There had been a fat stack of cash with a rubber band around it found in a locked drawer of his desk, totaling five thousand dollars. Since the money was still there, the authorities figured it wasn’t a robbery, but it did cause them to wonder why he would have that much cash with him. Emily wondered too—on more than one occasion.
Since Evan had been shot at fairly close range, with no sign of a struggle, the police assumed the killer must have been someone he knew. They had questioned every one of his clients after finding their names when they searched his computer and the file folders in the cabinet.
The police had even investigated Emily to rule her out. Fortunately, she was having dinner with the girls at a restaurant when it happened, so she was almost in the clear. There was always the possibility, the detective said, that she’d hired it done. Maybe her paid killer, the detective suggested, was someone posing as a new client that just hadn’t made it into Evan’s records yet.
In time, the police decided Emily probably had nothing to do with her husband’s murder. So, with no real clues, old Joe Tolliver, the town’s only detective, eventually gave up and filed it away as a cold case. The pile of cash was eventually released to Emily.
It wasn’t that Paradise Valley could not afford to hire another detective, because it had grown into a largely affluent community. In the last ten years or so, it had become known for its million-dollar homes built along the Boise River, and there were an ever-increasing number of five- and ten-acre horse property subdivisions gobbling up the surrounding farmland.
The reason for having only one detective was simply that the mayor and city council members saw no need to waste the taxpayers’ money. Paradise Valley hadn’t had a murder in more than twenty years—until Evan was killed.
Focus, Emily ordered herself, remembering why she was there. Her mission was to find out who this woman, Delia, was.
Sitting down at Evan’s old metal desk, she rummaged through it, searching for anything that had this woman’s name on it. She came up with nothing. Then she went through all the folders in the file cabinet. Again nothing. She checked the calendar in his computer and even did a total search of the hard-drive for the name—still nothing.
Her eyes moistened and her throat tightened a little when she noticed the framed photo on the desk. It was a picture of her and Evan, smiling and snuggling in happier days. Picking it up, she lovingly traced his face with her finger. Her heart missed his sandy brown hair and piercing blue eyes.
Emily spied the cross-directory phone book on top of the file cabinet and gently set the picture down. She grabbed the directory and flipped it open on the desk. Digging around in her purse, she found the slip of paper that showed Delia’s phone number. She laid it down next to the book.
Scanning the pages as she ran her index finger across them, she located the number in the directory and read the name Delia McCall. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Delia McCall,” she muttered several times, but she couldn’t place it. So she decided to be brave and dial the number. She needed to know this woman’s connection to her husband.
The phone on the desk had been disconnected long ago, so she made the call from her cell phone.
“Hello.” The woman’s voice was low and sultry.
“Is this Delia?” Emily asked nervously
“It is. Who is this?”
“This is Delia McCall?” Emily asked again, her heart thudding in her chest.
“Yes. Who is this?” the woman insisted.
“This is Emily Parker, Evan Parker’s wife.”
“Oh, Emily, yes, Evan had mentioned you.” Delia’s voice changed to a lighter tone.
“Evan mentioned me?” Emily was stunned by her comment. She wondered why her husband would be talking to this woman about her.
“Yes, several times.”
“I have to know, Ms. McCall, what was your relationship with my husband?” Emily held her breath for the answer.
Delia stuttered and stammered, obviously caught off guard. Was she hiding something?
“Well?” Emily pressed, irritated by the woman’s evasiveness. If it had simply been a business relationship, why would she not just come out and say it? She decided to ask what she was really wondering. “Were you having an affair with my husband?”
“What? Oh my, no.” Delia laughed. “Is that what you thought?”
“Well...”
“No, Emily. Evan was doing some work for me, but it was supposed to be hush-hush.”
“What kind of work?”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Can we meet somewhere? I’d be more than happy to answer all of your questions.”
“When?”
“Say, this evening around eight o’clock, at that Moxie Java over on State Street?”
“All right,” Emily reluctantly agreed. She wasn’t sure why this woman was acting so mysteriously, but maybe she could shed some light on what happened to Evan.
Emily clicked off her cell phone and tossed it back in her purse. She decided it would be best to get out of that office as quickly as possible before more memories came back to haunt her.
~*~
Emily drove home and grabbed her mail out of the mailbox before going inside. On top was a letter from the landlord of the office building that housed Evan’s office. Tearing it open, she found a past-due notice stating she needed to pay the back rent plus a sizeable late fee.
Her real estate commissions had been enough to keep her personal bills paid since Evan’s death, but this extra fifteen hundred dollars a month for the office lease was putting an additional burden on her that she was having a hard time paying. With Evan and his income gone, finances had become uncomfortably tight.
Kicking her shoes off, Emily grabbed a diet soda from the refrigerator and moved to the breakfast bar. She set the small stack of mail down and perched on one of the stools. Holding the past-due notice in her hand, she took a long drink of soda and glared at the words stamped in red—PAST DUE.
