The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery
Read The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery Online
Authors: Debra Burroughs
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense
THE SCENT OF LIES
A Paradise Valley Mystery
By Debra Burroughs
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Published 2012
by Debra Burroughs
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Copyright© 2012
by Debra Burroughs
Table of Contents
Sneak Peek at Three Days in Seattle
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my amazing
husband, Tim, who loves me and encourages
me every day to do what I love – writing.
I also dedicate this book to my awesome
Beta Readers, Buffy Drewett, Cathy Tomlinson,
and Janet Lewis, who inspire me and help me
with their words of encouragement and critique.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive.”
~ Sir Walter Scott
Prologue
Life has a way of not turning out the way you had planned, of taking you down roads you had no intention of ever going. Moving in unexpected twists and turns, some bends in the road make you stronger, while others can destroy you.
* * *
The housekeeper gasped and split the air with a horrifying, ear-piercing scream as she burst in on the mister and misses. She discovered the wife, clothed in a creamy satin robe, with her dark wavy hair floating around her shoulders, kneeling beside her husband’s almost lifeless body, which lay on the plush living room floor.
The wife stared wide-eyed at the bloody kitchen knife in her hand.
“Help me,” the man whispered almost imperceptibly, terror shimmering in his eyes, trying to grab hold of her wrist.
“Ricardo,” she cried, shaking her head violently. “No! This can’t be happening.”
“Delia...” he gasped.
“Call nine-one-one, Marcela!” the misses ordered.
“Marcela,” the man hissed with his last breath.
“Oh, my God, Miss Delia!” Marcela stood paralyzed.
“For heaven’s sake, Marcela, go call the police!” the wife screeched. “I think my husband is dead!”
Chapter 1
“Babe, it’s time to get up,” Emily Parker muttered sweetly.
She had awakened to the brilliant morning light streaming in through her bedroom window and sleepily stretched her arm out to her husband’s side of the bed, searching for his warmth. At the sensation of the crisply cold sheets, her hand recoiled. Flipping back the covers, she sat up and shook her head. After all this time, she still caught herself reaching out for him.
It was late on a lazy Saturday morning. Sleeping in was so unlike her, but after tossing restlessly in the night, with imaginings of her late husband floating in and out of her mind, she hadn’t drifted off to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.
Now, after a quick shower, she stood in the middle of her overflowing walk-in closet, looking for the perfect outfit to wear for her celebratory lunch with her best friends. She surveyed the racks of clothes, unable to make up her mind. She glanced at his side of the closet. Everything was exactly as Evan had left it that final morning six months ago. Still, she had not yet been able to bring herself to get rid of his things—she had her reasons.
From time to time she would drape herself in one of his shirts or sweaters just to smell his scent and to feel him near. Today would be one of those times. Compelled as she was by her dreams, her need to feel close to him won out over her need to hurry, and she buried her nose in a navy blue hooded sweatshirt hanging on the rack. Breathing in the lingering trace of his rugged masculinity brought him vividly to her mind. She could not help herself—she still missed his crooked smile, the warmth of his strong arms wrapped around her and how glorious he made her feel when they made sweet love.
Emily pulled it off the hanger and shrugged it on, hoping for some emotional comfort. Then she zipped it up and stuck her hands in the pockets, surprised to feel the crackling of paper in one of them. She pulled out a small folded note. Her curiosity piqued, she opened it. In blue ink, the name Delia and a phone number was scrawled in the cursive penmanship of a woman.
As fast as the thought about this female possibly being Evan’s lover popped into her head, she pushed it right out again. She’d always had complete trust in him. They had been absolutely happy, until the horrible night he was killed. He’d never given her any reason to suspect he had ever been unfaithful to her.
Who is Delia?
She frowned at the note. Was she a client, an informant, a friend? A lover?
I’m just being silly.
Her cell phone beeped a reminder and she realized she had spent far too long wallowing in Evan’s clothes. Now she really needed to hurry and get dressed for the lunch date with her girlfriends. They were celebrating five years from the day they all first met and began what had grown into a close circle of friends. If she was late, they’d never let her hear the end of it.
She grabbed a pair of white slacks that she knew would show off her slim figure and added a silk turquoise blouse that everyone said set off her dazzling greenish-blue eyes and her head of tousled honey-blonde curls. Emily stepped into her trendy Espadrilles, grabbed her oversized leather purse, and flew out the door.
The girls had chosen the Blue Moon Café—the current hotspot in Paradise Valley—because of the trendy menu and outdoor patio with a breathtaking view of the river. Emily pulled her white Volvo sedan into the crowded parking lot. As she approached the front door, she spotted her party seated under a large blue umbrella at a table on the patio. It was a good choice. They could enjoy the breezy spring air and the sound of the rushing water flowing by while they toasted their anniversary.
