Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2

by Susan Sleeman

  “So I guess that means you’re okay with the fact that your primary witness to the bombing is wanted for murder.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, wow.” Parsons grinned. “You didn’t know. This is priceless.” Parsons swung his gaze to the driver. “Roll film.”

  “You do that and you’ll be pulling that camera from out of your throat.”

  “Fine,” Parsons said. “But you do want to know what I’m talking about, right?”

  “Go ahead.” Cash’s words were as close as he would come to asking this guy for anything.

  Parsons looked far too eager to tell his story for Cash’s liking. “The night of the bombing something seemed familiar to me about Ms. Curry. I rarely forget a face so I did a little digging. Took me a while to track it down, but I finally figured it out and found all I need to know about her from our archives.” He paused and his eyes lit up. “Her real name is Krista Alger. Married to a Toby Alger, who wound up dead after committing one of the biggest senior scams in the country. Portland Police Bureau detectives discovered a half-million dollars in her joint account with hubby had gone missing. They could never prove she killed her husband or took the money, but the money’s never been recovered, and her name was never cleared of the missing money or her hubby’s death.”

  Cash’s peace evaporated in a flash and he took a stunned step back. Krista was suspected of killing her husband. That was bad. Really bad, but worse yet, she hadn’t told Cash about it. He thought they’d reached a point where she would share something this major with him, but she hadn’t.

  Realization dawned, and he took another step back, his mind reeling. This was her secret. The secret. The big one that she wouldn’t tell anyone. And boy howdy, he could see why she wouldn’t. If she had been involved in scamming seniors, she could have criminal connections that would make her involvement with the bomber seem less outrageous.

  Question was, what else was she hiding?

  *

  Cash spotted the PPB detective investigating Toby Alger’s death the minute he stepped in the coffee shop door for their meeting. Cops just had that look about them that you could peg a mile away, and Detective Eason was no exception. As Eason lowered his stout body into a chair, Cash made quick work of introductions. This conversation couldn’t wait, but the sooner he could push through it, the sooner he could get back to the school and relieve Brady, who was standing watch over Krista.

  “Tell me about the investigation,” Cash said. “Specifically Krista Cu—Alger’s role in it.”

  Eason took a long sip of his coffee, then rested his elbows on the table. “One morning Toby Alger doesn’t wake up. Wife calls it in. At first, it looked like he died from natural causes. The ME suspected a heart attack, but then she gets Alger’s tox screen back.” He paused as if hoping to create drama.

  “And?” Cash pushed him along.

  “And she finds GHB and Valium in his system. The cause of death, actually. The combination suppressed his breathing. He had a prescription for the Valium, but the wife claims she didn’t know he was taking it.”

  “Seems odd,” Cash said. “A wife usually knows about any drugs her husband is taking.”

  “Our thoughts exactly,” Eason said and leaned back. “Of course, she claims not to know about the GHB, either. We begin to think she might’ve poisoned her husband, so we start digging for motive. We discover Alger masterminded a cleverly disguised Ponzi scheme. He’d scammed hard-earned savings from the elderly, leaving many of them penniless.”

  Cash tried to imagine Krista with a man who’d bilk seniors and couldn’t reconcile that vision with the woman he was coming to know. Of course, he didn’t know everything about her, now, did he?

  “What was Krista’s role in all of this?” Cash dreaded the answer but forced himself to keep his focus on Eason.

  “Wait until you hear this,” Eason said excitedly. “We found Alger’s bank statement for a joint account that once held half a mil, but the money was moved electronically just two days before Alger’s death.” Eason draped an arm across a chair. “And that, my friend, is what we homicide detectives call a red flag. A big honkin’ red flag.”

  Cash wasn’t going to encourage Eason’s obvious arrogance with a comment. “Did you figure out where the money went?”

  “Nope, and not for lack of trying. The electronic transmission originated at the Alger house.”

  “And you think Krista moved it? Why not Alger himself?”

