“That proves nothing.”
Then Abigail saw the key in Mom’s hand.
Her reaction was immediate.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
I noticed.
Mom noticed.
Dr. Leonard noticed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Abigail looked at me.
“Nothing.”
“What’s in the safe-deposit box?”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Mom’s voice was quiet.
“Yes, you do.”
Two investigators entered the room.
One introduced himself as Detective Ramirez.
The other was Martin Cole.
My former supervisor.
Abigail stared at him.
Then at me.
“You called someone?”
“I asked for help.”
“This is insane.”
She reached for her purse.
Martin nodded toward it.
“Please leave that where it is.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You have no authority to detain me.”
“Correct,” Martin said. “At this moment, we’re asking questions.”
Abigail laughed.
She pointed at Mom.
“You’re listening to a woman with dementia.”
Dr. Leonard spoke calmly.
“I have found no clinical basis today to support that assertion.”
