Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

Her smile faded. “None that I knew of, but she didn’t tell me everything.”

  “Tell us about your weekend in St. Louis.” The woman cop spoke again, flipping over a page in her notebook.

  Erika swiveled back toward her. What was she writing down, anyway?

  “We came to town for a concert.”

  “Who?”

  “Me and Joe Andrews and Jess . . . Jessica Lee.”

  “When did you arrive?”

  “Late Friday night. We stayed at my parents’ house. They were in Jeff City for the end of the legislative session. We bummed around on Saturday, went to the concert, met up with some friends on Sunday for brunch in the Central West End, and drove back.”

  The woman looked up from her jotting. “We appreciate your willingness to answer questions. I expect this has been a trying time for you, given the outcome of your husband’s trial.”

  So they knew about Jack.

  What else did they know?

  “I’ve had better days.”

  “Before we leave, is there anything else you can think of that might be helpful?”

  So they didn’t have all the answers.

  Yet.

  But the chief’s tone made it clear she intended to find them.

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  The woman closed her notebook and stood. So did the man. Both of them withdrew cards and handed them to her. The cardboard stock stuck to her clammy fingers like glue.

  “We’d like to give some closure to Alena’s mother.” The detective guy—McGregor?—edged in on her. She had to tip her head back to see his face. “It has to be difficult for her, wondering what happened to her only daughter for all these years.”

  Erika crumpled the cards in her fist. “Yeah.” She’d tried not to think a lot about that. Jess had told her to put it from her mind. What happened hadn’t been their fault. Not directly. Who knew Alena would get high so fast and act stupid?

  “Was she a nice girl, Erika?”

  At the police chief’s soft question, moisture clouded her vision. It was easier to hold on to her emotions when the woman was more brusque and businesslike. “Yes, in a sweet kind of way. But she was out of her element, you know? She didn’t fit into American life, and she missed her family. She was counting the days until she could leave, and she was kind of depressed because she didn’t think she’d done a very good job representing her country. I tried to cheer her up by including her in stuff, like taking her with me when I went out with my friends.”

  “Was she depressed on that Friday night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you think about inviting her to go with you for the weekend?”

  A warning light began to strobe in her brain.

  “No!”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?” Her inflection was casual, but the question wasn’t.

  She was digging.

  Setting a trap.

  And Erika wasn’t about to get caught in it.

  She tried for a careless shrug. “I already had one girlfriend along. I didn’t need two chaperones—or more competition.”

  “Hmm.” With that noncommittal comment, the woman slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, her expression neutral. “Thank you again for your time. We may be in touch if we need any additional information.” She walked toward the front door, and the tall detective fell in beside her.

  Erika trailed along behind them, stopping in the middle of the foyer as they let themselves out. The cold from the marble seeped into her toes—and her heart.

  A shiver rippled through her.

  Those cops suspected something—and that woman police chief didn’t seem like the type who gave up.

  Neither did the detective.

  They both had relentless eyes.

  Legs shaky, Erika crept to the window and steadied herself on the solid grandfather clock beside the front door. She lifted the drape slightly and peered out.

  Her two visitors were talking at the end of the walkway, but as she watched, they drew apart and headed toward separate cars.

  They were leaving.

  But unlike her felon husband, they’d be back.

  It was time to call Jess.

  Mac pulled into the Starbucks lot, Lisa on his tail. Considering how quickly she’d agreed to his suggestion about regrouping here, she must be as anxious to get his take on their meeting with Erika as he was to get hers.

  She swung into the spot next to him and was already waiting, files and notes in hand, as he slid out of his car and set the locks. She looked great today, with the sun setting off those fiery sparks in her hair and her fitted, dark jacket hinting at the curves beneath.

  Could he stall for a few more seconds and just enjoy the view?

  “Ready?”

  Apparently not.

  “Yes.”

  As they entered the shop, he homed in on the solitary unoccupied table in the far corner. “If you grab that, I’ll get the drinks. What would you like?”

  “I can get my own . . .”

  A man toting a computer case pushed through the door behind them, eying the table.

  “A bottled water is fine.” She called her order over her shoulder as she made a beeline for the table, cutting off the other guy. He flung her a disgruntled look.

  Grinning, Mac got in line and placed their orders.

  By the time he joined her, she was tapping her finger against the tabletop.

  “I’m getting the distinct impression patience isn’t your strong suit.” Smiling, he took the seat opposite her and sipped his Americano.

  “Guilty as charged—especially when I’m on a case.” She leaned forward, her eyes intent. “So what did you think?”

  “I think Stan Breton is right. She knows more than she’s telling. And her body language spelled fear in capital letters.”

  Lisa twisted the cap off her water. “I agree. Her flustered reaction when I called her on the bones comment was revealing. And based on several other missteps it was clear she’s forgotten the details of her original script for the events of that night.”

  “I expect she’ll alert the other two about our visit.”

