“He didn’t know anything about it.”
“But you just said that he might not come home because he knew you were trying to kill him.”
She emitted an exasperated sigh. “Peter never knew anything,” she said again.
“How do you know?”
She spoke to me like I was the class dunce. “All Peter knew was that our marriage, and his money, were in jeopardy. When I was considering what I might do to him, I was less,” she struggled to find the right words, “less than kind to him. Cold. Indifferent. He sensed that. Then I decided I was being foolish, so I resumed the game. Things were back to normal, whatever that was. He didn’t have any reason not to come home.”
I sat back again, feeling like I’d missed the answer to a test question. “So I’m supposed to find your presumably dead husband, whom you wanted to kill, but deny that you did, and now that he’s gone, you want him back.”
“Yes,” she said, exasperated.
“Fine,” I said.
I should’ve run, right then. I should’ve, but I didn’t.
CHAPTER TWO
“This is quite a house,” I said as Amanda walked out of her huge three-car garage. I noticed a black Porsche parked in the far space, and a blue Mercedes in the middle spot, next to Amanda’s sleek gray Lexus.
I had just followed Amanda to her house in Castle Pines, an exclusive gated community of huge, custom-built homes resting in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains near Castle Rock. The continuing sprawl of suburban Denver threatened smaller towns, but in areas like Castle Pines, between Castle Rock and south Denver, the neighborhoods were still quiet and you had breathtaking views of the mountains thrown in. I could smell fresh pine carried in an early winter breeze that whipped up dead leaves in the lawn.
“Come on inside,” she said, looking around nervously. I didn’t know what she had to worry about; the nearest house was at least a hundred feet away and I hadn’t seen anybody out on the meandering road that led to her place.
I suppressed a whistle as we walked across creamy red flagstone steps to a long front porch. Having grown up in the cradle of wealth, I was not easily impressed, but this came close. The Ghering house, with its opulent Victorian design, certainly challenged my childhood home in size. It was painted eggshell white, complemented by black trim and decorative ironwork on the windows, with a huge red brick chimney jutting out from the south side of the house. Unlit Christmas lights hung from the eave, and from the branches of two large pine trees in the front yard.
“Why did you give up the idea of killing Peter?” I asked as we stepped inside. A spacious foyer branched off in three directions, to the right a cozy sitting room, to the left a large living room, lavishly decorated, and straight ahead stairs leading to the second floor. It didn’t take a detective to know that a lot of money had gone into the decor.
“Let me take your coat,” Amanda said, hanging both hers and mine in a closet under the staircase. “Would you like a drink?”
I hesitated because it was barely lunchtime. “It’s a bit early for me. A glass of water would be fine. And how about an answer to my question.”
She beckoned me to follow her into the living room, where she crossed to a minibar and began preparing drinks, water and ice for me, vodka and a splash of Rose’s lime juice for her. I curled an eyebrow at her as she swallowed half her drink. “This whole thing’s got me tied up in knots,” she said, justifying her actions.
I sat down on an expensive leather sofa near a towering Christmas tree adorned with gold ribbons and red lights. I sipped my glass of water and said nothing, but wondered if she’d already thrown back a drink or two before coming to my office. It could explain her willingness to talk.
Amanda stared at me as she finished her drink. “I decided not to kill Peter because he may be unfaithful, but he’s not worth killing.” She set the empty glass back on the bar and pushed an imaginary hair away from her eyes. As she talked, I was riveted by those eyes, how piercing they were. “I assumed the role of the spoiled rich wife, a country club woman,” she continued, toying with an enormous diamond on her left ring finger that reflected the light from a huge bay window. “I use his money like he uses me. I’m a side attraction, there when he wants me; I fade into the woodwork when he doesn’t.”
Dressed as she was in another expensive designer outfit, every piece from her earrings to the matching leather heels, she clearly used his money well. “Tell me about this business trip,” I said, sinking further into the sofa.
“Peter started out in Florida. He stayed there for a week, then a week in New York, and he was supposed to be in Philadelphia this last week.”
“Supposed to be? Did he not make it to Philadelphia?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Amanda frowned. “Of course I'm sure. The last time I heard from Peter was his last night in New York. He was leaving for Philly the next morning. The police told me that his ticket from New York to Philly wasn’t used.”
“Could he have changed his mind? Taken the train instead?”
“I suppose that’s possible. But it isn’t like Peter. He’s meticulous to a fault and tied to his routines. I can’t see him changing his plans like that and not telling me.”
“Okay, so he didn’t use the airline ticket, and you didn’t hear from him this past week.” I cocked my head to the side. “But that doesn’t mean he never made it to Philadelphia. Or that he’s dead.”
“True.” She thrust a finger in my direction. “That’s why I hired you, to find out what happened. I think he’s dead. Maybe he had an accident, met an angry husband of one of his lovers. I don’t know, but I’m preparing myself for the worst.” She was doing a fine job of it, I thought, eyeing the empty glass behind her.
“Then you’d inherit the money and all your problems would be solved.”
Her face twisted into a quick mixture of emotions – sadness, pleasure, fear, then blank. “I suppose. Boy, would that make Peter’s parents angry.”
“Why?”
Amanda contemplated the question for a moment, then said, “Peter’s parents never really liked me. I think they resent the fact that Peter has done well for himself, that we live so well now. They don’t live as well, but money from Peter’s estate would go a long way for them.”
“You’re sure you would inherit and not his parents?”
“Yes. I saw a copy of the will after Peter came from the attorney’s office. His parents have their own money. Not as much as us, but they have some. He didn’t see any need to give them any more.”
I pondered her last revelation. “I can see why you hope he’s dead.”
