Whispers of Murder
Page 7
“Well?” Isabelle said.
“There was never anyone admitted under the name of Sidwell. I don’t know who this new friend of yours is, but until I find out, I suggest you stay away from her.”
CHAPTER 21
The moon shrouded the valley with incandescent light that glowed down the pathway in front of Isabelle’s car like a chaperone guiding her home. When she arrived, the porch light was on, but the house lights were off. Officer Davis was nowhere in sight. Isabelle entered and called out, “Dad?” but her voice echoed through a hushed room. She flipped on the light in the kitchen and discovered a note under a magnet on the white board:
SORRY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TODAY.
GONE TO YOUR SISTER’S FOR DINNER.
MAYBE WE CAN TALK WHEN I GET HOME.
LOVE YOU, DAD
She’d hoped he’d be home when she got there so they could talk things out. Over the course of the day she hadn’t made a decision about whether to take on Roland’s position when he retired, but she had made a judgment about one thing: no more running.
Isabelle rummaged through her bag for her cell phone and then realized she’d left it in the car. She ran out and grabbed it. A text message popped up from Emmett:
WENT TO STORE. BE BACK SOON TO MAKE YOU DINNER. :)
Isabelle shut the car door, but before she could spin around a voice behind her said, “Walk.”
She tried to curve her head around but stopped when she felt the chilled sensation of a gun forced into the back of her head. “I didn’t say turn around,” the person said, “I said walk. Move it.”
Isabelle ceased all movement and stood there like a windmill in a field without any wind. “Walk where—straight?”
“That’s right, and don’t bother to scream, no one will hear you. That officer out front—what’s his name, Davis? He’s dead.”
Isabelle eyed the darkness that surrounded her and allowed the moon to guide her steps as she took a step forward.
“Not too fast,” the voice said.
“Are you…Marsha?” Isabelle was sure she’d heard her voice before, but she couldn’t place it. “Have we met?”
The woman ruptured with laughter. “You could say that.”
“And you’re here to…shoot me?”
The woman thumped the gun against Isabelle’s head a few times. “There’s more smarts upstairs than I thought.”
“Is it because I married Leo—I mean, Jerome?”
“Among other things.”
“What do you get out of this?” Isabelle said. “I didn’t know he was married.”
“Of course you didn’t. That was the idea.”
Isabelle stopped.
The woman said, “Keep moving,” but Isabelle’s hot button was in overdrive.
“If you’re going to kill me, do it. I’m not taking another step.”
The heel of the woman’s shoe connected with the bone in the middle of Isabelle’s back thrusting her forward into the soft dirt below. She wondered how long it would take Emmett to get there and realized he would probably be too late—a gun was pointed at her head and there wasn’t a thing she could do—except…turn around. So she did.
Isabelle faced her attacker, and although their surroundings were dim, she could still make out the woman’s face, and she identified the necklace that clung to her neck. “Renee? You’re Marsha?”
“Have you put it together yet?” the woman said. “C’mon Isabelle, two plus two, equals…”
“But you’re…dating my dad.”
“Oh, we’re way past those pleasantries. Your father and I are engaged. He was just waiting for the divorce to go through before he told you.”
“So all this has been about what—money?”
“All this time, your father thought you were the smart one, but I have to say, I think he had it all wrong. Allow me to bestow the gift of enlightenment before I put an end to your life.”
Isabelle remained quiet, hoping somehow that if she kept her talking, Emmett would arrive, or her father, or anyone who could put an end to the madness.
Marsha continued. “The man you knew as Leo was my husband. When I came to work for your father, he told me he was going to pass his estate down to you. I stalled him long enough for Leo, as you called him, to meet you with the idea that he would convince you to marry him. That was the easy part. Emmett always rattled on and on about you, so we made Jerome over: same haircut, same eye color; he even wore the same cologne. And you fell for him in no time.”
A tear escaped out of the corner of Isabelle’s eye. “He married me for my money? And then what was he going to do?”
“Kill you. Remember? No prenup.”
“So why’d he die then and not me?”
“My husband made the mistake of actually falling for you and not sticking to our plan. And when that happened, he thought he could convince me to get lost by offering me some squatty little payoff and a divorce. If it makes you feel any better, Jerome wanted a fresh start with you. He thought he could change and have a normal life, but as you can see, I’m the one who’s still here. He’s gone, and now you get to join him. Maybe the two of you will be together after all.”