Emily made her way through the bustling restaurant, lively with laughter and conversation, and as she stepped out onto the sunny patio, the girls were chatting away. “Hello, ladies.” She eased the empty chair out and tucked herself into the group.
“Emily, you’re late,” Camille Hawthorne pointed out. Camille was like a mother hen to the girls, being a bit older than the others, having a daughter in high school and a son in college. Her looks would not give her age away, though, and she wore her fiery red hair in a cropped and spiky style. But her husband, Jonathan, a sales executive for a local corporation, was the only one who could get away with calling her
Red
.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I got a little distracted and lost track of the time,” Emily apologized as she scooted her chair closer to the table.
“We were just concerned, Em. You’re never late,” Isabel Martinez added, tossing her long dark curls over her shoulder. As an FBI financial analyst, Isabel was matter-of-fact and to the point. Usually dressed in a business suit, she appeared relaxed in her jeans and designer t-shirt.
“Well, all y’all know, I’m the one who’s always late,” Maggie Sullivan admitted in her fading Texas accent, twirling a strand of long blonde hair around her finger. Truthfully, Maggie had a bad habit of being late for almost everything, except for appointments with her clients. As a fitness trainer, she was obsessive when it came to two things—her looks and her business. Emily always thought she resembled a blonde Barbie doll.
“You said it, not me,” Isabel replied to Maggie, while looking over the menu.
“Is everything all right?” Camille leaned over and asked Emily in her caring, maternal way.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Emily placed her napkin in her lap. “I was standing in my closet trying to decide what to wear and—”
“Yes, I’ve been known to stand there for half an hour trying to figure out what to put on,” Camille interrupted.
“Well, it wasn’t just that.” Emily’s gaze lowered briefly. “I couldn’t make up my mind so my eyes wandered over to Evan’s clothes hanging there, calling to me. Well, I just had this overwhelming desire to be close to him.”
“Oh, I see. Well, that’s understandable.” Camille grabbed hold of Emily’s hand, giving it a light squeeze.
“It probably sounds silly,” Emily turned to Camille, “but I smelled one of his sweatshirts and it brought a rush of memories back. So I put it on. The lingering scent of his clothes—it’s like he’s still there with me. I miss him so much, Cam.” She felt herself being pulled back into the moment and her hand fluttered to her chest as her eyes gazed out over the water. “It made me remember how I felt when he held me, when he kissed me...when he made love to me.”
“Oh my, Emily!” Camille giggled nervously, fanning herself with her napkin, as her face warmed to the tones in her red hair.
“The time just slipped away,” Emily said apologetically. Coming back to the present, she looked down at her menu, a blush of embarrassment heating her cheeks.
“You’ll never get over him if you don’t start letting go. It’s been six months, hon. Don’t you think you should start packing up his things so you can at least begin to move on with your life?” Camille asked. “Evan was a wonderful man, Em, really he was, but he’s been gone for a while now. You’re still here and you deserve to be happy.” Camille looked around the table for support. “Don’t you agree, girls?”
“Yes, Em,” Maggie agreed, “it is time you start havin’ some fun again, girl.”
“Maybe she’s not ready.” Isabel came to Emily’s defense. “Six months isn’t that long, really.”
Emily looked over at Isabel and gave her a smile of appreciation. “What I’m ready for is food.” She was also ready to change the subject. Her gaze flew around the busy patio. “Where’s our waitress?”
A young woman appeared at their table just in time to rescue her, pad and pen in hand. “Hi, I’m Katie. What can I get for you ladies?”
“I’ll have the sea bass.” Emily jumped in first.
“That sounds good,” Camille agreed, closing her menu and looking up at the young woman. “How is that prepared?”
“Uh, sautéed, I think,” she replied sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m new here.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Isabel said to the waitress, frowning at her fiery-haired friend. “She’s a chef. Can you tell? I’m sure however it’s cooked will be fine.”
“I guess you’re right, Isabel,” Camille conceded. “I will have the sea bass.”
“Just a garden salad for me, please, Balsamic vinaigrette on the side,” Maggie ordered. “I have to watch my girlish figure, y’ know.” She patted her flat tummy.
At thirty-six, Maggie was obviously proud that she still possessed the slender figure she’d had when she was a twenty-two-year-old starlet in Hollywood. As a young single mother, she had moved there from Texas with her little boy, trying to get her big break. Unfortunately, her big break never materialized. So, leaving her deadbeat husband behind, she and her son moved north to Idaho, where her brother and his family lived. She’d worked hard, learned all she could about fitness and training, eventually opening her own business as a personal trainer.
“Hmmm,” Isabel tapped her finger against her lips. “I’ll have the Kobe beef burger, and I’d like the seasoned oven fries with that.”