Whispers of Murder

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  The man pulled a baggie from a box he carried and dipped the note into it. “And the body?”

  The sheriff aimed his pointer finger toward the bedroom. “In there.”

  The man nodded and walked away.

  Roland turned to the sheriff. “I need to get Isabelle out of here.”

  “Fine, but you’ll need to leave her things here for the coroner and his team to examine. I’ll meet you back at the station.”

  “I was thinking you could do your interview at my house instead.”

  The sheriff sighed. “I don’t know, Roland. I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “She’s not going anywhere, Fred. You have my word.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Isabelle jolted up. She didn’t recognize her surroundings at first until she observed a familiar looking porcelain doll on the dresser that returned her gaze with a blank expression and beady eyes that never blinked shut. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in her old room. At that moment, she was supposed to be on the best cruise of her life with Leo. Instead she was a widow less than forty-eight hours after her wedding day. Am I supposed to wear black? she thought to herself. Do people still do that?

  “Hungry?”

  Emmett’s tall frame spanned the length of the doorway. In his hands he carried a plate of toast and a cup of something that oozed steam out the top.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” she said.

  He entered the room and set the plate on the nightstand. “Your dad gave me the day off.”

  “And you aren’t out riding?”

  “That’s not the only thing I like to do, you know.” He muttered something under his breath that sounded like you’d know that if you were around more often.

  “So…what have you been doing with yourself since I left?” she said. “Do you have someone?”

  “What?”

  “A woman in your life?”

  He shook his head.

  “Hmph.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She arched her body, grabbed a piece of toast, bit into it and then made a face and plopped it back on the plate again.

  “It’s just toast, you need to eat.”

  She ignored his comment. “I always thought you’d be married before me and have a bunch of miniature-size Emmett’s playing cowboys and Indians around this place.”

  He bounced his shoulders up and down. “I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

  “You did. When we were kids you always talked about your big plan. What did you call it?”

  His cheeks reddened like a cherry-flavored Blow Pop.

  Isabelle smacked the side of his jeans with her hand. “Oh, come on—say it. I know you remember.”

  “The circle of three,” he muttered.

  “That’s right! Sweet wife, sweet life—and I can’t remember the third one. Something about sweet kids.”

  “It’s good to see you like this,” Emmett said.

  “Like what?”

  “Smiling.”

  Isabelle closed her eyes and willed the room to stop spinning circles around her. You’re not going to black out, not again, she thought to herself It had been four or five whole minutes since she’d thought about Leo, and now he was back again.

  “Izzy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m tired.”

  “It’s okay to smile, you know.”

  “It doesn’t feel right. Nothing does.”

  Emmett sighed. “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  But it was too late; the bedroom door closed and she was alone.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I’m a suspect?”

  “Isabelle, he never said that,” Roland said.

  She shifted her gaze from her father to the sheriff. “Didn’t you?”

  “I haven’t singled you out, but until I know what happened and why, I need to ask you some questions. It doesn’t matter who you are, I’d still be here, and I’d still ask.”

  Isabelle leaned back in the leather-studded chair.

  “How long have you known Leo?” the sheriff asked.

  “Three months.”

  The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you meet?”

  “At a club in Manhattan. We had a couple drinks.”

  “And then?”

  “He came back to my place.”

  Roland smoothed his hands over his face.

  Isabelle glanced at him. “Dad, it’s not what you think.”

  The sheriff angled the pen in his hand toward Roland. “Maybe it would be best if you weren’t in here for this.”

  “I’d like him to stay,” Isabelle said. “I don’t have to get into personal details, right?”

  “Depends. How long after you two met each other did you start dating?”

  “We saw each other every day after the first night that we met.”

  “Smooth talker, fast walker,” Roland said. “I spotted that when I first met the—”

  “Dad!”

  “I’ve known you your whole life,” the sheriff said, “and I’ve never known you to do anything that didn’t involve a lot of consideration. Heck, I remember standing in line with you at the ice cream parlor when you were a kid. Twenty minutes later you still hadn’t decided on a flavor, and when you did, it was another five when the employee asked if you wanted a cup or a cone.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I wanted to wait, but Leo pressed me to start our lives together. Part of me thought it was exciting. I’ve never lived like that. I’d just spent six months deciding what sheets I wanted for the bed in my apartment and still hadn’t made a decision. I was exhausted. For once in my life I wanted to shut off all the voices in my head and feel what it was like to be normal.”

  She stared at her father who looked down at his crossed arms like he was ready to lead them in prayer. The look on his face reminded her of a time several years earlier when he woke to find his golden retriever had died. Except this time she was the cause of his pain. She resented herself for it, but didn’t regret the attempt she’d made to branch out and live her own life.

  “What do you know about Leo?” the sheriff asked. “Have you ever met his friends? Family? Where did he work?”

