The Scent of Lies

by Debra Burroughs

  “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.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ricardo. Ricardo Vega.”

  “What gives you reason to think he’s cheating on you?”

  “He’s often gone to vague meetings and he’s evasive about them when I ask, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening. Occasionally, he smells like perfume when he comes home. Something doesn’t feel right?”

  “Couldn’t there be reasonable explanations for his actions too?”

  “There could be, if he wasn’t so distant and defensive with me. I can’t remember the last time we had—” Delia hesitated and dropped the volume of her voice to a whisper, “—you know, sex. There was a time when he couldn’t keep his hands off of me.”

  “Have you asked him about it?”

  “Yes, I’ve asked him straight out if there was another woman, but he adamantly denies it. But he has good reason to lie. He knows I would cut him off financially if I ever found out he was cheating on me.”

  “What about the missing money?” Emily’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Have you asked him about that?”

  “No,” Delia replied, shaking her head slightly.

  Surprised by the answer, Emily questioned in full volume, “Why not?”

  “Shhh, keep your voice down, please.” Delia’s eyes flashed around the coffee shop. “I haven’t asked because, if I get solid evidence that he’s embezzling money from my company, I want to have him arrested. If I had asked him about it, it might have tipped him off that I was on to him and he could have slipped away with the money he’s accumulated.”

  “I think I’ve got the picture. Do you mind if I give you an answer in a few days?” Emily asked. “I need to spend some time thinking about this.”

  “The sooner the better, my dear. I’ve already lost six months.”

  “Yes, why didn’t you just hire someone else to continue the case after my husband died?” It seemed odd that Delia would just let it drop and not pursue the truth with another investigator.

  “I was afraid to—the timing was bad, with the company expansion and all. I didn’t know who to trust. If Evan’s murder had anything to do with his investigation, or if word leaked out about the embezzlement, it could ruin my business.”

  “That makes sense,” she reasoned, “but if I decide to take it over, this investigation would certainly move a lot faster if I had the photos and evidence Evan had already gathered on Ric
ardo.”

  “It absolutely would,” Delia agreed, “but I have no idea what happened to them.”

  “I looked around Evan’s office a little this afternoon and didn’t come across anything with your name, or Ricardo’s, on it. I didn’t find anything that even showed he was working for you or that you had paid him.”

  “That’s because I paid him in cash, so there would be no paper trail.”

  “How much did you give him?”

  “Five thousand dollars, in two payments—twenty-five hundred up front and then another twenty-five hundred the day before he was killed. He’d been working on the case for a couple of weeks and told me he was planning to continue the investigation for a while longer.”

  “So that must be the five thousand in bills the police found in his desk. The detective thought he must have been into something shady because of that cash. I just couldn’t believe that.” A wave of relief washed over her to know the money hadn’t come from the sale of her grandmother’s diamond, either.

  Emily picked up her handbag and stood up to leave. “I’ll let you know in a day or two. This is a big decision for me, on many levels, and I need to make sure I am up for it. If I do this, I have to be all in.”

  On her drive home, Emily phoned Isabel, wanting her help to decide. With Isabel’s experience in the FBI, Emily trusted her opinion and advice, especially on this decision.

  “Hello, Emily,” Isabel answered brightly, obviously recognizing her number on her Caller ID. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, Isabel. First, I wanted to apologize for running out on our lunch today.”

  “You did leave us all a bit stunned, my friend.”

  “I know and I’m sorry.”

  “What was that about?” Isabel asked, letting a little giggle escape her lips.

  “I heard that,” Emily remarked. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No, it’s just Alex playing around. He was nibbling on my neck, and I was trying to shoo him away so we could talk. Tell me, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t really want to get into it right now. Can I come over tomorrow and talk?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you come for brunch, about ten?”

  “Great. Sounds yummy, I’ll see you then.”

  Chapter 3

  Emily had wrestled through the night over whether to take on Delia McCall’s case or not. She’d had some experience helping Evan, but it had been limited and a few years ago at that.