  “That would be my guess.” Lisa took a swig of water. “And that’s okay. Keeping people off balance, wondering what’s coming next, can work to our advantage.” She opened the file folder on the table. “Since I didn’t have a chance before our meeting with Erika to bring you up to date on her companions that night, do you want the quick and dirty now?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Let’s start with Joe Andrews, the Rhodes Scholar. He majored in economics at Mizzou and went to Oxford to study mathematical modeling. One year into the program, he dropped out and relocated to Paducah, Kentucky, where he now works for a small accounting firm as an auditor.”

  “Not the kind of career you’d expect from a Rhodes Scholar. Does he have a family?”

  “No. He never married.”

  “And Erika smokes and drinks too much.”

  “I know what you’re thinking—two people haunted by their pasts . . . and perhaps by guilt. But that model doesn’t hold for Jessica Lee.”

  Mac sipped his coffee as Lisa gave him a rundown on the woman’s accomplishments.

  When she finished, he set his cup down. “You’re right. She’s at the other end of the spectrum—a high achiever with a successful career at a prestigious company. Should I assume, since she has the same name she had in college, that she never married?”

  “No. That’s where things get more interesting.” Lisa flipped to the next page in her file. “She was married to Dr. Charles Turner, a widower, for three years. He died five years ago of a heart attack. Going back further than that, Jessica’s father was an alcoholic with a DWI, according to St. Louis police records. The family lived in a South City flat—not a great area, if you haven’t already discovered that during your short tenure in our fair city. Her mother died young, and her father lost his sales job. From what I could piece together,
Jessica spent her teen years working a fast-food job to try and keep a roof over her and her younger brother’s head.”

  “That’s a lot of intel. You’ve been busy since I last saw you.”

  “I like a case I can sink my teeth into.”

  “This one qualifies. So Jessica Lee had a tough youth.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it got tougher after her kid brother, Jason, died of a drug overdose and her father disappeared, leaving her to fend for herself at age seventeen.”

  “A history like that could lead a person down a very rocky road.”

  “Or provide the motivation to create a smoother one.” She took another sip of water. “It might also harden a person. Make them pragmatic about dealing with harsher realities.”

  “Like disposing of a body?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I’m just throwing out theories here.”

  “And they all make sense. The problem is, we’re still in the same boat as Stan—shy of hard evidence.”

  “So far.” She set the bottle down and once more leaned toward him. A fresh scent wafted his way, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from bending closer for a better whiff. “But I found something else interesting. Ron and Marjorie Wright, who owned the property where the bones were discovered? They were next-door neighbors of Erika’s parents twenty-four years ago.”

  This lady was good.

  “I’m impressed.”

  She brushed off his compliment with a flick of her hand. “Don’t be. It’s the same neighbors who told Stan about seeing the three students in St. Louis the day after Alena disappeared.”

  He squinted. “I read Stan’s interviews. How did I miss that connection?”

  “I missed it the first time too. Marjorie Wright’s first husband was Ed Kraus. Stan’s interview was with Marjorie Kraus. She changed the title on the property when she remarried after Ed died. The first name didn’t register until my third reading. I figured it was coincidence, but went ahead and checked it out. Surprise, surprise.”

  “That puts a different spin on things.”

  “Yep. Erika could have known about their property.”

  “Why didn’t you bring that up with her earlier?”

  She tapped her empty water bottle on the table. “I never play all my cards at once.”

  “Meaning you intend to talk to her again?”

  “Oh yeah. But Jessica’s next on my list.”

  He finished off his coffee. “Can I join that party?”

  “You sure you have time?”

  No, he didn’t. He and Mitch had some follow-up to do on the home burglary case, and the list of people he had to track down and interview from last week’s homicide continued to grow.

  But he wasn’t about to miss this.

  “I’ll make time. Are you planning to show up unannounced, like we did at Erika’s?”

  “I don’t know. It won’t be as easy. Erika’s probably already tipped her off, so we’ve lost the element of surprise. Besides, she lives in a high-rise with a secured lobby.”

  “If you set up an appointment, she’s going to want it at a time and place of her choosing. It might not be bad to just drop by her office. The pressure of having to explain to co-workers why police are talking with her could throw her off balance, put her on the defensive. People trying to cover their tracks on the fly often make mistakes.”

  She gave him a speculative look. “I like the way you think. You want to pay her a visit tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t we touch base first thing, see how our schedules match up?” She closed the file.

  “Works for me.” He reached for her empty bottle.

  “I can get that.” She reached for it too—and her fingers connected with his.

  She didn’t pull back.

  He didn’t, either.

  “This electricity thing . . . it’s potent.” His words came out hoarse as he locked gazes with her. No sense dancing around the obvious.

  “Yeah.” Her voice was ragged too.

  After a few moments, she retracted her fingers.

  He closed his around her water bottle.

  “I’ll get rid of these.” He stood and crossed to the trash container, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser to wipe his perfectly clean hands—and buy himself a few moments to regain his equilibrium.