  “Makes sense that she did it. Then hubby found out and demanded it back. Maybe threatened to kill her, so she took care of him before he did her in.”

  Cash could barely stomach the thought. “What about an alibi? Did Krista have one?”

  “She was at home at his time of death so no alibi there.”

  “Doesn’t mean she poisoned him. He could’ve gotten the drug anywhere and come home before it kicked in.”

  “You’re right. We never did find out how he ingested the drugs.”

  “What about an alibi for when the money transfer occurred?”

  “She has a witness who places her at the movies at that time.”

  “But you don’t buy it?”

  Eason shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  “For that kind of money, she could easily have given someone a key to her house to make the transfer while she sat at the theater. Maybe pay the same person to score the drugs to kill the husband.”

  Or she’d been exactly where she’d said—at the theater. “Did you find any evidence of that or any other suspects at all?”

  “Of course, we had the whole group of people Alger scammed, who had motive to kill him. Not that a group of seniors is real likely to commit murder or even know about GHB, but still, we worked the list. Investigated them and their children, leaving no stone unturned. You know, in case the kid’s expecting to inherit a wad from the parents or they’re just upset their parents had been scammed out of hard-earned money. Maybe leaving their parents’ care up to them now.”

  “And?”

  “Found a couple of possibilities, but we never really located anyone with means and opportunity. So the wife continued to sit at the top of our list. Didn’t help that she took off.” He frowned. “We had nothing to hold her on, but she just ups and disappears. Now we find out she’s been living under an assumed name. The one she used while on the run with her killer daddy. Makes her look guilty in my book.”

  “Wait, what are you talking about with this killer-daddy thing?” Cash tried to hold the surprise from his tone but didn’t manage it.

  “Oh, you didn’t know, huh?” Eason picked up his cup again and sipped. “Her father ran a chop shop. His partner tries to squeeze him out, and he kills the partner. We question the dad. He takes off. She goes with dear old dad and they skate under the radar in Georgia for quite a few years until the guy’s father-in-law rats him out. Probably where the daughter learned her disappearing skills. Like father, like daughter.” He smirked.

  Cash wanted to wipe the look off Eason’s face.

  Eason set down his cup. “Put all that together, and in my book, it says guilty.”

  Not in Cash’s book. Evidence and evidence alone declared someone’s guilt.

  Evidence like a detonator, his mind warned him. Was he listening to his heart again?

  Not regarding the missing money and Toby Alger’s murder. Eason clearly had no solid evidence. Without it, it was a detective’s job to keep an open mind. If this guy had treated Krista the way Cash suspected he had, no wonder she ran.

  “So she remains the only suspect?” Cash asked, hoping to wind up this conversation and talk to Krista about it.

  “Actually, we have another lead, but that’s not something I’m willing to discuss. This is still an ongoing investigation. We don’t want anything leaked.”

  “I’m not planning on sharing it.”

  “Sorry, man.” Eason crossed his arms. “It’s on a need-to-know basis. Without an official request, my LT wou
ld kill me for disclosing it. Besides, it’ll likely lead back to Krista Alger anyway. With this bombing, she’s proving her criminal intents.”

  Cash hated how blatantly this guy wanted to nail Krista at all costs. Cash stood. “You’ll be getting that official request from Deputy Skyler Brennan. She’s lead on our investigation.”

  “Be glad to cooperate if she goes through proper channels.”

  She would follow protocol, all right. Cash would make sure of that. He dialed her number the minute he stepped outside and recounted Eason’s conversation for her. Silence stretched out between them.

  “Look,” Cash said to break the quiet, “I know what you’re thinking. Krista’s been involved in the criminal world since she was young. Even lived with a father who was on the run. But that doesn’t make her a killer. Or a bomber, for that matter.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Then what?” Cash asked as he crossed to his car.

  “I was wondering when you called earlier to tell me about Parsons’s claim, why you didn’t mention that you were planning on talking to the detective.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “We work as a team, Cash, and that’s not teamwork.”

