The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery (16 page)

“Yes.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“The day after the murder. I interviewed all the surrounding neighbors.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“He never said anything about the car to me,” Colin mumbled.

“Well, he told me and gave me the license number. I traced it back to the car rental company and was able to get the assistant manager to fork over the name of the person who rented the car. That’s a copy of his driver’s license.”

“He just handed it over? Without a search warrant or even a badge to flash?”

“Yes, you sound surprised.” She expected another jab at her inexperience.

“No, Emily, I’m impressed. You sound like a real investigator.”

“I
am
a real investigator,” she snapped back. “We all had to start somewhere—even you.”

“I’m sorry. I meant it as a compliment.” Colin offered her a smile, obviously trying to make amends for his condescending attitude. Emily did not respond with words—her disapproving glare should have been enough to tell him she didn’t appreciate it.

“So, what’s your next step?” he asked, taking a swig of his coffee and moving the conversation along.

“I need to find out why he was there, what his role was in the murder, if any.”

“I can’t believe it. I interviewed that old guy the night of the murder, and he didn’t say one word to me about seeing a car parked outside the house.”

“Maybe I’m just a little better at getting people to open up than you are,” she replied sarcastically, grinning at her triumph over him.

“I’m starting to wonder,” Colin said, playing along with her sarcasm. “But this guy is in New York.” He tapped his index finger on the copy of the man’s license. “How do you plan to find him and get your answers?”

“I’m still thinking on that one.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“Help how?”

“I have some police contacts in New York.”

Emily stared at Colin, wondering if she should accept his help. What would Alex think? He didn’t want the police to find out about this mystery man until he knew who this guy was and why he was parked at Delia’s house.
He’s going to be furious with me.

“I can see those little wheels turning in your head, Emily,” Colin said, making a circular motion with his finger. “What are you thinking?”

“Well,” she paused, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for not sharing everything she knew with him, or at least not sharing
yet
. “I think I have to do a little more digging before I can ask for your help.” She would need to talk with Delia about this man in the car, to try to read her reaction and get a sense if she had any connection to him. Alex’s comment about the possibility of Delia hiring the man to kill Ricardo stunned her at first, but once she recovered from the initial shock, she realized that it was a real possibility.

“What I’m after is the truth, Emily. I hope you know that.”

“I know.” But she also knew Alex would be livid if he knew she had shared anything with the new Paradise Valley detective.

Colin would probably shoot right over to Osterman’s house, she assumed, and get the license plate number himself as soon as she left. Then he’d figure out what car rental company that car belonged to and get the man’s name all on his own.

Maybe she wouldn’t talk to Alex just yet. If she dug up more information about the mysterious man in the car, maybe he would forgive her going around his back.

“I just need to check on something, and then I can let you know, okay?” She folded the paper and slipped it back into her purse. Then she stood up with the latté in her hand.

“I think I’ll pay old Mr. Osterman another visit and see what else he forgot to tell me,” Colin said, studying her features for a reaction. She kept a dead-pan poker face, not giving away the fact she was afraid he might do just that. “But, there’s no sense in me going through the paperwork and bothering a judge to get a search warrant for the rental company’s records if you’re going to hand it over today anyway, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you the rest of the day, Emily, but you have to get this information to me by five o’clock this afternoon, or I’ll have to go and get it for myself.”

“But, Colin—”

“Without fail,” he stressed.

“Got it.”

Chapter 13

Emily rang the doorbell at Delia’s elegant riverfront home. As she stood waiting for the door to be answered, she turned and looked back to the street, imagining the dark sedan parked under the street light. The man would have had a clear view of the large living room window, especially at the time of evening when it would have been dark outside and the house interior was illuminated.
Why was that man parked out there?

The door opened and Emily spun back around to see Marcela greeting her.

“Hi, I’m Emily Parker. Is Delia McCall home?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Marcela answered, with her thick Hispanic accent and her hair up in a neat bun. “Miss Delia went to her office, at least that’s what she said. Would you like to leave a message for her?”

Emily felt a little silly now. She should have called before she came, but she assumed Delia would be there.

“Uh, no. I’ll call her. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother.” Marcela took a step back and started to close the door.

“Wait!” Emily called out, realizing she had the opportunity to ask the housekeeper more questions. She just wasn’t sure what else she should ask.

“
Sí
, what is it?” Marcela asked, stepping forward.

“Marcela, I’m working for Ms. McCall, and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I already talk to police.”

“Yes, I know, but I’d like to talk to you, as well. You wouldn’t mind helping me, would you?

“No. Come in.”

She went inside and they sat around the breakfast table. Emily asked a few questions that she already knew the answers to, questions from the police interview. She hoped it would get the ball rolling and Marcela might say something she hadn’t told the police. It worked with Mr. Osterman, maybe it would work with this woman.

“Marcela, there was a man sitting in a car parked across the street around the time Ricardo was killed. Did you see the car?”

“No.”

Marcela’s response was too quick. She seemed a little nervous—but why?

Emily pushed the issue further. “His name is Harry Andropov. Does that sound familiar at all?”

“No.”

Emily questioned about the mystery woman too, but Marcela didn’t budge. She refused to give any additional details except that Ricardo kept telling the woman to leave or she would ruin everything.