  Potent didn’t even begin to describe the electrifying connection between the two of them. It almost had a life of its own.

  He looked back at Lisa. She was angled away from him, attempting to zip her purse.

  It took her three tries.

  At least he wasn’t alone.

  And while personal matters were on hold until this case was solved, he was looking forward to seeing what happened afterward.

  Because the way sparks were already flying, this thing was likely to heat up.

  Fast.

  12

  Jessica advanced the PowerPoint presentation to the next image and surveyed the group assembled in the conference room. Every single member of the strategic planning committee was focused on her, as they had been throughout her presentation—including Robert Bradshaw.

  And why not?

  She was smart, savvy, professional, and polished—and this was where she belonged. Up front. Leading the group.

  Her power outfit didn’t hurt, either. The Italian-made silk gabardine Ralph Lauren jacket and slacks were class personified, especially when paired with a black cashmere tank and Hermes scarf. The combination of elegance and subtle sexiness made it a perfect presentation outfit. The women admired the clothes, the men admired the body . . . and all of them envied her status as the chosen one.

  Life didn’t get much better than this.

  She aimed her laser pointer at the screen. “As you can see from this chart, in the past five years, new-client revenue has grown steadily, accounting for 28 percent of our total corporate revenue and increasing profits by 15 percent. Our outreach to clients in Europe has been very successful, and we’ve also broadened our base in the US. The plans I’m outlining today will ensure new-client growth continues.”

  As she pointed the remote to click to the next image, the chief financial officer spoke.

  “Those numbers are impressive, Jessica—but we’ve also been racking up some serious expenses.”

  “Wooing customers does cost money, Gary.”

  He consulted a paper in front of him. “I realize that. But the first-class flights, high-end hotels, expensive meals, and lavish client entertainment are cutting into the revenues you’ve highlighted. The bottom line could be as much as 10 or 12 percent higher if we curtailed some of those expenses.”

  She held on to her pleasant expression despite the surge in her blood pressure. “Of course we don’t want to be ostentatious, but we have to remember that the kinds of clients we’re pursuing are major players in industry.” She used her well-practiced conciliatory tone. The one that usually defused dissent. “They’re used to first-class treatment. If we want to play with the big boys, we have to act like the big boys and spend like the big boys.”

  “I understand the need to invest in new business.” Gary adjusted his glasses but didn’t break eye contact. “I’m just suggesting we cut some expenses that aren’t related to client entertainment. For example, a business-class ticket is less expensive than first class.”

  What a penny-pinching jerk.

  But Robert liked him.

  Be nice, Jessica.

  She set the remote control down at the end of the long conference table, adopting a serious demeanor. “I have the utmost respect for your opinion, Gary—and I think we all appreciate the effort you make to ensure we keep our focus on the bottom line. Your suggestion about travel certainly has merit, though I must say, the excellent night’s sleep Robert and I had in first class on our recent flight to London was a great advantage. It allowed us to hit the ground running when we landed.” She addressed her next comment to the senior partner—her ally—and smiled. �
��And run we did, as I’m sure Robert will attest.”

  “Very true. And I, for one, was happy to have a decent night’s sleep on the flight over. However, your point is well taken, Gary. We don’t want to overextend. At the same time, we have moved into a different league in recent years, and we have to pay to play at this new level. Why don’t we monitor expenses, cut where we can, and revisit this in six months?”

  “An excellent suggestion, Robert.” Jessica picked up the remote control again. “Frugality is commendable—in moderation. As long as we don’t cut corners with our clients, I’m happy to do my part to help control expenses.”

  And the first thing she’d do once she took over the reins of this company would be to push Gary out the door and hire a less highly compensated CFO. That would save a few bucks—and a boatload of aggravation.

  She advanced to the next screen shot. “Our US customer base at present is still heavily concentrated in the Midwest, but we’re making inroads in other parts of the country. I’ve developed a list of prospective clients headquartered on both coasts who would be an excellent fit for Peterson-Bradshaw.”

  The door at the back of the room silently cracked open, and her secretary peeked in.

  Jessica’s blood pressure edged up again. Had the woman not understood her instruction that she wasn’t to be disturbed under any circumstances?

  She angled away from her, sending what she hoped was a clear message. “As you can see, there are quite a few major . . .”

  A cough sounded in the back of the room.

  Everyone looked that direction.

  Jessica gripped the remote tighter. No way to ignore the woman now.

  “What did you need, Cathy?” With an effort, she managed to maintain a cordial expression and inflection.

  The woman’s complexion reddened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word with you? A situation has come up that . . . requires your attention.”

  Robert glanced at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t we take a break and regroup in ten minutes?”

  Before Jessica could instruct Cathy to delay whoever needed her until she was finished, the committee members were shuffling papers, pulling out their phones to check email, or heading to the credenza where coffee and Danish had been set out.