Chapter 9 - THE DEATH INSIDE THE MORETTI HOUSE
For one terrible hour, I wondered whether I had married a murderer.
Then I hated myself for wondering.
Then I remembered how many lies Adrian had told me.
And wondered again.
Victor Moretti had died from cardiac failure.
At least according to the original report.
Rebecca obtained the medical file through the estate litigation.
There had been no autopsy.
Victor had a known heart condition.
His death was sad but unsurprising.
Except his private physician had ordered toxicology testing two weeks before he died.
Those results were missing.
Elena found the doctor.
Retired.
Living in Arizona.
He remembered Victor clearly.
“He thought someone was tampering with his medication.”
“Did he say who?” I asked over video.
“No.”
“Did the tests show anything?”
The physician hesitated.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Elevated levels of digoxin.”
A heart medication.
Potentially lethal in excessive amounts.
“Was Victor prescribed it?”
“Yes.”
“At that dose?”
“No.”
Elena went pale.
The doctor had sent the results directly to Victor.
Three days later, Victor died.
His home medication disappeared before the family returned from the hospital.
Adrian had been in Chicago that week.
So had Carlo.
So had Daniel.
So had I.
That realization hit me hard.
I remembered Victor’s final dinner.
He had seemed tired.
He had barely eaten.
I had brought him tea.
My hands started shaking.
Elena noticed.
“What?”
“I gave him his tea that night.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“He asked me to bring his pills.”
Silence.
I remembered the little silver organizer.
Monday.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
I had handed Victor the medication myself.
Adrian entered the room afterward.
He kissed his father’s forehead.
I suddenly felt sick.
I called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“Claire.”
“Did you know Victor thought someone was poisoning him?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“And you never told anyone?”
“He told me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t know who.”
“Carlo?”
“I suspected him.”
“Daniel says Carlo was afraid of you.”
“He should have been.”
That did not help.
“Did you kill your father?”
The silence that followed felt endless.
Then Adrian said:
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you kill Carlo?”
“No.”
“Can you prove either?”
“No.”
At least he was honest.
“Claire, listen carefully. Carlo had been stealing from my father for years. After Victor died, I discovered evidence. Carlo knew I would destroy him if I could prove it.”
“Did he poison Victor?”
“I thought so.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know.”
“What changed?”
“Carlo sent me something before he died.”
My pulse jumped.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
He forwarded it.
The image showed Victor’s medication organizer on a kitchen counter.
Date-stamped two days before his death.
Beside it was a woman’s hand.
I recognized the bracelet immediately.
My mother-in-law’s.
Adrian’s mother, Margaret Moretti.
But Margaret had supposedly died seven years before Victor.
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“Where was this taken?”
“Chicago.”
“When?”
“The timestamp says three days before my father died.”
My mouth went dry.
“Your mother was alive?”
May you like
Adrian whispered:
“I think she still is.”
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