  “His parents died in a car accident when he was a teenager. He took the money they left him and invested it.”

  “But who did he work for?”

  “He didn’t. People worked for him.”

  “How’d he invest the money?”

  She shrugged. “He never told me.”

  Roland launched out of his chair. “I need to umm…go check on something,” and with that announcement, he left the room.

  The sheriff continued. “What about his friends?”

  “He always said we would meet up with them, but every time we tried to set something up for dinner, they always backed out and we ended up dining alone.”

  “So you never actually met anyone he knew—not one person?”

  “No—I guess I didn’t.”

  “And you didn’t find that strange?”

  “What do his friends have to do with it—why does it matter?”

  “Did they come to the wedding?”

  She shook her head. “He wanted to elope. In fact, he begged me to fly to Vegas and do some drive-thru wedding. And I almost did, but the more I thought about it, I realized it had always been my dream to get married here—around my family. It’s no secret I’ve been away for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my roots.”

  “How did Leo feel about that—getting married here?”

  “It took some convincing, but he agreed to it in the end.”

  “And his friends and family?”

  “Everything happened so fast. There wasn’t time to get them here.”

  The sheriff clapped his notebook shut and flicked the top of his pen. “Isabelle, is there anything that happened last night that would explain
how Leo ended up dead—anything at all? Sometimes there are details that seem so small—you might not even realize it until much later, but those particulars could explain everything.”

  She thought for a moment. “No—nothing.”

  He stood. “I’d like to have a word with your father in private.”

  “Good,” Roland said, re-entering the room. “I was just about to say the same.”

  Isabelle walked into the hallway but lingered around the corner where she couldn’t be seen.

  The sheriff faced him. “Are you aware your daughter knew practically nothing about the man she married?”

  Roland nodded. “Believe me, things haven’t been right between us since she brought him here. There’s never been a time in her life that we weren’t close, until now.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “She doesn’t know what he does for a living, who his family is, his friends, nothing.”

  “I don’t see why that matters now. The guy’s dead. Solves my problem.”

  “I have a theory.”

  “Which is?”

  “That’s all I want to say until we get the toxicology report back. Until then, keep an eye on her. A close one.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Isabelle thrashed from side to side. She was being chased, but every time she turned around she stared into a blank, expressionless face concealed within a shroud of black mist. The longer she ran, the more she felt an intense pounding like someone was knocking on the side of her head. She tripped over a rock and stumbled to the ground, and when she turned around again, she came face to face with the barrel of a gun. And then it went off.

  She shot up in bed and looked around. It was one forty-five am. Her clothes were drenched in sweat. And then she heard it. The knocking. It was real.

  Isabelle sheathed herself with a robe and raced downstairs. The sheriff was at the door with two other deputies braced on both sides. They argued with her father, and her father wasn’t winning.

  “I have no choice, Roland. Call Judge Stoddard in the morning. I know you two are friends. I’m sure you’ll be able to bail her out then.”

  Isabelle stepped forward out of the shadows. “Bail who out?”

  The sheriff hesitated to make eye contact. “I’m sorry, but I have to take you in.”

  She turned to Roland. “Dad?”

  “Leo was poisoned. Arsenic. The ME found it in his digestive tract.”

  “Do you know how it happened?” Isabelle said.

  The sheriff nodded. “The bottle was tested and white sediment was found at the bottom. We also ran the prints from the glass through AFIS, and it turned out there were only two aside from Roland’s: yours and Leo’s. The note was soaked, and by the time we dried it, all we could lift was a partial, but that also belonged to you.”

  “That’s because he handed it to me, both the bottle and the card. I thought I already said that.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get it sorted out, but right now I have no choice.”

  Roland attempted to slam the door in the sheriff’s face but Fred forced his foot into the door jam and sighed. “It’s not like I want to do this. I have to—you know that. I could arrest your entire family. You all hated the guy.”

  “I won’t forget this Fred,” Roland muttered. “You know I won’t.”

  The sheriff turned to Isabelle. “I don’t want to cuff you. But I do need to take you in.”

  “Can I get dressed first?”

  He nodded. “Make it quick.”

  Once Isabelle was upstairs the sheriff turned to Roland. “I know you’re upset right now, but I need you to come down in the morning. There’s something I need to talk with you about. I don’t want to do it here.”

  Roland didn’t respond.

  A commotion was heard in the kitchen, and Isabelle’s mom dashed out. She marched up to the sheriff. “Why are you doing this to us? She’s innocent. You know that, Fred!”

  She propelled her hand in the air and prepared to strike, but Isabelle walked in and intercepted it an inch before it connected with his face. “Mom, it’s okay.”

  Roland enclosed his arms around his daughter. “I’ll be right there to bring you back home—that’s a promise.”

  CHAPTER 10

  True to his word, Roland arrived with Emmett first thing in the morning to retrieve Isabelle. She’d been given a court date, but until then Judge Stoddard released her with the provision that she remained in town under the supervision of her father.

