Page 107 of Three Steps Behind

“Poor Sophie took it so hard, but Randolph—he was furious.”

“Furious?” Deckard dipped his chin.

“He blamed Sophie for Jason’s death. Weeks later, she’d died in a ‘car accident.’” She used air quotes.

“What did the autopsy say?”

“No autopsy. They ruled it a car accident, and he had her cremated.”

Harper looked at Deck. “That sounds familiar.”

Ida frowned. “What do you mean?”

They went on to explain what had happened to the three other wives.

“I can’t believe it.” Ida paled. “But his friend George came for a visit maybe a year after Sophie died. I was still trying to stay on Randolph’s good side back then, so I took dinner to them, and when I stepped inside, I heard their voices. It was an odd conversation.”

Harper’s brows furrowed. “What about?”

“Something about flowers and how they work. Some kind of experiment.”

“Do you know which one was speaking like he was making it?”

“No, I couldn’t tell. I only got bits and pieces.”

“Where’s Randolph now?” Deck asked.

“Let’s see. . . .” She looked at the clock. “His office hours are today.”

“Great. I think we’ll go pay him a visit.”

“Thank you.” She stood and shook their hands. “I hope this helps my Sophie get justice. I always assumed it was Randolph, but George has always seemed very knowledgeable when discussing different things in the world of medicine. For all I know, Randolph hired him to help take care of Sophie.”

“She’s right, you know,” Deck said while heading for Northwestern’s campus. “It could be George or Randolph.”

“Yes,” Harper agreed, “but it started with Randolph’s wife, apparently.”

“True, but George could have made the poisonous potion.”

Harper lifted her phone. “I’ll call Joel and update him.”

“Have him check George’s financials back to Sophie’s death. Let’s see if he got paid any other time like that two hundred thousand, and if so, can we tie the payments to the dates of the other wives’ deaths?”

“On it.”

After relaying everything to Joel, she hung up and shifted in her seat as they approached Northwestern. “His office is in the chemistry building.”

Having parked, they strode across the snow-laden campus. A layer of ice covered the snow, keeping it from melting away. It crunched underfoot.

Harper’s cell rang. “Hey, Joel. That was fast.” She put him on speakerphone.

“I ran George’s financials for the time period around when Sophie died, and I don’t see anything. But three weeks before his wife died, he sent a transfer of two hundred thousand dollars to Randolph.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“So why did Nick pay George?”