3 The Chain of Lies (33 page)

“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 he’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.”

—

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The Scent of Lies, A Paradise Valley Mystery: Book One?
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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.

She struggled to hold herself back and cling to the safety of the solid frame, torn between grief, terror, and rage. Nearly choking on the knot in her throat, she whispered a raspy and tearful good-bye. “I’m sorry, James, but I can’t go to prison. Not even for you. Good-bye.”

Her attention was pulled away as she picked up the sound of a car door slamming in the parking lot. Her thoughts flew to the police, who would certainly be coming. Images of them flashed through her mind—finding her there, digging into her background, arresting her. She couldn’t have that.

Her mother always told her that men would come and go, but no matter what, her top priority had to be to look out for number one.

Her instincts to save herself won out.

CHAPTER 1

“Who’s up for the Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed?” Emily Parker asked her cluster of friends as they stood on the sun-drenched sidewalk, watching the end of the Founders Day Parade. The music from the high school marching band began to die down as the last musicians rounded the corner, drifting out of sight.

Emily loved the parade and small town festivities in Paradise Valley, but most of all she loved the interesting women that made up her close circle of friends. After recently taking over her husband’s private investigation business after his murder, no one was more important to her than these three girlfriends were.

They had helped her through her devastating loss, not to mention her transition from real estate agent to lady PI.

A chorus of “count me in” and “me too” rang out from the group, with the exception of one loud dissenter.

“Eeew, fried bull testicles?” Maggie’s face screwed up in a look of disgust. She tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear and rolled her big blue eyes like a teenager half her age.