would surprise me. I am equally meticulous in planning my children’s extracurricular activities and the PTA events. It isn’t quite the same though.
When April and I were recording her Sweet Secrets episode, there was very little time for me to spend with Janet. I had no chance to get the real story out of her. If I were to go to the nursing home alone, I could spend as much time as I wanted.
So that’s what I do.
A couple of weeks later, I find time to head over to Shady Oaks by myself. I already knew April was recording one of her shows that day, so there’s no chance I might run into her there. If I do, it would be difficult to explain myself.
Fortunately, it’s incredibly easy to gain entrance to the nursing home. I simply inform the woman at the front desk I’m there to see Janet Portland and that I am a “friend” and she waves me in without hesitation. I do have to sign my name in a roster in the front, but I write as illegibly as I possibly can.
When I reach the nursing station of the dementia unit, that nurse from the other day is there. Her ID badge is flipped around, and I’m thankful for my photographic memory. “Peggy,” I say.
She lifts her eyes. She has the sturdy build of a woman who has been lifting heavy patients for many years. It takes her a moment, but then she seems to place me.
“You’re April Masterson’s friend,” she says.
“Right.” I hold out my hand to her. “Julie Bressler.”
Peggy takes my hand. Hers is strong and calloused, but I have quite a strong handshake myself. “What are you doing here? Are you filming another show?”
Her voice is dripping with disdain. Apparently, she isn’t a fan.
“Actually,” I say, “April asked me if I could check in on her mother. She was just worried about her with all the episodes she’s been having lately. And April has been so busy herself.”
I pray Peggy won’t call April to confirm my story. I doubt it though. It seems like Peggy speaks to April as little as humanly possible.
Peggy looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing. After a moment, she nods and gets to her feet.
I follow Peggy down the hallway to Janet’s room. The lights keep flickering as we walk and there’s an awful stench I can’t identify—it’s almost overpowering. I try to imagine what it might be like to live in a place like this. It seems horrible. I would rather be dead.
When we finally come to the end of the hallway, Peggy nods at the last room on the right.
“You might not be able to wake her up,” she says. “She’s heavily medicated.”
I nod and clutch my purse a little tighter.
Janet Portland’s room is small. There’s barely enough room for me to slide between her bed and a small dresser. She has one tiny window, and it’s littered with tiny cracks. Janet herself is lying on a twin bed, her wiry gray hair disheveled. As she sleeps, her lips make rhythmic smacking movements.
“Janet?” I whisper.
Her eyelids flutter.
“Janet,” I try again. “Could you wake up for a moment? I’m April’s friend, Julie. I want to talk to you about something important.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me in any way. It’s like she’s in a coma.
“Janet!” I use my tone for when the boys disobey me. “Wake up!”
This time, her eyelids flutter and her eyes crack open a few millimeters.
“Janet.” My face relaxes into a smile. “Hi. It’s Julie.”
She mumbles something unintelligible.
“Can I talk to you?” I ask. “It’s about… well, I heard you’ve been talking about somebody named Courtney. Courtney Burns?”
I can just barely make out her mumbling the word “Courtney.”
“Right.” I nod vigorously. “I just have a few questions about her. About… April.”
And then Janet shuts her eyes again.
I’ve questioned hostile witnesses, but none of them were nearly as challenging as Janet Portland. She did fine for the video, but today she can’t seem to keep her eyes open. I try for a good fifteen minutes. At one point, I reach out and shake her shoulder. But it’s no use. Janet is out for the count.
“Maybe I’ll come back again later,” I tell her. As if she cares.
As I turn to leave the room, I nearly run right back into Peggy. As it turns out, she’d been standing at the door to the room. Watching me. For God knows how long. My heart skips in my chest.
“Why the interest in Courtney Burns?” Peggy asks.
I take a breath, trying to come up with a reasonable answer to why I would be asking these questions. I decide to go with the truth. “I want to know what happened.”
“You want to know what happened,” she muses.
“Right.”
“Well,” she says. “How about if I just tell you what happened?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tell me…？”
“Janet Portland was her daughter’s alibi for murder,” Peggy says. “Then a year later, Janet decided to stop being her alibi anymore. And now she’s here. On enough medications to kill a horse. You can connect the dots from there.”
I lift my chin. “If that’s true, why don’t you go to the police?”
“For what?” She snorts. “Do you think that woman in there is any kind of reliable witness? And I’m not in charge of her medications. If I questioned it, I’d be gone. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers.
I look back at the room, where Janet Portland is sleeping quietly. I understand what Peggy is trying to say. As awful as it is, April is going to get away with what she has done. She has already gotten away with it—it was years ago. There’s nothing we can do at this point. Better to accept it.