“Addison was in the passenger side?” I said.
Trey looked up from his notebook. “It’s her car. She’s the reason the accident wasn’t as severe as it could have been. When Nick lost consciousness, she took the wheel.”
“He was driving?”
“Yes. She said that she normally drives, but that tonight she had a migraine.”
It was chaos and disorder, all the things Trey hated. And yet he was staring at the scene with a kind of wistfulness. He put down his pencil when the back door opened and Finn climbed in. She wore a expertly tailored business suit and full makeup, hose and high heels, as if she’d been pulled from a corporate raider workshop.
She shut the door. “Clusterfuck. Utter and total.”
“What happened?” Trey said.
“Nick took the entrance at speed. Plowed over the mailbox, then scraped that telephone pole before Addison managed to swerve them into the boxwoods instead of the brick wall.”
Nick was in fine form. Every time Addison took his arm, he shook her off. He was unsteady on his feet, swaying and then lurching to catch his balance. A man in gray slacks tried to put a stethoscope against his chest, but he kept batting the man’s hand away. A concierge physician, I guessed. The Talbots did everything privately, even their emergency care.
“Drunk?” I said.
“That’s what I thought,” Finn said, “but he blew zero point zero on the VIP doc’s breathalyzer. Twice. He’s slurring. Can’t recite the alphabet. A blindfolded toddler has more balance. But he’s not drunk.”
Trey cocked his head, eyes on the scene. “Other symptoms?”
“Headache. Nausea. Confusion.”
“Those are concussive symptoms.”
Finn pointed a finger at him. “Right you are. Except that he was displaying these symptoms before he crashed, according to Addison. You’re looking at the contributing presentation, not the concluding one.”
“Is the physician aware of this?”
“Yes. Addison’s convinced he had a stroke or something. Quint is yammering that he’s relapsed and that it’s all Addison’s fault.”
“Quint’s here?”
“He’s on the way. He insists we take Nick to the inpatient clinic for psychiatric evaluation. Nick insists that someone tampered with the car.”
Trey made a soft scoffing noise, but he didn’t dismiss her comment. Every drunk who crashed his car probably said the same thing. But Nick wasn’t drunk.
“How cognizant is he of his own condition?” Trey said.
“He thinks he’s fine and is therefore not going to the ER.”
“He should go.”
“That is what I explained to Addison, and what she is trying to explain to Nick. He’s not listening. Of course they might still drag him in. Because he may not be drunk, but something’s sure as hell wrong.”
Nick had his finger in the doctor’s face. Finn sighed loudly and shook her head.
“I would say he’s high. Only thing is, Addison said he was right as rain when they got in the car. So unless he had a secret stash of coke or bath salts or whatever the kids are doing these days stashed in the glove compartment—”
“Was Addison with him the entire time?”
“Yes. She says he’s clean and med compliant.”
“Does she have a list of those meds?”
“You bet she does. Hard copy in Nick’s wallet for the doc, digital for the rest of us. I figured you’d be asking, so I texted you a copy.”
Trey checked his phone. I knew where his brain was going next. I could practically see it sending up signal flares.
He studied the list. “Could Quint be right? Could this be a recurrence of his mental illness?”
Finn shrugged. “I’m no expert, but my gut feeling is no. This isn’t how paranoid delusional disorder normally manifests, plus, according to Addison’s testimony last week at the conservatorship hearing, his condition is being managed with therapy and medication. His doctor and psychiatrist agree.”
Trey continued to study the list of medications. I peered over his shoulder. The herbal relaxant Nick had been popping like breath mints was on the OTC list, along with a dozen other pharmaceuticals. The rest were a mash-up of prescription meds, some I recognized and some I had no clue about.
Finn kept one eye on the accident. “Quint is gonna be pissed as hell if he finds out you’re here. Which may be one of the reasons Nick called you, who knows, but you should stay in the car regardless.”
Younger sibling syndrome, I decided. I still displayed symptoms on occasion. No matter how sensible said older sibling’s advice, the younger sibling often flouted it out of sheer spiteful stubbornness. Whatever Quint said, Nick would do the opposite.
“What are the chances the cops will get involved?” I said.
“It’s not likely. This is a minor crash on his own property with no other persons involved. No serious injuries except perhaps some concussive damage, which—yes, Mr. Seaver, I see you shaking your head, and yes, I know that concussions can be deadly. So I’ve tried. But he’s not budging. Neither is Quint. Addison is the only one of this trio with any sense.” She frowned. “That’s another strange thing. Usually Nick does what Addison tells him without fuss. He’s balking now.”
“Is he worried he’ll get committed again if he goes to the hospital?”
“Probably. I don’t actually blame him there. But still.”
Trey had turned his attention to the crash site, especially the car. “Did you get photographs of the accident?”
Finn pulled a small digital camera from her bag. “Here. I’ve documented every angle that exists.”
Trey swiped through them. “You said he reported that the brakes failed.”
“He said everything failed—the brakes, the steering, the horn, the door. According to Nick, the whole car ceased functioning.”
Trey looked up. “But that’s not…that makes no sense.”
“Of course it doesn’t! You can’t tamper with an entire car!”
There was something nibbling at Trey, but before he could get to it, a silver Jaguar pulled up crazily at the curb. A figure got out and marched