She missed her husband for a lot of reasons, but right now it was for financial ones. Wondering what she was going to do, her thoughts drifted to the single asset she knew she could liquidate, her ace in the hole, but she had hoped it would not come to that.
The asset was a three-carat, emerald-cut diamond ring that her grandmother had left her when she passed away a few years ago. Her grandmother had married well the second time, and the extravagant ring had been a gift from her husband. After his passing, his children from a previous marriage were left most of his large estate, but Emily’s grandmother was able to keep their home and her jewelry.
Emily had been thrilled to receive the ring before her grandmother passed on, but because the ring was old, the setting needed to be cleaned and the prongs tightened. So, she’d kept it safely hidden away until she could have it polished and perhaps re-set in a more modern setting. While her husband was alive it was never a priority, but things change.
Evan used to kid her about keeping the ring in a plastic artichoke in the vegetable drawer of their refrigerator. She’d tried to explain to him what she saw as the brilliance of it. The fake vegetable blended in naturally with the other items in the drawer, she would tell him. Plus, if there was ever a fire, the contents of the refrigerator would not burn. He understood, but he still thought it was hilarious.
Now that her husband was gone and her real estate business was suffering from the housing crisis, she thought about selling the diamond to a jeweler. As much as she hated to think of parting with her grandmother’s ring, she did need the money. She should at least have it appraised to see how much it was worth.
Emily went to the refrigerator to retrieve it. She pulled out the vegetable drawer and there laid her faux artichoke, nestled among the fresh tomatoes and asparagus. She unscrewed the stem and turned it over, prepared to catch the ring as it slid out.
“Where’s my ring?” she cried in shock. She jiggled the artichoke, but it made no sound. She vigorously shook it upside
down into her hand, but still no ring.
Who could have taken it? No one knew it was in there. When could it have gone missing?
She tried to remember the last time she saw it and realized she hadn’t checked on it since before Evan died. Evan—he was the only other person who knew it was there—but no, he would never have taken it and not told me...or would he? No one else knew it was there!
Her thoughts jumped to the stack of cash the police had found in his desk the night he died. Had he pawned her ring and that was what he got for it?
Heat rose up in her cheeks and she broke out in a cold sweat as she slumped down onto a chair at the kitchen table. With the ring gone, how she was going to pay the past due office lease and the mounting expenses in the months to come? Her heart ached at the thought that her husband may have stolen from her. She didn’t want to believe it, but it certainly appeared that way.
~*~
Emily strolled into the Moxie Java coffee shop right on time at eight o’clock. A handful of customers were scattered around the tables, but she was looking for a woman sitting alone. As she stood at the counter ordering her tea, she spotted an attractive middle-aged woman sitting in the corner at a table for two. She was impeccably dressed with beautiful dark wavy hair down to her shoulders.
Emily paid for her drink and then headed toward her. “Delia?”
“Yes. You must be Emily. Please, sit down.” Delia motioned toward the empty chair across from her.
Emily sat down and laid her large handbag on the floor beside her. Her stomach twisted and she fidgeted with her cup.
“I recognize you from the lovely photo on Evan’s desk.” Delia took a sip of her latté.
“I appreciate your willingness to talk to me and answer my questions.”
“I’m happy to do it, Emily. I just want to say how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Emily bobbed the teabag up and down before using the spoon to squeeze the water out, placing it on the napkin beside her.
“Don’t you hate that phrase—sorry for your loss? It just seems so blasé. What I’d really like to say is that I am sorry that such a fine man died so early and for the pain you had to go through.”
“I appreciate—” Emily started to say.
Delia held up her hand. “No, please, let me finish. And I’m sorry for how he died and that no one has been able to figure out who did it so the matter can be put to rest.”
Emily wished Delia had stopped after sorry for your loss instead of going on, which only made her feel awkward.
“Thank you for saying that, Ms. McCall,” Emily said.
“Please, call me Delia.” She gestured to the rows of muffins and scones in the display case. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, I’m good. Delia, I’d like to get right to it, if you don’t mind.”
“All right,” she agreed.
“Can you tell me what Evan was working on for you?”
“You’re very direct, aren’t you? I like that,” Delia said. “I assure you, I am never short for words either, and I’m a big fan of always speaking your mind. It’s a sign of a strong and intelligent woman.”
“Thank you, but I’m looking for answers, not compliments.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She looked around the coffee shop, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “I asked Evan to investigate my husband, Ricardo.”
Emily’s curiosity was sparked and she leaned forward as well, taking her cue from Delia to keep their conversation private. “What did you suspect your husband was doing?” she questioned, “if you don’t mind my asking.”
Delia looked around again before she spoke in a muted tone. “I own Heaven Scent, the company that makes the candles and lotions and things. I believed then, as I do now, that my husband was embezzling money from my company. Not only that, but I think he’s cheating on me.”
Emily realized why her name had sounded familiar. She had heard it in the news recently because of the company’s explosive growth and expansion in the area.
