Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert)

by Melinda Leigh

“Interview room one.” Bree gathered a pen and notepad, though she didn’t rush. She didn’t mind letting Angela, a woman accustomed to getting her own way, wait. In Bree’s experience, wealthy people often felt above the law. Bree wanted Angela’s feet firmly on the ground. “When Noah Beckett arrives, please put him in room two immediately. I don’t want his mother to see him.”

  “All right.” Marge turned and left the office.

  Bree turned to Matt. “Let’s go talk to Mrs. Beckett.” She tucked her notepad under her sling. “I need coffee and sugar.”

  They stopped in the break room. Bree bought a pack of M&M’s from the vending machine and ate a few pieces of candy while Matt made two cups of coffee. The sugar and chocolate perked up her brain. Then she bought a second pack.

  Coffee in hand, they went down the hall and opened the door to the conference room. Angela sat with her back to the wall. She wore gray slacks, a blue silk blouse, and gorgeous gray pumps that cost more than a regular person’s mortgage payment. Delicate, understated silver jewelry decorated her earlobes and wrist. A bottle of water sat unopened in front of her. Despite her put-together appearance, her nerves were showing. She was twisting her wedding band around and around on her finger.

  Bree turned on the video camera. “This interview is being recorded.”

  Angela nodded.

  “Are we waiting for your attorney?” She eased into the chair at the head of the table, diagonal from Angela. Matt dropped into the seat opposite her.

  “No.” As if suddenly aware of her fidgeting, Angela stopped playing with her ring and folded her hands on the table. “He was unavailable.”

  “Are you sure you want to proceed without him?” Bree asked, wanting nothing to invalidate Angela’s statements in court later.

  “Yes. I just want to get this over with.” Angela looked up, her face blank. “I still can’t comprehend Paul’s death.”

  “Again, we’re sorry for your loss.” Bree recited her Miranda rights and slid a paper across the table. In a this is routine voice, she said, “I need you to sign that you understand your rights.” She offered her pen.

  Angela took it, carefully read the paper, then signed it, her tight mouth locked in a brittle half smile.

  Bree matched her smile and slid the second pack of candy across the table. “Mrs. Beckett, thank you for coming in to speak with us during what must be a difficult time.” She always liked to seem as if she were on the suspect’s side, at least in the beginning.

  “Call me Angela. I haven’t decided if I’m dropping the Beckett yet. I hate the name now, but it’s my boys’ name so . . .” Angela touched the bag of candy with one finger, as if it would burn her. “I haven’t had a piece of candy in . . . I don’t even know how long. I was always worried about gaining weight. Paul liked me thin and fit. I play tennis five days a week.”

  Bree ate a chocolate from her own bag. “Did Paul play tennis?”

  “No.” She pursed her lips. “He liked golf and fishing, but he didn’t have much time for hobbies. The only thing he truly loved was his company.”

  “But your sons play tennis?” Bree asked.

  “Yes.” Angela’s face lit up in a smile. “They were both on the high school tennis team. They’re natural athletes.” Her voice rang with pride.

  “You must miss them. When were they last home?” Matt asked.

  “Christmas.” She frowned at the M&M’s. “Paul sent them to Florida for spring break. He didn’t want to drag the boys into our problems.”

  Bree made a note. “How did you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know.” Angela looked away. “As much as I wanted to see them, I also didn’t want to upset them. But I felt terrible when I had to tell them about the separation over the phone. Some things should be done in person.” She sniffed. “I had to tell them about their father’s death over the phone too. That was awful for them. But they weren’t supposed to come home for two weeks. I couldn’t have them hear it from someone else or on the news.”

  “Then why not wait to tell them about the separation until they came home for the summer?” Matt asked.

  “Because if they talked to Paul, he would slip, and I wanted them to hear it from me. I was afraid Paul would be . . .” She waved a hand, as if searching for the right word. “Abrupt. Paul wouldn’t have understood the boys being upset. He would have told them to suck it up.” She bit off the last three words with venom.

