Page 59 of Defending Love
Mom picked up her fork and began pushing the green beans, mashed potatoes, and meatloaf around her plate. “The same questions as the sheriff’s deputies. What could I remember? Had your dad told me anything that I believe would have endangered him. Had he been acting oddly.” She took a bite of meatloaf.
“Had he been?”
“Acting odd? No.”
“Did Dad ever say anything that you think could be connected?”
Mom shook her head. “There is no logical reason why anyone would harm Derek. He was a good husband, father, and person.” Her expression fell. “He was so excited to be a grandfather.”
I feigned a smile. “We’ll all tell Dylan great stories about his beloved papa.” I noticed the blue and white striped beach bag. “Mom, I found a photo album, and I was wondering if you could help me identify some of the people.”
“Sure, bring it here.”
I took the photo album and laid it on the covers next to her. “Finish eating first.”
She reached down and opened the cover. A smile curled her lips. “Oh my. Look how handsome your father was.” She shook her head. “That was before I knew him.”
I came around and peered down. “How old do you think he was?”
“I’d say around twenty. He was in college.” She took a drink of her water. “And look” —she pointed to the man at Dad’s side— “that’s Phen.”
Leaning down, I took a closer look. “Phen?”
“Oh, he doesn’t go by Phen any longer, but Derek always called him that. Stephen Elliott. He and your father were roommates their freshman year and in the same fraternity.”
I picked up the album and stared at the faded picture. “Goodness, I didn’t recognize Stephen. I knew this one was Dad.”
After Mom finished eating, I moved her tray and placed the album on the rolling table. Slowly, she went through, page by page. Naming every face. There were pictures of Darius as a baby. Damien and I at different ages. There was a picture of Dad standing in front of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals and one of him in front of the scrolled word Sinclair outside the executive offices with a big smile. It was right after a big remodel.
“This one,” I said, pointing. “I recognize the research area at Sinclair, but I don’t know who this person is.”
Mom tugged the photo from the plastic sleeve and turned it over. On the back was written Eric. Pressing her lips together, she hummed. “I believe that was Eric Olsen.”
“A chemist at Sinclair?”
“No, no. He was a research fellow at Indianapolis University.”
“Was? Is he dead?”
“Oh yes, it was years ago. Tragic really. He was shot in broad daylight.”
A cold chill skittered down my spine. “Like Dad.”
“I guess.” Her eyes widened. “That’s a coincidence. Eric was at a park, sitting on a bench. It was sad.” She met my gaze. “You remember David Carpenter?”
“Yes.”
“His wife, Brenda, was Eric Olsen’s daughter.”
“What was Eric’s research focus?”
She inhaled. “I believe it had something to do with the Propanolol that David engineered. After Eric was killed, the university shut down its research. Damien convinced David to come to Sinclair and complete his father-in-law’s research and development.”
“Didn’t David die unexpectedly?”
“He was ill. Derek knew, but David didn’t want anyone else to know.” She shrugged. “I haven’t thought about Brenda in a while. I wonder how she’s doing.”
“Her father was killed and her husband died young. Poor Brenda.”