  He dropped onto the cold seat and tried not to get mad at the lecture. “Okay, I get it. I wasn’t trying to leave you out of it. I just reacted.”

  “Reacting as you’ve been doing all along. It’s not solid police work.” She sighed. “We’ve all gotten accustomed to having your ugly mug around, and I’d hate to see you lose your job over a woman who may have a prison stint in her future.”

  Anger fired in Cash’s gut, and he shoved his free hand into his hair. “That won’t happen. For her or me. Not if you request that report.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “No need to get testy. I’ll get the official request in the works when we hang up.”

  “You’ll call me the minute you get the information from Eason?”

  “If it’s sensitive like the detective claims, you know I can’t share it with you.”

  “Of course you can.”

  She sighed. “You have no official role in her husband’s murder investigation, Cash. Even as the lead investigator on the stadium investigation, they won’t want to share Alger’s details. I’ll have to work hard to make them see the possible connection to my case.”

  His anger burned out of control. “Of all the lame things.”

  “Not lame. We can’t do anything to jeopardize their murder investigation.”

  “Fine,” Cash barked into phone. “I’ll figure this out on my own.”

  “Don’t let your involvement with Krista make you do something stupid.”

  Stupid? He’d already done something stupid. He’d developed feelings for a woman who was not only suspected of an attempted bombing, but of murder, as well. He couldn’t do anything much dumber than that, now, could he?

  SEVENTEEN

  Krista had thought about having lunch with Cash all morning, but his expression stopped her cold. He didn’t look mad. More upset. She was afraid to ask about what had happened to his good mood, but she was also afraid not to.

  She grabbed the lunch Opa had packed from the lounge refrigerator and joined Cash at the table. “Looks like something’s bothering you.”

  He met her gaze squarely. “So do I call you Krista Curry or Krista Alger? Or even Leah James? Or is there another name you’ve gone by that I should know about?”

  No. Oh, no. It had happened. He’d learned her secret.

  He shook his head, his distrust obvious. “It also would’ve been nice if you’d mentioned that you were suspected of murder.”

  Murder. The word whispered through her head and stole her breath. She dropped to the chair across from him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Krista?” he asked, his gaze riveted to her.

  “I wanted to, but…”

  “But what?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet. “How’d you find out?”

  “Paul Parsons stopped by this morning.”

  “The reporter,” she muttered as sad resignation hit. Her life was about to take an even bigger turn for the worse. “It’s going to start all over again, isn’t it? The stories. The accusations. The looks and finger-pointing.” She shook her head. “Poor Opa. He doesn’t deserve to deal with this again.”

  “I’d like you to tell me what happened.” His voice was less harsh but still skeptical.

  “You already know.” She stared at her hands to keep from seeing the look of disgust on his face when she confirmed the details.

  “I’m trying my best not to form an opinion here, but you’re making it hard for me not to believe the worst.”

  She looked up at him and tears threatened to fall. She blinked hard. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Later tonight. When she was alone. Maybe when Cash was gone from their lives and was no longer protecting her and Opa.

  No. No, she couldn’t let that happen. Not when the bomber was still out there. Not when he was still trying to terrorize her and when Opa could potentially be attacked again. She had to do her best to convince Cash to stay with them. To convince him of her innocence.

  That meant sharing her side of Toby’s investigation. She thought back to the beginning. The morning she woke up next to Toby. “I thought Toby had turned off the alarm and gone back to sleep,” she said, the memory still as real today as four years ago. “But he was cold. His lips were purple. I checked his pulse. It was…oh, man…the moment I realized. It was horrible. So horrible.”

  Her voice caught in her throat and tears flooded her eyes. She didn’t want to go on, but somehow she managed to start again. “I called 911. They thought he’d had a heart attack and took him away. Opa and I started making funeral arrangements. Then the detectives showed up on my doorstep.” The memory of their harsh treatment gave rise to her anger and helped slow her tears. “They said he’d been drugged. That he was a scammer and stole money from seniors. I was shocked. But it got worse. They claimed I’d moved the money.”