  Or had she wanted the boys to hear her story before they heard Paul’s?

  Matt’s shoulders tipped forward, his posture attentive. “It sounds like Paul was insensitive with his sons.”

  “He believed men should be tough,” Angela backtracked.

  “You disagreed on parenting styles,” Bree said in an understanding voice.

  Angela paused to think before answering. “Paul thought I was too soft on the boys. Maybe he was right.”

  She was cagier than Bree had expected and was trying to downplay her disagreements with her husband.

  Bree shifted topics, hoping to throw Angela off guard. “So, Paul asked you to leave? That doesn’t seem right. It was your home too.”

  “He didn’t ask. Not exactly.” Angela visibly gathered herself. “A friend told me she’d seen him with another—younger—woman.” She took a deep breath. “The really strange thing is that I was ashamed. My husband had been seen running around with another woman, yet I was the one who was embarrassed.” She went quiet, as if contemplating this oddity. But inside, Bree could see turmoil, rage that Angela was working hard to conceal.

  “Had you ever considered leaving him?” Bree asked.

  “Yes. When the boys were home, I had a purpose. I didn’t want to break up their home.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “But unlike Paul, I decided to give our relationship one last try. I admit I’d been so focused on the boys that Paul—and our marriage—often took second place. But I’d invested more than two decades into our relationship. After the boys left for school this year, I suggested Paul and I take a long trip. There are so many places I want to see, but we’ve always been too busy. Paul with his work. Me with the kids. Suddenly, we had this empty nest.”

  “What did Paul say?” Bree prompted.

  “He couldn’t take off from work. He had too many jobs, and we had tuition bills to pay. When I pressed the issue, he called me selfish and lazy. He said I had no idea what kind of pressure he was under to keep the money coming in while I played tennis and organized charity events.” Anger flashed in her eyes. She dumped a few candies into her palm and closed her fingers tightly around them. “I knew this was just an excuse. I knew it. But I let him guilt me into backing off because I didn’t bring in an income. Ironically, it was Paul who didn’t want me to work when the kids were young.” She slammed the handful of candy into her mouth in an angry gesture. She chewed, her jaws working harder than necessary. Then she forcibly pulled herself together and smoothed out her expression.

  Matt leaned closer. “What did you do before you married Paul?”

  Angela swallowed. Her expression turned wistful. “I was a teacher. Third grade.”

  “So, you gave up your career for him?” Bree poked at the wound.

  “I did.” Angela reached for the water bottle. “However, I also loved being home with my kids. But now that they’re grown, I need to do something meaningful. Playing tennis isn’t enough.” She sat back. Her shoulders dropped as she relaxed. “And now I won’t have to entertain clients or anyone else.” She didn’t look upset about that. “For the first time in decades, my time is my own.”

  “When did you tell your sons about the separation?” Bree asked after a minute of silence.

  Angela shook her head. “I called them about a week after I moved out.”

  “You told them the truth,” Bree prodded.

  “I didn’t get specific.” Angela’s chest heaved. “That’s not the kind of information children need.”

  “They aren’t children,” Bree pointed out. “Th
ey’re grown men.”

  “Why Paul and I separated isn’t any of their business,” Angela snapped. “It isn’t anyone’s business.”

  Matt jumped in. “Are the boys close to Paul?”

  Angela jerked a shoulder. “He didn’t have much time for them when they were young. He was always working, and when neither showed any interest in the family business, Paul was annoyed.” There was a slight pause before the word annoyed.

  “We met Paul.” Matt’s shoulders shifted forward. “He had a temper. I’ll bet he was more than annoyed.”

  Angela didn’t answer. Caution—maybe even calculation—narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t confirm anything that shined a suspicious light on her or her boys.

  “Paul was an alpha male.” Angela lifted her chin, feigning confidence she clearly didn’t feel.

  “He was an asshole,” Matt added.

  Angela’s eyes heated, but she didn’t comment.

