Page 63 of The Senator's Wife

Athena could hardly contain her anger at the missed opportunity. But the fact that Whit had found it necessary to change his office lock without telling Sloane, or presumably any of the staff, meant he had something to hide. If only she could have gotten in, she might have discovered something that would make Whit’s financial standing clear to her…whether it was all tied to Sloane, or if he stood to gain independence if anything happened to her.

- 49 -

SLOANE

Sloane closed her fist around the keys in her hand, feeling the sharp edges bite into the flesh of her palm. Had Whit changed the lock on Robert’s old office? And if so, why? It didn’t make sense. Maybe Athena was lying about the key not fitting. But that didn’t make any sense either. Opening her hand, she looked at the keys once more and then put them in her night table drawer. She sat pondering when the chime of her bedroom door startled her. The door opened and Camille leaned her head in. Sloane felt a small leap of happiness.

“Camille!”

“Hey,” she said as she walked in. “How are you? I’ve missed you, sweetie.”

Sloane’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad to see you.” She held out her arms to her friend. As they embraced, Sloane breathed in the fresh citrus scent that Camille had worn forever. Camille sat on the edge of the bed.

“How’s your mother?” Sloane asked, seeing the tension in her friend’s face.

“She’s improving. Physically, that is. But I think her injuries have impacted her memory.”

“What’s going on? Is she forgetting things?”

Camille shook her head. “She can’t remember anything from the day of the attack. And she keeps insisting that Whit is involved in something shady despite Faye’s assurances that he’s not.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s no secret she’s continued to harbor resentment toward Whit, but I think it has turned into an obsession. Mom claims shehad her friend Mac looking into Whit and that he found something suspicious.”

Sloane felt concern mix with dread. “What?”

“I tried to call Mac, her lawyer friend, but unfortunately, he died.”

“Wait…She thought she spoke to a man who’s actually dead? It does sound like the fall’s left her confused.”

“No, Mac diedaftershe claims to have spoken to him, apparently from a drug overdose. I think he fell off the wagon. It doesn’t sound like he was in any position to be doing investigating. And this all happenedbeforeshe was attacked. I don’t know what to think anymore. She says Mac brought her a report, but it’s nowhere to be found. I wouldn’t burden you with this right now, but I’m afraid she might call and bother you with all of this. I just wanted you to know what’s going on.”

Sloane frowned. “It seems impossible that your mother would be imagining this, but on the other hand, it does sound strange.” She reached out and squeezed Camille’s arm. “I’m glad you told me, though. You know how much I love your mother. Please keep me in the loop. And give her my love.”

“I will. You take care of yourself. I want to see you out of that bed. Whit said that the doctor increased your prednisone. Is it helping?”

Sloane gave her a weak smile. “A little,” she said, lying. She didn’t want to tell Camille about the hallucinations or forgetfulness. She loved Camille, but sometimes her take-charge personality was overbearing. Sloane didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

“Well, you know I’m a big advocate of getting a second opinion. I know a great rheumatologist—”

Sloane put up her hand. She appreciated Camille’s concern, but Dr. Porter was one of the best. She’d lived with this disease long enough to know that there was only so much the doctor and the medicine could do. “Thanks, but I’m sure this will pass.”

She slumped back against the pillow once Camille had left, more worried than she’d let on. Could Rosemary really have imagined a report that never existed? It seemed awfully coincidental that Mac turned up dead. Sloane sighed. What she needed to do was talk to Rosemary and hear what she had to say. She chewed on her lower lip as she tapped the number into the phone, listening as it rang several times and went to voicemail. Sloane would call her later; maybe then she’d get some answers.

Next, she tried Emmy, but it went to voicemail. Between the three-hour time difference and Emmy’s busy schedule, they hadn’t spoken in several days. She reread last night’s text from her daughter:

Miss you so much! Sorry I wasn’t able to take your call. New client with nonstop meetings. Remember to text me on this number. Since my company provides a cell, I got rid of my old number. I’ll try you later tonight. Love you.

Maybe it was just as well they hadn’t spoken. Emmy would be able to pick up on Sloane’s distress and would be worried sick. Until Sloane knew what the MRI results were, there was no point in scaring her daughter. Besides, it was clear that Athena was skulking around listening in on Sloane’s phone conversations. She didn’t need the woman knowing how afraid she was. She already felt vulnerable enough.

Sloane sat up slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her as Doris came in with a dinner tray and set it on the bed—clear broth with a few pieces of chicken floating in it, a glass of water, and six saltine crackers. She wanted to enjoy food again, to savor a glass of wine while relishing the hearty meal to come. This was something that might be offered to a nursing home patient who had a case of flu. She sighed and picked up the soup spoon.

“Thank you, Doris. And please thank Yvette as well.”

Sloane saw pity in the woman’s eyes. “I wish it were moreappetizing, Mrs. Montgomery, but I guess she has her orders from your doctor.” Even though Doris had been with them forever, she still insisted on the formality of using honorifics like Miss and Mrs.

“Yes, of course. No worries,” Sloane said with a smile she didn’t feel.

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