  “Did you move the money? Or kill him?”

  She gaped at his questions.

  “I have to hear you say it, Krista.”

  “No. No. No!” she shouted, then lowered her voice before it carried to the children in the back of the building. “I did not kill my husband. I did not steal the money. The only thing I did wrong was trust a man who had secrets. And I’ve paid for it for the last four years. Being run out of my home. Forced to leave Opa behind.”

  Cash watched her and she knew he was looking to see if she was telling the truth. “You didn’t know anything about this money, either, right? Your clothes are designer. I’d say you live a good life.”

  She thought to deny it but she imagined his loathing at her response and she couldn’t speak. She stared out the window, watching the rain pick up and cloud the glass as her life was now clouded with additional turmoil.

  “No answer? Why?” he demanded.

  “I don’t want to see your disgust,” she replied quietly, but made eye contact.

  Disappointment crowned on his face. “So you did know, then?”

  “No, I didn’t know about the scam. And I certainly didn’t know about the half a million—I had no idea there was ever that much in our account. No…it’s just… Toby was a financial analyst so he took care of our finances. I’ll admit to wondering at times if he was bringing home more money than he should.”

  “But you didn’t ask.”

  She shook her head. “I should have, but after living with my father in near poverty conditions, I liked the things the money bought. I’m not proud of it, but I liked the nice house. Nice clothes. Fancy car. If I’d asked Toby, maybe…” She ended with a shrug.

  “You thought it might all go away.”

  “Yes,” she said, then let out a hoarse laugh. “It went away anyway after Toby died and the police froze all
of our assets. Then when they freed up the money, lawsuits from the people he swindled took everything but the clothes on my back. I’m still wearing them four years later because my minimum-wage job means I can’t afford to buy more. But I don’t care about that. I really don’t. It was the hatchet job the reporters did on me and the cruelty of people that really hurt. Breaking into my house. Spray-painting messages of hate on the walls. I had to leave town. For mine and Opa’s sake.”

  “Is that when you took back the Curry name?”

  She nodded.

  He looked at her for a long time, searching for something. “Your credentials are impeccable. Not something the average person can obtain.”

  She cringed.

  “Something else you’re not telling me?”

  She felt as if she might throw up and didn’t want to talk about this, but if she wanted Cash’s assistance, she needed to be completely forthright. She clutched her hands in her lap, squeezing to keep her mind focused. “My father. He’s in prison for murder.”

  To Cash’s credit he didn’t show any surprise. “Tell me about him.”

  She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then started her story. “As far as I was concerned, he ran a legitimate auto repair shop, nothing more. Then when I was sixteen, Opa heard my dad had killed a man. Something to do with stolen car parts. Opa believed the stories and reported them to the police. They questioned Dad and he was afraid they would arrest him. I didn’t believe Opa. As my only parent after Mom died, maybe I just didn’t want to see that he was guilty.” Memories of the tumultuous time in her teenage life came rushing back and she fell silent.

  “So what happened?”

  “Dad decided to take off, and I asked to go with him. We didn’t tell Opa where we went. That was the hardest part. Dad bought fake IDs and we moved to Kennesaw. We kept our first names to simplify things, but Dad didn’t want me dragged into his mess if his cover was ever blown so he insisted on a different last name.”

  “That’s why his name was Nealy and yours Curry.”

  She nodded. “We settled into our life. Dad worked as a mechanic. In addition to going to school, I worked part-time as an aide in a home child-care center to make ends meet. But I missed Opa something fierce. So when it was time to graduate from high school, I invited him to the ceremony. He showed up with evidence the police had collected, proving my dad’s guilt. I was in shock. Still am, I guess. He’d really killed a man. We had no choice. We had to turn him in.”