“She would ruin everything? What do you think he meant by that?” Emily prodded.

“
No sé
. I don’t know.” Marcela shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe he meant Miss Delia would find out and divorce him.”

“The woman said she was pregnant?”

“Yes, she was very upset.”

“But you don’t know who she was?”

“No, I never see her before.”

“And you didn’t hear Ricardo use her name during their argument?”

“I don’t think so. If he did, I no remember.”

“Hmmm.” No further questions came to mind. “Well, I think that’s all the questions I have for now. Here’s my phone number.” Emily pulled a real estate business card out of her purse. “Don’t mind the real estate stuff on the card, there’s my cell phone number,” she pointed to the place on the card. “If you remember hearing the woman’s name, or anything else, please call me right away.”

“Is there a reward?” Marcela asked.

“No, but if I can keep Delia out of jail, you can keep your job. I’d say that’s a pretty good reward.”

* * *

Emily called Delia and found her at her office. She had gone back to work, trying to stay busy and regain some sort of normalcy while she awaited trial.

When Emily arrived, the receptionist recognized her and waved her back. Since it was about lunchtime and there was no one at the assistant’s desk, Emily went through the partially-open door to Delia’s office and found her standing with her back to the door, reading something on the credenza behind her desk.

“Hello, Delia,” Emily said brightly.

The woman turned around and Emily saw it wasn’t Delia after all—it was her assistant, Anna.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were Delia,” Emily apologized.

“That’s all right. People make that mistake all the time. Delia just stepped out to grab something from the break room, she’ll be right back. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” Anna closed the folder she had been flipping through and walked out of the office.

People make that mistake all the time
? Something about that statement struck a nerve, and Emily turned it over in her mind a few more times. She definitely looked like a younger version of Delia, especially from behind.

“Emily, sorry to keep you waiting.” Delia walked in with a container of yogurt and a spoon.

“No problem. I’ve only been here a couple of minutes.” Emily rose from her chair and closed the office door, hoping for more privacy, with Anna’s desk located just outside the door.

“What’s up?” Delia asked, sitting down behind her desk. “You look so serious.”

“Well, a couple of things.”

“Shoot.”

“First, I found out that one of your neighbors saw a car parked across the street from your house the night of the murder. There was a suspicious-looking man sitting in it.” Emily watched Delia’s face closely. Not even the slightest micro-expression flashed to indicate she was aware of this fact. Emily’s sales training had imparted the knowledge needed to read her property buyers and sellers for signs of emotions, motivations, and preferences. She was quite an expert at analyzing—faces, eye movement, body language, and voice inflections—either Delia had the best poker-face Emily had ever seen or she simply didn’t know anything.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Delia asked flatly.

“I’m not totally sure, yet. Do you know a man by the name of Harry Andropov?” Again she watched for the smallest reaction.

“No, doesn’t ring any bells. Who is he?”

“He was the man in the car. I’m trying to figure out if he had anything to do with your husband’s murder.”

“I see.”

“Now, Delia, don’t get mad at me, but I have to ask you—”

“What?” Her eyes got big.

“Did you hire Harry Andropov to kill your husband?”

Delia’s chair flew back as she shot up, slapping both her hands on the desk. Her eyes flashed with indignation. “How dare you ask me such a thing!”

“Calm down.” Emily motioned up and down with both her hands. “I needed to see your reaction.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I like you, Delia, I consider you a friend. But, I had to know for myself that you did not hire this man to murder your husband.”

“How can you even ask that?”

“Because the police and the prosecuting attorney will.”

“What? They know about the man in the car?”

“They will soon, if they don’t already. We can’t have any surprises, Delia.”

“Well, I can honestly tell you I don’t know anything about that man.”

Emily thought about it for a moment, biting her bottom lip, trying to process Delia’s reaction. “I believe you.”

“So, what’s the other thing? You said there were a couple of things.”

“Well, I’m not sure how to say this, Delia?”

“I’m a big girl, Emily. Just say it.”

“Okay. Do you think Ricardo could have been having an affair with Anna?”

“My assistant?” Delia looked incredulous, raising her eyebrows at the thought. “What makes you ask that?”

“Your housekeeper said she saw a woman come to the house the night Ricardo was killed, a young woman with shoulder-length dark hair, about five seven, slim build. She heard them arguing about having an affair and the woman wanted Ricardo to leave you.”

Emily wrestled with telling Delia about the pregnancy and decided to put it off. That would be too much for her to deal with on the heels of learning her assistant was sleeping with her husband.

“Alex told me that yesterday when I was at his office, it never dawned on me that it might be Anna. Do you have any proof?”

“No, not yet, but I think I know how I can find out if it was Anna or not.”

“How?”

“Do you know Anna’s home address?” Emily asked.

“No, but I can get it from the accounting department. Let me just give them a call.” Delia phoned and asked for Anna’s address from her payroll records. She wrote the address on a note pad and tore the sheet off. “Thanks, Susan,” she said before hanging up.

“There you go,” Delia said as she handed the slip of paper to Emily.

“Thirty-four hundred Front Street, number three fifteen, Boise,” Emily read aloud. “Exactly what I thought.”