by Peggy Webb
It dawned on her as she continued waiting that someone might have seen her entering the police station and could mention it to her mom. An unlikely scenario, but definitely possible and Cora was a devoted worrier. Paige started to send a text to her mom and realized she didn’t really know why Ronnie had called. Being vague would make things worse and a fib would be one more thing to keep track of, so she closed the app and hoped for the best.
Glancing around, she didn’t see any sign of Ronnie. She shifted her attention to her email app. She and Gloria Pelham, her father’s assistant, had reached out to dozens of people over the past few months, gathering anecdotes and pictures. Gloria had even managed to get her hands on some of her father’s more personal mementos, using the guise of helping him pack up his office.
The materials to finalize the event scrapbook were in her home office and she still had to make some tweaks to the slides and script for the video they’d been working on. She wanted it to be special, to honor his hard work and dedication to his clients and the firm. When he saw it, she wanted him to feel loved and appreciated. She wanted to put a beautiful cap on a stellar career.
And when the party was over, she wanted him to answer some serious questions about a few items she’d found in that box from his office. All her life she’d believed she could go to her dad with anything, anytime. Not this. Not right now.
There had been photographs of her father tangled up with another woman and an envelope with receipts from a hospital stay and doctor visits for psychiatric concerns when her mother should’ve been pregnant with Paige. Not a single statement from an obstetrician.
Her father’s assistant had explained the photos easily enough. Although Gloria couldn’t recall the name of the woman in the pictures, she remembered that the woman had worked at the firm for several months and earned a reputation for flirting with the executives. It was generally assumed that the woman had been let go after the holiday party when she’d been caught on camera draped all over Jack.
Gloria hadn’t seen the receipts and she seemed oblivious to what had shocked Paige. The woman in the pictures bore a striking resemblance to Paige. For as long as she remembered, she’d been told she resembled Jack’s side of the family, with his dark hair and blue eyes. But the more she studied those pictures, the harder it was to deny that she looked a lot like the woman hanging all over her dad.
Uncertain how to interpret any of it, she’d been surfing the web and making a few anonymous inquiries about how to proceed. At FamilySecrets.Life, a website known for straightforward articles and common sense advice on family dynamics and relationships, she’d reached out for suggestions on how to cope with unexpected family discoveries. The best advice so far had boiled down to starting that conversation when she was in a place to listen. Paige wasn’t in that place yet.
She couldn’t just walk up to her dad—she wouldn’t dare approach her mom—and ask if she was adopted. The receipts implied that was the only possible answer, and yet… What if there was more to the story?
And did that “more” play into her mother’s emotional issues? It had to be connected somehow. The timing was too close.
Only after spending time with friends, hearing their families tease and joke and tell stories, did she understand how often her mother avoided similar reminiscing. The one time Paige had worked up the courage to ask what had happened that left her mom so vulnerable to stress and emotional struggles, her father hadn’t volunteered much information. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity for him to admit she’d been adopted. If that was the case. Instead, he’d stuck with the story that starting a family had taken a toll on Cora emotionally and physically.
Thankfully, Cora had embraced motherhood wholeheartedly. The vast majority of Paige’s childhood had been bliss, interrupted by the brief bouts of depression that her family managed until Paige was old enough to join the team.
Normally patient in all things, Paige wasn’t doing herself any favors sitting here with her wheeling thoughts. She needed to get back to the immediate task list to mute the nagging questions that had to wait for a more appropriate time. She stood up and walked back to the information desk. “Could I leave a message for Detective Lewis, please?” Whatever was going on, she and Ronnie could catch up another time.
“Take a seat,” the officer said. “He’ll be right up.”
“I’m afraid I really can’t stay any longer,” she said.
“Paige!”
She turned, watching Ronnie stride into view. Tall and lanky, he hadn’t changed much since he led their basketball team to a state championship in his senior year. She remembered him as the friendly guy with the big smile who knew how to handle pressure. He’d never missed a free throw, no matter how tight the circumstance. She figured that trait served him well as a detective.
He wasn’t smiling this morning and he carried a tablet rather than a basketball. She took it upon herself to lighten his mood. “Wow. You look as handsome as ever,” she said, extending her hand to greet him.
The stern expression, punctuated by the crease between his eyebrows eased, and a flicker of warmth came into his deep brown eyes as he shook her hand. “Well, you haven’t looked too closely,” he replied.
When she did pause for a closer look, she thought the faint creases fanning from the corners of his eyes and the brackets around his mouth gave him character. Added to his authority and appeal. “I stand by my statement.” She beamed at him, determined to be cheerful.
“That’s the Paige I know, always looking for the bright side. I appreciate you coming in.” He turned back toward the bullpen. “I just need to have a conversation. Easier to do it here.”
“Sure.” She fell into step beside him. “How’s Diana?” she queried. He and his high school sweetheart were newlyweds as of Labor Day.
“Running herself ragged with updates for the house,” Ronnie replied easily. “She’s turned my bachelor pad into a home.”
“Good for both of you.”
“It is,” he admitted. He guided her down the hall and back to one of the small interrogation rooms. “Let’s talk in here.”
