Chapter 11 - The Woman Who Had Been Warned About Me
Patricia Sloane came to us before the police came to her.
That told me two things.
First, she knew enough to be frightened.
Second, she knew enough to be useful.
She arrived at Elaine’s office with her attorney.
Patricia was fifty-seven, composed and professionally dressed.
Nothing about her suggested someone who would knowingly participate in drugging an older woman.
That did not mean she hadn’t.
People rarely look like their worst decision.
Her attorney spoke first.
“Ms. Sloane wants to clarify several misunderstandings.”
Elaine replied, “That phrase has a remarkable ability to precede bad news.”
I hid a smile.
Patricia did not.
She looked at me.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I never gave your daughter-in-law medication.”
“Then why was your prescription bottle photographed in my bedroom?”
Her face paled.
“It was stolen.”
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought I misplaced it.”
Elaine leaned forward.
“How did Carly know you?”
“She contacted my practice.”
“For?”
“A family consultation.”
“Regarding Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
I felt my shoulders stiffen.
“What did she tell you?”
“That you were experiencing increasing confusion, suspiciousness and personality changes.”
“Did you meet me?”
“No.”
“Did you ask to?”
“Yes.”
“What did Carly say?”
“That you refused.”
Another lie.
Patricia opened a folder.
“I brought my notes.”
Her attorney slid copies across the table.
Carly had described incidents.
Leaving the stove on.
Getting lost driving.
Accusing neighbors of theft.
Forgetting Andy’s birthday.
None had happened.
“She sent videos too,” Patricia said.
Selective recordings.
“Did you conclude I had dementia?”
“Absolutely not.”
That surprised me.
“What did you conclude?”
“That I did not have enough information to reach any conclusion.”
Good answer.
“I told Carly that if she had genuine concerns, you needed a medical evaluation by a qualified physician.”
“Did she ask about guardianship?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That guardianship is serious and should not be pursued merely because a family member makes choices others dislike.”
I believed that too.
“Then why did you come to my house?”
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
“Carly said you had agreed to an informal meeting.”
“I hadn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“What happened when you arrived?”
“She met me in the driveway. Said you were sleeping.”
“You didn’t come inside?”
“No.”
The garage footage showed her entering.
Elaine noticed the contradiction.
“You were inside nineteen minutes.”
Patricia froze.
Then shook her head.
“That’s impossible.”
“We have video.”
Her attorney whispered to her.
Patricia’s eyes widened.
“Wait.”
She thought.
“I did enter.”
Interesting.
“What changed?”
“She asked me to wait in the sitting room while she woke you.”
“I don’t have a sitting room near the front door.”
“She called it that.”
“What happened?”
“She came back and said you were disoriented and had told her to make me leave.”
Convenient.
“And the envelope you gave Carly?”
“An invoice.”
Not money.
Not secret documents.
An invoice.
Patricia looked at me.
“I never saw you.”
She seemed genuinely disturbed.
“Mrs. Whitmore, if I had known—”
Elaine stopped her.
“What about the lorazepam?”
Patricia closed her eyes.
“I carried it in my purse.”
“When you visited?”
“Yes.”
“Where was your purse while inside?”
“On a chair near the entry.”
“Did Carly leave the room?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Opportunity.
Ortiz later confirmed the prescription number on the photographed bottle matched Patricia’s missing medication.
That didn’t prove Carly drugged me.
But toxicology from months earlier was impossible.
We needed another route.
Then Patricia said something unexpected.
“Carly was not the first person to contact me about you.”
I stared at her.
“Who else?”
“Someone claiming to be your physician’s office.”
“When?”
“About six weeks before Carly.”
My doctor had never contacted Patricia.
“What did they ask?”
“General questions about what documentation is needed for capacity proceedings.”
“Name?”
“They gave one.”
She checked her notes.
“Dr. Evan Mills.”
No such doctor worked at my medical practice.
Elaine searched the number.
Prepaid mobile.
Inactive.
Patricia continued.
“They wanted to know whether video of confusion could support a family petition.”
Someone had been planning the guardianship angle earlier than we thought.
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
Male.”
Richard.
Possibly.
Then Patricia pulled out one final document.
“Carly emailed this to me.”
It was a supposed letter from my physician.
It stated that I had shown “early cognitive impairment.”
My doctor’s name appeared at the bottom.
Forged.
Another signature.
Another document.
Another lie made to look official.
But this forgery was sloppy.
The clinic logo was outdated.
My physician’s middle initial was wrong.
And the date listed a day when his office had been closed for renovations.
Whoever created it had enough information to be dangerous, but not enough to be perfect.
Patricia looked at me.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“She asked me a strange question at our first meeting.”
“What question?”
“She wanted to know how quickly someone could be placed into residential care after a guardian was appointed.”
Andy, who had been silent, looked up.
“What did you say?”
“That it depends and that a guardian cannot simply imprison a competent adult.”
“And Carly?”
Patricia’s face tightened.
“She laughed.”
The room became cold.
“What exactly did she say?”
Patricia remembered every word.
“She said, ‘Competent is just a matter of what you can prove.’”
That was when Andy stood.
His chair fell backward.
He looked at me.
Then at Elaine.
Then at Patricia.
“My wife was planning to erase my mother.”
No one corrected him.
May you like
Because that was exactly what it looked like.
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