  Bree steered the questioning away from the boys, hoping Angela would talk more freely. “Where were you between seven forty-five and eight o’clock yesterday evening?”

  Angela picked at the candy wrapper. “As I told you last night, I’m staying with a friend, but she left for work by six thirty.”

  “I’ll need the contact information of your friend.” Bree lifted her pen.

  “Of course.” Angela gave Bree her friend’s name and address.

  Bree made a note, then dropped her big question. “Where were you last Friday evening?”

  “When? Why?” Angela’s brows puckered with confusion.

  “One of Paul’s employees was killed then.” Bree watched her eyes.

  Angela’s mouth dropped open. “Holly,” she whispered, almost to herself. She stared down at the bag of candy in her hand, but her attention was inward. “I thought it was suicide. I saw it on the news.”

  “The reporter was speculating,” Bree said. “Holly was murdered.”

  Angela gaped. “I didn’t know. I haven’t watched the news since I saw that report. Does this mean Holly’s death is related to Paul’s?” She cocked her head.

  “We don’t know.” Bree mirrored her movement. “How well did you know Holly?”

  “Not very.” Angela tilted her chin down, letting her bangs fall across her face. “My only contribution to the business was helping Paul entertain clients. I don’t know anything about construction.”

  “But you knew Holly?” Bree pressed.

  Angela nodded without lifting her gaze. “I’d met her a couple of times when I’d stopped at the office to speak with Paul, but I didn’t know her well.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Bree said. “She worked for your husband for seven years.”

  Angela stiffened at the challenge but said nothing. She sat still and averted her gaze. She knew more than she was saying. Holly’s name—and murder—had definitely triggered an emotional response Angela was trying to cover. Bree could feel it. She glanced at Matt. He too was patiently waiting, his shoulders deceptively relaxed. As if by mutual agreement, they let the quiet spin out.

  “I guess you’re going to find out anyway. There’s no point in hiding it.” Angela tore off a small piece of the candy bag. “One night he said he was working late. I called him, and the line went to voice mail. I texted and he didn’t answer. Stupid me. I started to worry about him.” Her voice turned bitter. “I called his office, and his secretary said he’d left at five.” She stripped off another piece of label. “That’s when I started to get suspicious.”

  Neither Bree nor Matt moved a muscle. When a suspect was on a roll, you let her go.

  “A few nights later—” She paused, her face flushing. “I went to bed. Paul was in his home office. I woke up hours later, and he hadn’t come to bed. I went downstairs to look for him. He’d fallen asleep at his desk in the past and always woke up with a stiff neck.” She bit her lip, holding back tears. “I heard his voice from the hallway.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “He was trying to calm her, telling her he’d do whatever she wanted. I listened at the door. He said, ‘Don’t worry. We won’t have to do this much longer. My marriage will be over soon.’ Hearing him saying those words to another woman was devastating. Then, the next night he told me he had a meeting.” The tears she’d been holding back began to flow. Sobbing, she dropped her head into her hands. A minute later, she lifted her face.

  Bree suspected her sadness was real, but it was grief over her lost lifestyle, not over her husband’s death. She got up, fetched a box of tissues from a table in the corner, and set them in front of Angela.

  Angela sniffed and plucked a tissue from the box. “Thank you.”

  Bree sat down and angled her body toward Angela, trying to create a connection. “Did he call her by name?”

  Matt stayed still and quiet, clearly sensing Angela was not likely to connect with a man in her present state.

  “Yes.” Angela blotted her eyes. “He said her name twice. Holly.”

  Bree nudged the water bottle closer.

  “Thank you.” Angela picked up the bottle and took a swallow. “I confronted him. He didn’t even try to deny it. He was glad I found out. Then he laughed and told me I was stupid.” Humiliation brightened her eyes. “I was so mad—” She stopped suddenly, as if realizing she shouldn’t have admitted that. “Am I a suspect? You didn’t answer the last time I asked you.”

  “Did you shoot your husband?” Bree asked.