Her skin prickled with nerves. “What is this?” She stepped into a room that was varying shades of drab from the walls to the table and chairs to the floor. The only change in color palette was the big rectangle of reflective glass framed by cinderblocks on one wall.
“A conversation,” he said again. “Have a seat, Paige. Thanks again for coming in today.” He placed the tablet and a notepad on the table and took the seat across from her.
It was like something out of a television show and she wasn’t feeling like the hero. Her chest went tight and under the table her fingers locked around the strap of her purse. “Ronnie, you’re starting to scare me.” He couldn’t possibly think she’d done anything illegal. Didn’t the police come to the suspect in those situations? But he wouldn’t use city resources for a prank, either.
That furrow between his eyebrows returned. “Look, we’ve known each other a long time.”
“And we’ve been friends a long time as well,” she said. “Since school.”
“Yes, but this isn’t about being old friends.” His voice took on a distinct chill. “This is a case and I am a detective. Do not doubt for one second how serious this situation is. I have several questions for you and I encourage you to cooperate.”
A tremor rattled down her spine. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re not under arrest. This is just a conversation.”
His insistence on that didn’t match up with his tone or body language or anything else in this cramped room. “Then why aren’t we talking somewhere other than an interrogation room?”
“More privacy.”
She glanced to the dark window, not nearly convinced.
“Paige.” He rested his hands on either side of the tablet and sat back in the chair. “Can you please tell me where you were last night? Specifically where you were between nine p.m. and midnight.”
“I was home,” she replied. He knew her parents had built her house on their property. He and Diana had come to her housewarming and admired how cleverly the bungalow and landscaping were designed so it didn’t detract from their view of the marsh and the river beyond. “What is this about?”
He ignored her question in favor of his own. “Can anyone verify you were home?”
“I’m sure someone can,” she said, though she didn’t know that for sure. “My alarm system logs when I come and go. It was a typical night.”
“Meaning?” he prompted. “Walk me through it.”
Okay, this was weird. “I got home around seven-thirty after meetings all day for an event I’m working on. When I came home, I stopped at the main house to catch up with my parents. I do that most nights. Then I went on back to my place.”
“No visitors or calls after that?”
“My days of sneaking out of the house are long over, Ronnie. Detective,” she corrected quickly. His scowl made her quake inside. She didn’t appreciate being the object of the sharp, intense focus he’d demonstrated as an athlete. “I was in my home office last night working on a client until about eleven, but no visitors or phone calls.”
“Must be some event.”
“It is. You know how the holiday season is.” She didn’t want to volunteer more information on the retirement party unless she had to. Her dad had friends everywhere and she didn’t want his surprise ruined. “The property has security cameras from the front gate to the boathouse. Check those.”
Jack and Cora wanted her to have her freedom and independence after college. Cora just couldn’t bear for that freedom and independence to be more than a stone’s throw away. It wasn’t as though Paige didn’t want to sever the apron strings, but she was worried it could send her mom into a tailspin. After seven years, she supposed most people would feel stagnated or smothered with the arrangement. For Paige, it was a small price to pay to keep her mother happy and content.
“We will.” He leaned forward. “But we both know there are ways around those cameras,” Ronnie said.
What a low blow. It wasn’t fair for him to use their high school nonsense to undermine her character now. “Both. That’s a good word.” Her anger swelled, a welcome detour from the cold fear gripping the back of her neck. “You only know that because you snuck around in those days, too.”
He had the grace to look sheepish for all of a split second. “I’ve called your father in, too,” Ronnie said. “He’s in another interrogation room. We’ll be asking him to corroborate your timeline and alibi.”
“Alibi?” That grip of fear was back. She couldn’t suppress the shiver. “For what? Come on, you have to give me more information.”
He shook his head, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “This job surprises me all the time. I’ve learned some people never step a toe out of line until they do.”
“What does that even mean?” she demanded.
He flipped open the cover and slid the device across the table so she could see it. From his side of the table, he cued up a video. He pressed the arrow in the center of the screen. The image was a grainy, black and white view of a professional kitchen. From the angle, she assumed it was a security camera placed up high in a corner.
At first glance, there was nothing familiar about the location. Paige waited for something more to happen. Ronnie hadn’t arranged all of this without a reason.
A woman with pale hair pulled up high into a ponytail walked into the kitchen, a notebook in her hand. Paige swallowed as she recognized Melissa, the chef helping her with her dad’s surprise party. Melissa turned abruptly, dropping the notebook and raising her hands in the air. There was no audio, but she was clearly speaking to someone out of the camera’s view.
She tapped the screen to pause the video and looked up at Ronnie. “This is Melissa Renner’s kitchen?”
He nodded, then reached over and hit play.
A moment later Melissa crumpled to the floor, her hands clutching her midsection. Paige gasped and tears filled her eyes as she watched dark fluid puddling around the body, flowing slowly toward the floor drain. Even in black and white it was clear to Paige that the chef had been shot.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, doing her best to keep the sob in her throat from bursting out. Melissa was more than one of the best chefs in the city, she was a good friend. Paige shoved the tablet away. “I’ve seen enough.”
