Page 106 of Skeletons in the Closet

“The police aren’t certain. They believe she might have been injected with something untraceable.”

Natalia huffed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and balancing her elbows on the desk. Was she thinking what we thought? That her husband dealt with drugs, and it seemed perfectly plausible he might have access to something that fit that descriptor.

I took my phone back and pulled up Noah’s picture. “How about this guy?”

Natalia didn’t move. The fingers she’d been using to pinch the bridge of her nose slipped and fell to the desk. Her head slumped forward on her shoulders, and her whole body moved with the momentum. Before she hit the desk, I reacted, snagging her arm and keeping her upright. “Whoa. Hey, are you okay? Mrs. Shore? Natalia?”

She jolted and blinked a few times. It seemed to take her a minute to focus. “I’m sorry. I haven’t slept in days, and my head…”

“Maybe you should go home. You don’t look well.”

She squinted at my phone where it had fallen to the desk. Pain radiated through the lines of her face. Again, she fumbled to pick up the device, and I got the queer sense Natalia wasn’t just tired. She was loaded, almost blackout drunk.

Or high.

Her husband sold drugs.Christ.

“Do you know him?” I asked, growing irritated, no longer feeling sorry for her.

“No.”

She tried to return the phone, but it slipped from her fingers before I could catch it.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize him? He’s dead, Natalia.” Although not under suspicious circumstances like Beth. I didn’t feel it was necessary to get into details. If Noah killed himself, it was likely because David had scared him half to death with threats.

“I don’t feel good.” Natalia braced her hands on the desk like she was trying to keep her balance.

“Do you need the bathroom? Are you going to be sick?”

“No. I need to lie down. Can you…” She motioned to a reading chair in the corner. “Just for a minute. Please. Can you help me?”

I stood and rounded the desk, assisting her to her feet and guiding her to the chair. She seemed to struggle to make her legs work and landed hard on the cushioned surface the minute we were within range. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, groaning.

I squatted and patted her leg. “Natalia?”

No response.

I didn’t smell alcohol.

“Natalia, did you take something?”

When I still didn’t get an answer, I stood too fast and instantly grew lightheaded. Croissants were never a substantial enough breakfast for me.

Once the world recentered and I caught my balance, I moved to the desk and plunked down in the chair Natalia had vacated. I opened the drawers, looking for clues. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought, I should text Diem and tell him to get his ass up here.

A few drawers down, I found a handful of prescription bottles and read their labels. Antianxiety meds. Antidepressants. A few I didn’t recognize. I shook them, and they all seemed full.

“Natalia?” I called over my shoulder.

No answer.

“Natalia?” I said louder, pivoting and moving toward her again. Like before, the instant I stood, the world tilted nauseatingly sideways. I tripped on my feet as the ground wobbled.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Too much caffeine? I’d had one coffee, for fuck’s sake. Was my iron low?

Shaking it off, I kneeled beside Natalia again and rattled a pill bottle in her face. “Did you take these?”

When she remained conked out, I jostled her, and she flopped like a rag doll with no control of her limbs. She didn’t wake. “Hey! Answer me. Did you take these pills?”

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