  “I need a cup of coffee,” she said when they entered the car.

  Roland turned around and smiled. “I’ll make you some when we get home.”

  “I need a few minutes to myself. Could you drop me off at the coffee shop on Main?”

  “How will you get home?”

  “I’ll drive you Roland, and then come back to get Isabelle,” Emmett said. He angled his head around. “Will that work for you?”

  She nodded, and a few minutes later she was positioned in line. It felt good to get a few minutes all to herself that didn’t involve parental watch or an empty jail cell. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee reminded her of the streets of New York. She ordered and was about to sit down when someone smashed into her. The coffee cup flew into the air and sprinkled droplets of liquid steam in all directions before the empty container bounced and then met its fate on the ground below.

  “I’m so sorry,” a female voice said. “I’ll buy you another. What were you having?”

  Isabelle whipped around and confronted her. The woman was shorter than she was by a good two inches even in her three-inch brown leather boots. She wore a white tweed jacket with brown buttons that lined the front that were a good two inches in diameter. Her blond hair was ponytailed to the side and hung in loose curls that shielded one side of her face.

  “Don’t worry about the coffee,” Isabelle said. “The truth is I just wanted a few minutes alone, and this seemed like the right place to get it.”

  The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Tara Sidwell. You from around here?”

  Isabelle laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Parents?”

  “My father owns Charlemagne.”

  “The vineyard?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  Tara smiled. “Interesting name.”

  “I guess the real Charlemagne is an ancestor or something.”

  “Wow. If my dad owned a vineyard I’d never leave this place.”

  “That’s because you didn’t grow up around it. If you did, you’d long for a little more excitement, trust me. When I graduated, I couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  Tara smirked. “I prefer this any day over life as a city girl. What made you come back?”

  Isabelle suddenly felt the urge to flee. What was with all the questions?

  “I’m sorry—too forward?” Tara said. “Bad habit. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

  “Understood.” Tara leaned over and plucked the handle of her purse from the side of a chair. “I’ve gotta run anyway, but it was nice to meet you. Sorry again about the coffee.”

  Tara headed out the door, and when she disappeared out of sight, Isabelle ordered her coffee—again. But this time she took it outside. She walked up the street and rounded the corner on Maple Drive. It was so peaceful, but that was how it had always been in Napa. And she hated to admit it, but she’d missed that part of it. New York was…well, anything but quiet.

  Isabelle glanced at her watch. Emmett would be back any minute. She dug in her pocket for her cell phone and when she looked up, a navy sedan with blacked-out windows had turned onto the street. She didn’t think anything of it at first until she noticed how fast it was going. It had exceeded the speed limit by at least double and continued to accelerate with each passing moment. The driver of the vehicle had an obvious objective in mind, and it didn’t take long for Isabelle to grasp what she needed to do: RUN.

  She hurle
d her coffee cup to the ground and sprinted around the corner hoping to make a loop that would take her back to the coffee shop where there were lots of warm bodies to offer sanctuary. When she was almost there she swiveled around. The car was inches away and ready to make its move. She’d never make it. Isabelle dove behind a rusted grey dumpster in the alley and braced for impact. The car careened into the metal barrier and wedged Isabelle’s arm between the dumpster and the brick building behind it. With her phone still clutched in her hand, she pressed the redial button.

  “Emmett—I’m in the alley behind the coffee shop—hurry!”

  Isabelle could no longer see the street so she concentrated on the sounds around her. The car switched gears and reverse. Good, she thought to herself, maybe it’s going away, but seconds later it pulverized the dumpster again. What are they doing—trying to force me out? Don’t they know I’m pinned in? Isabelle sat back and wondered how long it would take before the person stepped out of the car and found her there—helpless, with no way to defend herself She couldn’t winch her arm free, and she was sure it was broken. The car reversed a second time and Isabelle clamped her eyes shut, but nothing happened. Moments later a car door slammed shut. This was it. She was going to die, and she didn’t even know why.

  CHAPTER 11

  Roland Donnelly kicked his Justin Stampede boots on top of the metal table and crossed one leg over the other. “You convinced now that she didn’t do it? If Emmett hadn’t arrived in that alley when he did, she’d be dead right now.”

  The sheriff paced the floor behind his desk and rubbed his chin. “I don’t know what your daughter is caught up in, but it’s not good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The sheriff yanked back his chair, sat down and tipped his coffee mug toward himself. “This just isn’t strong enough for what I’m about to say,” he mumbled. “Sally!”

  A middle-aged woman bustled through the door in a red polka-dot dress that was about five sizes too small and rode up in all the wrong places. If she leaned over, there was a decent chance some part of it would rip and the flesh underneath would shoot out in all directions. It was a sight neither Roland nor the sheriff was prepared to see.