  “No.” Angela didn’t break eye contact.

  Truth or lie?

  “Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” Bree flattened her hands on the table.

  Angela didn’t look like she was buying it. She plucked another tissue from the box and pressed it to her face.

  Drying her tears, or covering her expression? Bree couldn’t tell, but something about her demeanor didn’t ring true. Angela’s reactions seemed calculated.

  “If my spouse was cheating, I’d be furious. Maybe angry enough to kill them both.” Bree leaned in and asked the question Angela had avoided earlier: “Where were you on Friday evening?”

  “I was home, alone. My friend’s home, I mean.” Angela’s lips flattened and her eyes narrowed in an assessing expression. She was making a decision. She lowered the hand with the tissue. “Look, I can see why I’d be a suspect, since Paul and I were in the middle of a divorce. But I wouldn’t have hurt Holly. It wasn’t her fault. In fact, it’s highly possible Paul harassed or pressured her into their . . . liaison.” She looked at Matt. “As you said, he was an asshole. Also, Holly wasn’t the only woman he was sleeping with.”

  “How do you know that?” Bree asked.

  “Because after I moved out, I went right to a lawyer. He wanted to document Paul’s cheating and hired a private investigator.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Matt watched Angela Beckett’s eyes. She was playing them, or at least she thought she was. He had been trying to keep an open mind until she’d confessed about the lawyer and PI. If her story was true, then Paul had deserved to be taken to the cleaners. But Angela seemed more calculated about the divorce than she was pretending to be. She hadn’t been shocked to find out Paul was cheating, he reminded himself. She’d been angrier that he’d stopped being discreet about his affairs. She was more concerned about her reputation than her marriage.

  “Who did your attorney hire?” he asked.

  “Sharp Investigations.” Angela opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “I worked with Lance Kruger and Lincoln Sharp.”

  Matt waved it away. “No need. I know them.”

  Angela’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. She didn’t like that he knew Lance and Sharp.

  Bree continued to pressure her. “Did the investigators find out who Paul had been sleeping with?”

  Angela studied her tissue. “It wasn’t just one woman. There were many just in the few weeks he followed Paul. I have to assume there were many more before that.”

  “Did you
know any of the women personally, other than Holly?” Bree asked.

  Angela dabbed at her eye, covering her face. “I didn’t even look at the list.”

  Right.

  Matt didn’t believe that for a second. “The investigators didn’t give you a report?”

  Instead of answering, Angela said, “I didn’t want to know the details. Paul was clearly not in a relationship. He was whoring around.” She shuddered. “I went to the doctor that week and got tested for everything. God only knows what kind of diseases he exposed me to.”

  Bree tapped her pen on the paper. “If I were you, I would have wanted to know everything. I would be plenty angry, and I’d want to get even.”

  “I’m not a violent person.” Angela’s gaze dropped to Bree’s gun. She shook her hair off her face. “I’d like to go now. Last night was a terrible shock.”

  “We’d like a copy of the investigators’ reports,” Bree said. “To verify your statement.”

  Angela hesitated.

  Bree continued. “Unless you’ve been less than truthful.”

  “Or you have something to hide,” Matt added.

  “I don’t,” Angela snapped. She breathed, clearly weighing the risks and benefits. “I’ll forward you the reports.”

  After she potentially altered them?

  Bree shook her head. “We’d need them directly from Sharp Investigations.”

  Sharp Investigations would have photos and detailed data about Paul’s movements and liaisons. No matter how much the sheriff’s department preferred gathering all information themselves, they couldn’t re-create surveillance on a man who was now dead.

  Generally, facts that pass from a PI to an attorney are covered under the attorney’s client privilege. If Angela had hired the PIs directly, that wouldn’t necessarily have been the case. Either Angela was smart or she had an excellent divorce attorney. Maybe both. The sheriff’s department would have a hard time getting the document without her consent.

  Angela’s words became measured. “Then I’ll call my lawyer and have him give the investigator permission to forward you that information.”

  But not everything.