Chapter 6 - The Hospital Receipt
Malcolm took the photograph to Detective Price instead of confronting Camille. Price studied the hospital sign visible in the corner and requested the relevant records through proper channels. Ruth obtained Tasha's appointment calendar from an old backup drive. The entry for the evening before her death read: St. Anne's, 7:30 p.m. — talk to nurse.
“Was Tasha sick?” Adrian asked.
“Not that I knew,” Malcolm said. “She told me she was meeting Ruth.”
Ruth frowned. “She did have an appointment with me, but she canceled that morning. She said she'd found someone who could confirm the money trail.”
The hospital was across town, in a neighborhood where the Bennetts' foundation had funded a pediatric wing. Malcolm remembered attending its ribbon-cutting with Tasha. She had spent the entire ceremony speaking with nurses while he posed for photographs with donors.
A retired nurse named Yvonne Carter agreed to speak with Price and Malcolm. She was a Black woman in her seventies, direct and unafraid of awkward silences. She recognized Tasha immediately.
“She came to ask about a family the foundation claimed it had helped,” Yvonne said. “A little boy needed therapy after his mother died. The foundation reported paying his bills. The hospital never got a dime.”
“Did she meet someone?” Price asked.
“Darius came in with a woman. I didn't know her name. They argued near the elevators.”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“Only Tasha. She said, ‘You used those children as receipts.’ Then she told me to call her if anything happened.”
Yvonne opened a drawer and took out an old Christmas card. Tasha had written her number on the back. Yvonne had kept it because the card showed Naomi as a toddler, grinning in a Santa hat.
“I called when I heard about the crash,” Yvonne said. “A man answered and told me the family didn't want to be disturbed.”
Malcolm went still. “What man?”
“He said he was your brother.”
Malcolm had no brother.
Price wrote that down without reacting. “Did you recognize his voice?”
“No.”
Outside the hospital, Malcolm leaned against his car. “How many times did somebody speak for me?”
Adrian stood beside him. “Enough that we need to check every account and every authorization.”
They discovered that Darius had briefly worked as a contractor for Malcolm's company under a different surname. He had access to the scheduling system and the household travel calendar. He knew when Malcolm would be away. He knew when Naomi would be alone with Camille.
Back at the mansion, Mrs. Bell found Naomi hiding a dinner roll in her bedside drawer. She didn't scold her. She placed a small covered snack basket beside the bed and told Naomi food would be available whenever she was hungry.
“Even if I make a mistake?” Naomi asked.
“Especially then,” Mrs. Bell said. “A mistake doesn't cancel supper.”
That night Malcolm read Naomi a Christmas story. Halfway through, she interrupted him.
“Daddy, did Mommy die because she was bad?”
“No, baby. Why would you think that?”
“Camille said Mommy caused trouble by asking questions.”
Malcolm closed the book. “Your mother asked questions because she wanted to help people. She loved you. Nothing she did made her deserve what happened.”
Naomi studied him. “Will you ask questions now?”
“Yes.”
“Even if somebody gets mad?”
“Yes.”
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When she was asleep, he found a missed call from an unknown number. A voicemail played in a woman's strained voice.
“Malcolm Bennett? My name is Keisha Grant. Camille is my sister. You need to know why she married you. And you need to know what Darius did with the truck.”