“No, no.” Ronnie grabbed the tablet and hit rewind then turned the device toward her again. “Keep watching.”
“I can’t,” she pleaded. “That’s my friend. And she’s…”
“She’s dead, yes.” Ronnie’s confirmation was colder than a wall of ice. “I want an explanation, Paige. And I want it right now.”
“I don’t know anything.”
He sat back. “She was murdered last night. Two bullets hit her, one ricocheted from a rib into her heart. Two other bullets were lodged in one of the kitchen walls.”
“Between nine and midnight?” she guessed, based on his question about her whereabouts.
“That’s what the medical examiner tells me,” he confirmed. “We have the time and location embedded in the video as well.”
“You can’t think I did this. She’s my friend.” Ronnie’s relentless expression didn’t waver. “I was working with Melissa. I sent her a text about desserts for an event while I was waiting for you.”
“Clever, but hardly enough to clear you.”
Clear her? What would make him understand? Her gaze slid to the glass. Ronnie had said her father was here at the station and if she could preserve the secret of the party she would. “I need her alive more than just about anyone else in town right now.”
“Is that so?” Ronnie braced his arms on the edge of the table. His head drooped for a moment before he pinned her with another hard gaze. “It’s better if you’re straight with me, Paige. Don’t make me run around in circles.”
“What are you talking about?”
He brought up the video again, his finger moving over the screen. He placed it in front of her once more. “Watch.”
Melissa’s body remained lifeless on the floor, but now a woman with dark hair was crouched at her side. The woman held a gun in one hand and pressed her fingers to Melissa’s throat and then her wrist, apparently checking for a pulse.
Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and in profile Paige noticed the dark-framed glasses. She wasn’t dressed in the uniform Melissa’s staff wore. In fact her low-cut dark shirt showed generous cleavage from this angle. Not typical attire for a person who belonged in Melissa’s kitchens.
Then the woman stood and, intentional or not, she turned toward the camera.
“What on earth?” Paige couldn’t make sense of it. That was her. She was looking at herself. But it wasn’t her. Finally she understood Ronnie’s hard-nosed attitude. Other than the thick-framed glasses, she might have been looking into a mirror. “This isn’t me. I don’t know what you’re up to, but this isn’t funny, Ronnie.”
“Detective Lewis,” he reminded her through gritted teeth. “This isn’t a stunt or a joke, I assure you. Don’t make this harder, Paige.” He sat down, looking earnest now, but she wasn’t buying it. “I didn’t go to your house as I would have with anyone else. I asked you and your father to come here to keep things as quiet as possible.”
Because everyone who knew the family well knew Cora had “episodes” occasionally. Paige wanted to spit nails. Betrayal sliced through her, left her feeling weak and exposed. Ronnie knew her better than this. How could he believe that she’d shot her friend? “This is not me.”
His jaw set. “When was the last time you were in this kitchen?”
She swallowed. “Yesterday.” Picking up the final round of dessert samples for her mom. It had been her last stop. “This isn’t me.” She lifted her gaze to his and realized her protests were falling on deaf ears.
“Stop. It’s you,” Ronnie said. “We have more evi
dence to back up the video. I’m good at my job and I’ll figure it out. So much easier for everyone if you come clean. Tell me what happened.”
“There’s some mistake.” She had to make him understand. Had to wake herself up from this impossible nightmare. She glanced back at the still image. Yes, that woman looked like her. Too much like her. “It must be some kind of trick.”
“Okay.” Ronnie folded his arms. “Who would want to trick the police and pin a murder on you?”
“I don’t know.” A weak answer, sure, but it was the truth. She couldn’t think of a single person who hated her this much.
“Why did you go see Melissa yesterday?”
“The event,” she whispered. “Her company is catering an event I’m organizing.” She blinked rapidly, her composure crumbling. “A week from Saturday,” she added in a whisper. Whatever Ronnie thought, she had zero motive to kill the chef in charge.
“Be smart here, Paige. You need to come clean.” He drilled a finger into the tabletop. “This is serious. A woman is dead and you’ve been caught on camera holding the gun as you check her pulse.”
“I can’t explain what I don’t know,” Paige said, her throat dry. “This video has been altered or edited or something. I was there yesterday, yes. And I was home by seven-thirty. Home all night.” She stared at the face identical to her own, baffled. “This looks bad but it just isn’t possible.”
“Looks bad?” Ronnie echoed. “I have you at the scene with the murder weapon.”
He was so stern. So sure. She was screwed. “N-not me.” She licked her lips, nearly asked for a glass of water. “Can’t you test my hands?” she asked as the thought occurred to her. “For blood or gunpowder or anything else you can think of. You’ll see I’m telling you the truth. I don’t even own a gun.”
He shook his head. “Your father does. In fact, a gun just like the one found at the scene is registered in his name.”
She had no idea if Ronnie was bluffing. Her dad did own a couple of guns and he went hunting with friends at least once a year. Paige had never been interested enough in the weapons or hunting to ask for details. “That’s my father’s business. I’ve never held a gun in my life.”