If it angered her, she didn’t show it. She stood a bit straighter and gazed at me, unflappable. We stayed in speculative silence long enough for me to sing the chorus of The Police’s “Murder by Numbers” in my head.
“So,” I finally said. I set my empty glass on the coffee table and leaned my elbows on my knees. “Do you have a copy of Peter’s itinerary and who he was working for?”
“Sure.”
“Plane reservations, hotel reservations, any car rental information?”
She nodded. “All of that should be upstairs in his office. Peter was self-employed, so everything would be there.”
“Let’s have a look,” I said.
“Right now?”
“Is that okay?” I asked. I wondered about the slight resistance, but dismissed it.
“No, that’s fine.” I stood up and followed Amanda as she headed for the stairs, passing a picture in a gold frame sitting on a teak wood end table. “Is this Peter?” I asked, picking up the photo.
Amanda stopped and turned. “Yes. As you can see, he’s easy to fall for. Tall, six-two; dark brown eyes, quite good-looking,” Amanda said. I examined the picture and agreed. Peter Ghering, dressed in white shorts and a dark blue Oxford shirt, stood in front of a long white sailboat, a cocky half-smile on his tanned face. He kept his hair short, the curls neatl
y slicked into place. He pointed at the camera with his sunglasses, seeming relaxed, a man without a care in the world.
“How recent is this?” I asked.
“Taken last summer, but he still looks the same.”
“Six to eight months probably wouldn’t change him much,” I said, memorizing the picture before I put the photo back. “What kind of a man is Peter?” I chose my words with care, speaking of him in the present. No reason to think otherwise.
“A control freak, driven to succeed. Highly successful, but emotionally he has nothing to give. He’s charming, at least at times, devastatingly handsome, and great in bed. That alone kept me going for a long time.”
A Harlequin hero. “How long have you been married?”
“Fifteen years.” Amanda gazed out the window, as if she could see her wedding day in the sunshine outside. “We were young, right out of college. Peter was going places and I wanted to be right there with him. He liked the high life, and so did I. We were going to be Mr. and Mrs. Perfect.” Her eyes turned back to me. “But the monotony of marriage set in. He spent more time on business trips; I spent more time at the country club. He began to play around.”
“Did you?”
“Have an affair?”
I nodded.
“No,” she said. “Tempted, once, but I didn’t. When I wanted great sex, I had Peter. As for an affair, I never met anyone that I thought could be a suitable companion.”
That made sense, at least at the moment. “Was he always unfaithful?”
“I didn’t think so, but looking back on it, he probably was. A few of my sorority sisters were awfully close with him. At the time I was in love, so I didn’t see anything bad in their behavior. I assumed he was being friendly.”
“Any children?”
“None. I wanted to, but he didn’t.”
“Any financial troubles? Business troubles?”
“No,” she said. “Everything was great. We were playing the game like we always did, no questions asked. Then Peter didn’t call. It doesn’t fit. He should’ve come home.”
I wondered why a man with no problems would disappear. Unless she was the problem. The threat of a violent end at the hands of one’s wife seemed like a problem to me. If he knew about it.
Amanda turned to head upstairs to Peter’s office. “I know you don’t believe Peter’s dead. Please, find out what happened to him. I need to know.”
With five million hanging in the balance, I could see why.
This Doesn’t Happen in the Movies
The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series, Book 1
is available on Amazon now!
Afterword
A long time ago, I wrote three Sarah Spillman short stories, but I never fully developed her character.
Then I moved on to the Reed Ferguson series, but by book four (Farewell, My Deuce), I thought it would be fun to bring Sarah, Ernie, and Spats into the Reed series.
She has appeared in every Reed book since then.
For a long time, I thought Sarah's character could be expanded, and I finally did so with Deadly Connections.
It has been a lot of fun to see her grow into her own, along with the other characters in the series.
I now have ideas to spin off some of those characters into their own series.
We'll see. I have so many ideas and so little time!
Acknowledgments
The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat and Beth Higgins.
I can’t say enough about Colonel Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy. He continues to answer countless questions, and I am grateful for his assistance. Any mistakes in police procedure are mine.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.
To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!
Dianne Biscoe, Brenda Enkhaus, Tracy Gestewitz, Patti Gross, Sherry Ito, Maxine Lauer, Becky Neilsen, Louise Ohman, Becky Serna, Dick Sidbury, Bev Smith, Joyce Stumpff, Marlene Van Matre
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading this ebook. If you have borrowed this book through Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited subscription program, I kindly ask that you close the book here or at the end. This will ensure that the author is properly credited for the book borrow. Thank you.
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You are awesome for doing so, and I am grateful to you!
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About the Author
Renée's early career as a counselor gives her a unique ability to write characters with depth and personality, and she now works as a business analyst. She lives in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado and enjoys hiking, cycling, and reading when she's not busy writing her next novel.
Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.
She is the author of the Reed Ferguson mysteries, the Dewey Webb historical mysteries, and the Sarah Spillman police procedurals. She also wrote the standalone suspense novels The Girl in the Window and What's Yours is Mine, Nephilim: Genesis of Evil, a supernatural thriller, along with children's novels and other short stories.
Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.
Renée’s Bookshelf
The Sarah Spillman Mysteries
Reed Ferguson Mysteries Series
Reed Ferguson Boxsets
Dewey Webb Historical Mystery Series
Dewey Webb Boxsets
The Girl in the Window
What’s Yours Is Mine
The Noah Winter Adventure
(A Young Adult Mystery Series)
Take Five Collection (Mystery Anthology)
Nephilim Genesis of Evil (Supernatural Mystery)
Codename Richard: A Ghost Story
The Taste of Blood: A Vampire Story
This War We’re In (Middle-grade Historical Fiction)
Nonfiction:
The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within
Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5) Page 26