“So it’s kill me and you’re on to plan B?”
“No, you’re going to kill yourself. See?” She tugged on a piece of paper that stuck out of her front pocket. “I’ve got the message right here. Sad little rich girl couldn’t bear the fact that her fake husband died so she offed herself in her daddy’s vineyard.”
“My dad might not see through you now, but he will. It’ll never last.”
Marsha tossed her head back and snorted. “Whatever gave you the idea that I need it to last? You’ll die, and then I’ll marry your father and convince him to stay on at the vineyard. Not right away, of course. I’ll let him grieve for a week or two, and then, when he’s too busy thinking of me to remember you, I’ll make him something extra special for dinner, and sprinkle a little surprise on top to help him fall asleep and stay that way.”
Isabelle thought of her father and how he’d taught her to stand up for herself. What would he say if he saw her now? She swiped her foot across Marsha’s legs and Marsha plunged to the ground. The gun vaulted out of her hand and landed a foot away. Isabelle crawled for it, but Marsha slammed her fist into Isabelle’s injured arm long enough to take possession of it once more.
“That was stupid,” Marsha scolded. “You’re just going to die anyway.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” a voice called out.
Isabelle clutched her throbbing arm with her free hand and glanced up. Out of the darkness stepped Tara, with a pistol in her hand, aimed at Marsha’s head.
“Tara?” Isabelle said. “What are you doing here—and why do you have a gun?”
But Tara’s eyes didn’t stray from Marsha. Both of them were locked in, each waiting for the other to make the next move.
“It’s been a long time, Marsha,” Tara said.
“Not long enough.”
Tara grinned—wide. “I’d hoped to take you and your sidekick down, but since you took care of him for me, I’ll settle with you.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“Of course it is—lower the gun and kick it over to me. Now.”
“You first,” Marsha said.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why? You won’t shoot me.”
Marsha pulled the hammer back on her gun. It was the signal Tara needed. She fired—twice. Both bullets struck Marsha in the center of the head. The gun rolled out of her hands and Marsha dropped to the ground.
Tara lowered her weapon and turned to Isabelle. “You okay?”
Isabelle nodded. “Yeah, but, who are you?”
Tara stuck her hand out and helped Isabelle off the ground and back on her feet. When they were level with each other, Tara said, “Special Agent Sidwell, FBI.”
CHAPTER 22
Isabelle sat at the breakfast table and couldn’t hide th
e smile on her face. She was seated with all the people that mattered most—her parents, Emmett, even Melanie. Together they celebrated life, and for two of them, the second chance they’d been given to make the most of it. After all the events that occurred the night before had settled down, Roland and Isabelle came to agreement that he’d run the company for another year to give her the chance to decide if it was what she wanted.
A car pulled up in front of the house and Tara got out. She stepped up on the porch and looked at Isabelle who’d walked to the door.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Tara said. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you I was undercover. No one except my superior knew I was out here. Anyway, I wanted to stop by before I left.”
Isabelle walked over to the porch swing and lowered herself into it. “That’s too bad—I hoped we could be friends.”
Tara sat down next to her. “We are.”
“Yeah, but I was a job.”
“I was brought in to get close to you after we got a tip that Jerome and you were dating. We’d been tracking those two for years. Up until the night he died, I watched from a distance, but after Marsha poisoned him and failed to kill you in the process, we realized she’d come after you next.”
“And that’s why we met that day.”
Tara nodded. “In the short time we’ve known each other you’ve been more of a friend to me than you realize, and I meant everything I said to you—live your life from here, and don’t look back.”
They said goodbye, and Isabelle watched Tara’s car until it was a mere blip in the distance.
The screen door snapped closed and Emmett walked up and stood beside her. “You alright?”
She nodded. “Can you do something for me?”
He slanted his eyes in her direction. “What?”
Isabelle jerked her wedding ring off her finger and heaved it across the yard. She placed her hands on Emmett’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Don’t ever let me forget where I belong.”
For updates on Cheryl and her books:
Blog: cherylbradshawbooks.blogspot.com
Web: www.cherylbradshaw.com
Facebook: Cheryl Bradshaw Author Page
Twitter: @cherylbradshaw
Table of Contents
Author praise
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22