So she did. She started to tell Dr. Rubenstein about my evening with Jake but she got the details wrong, so I jumped in and finished the story, then told Dr. Rubenstein about my visit from Brian Sullivan, his drowning, and my conversation with his family at the wake.
“That’s a lot,” Dr. Rubenstein said.
“It is,” I agreed.
Then we sat in silence again as Aunt Maddy glanced back and forth between me and Dr. Rubenstein. “How long are you two going to just sit there and stare at each other? Isn’t this session only an hour?”
“Fifty minutes,” Dr. Rubenstein replied. “Maybe you should talk, Madeline. You seem to have something you want to say.”
“I think you should tell Grace she needs to go to the police.”
Dr. Rubenstein turned to me. “Is that what you want to do?”
“No, because they’re not going to believe me. They’re going to think I’m delusional, just like Brian’s widow. And you.”
“I don’t think you’re delusional,” Dr. Rubenstein said. “In our last session I merely pointed out that there were alternative explanations for the things you were upset about.”
“And now?” I asked.
“There are still alternative explanations,” Dr. Rubenstein said, “but I agree the coincidences are piling up. I think at this point we’re all too close to the situation to be objective. I think it would be helpful to get a third party’s opinion.”
“Another therapist?” I asked.
“No,” Dr. Rubenstein said. “I was thinking more along the lines of law enforcement.”
“I just told you I’m not going to the police.”
“I know,” Dr. Rubenstein said. “I have someone else in mind.”
I met Agent Gonzalez the next morning at a diner in the Bluffs. She’d chosen the restaurant because it was close to Dr. Rubenstein’s house. Deena Gonzalez was both a DEA agent and Dr. Rubenstein’s daughter-in-law. She and Dr. Rubenstein’s daughter lived in San Diego, but they drove up to Santa Veneta for the weekend to celebrate Dr. Rubenstein’s husband’s sixtieth birthday. Dr. Rubenstein’s son lived in Portugal and wasn’t able to fly home for the celebration. I’d learned more about my therapist’s personal life in six minutes with Deena Gonzalez than I had in six months of twice weekly sessions with her.
I knew Agent Gonzalez was the woman I was looking for even before she came up to me and introduced herself. There was no DEA insignia on her jeans or fitted T-shirt, but with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face make-up free, she gave off the same no-nonsense, law-enforcement vibe as Jake. She also happened to be the only other woman standing alone outside the restaurant. Everyone else milling about was part of a couple or a family.
We were seated at a booth next to the front window. We both ordered coffee and perused the menu. After the waitress took our food order—avocado toast for Deena and a bagel with cream cheese for me—I thanked her for agreeing to meet with me.
“Helen can be very persuasive,” Deena replied, straightening her silverware.
My silverware was crooked too, but I didn’t care. “How much did she tell you?”
When Deena’s fork, knife, and spoon were perfectly parallel, she clasped her hands together and leaned in. “Very little. She said you needed an objective opinion. I really have no idea why I’m here today. Are you involved in a drug case?”
I sat back and considered the question. “I don’t think so. Although I suppose I could be. I really have no idea.”
Deena laughed and I noticed she had a beautiful smile. Her lips were a deep pink, even without lipstick, and her teeth, like her utensils, were perfectly straight. “People involved in a drug case usually know. Why don’t you just tell me what happened.”
Deena didn’t take notes and only occasionally interrupted to ask a question. By the time I finished talking, she’d cleaned her plate and my bagel was cold.
Deena waited for the waitress to refill her coffee and leave again before she spoke. “I’m not really sure what you and Helen want from me. This is out of my jurisdiction.”
“I don’t think either one of us expected you to do anything. We just wanted an objective third party to tell us whether there’s something to this or if I’m just crazy.”
Deena smiled. “I’ll leave it to my mother-in-law to make the determination about your mental state. That’s her area of expertise, not mine, although you seem sane enough to me. If you’re asking me if I think a crime has been committed, the answer is I don’t know. But there’s enough here to open an investigation.”
I blew out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “And who would do the investigation?”
She tapped her polish-free fingernail on the table. “That’s where it gets sticky. I assume it was the local police who investigated your husband’s killing and presumably the same local police who concluded Brian Sullivan’s death was an accident.”
“Yes. Do you think if I went back to them and told them what I know and gave them the flash drive they would investigate?”
“Unlikely. But you could take this to the FBI.”
“Anyone in particular at the FBI? I can’t ask my brother-in-law for a referral for obvious reasons.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Jacob Hughes. He worked at the LA office, but he left a few years ago.”
“Let me make some calls and get back to you. I would think at a minimum the FBI would want to take a look at the flash drive.”
I drove straight from the diner to Tim and Richard’s house to pick up MJ and Sofia for their supervised visit with Maria. My aunt filled in for me last week, but today would be my first time. Usually, Tim was the one home with the baby and Richard drove the older kids around, but today it was the reverse.
“Where is everyone?” I asked Richard, then smiled at baby Aaron, who was strapped to his chest. I’d replaced the baby carrier that Alex had destroyed.
“MJ and Sofia are upstairs, but I was hoping we could talk for a minute first. Tim’s out with Isaiah and Ethan.”
“Sure,” I said, reaching out to squeeze Aaron’s chubby feet. He gurgled in response. Then I followed Richard into the kitchen.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of water.
