Chapter 37 The Last Weeks of Evelyn Hartford: The Witness
Sloane
I stared at Jonathan, my heart doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs.
"Who?" I asked again. My voice sounded small in the large, wood-paneled office. "Who else was there?"
Jonathan adjusted his glasses, looking down at his leather folder as if the answer was written in the margins.
"As you know, your grandmother was very ill during those final months, Sloane. You know that.
She insisted on staying at home, away from the hospital. Because of that, she had a family doctor who cared for her. A woman. She came by on a very strict schedule to ensure she was properly taken care of."
A spark of hope flared up in my chest.
It was the first real lead I’d had all day. If this doctor was there while the will was being written, she might have known something Jonathan didn't.
She might have at least seen my grandmother’s face when she wrote Cade’s name into the contract.
"So she was there?" I pressed. "In the room?"
"It was necessary," Jonathan explained, his tone becoming formal.
"When a person of your grandmother's status and age makes such amendments to a will, we have to be extremely careful.
We needed a medical professional to verify that she was mentally fit. We had to prove she knew exactly what she was doing so the rest of the family couldn't contest it later as a lapse in judgment."
I nodded quickly.
"I want to talk to her. I need to talk to her."
"I thought you might," Jonathan said.
He pulled up a small notepad toward him. He picked up a heavy silver pen and scribbled something down in neat, loopy handwriting.
"I can hand you her contact information if you'd like. She’s currently working in a hospital here in town."
"Yes, please," I said, reaching for the paper before he even finished extending his arm.
I looked at the name on the paper:
Dr. Patricia Vance.
Underneath was a phone number and a hospital address.
"Thank you, Jonathan," I said, standing up so fast my chair squeaked against the thin carpet. I didn't want to wait another second.
"You’re very welcome, Sloane," he said, as I reached the door. "I hope you find what you’re looking for."
“Hopefully”
t nodded and walked out of the office, my heels clicking loudly in the quiet hallway.
The air outside was cooler now, the sky turning a bruised shade of purple as evening crawled in.
I got into my car and slammed the door, the sound echoing in the parking garage. I didn't even start the engine. I just grabbed my phone and dialed the number Jonathan had given me.
I held the phone to my ear, listening to the long, rhythmic rings.
Ring. Ring. Ring. No answer.
I hung up, wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, and tried again.
I counted the rings this time. Ten. Twelve. Nothing.
I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel. I wasn't going to wait.
Waiting was what I had been doing for weeks, and it had gotten me nowhere but a house full of secrets and a marriage I didn't understand.
If Dr. Vance wasn't answering her phone, I would just have to find her in person.
I looked at the address. I recognized it. It was a large city hospital about twenty minutes away. I started the car and pulled out into traffic, my mind racing.
The hospital was a massive, concrete maze.
The air inside smelled like bleach, old floor wax, and that specific, sharp scent of medicine that always made my stomach turn. I walked up to the main information desk.
"I'm looking for Dr. Patricia Vance," I told the receptionist.
The woman didn't even look up from her computer. "She’s in Internal Medicine. Fourth floor."
I followed the signs, the bright fluorescent lights overhead making my eyes ache. The fourth floor was busy. Nurses moved quickly between rooms, and the sound of beeping monitors filled the air. This was the heart of the hospital, where people with complicated, serious illnesses were treated.
I walked up to the nursing station in the center of the unit. A young nurse was busy writing on a clipboard.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm looking for Dr. Vance. I tried calling her but I didn’t get a response"
The nurse looked me up and down. "She’s currently with a patient. Why are you looking for her?"
"I'm here because she may have known my grandmother," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's about a private family matter."
Just then, a door clicked open behind the station. An office door with a small gold plaque that read Consulting Room.
A woman stepped out. She was middle-aged and chubby, with a kind but tired face. She was wearing blue scrubs and a white lab coat that looked a little too tight across the shoulders.
She was holding a stack of files and was in the middle of closing her door, her keys already in her hand.
She looked up, her eyes landing on me, and she froze.
Her face went pale, her hand stopping mid-air as she held the door handle. It wasn't just a look of surprise; it was shock. It was the look of someone who had seen a face they never expected to see again.
"Dr. Vance?" the nurse said, looking between us. "This woman is looking for you. She said you may have known her.."
"Thank you, Nurse Emma," Patricia interrupted, her voice snapping the silence. She didn't take her eyes off me.
"Please confirm that the patient in bed five has had his evening dose of insulin.", she told the nurse.
The nurse looked confused but nodded and walked away.
Patricia turned back to the office she had just tried to leave. She pushed the door open and stepped back, gesturing for me to follow her.
"Please. Come in, Miss Hartford."
I walked into the small, cramped office. It was filled with medical books and half-empty coffee mugs.
Patricia shut the door behind me and leaned against it, letting out a long, shaky breath.
I tried to introduce myself, my voice slightly shaky. "I'm Sloane"
"I know who you are," Patricia politely interrupted with a smile.
But she looked at me with a mix of sadness and pity. "And I know exactly why you're here.
You're here because of your grandmother."