“Do you think my husband could have been murdered because of what he was working on for you?”
“I don’t know,” Delia shrugged. “He was killed before he could give me the photos and the information he had compiled.”
“If the police had found his folder full of photos and evidence, Detective Tolliver would have questioned you or your husband about it, wouldn’t you think?” Emily asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t,” Delia replied, sitting back and sipping her hot drink.
Emily looked down at her hands folded on the table, wondering what to ask next, wondering what else this woman knew. It seemed like she had hit a dead end with Delia McCall, but there had to be more. There just had to.
“What if your husband killed Evan and stole the files so he would not be exposed?” Emily felt a sudden shortness of breath.
“I can’t imagine Ricardo would be willing to do something so horrible to cover up his affairs and the money he stole.”
Emily looked blankly past Delia, playing out the imaginary scenario in her head, envisioning those last minutes of Evan’s life if Ricardo had come to his office to kill him. This was the closest thing to a suspect or motive she’d had, to entertain the thought of.
“Emily?” Delia called out.
At the sound of her name, she shook her head and snapped back to the present.
“I can see those wheels turning in your head,” Delia said as if she had a way of looking inside Emily’s mind. “Evan told me you have a good head on your shoulders, and you have the tenacity to keep digging until you find something. Am I right?”
“I’d like to think so,” Emily admitted.
“And he told me you had helped him with some legwork on a few of his cases.”
“Yes, awhile back, before becoming a real estate agent.” She had done more than just legwork, but she preferred to keep that secret. “I’m a little surprised he mentioned that to you. He generally didn’t want people knowing I worked on any of his cases.”
“He didn’t go into any specifics or anything, just that he thought you were smart and driven—a bulldog for details, he said.”
“I see,” Emily acknowledged. “That sounds like something Evan would say.”
“That being said, I have a proposition for you.” Delia folded her arms across her chest. “Would you consider taking over the investigation your husband began?”
“Me?” Emily gasped, her eyebrows darting up. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sat back in her chair, her hand resting on her cheek, pondering.
“Now Emily, tell me the truth,” Delia leaned forward now, locking onto Emily’s gaze, “wouldn’t you want to know if your husband was seeing another woman behind your back? Or if he was stealing from you?”
A little shiver snaked up her neck at the commonality and Emily had no choice but to agree with Delia. “Yes, I suppose I would, but I’m not a private investigator.” Emily laughed a little at the thought of it. Evan had tried to discourage her from becoming too involved in his business, and now here it was being laid at her doorstep.
“Well, I say smart and driven is just plain that, smart and driven, no matter what profession you’re in. I’m willing to pay you twenty-five hundred up front to see this case through, and if it takes you longer than a week or two, I am happy to pay more.”
“Twenty-five hundred?” She could definitely use that money right now.
“Yes. I’m desperate to learn the truth about my husband,” Delia said, “and I can see you are eager to learn the truth about yours.”
She’s got that right. Emily crossed her arms and looked at Delia for a moment or two before proceeding, giving some thought to what she would need to know in order to help this woman. “Explain to me then, Delia, what makes you think he’s stealing from you?”
“My CPA found some anomalies in the books. We think he’s siphoning off money from our company funds.”
“And on top of that, you believe h
e’s seeing another woman behind your back?” Emily asked.
“Yes, I do. My husband is quite a bit younger than I am, you see, and he’s very good looking—the classic tall, dark, and handsome type.”
—
We hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Would you like to read the rest of The Scent of Lies, A Paradise Valley Mystery: Book One? Just log on to Amazon.com for a quick download.
Please, read on… for an exciting sneak
peek of The Heart of Lies, A Paradise
Valley Mystery: Book Two
Oh, what a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive.”
~ Sir Walter Scott
PROLOGUE
Lies are deceptive little things. Whether they are innocent white lies or the evil midnight black ones, they all have a way of coming back to expose us at the most inopportune moments.
~*~
The unsuspecting young woman approached the doorway of the dimly-lit private office. She jerked to a halt, catching sight of the man sprawled on the floor next to his desk, his body motionless, his face bloody and battered. Her hand flew over her mouth. Her other seized hold of the door frame for support, feeling her knees begin to give out.
A plethora of painful emotions roiled in her chest as she stared, eyes wide, fighting to stuff down the overwhelming urge to scream. Perhaps the attacker was still within earshot.
Who did this? Who?
The list of people who might want him dead was long—that much she knew. The only question to be asked was which one actually followed through. She needn’t ask why, though, she already knew that answer.
Hot tears stung her eyes. She fought against the powerful desire to run into the office, to fling herself down and put her arms around him. Under different circumstances, she would have caressed him one last time and kissed him a final good-bye—but not now.
With her heart thudding loudly in her ears, she could hardly think, she remained frozen to the safety of the door jamb. Self-preservation dictated that she could not risk running to him. Someone could discover her there and she would be found out. And if she got his blood on her, she might even be blamed for his murder.
The Chain of Lies Page 24
