Page 21 of Wasted
The smirk grew.
She pressed on quickly before he could cut her off or leave. “He fell and broke his hip eleven months ago, which is when I began to see him. He healed from the hip replacement but lost his confidence. His balance was fine, but he didn’t believe it was. That’s the reason he wanted to continue physical therapy. I was helping him with balance exercises, but they were mostly to improve his confidence, rather than compensate for a deficit in function.”
Her senses heightened at the sound of footsteps over her shoulder. The tingling through her body told her who it was before she checked, spotting Cillian as he stopped by her side.
Her stomach twisted with sudden nervousness. Good grief, she wasn’t competing in a debate competition in high school. She was a professional, experienced PT giving her clinical opinion to a detective. If Cillian wanted to listen, that wouldn’t bother her.
The inner pep talk didn’t have the calming effect she’d hoped, especially when she caught the look of victory in the detective’s eyes.
“So you’re confirming he was capable of walking to his mailbox.”
Victoria restrained the exasperated breath that tried to escape her throat. That’s what happened when she let Cillian distract her. She pressed her lips together and gave the detective the stern look she used with argumentative siblings. Perhaps that would garner more respect. “What I’m confirming, Detective, are two facts that contradict the theory that Mr. Briscoe slipped and died accidentally. First, he had no balance issues that would have made a fall likely if he had walked to his mailbox.”
McCully’s mouth opened, but she held up two fingers.
“Second, and most importantly, he absolutely never personally retrieved the mail from the box in any season of the year. He asked me to retrieve it for him on the days I was visiting, and he knew I was coming today, as we had made an appointment. Additionally, whenever I was not coming for an appointment, he had either his housekeeper or groundskeeper bring in the mail.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “That’s interesting information, ma’am.” His begrudging tone said he didn’t want to give her even that much. “But there could be a hundred reasons we can’t know of to explain why he departed from his routine today. He could’ve wanted to get the mail because he was expecting an important package or letter. Maybe something that shouldn’t freeze outside in the box. We’ll never know.”
“Don’t you think that’s a stretch, Detective?” Cillian’s deep voice beside her jumpstarted her pulse. “She makes a strong point. If the man never walked that far outside because he was afraid to, he wouldn’t have done that today, especially when it’s freezing and slippery outside.”
McCully tilted his head up to look at the taller man. “Exactly. It was slippery. That would make anybody fall, balance issues or no.”
“Really, Detective?” Challenge edged Cillian’s tone. “You’re going to ignore?—”
Victoria touched Cillian’s arm to stop him. “I understand you want to be certain, Detective. I’m sure there must be a great deal involved in declaring something a…murder, rather than an accident.” Applying the word murder to Thomas, her kind friend, ballooned a lump in her throat. But she pushed through, blinking rapidly to prevent the moisture that rushed to her eyes from pooling into tears. “I’d like to help you as much as I can by telling you about two more details I noticed, if you’ll be kind enough to give me a few more moments of your time.”
Cillian’s sculpted triceps tensed under his leather jacket beneath her fingers.
She shot him a glance.
He looked down at her, heat emanating from his eyes, but whether from irritation at her placating the detective or a reaction to her touch, she couldn’t tell.
She pulled her hand away and focused on McCully. “Since I’ve been here so many times, I can tell you there has always been a Victorian-era Persian rug over there at the base of the stairs.” She angled to point in the direction of the staircase near the settee where she had sat. “It’s missing.”
“Yeah, I can see it isn’t there.” McCully’s tone was as gruff as his expression. “That doesn’t automatically mean it’s missing. It could’ve been sent to the cleaners. Or maybe he decided to throw it in the trash. We’ll never know.”
“The rug was extremely valuable.” She had to work hard to maintain a peaceful tone in the face of such blatant disregard for facts that indicated foul play. “And then there are the paintings.” She pointed toward the two framed paintings on the wall near where they stood. “These are in the wrong?—”
“Ma’am,” the detective held up a hand, “I’m sure you have plenty of little problems you’re noticing because you want to make sense of this death. I see it all the time. Some people feel better if their friend got killed on purpose instead of a freak accident.” He shook his head. “But either way, it doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Briscoe died today, and that’s just what it is.”
She opened her mouth, but frustration blocked the response she was trying to form. Something that wouldn’t be rude or offensive but still make the detective listen to basic reason.
“Now hold on. You aren’t even hearing the evidence.” Cillian folded his arms across his black jacket. “What are you afraid of, Detective? Or are you trying to hide something?”
McCully’s eyes flashed as he glared up at Cillian.
Wonderful. Now he was far too angry to listen to anything.
“I suggest you and your friend here stop trying to play amateur detectives and leave this to the professionals. This isn’t a movie. This is real life, where the detectives determine what happened, and civilians are not allowed to interfere.” He hit Victoria with his glare before he spun on his heels and stalked to the door. He paused by an officer and gestured toward Victoria and Cillian.
“I think we’re about to get kicked out.” Cillian sent her an unbothered smile. Clearly, his insides weren’t knotted into an anxious wad like hers.
She shouldn’t have pushed the detective to the point of making him so angry. That never worked with people like him and only created a difficult environment for everyone. Hopefully, she hadn’t made the rest of the day too unpleasant for everyone who had to work with McCully.
“Let’s spare them the trouble.” Victoria started for the door, sending the female officer McCully had just spoken to an apologetic smile.
“You should keep after him.” At least Cillian waited until they were past the officer and out in the cold, open air before sharing his opinion. “You’re right. You’ve convinced me this wasn’t an accident, and you didn’t even get to finish telling him all the things you noticed.” Cillian swung in front of her, stopping her progress as he faced her.