  Although she did have a natural eye for detail and a proclivity for not letting go of something until it was resolved. It had helped her immensely in her real estate business—the housing crisis had made real estate transactions increasingly more complicated and difficult, wading through the maze of short sales and looming foreclosures. Still, she felt inadequate to live up to Evan’s tenacious reputation.

  Now, the bright morning sun woke Emily from her sleep. Feeling like she hadn’t rested at all, she turned a sleepy eye to the clock on her night table. It was nine o’clock already, and she was expected at Isabel and Alex’s house in an hour. She hopped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom, surprised that she had slept in, two days in a row.

  While she stood in the shower, enjoying the comfort of the warm water cascading over her aching, sleep-deprived body, thoughts continued to swirl in her mind. Was she up to the challenge Delia had put before her? She could definitely use the money and maybe it would help her find out what happened to her husband. That would certainly be a side benefit.

  She quickly toweled off, moussed and scrunched her curls, applied a little makeup and got dressed. Happy for a casual day with no appointments, she gladly slid into her jeans and pulled on a comfortable shirt. No heels today, she chose flip-flops instead.

  Before long she was parking in front of her friends’ two-story home in one of the newer high-end neighborhoods of Paradise Valley. As beautiful as their house was, Emily still preferred her bungalow-style home down in the older, more picturesque part of town.

  As she strolled up the walkway, the front door swung open and Isabel ran out to meet her, welcoming her with a warm smile and a hug. “I’m so glad you came, Em. You sounded so serious last night, I was worried about you.” Isabel slipped her arm around Emily and guided her inside.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just want to talk something through with you and Alex—you know, get another opinion.”

  “Follow me back to the kitchen, Em. I have to take the muffins out of the oven.”

  Alex was seated at the breakfast table, awash with sunlight, a large mug of coffee in his hand as he peered over his Sunday paper. He looked casual and relaxed in his polo shirt and shorts, a nice change from the business suits he wore to work as an attorney.

  Emily remembered how handsome she’d thought Alex was when Isabel had first introduced them several years back. Now, as he sat reading the paper, he was still a handsome man, in spite of putting on a few pounds and a bit of gray peppering his temples. Isabel was a lucky woman. Emily’s heart twinged at her own loss.

  “Hey, Emily,” Alex greeted as she entered.

  “Hello, Alex.” Emily flashed a quick smile before turning her attention back to Isabel. “Do you need any help?”

  “No, I have it all covered. The muffins just came out of the oven and need to cool a little. I think the frittata needs a few more minutes, and the fruit is already sliced up.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Emily said, as she watched Isabel flit about her kitchen with precision.

  “Alex already set the plates, silverware and glasses out, and I think everyone can pour their own drinks. So, as soon as the frittata is out and cools a bit, we can grab our plates and eat.” Isabel’s words took on speed as her gaze darted from the oven to the center island to the round glass-top table.

  “Okay, Isabel, just take a breath,” Emily suggested. She knew her friend was a stickler for details and timing and could easily obsess over them. Sometimes she just needed a friendly reminder to slow down.

  Isabel stopped, raised both hands in surrender, and took a couple of deep breaths. “Thank you, Emily. I needed that.”

  Alex chuckled, but kept his eyes riveted on his newspaper.

  “We have a few minutes before we eat. What did you want to talk about?” Isabel took a seat at the table.

  Alex folded his newspaper and set it down. Leaning forward in his chair, he crossed his arms on the table, signaling he was ready to give Emily his full attention.

  “This will probably sound strange,” she began, “so prepare yourself.”

  Alex and Isabel looked at each other quizzically.

  “Someone wants to hire me as a private investigator to finish one of Evan’s old cases.”

  “What?” Isabel exclaimed. “But you’re a real estate agent.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Do you think you can handle it?” Alex asked. “It can be pretty dangerous work at times.”

  “It’s mostly following the client’s husband to see if he’s fooling around with another woman. I don’t think this case would put me in danger. Unless—”

  “Unless what?” Isabel said.

  “Unless this case is the reason Evan was murdered,” Alex pointed out. “That is what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I mean, I don’t know that, but the timing is curious.”

  “She could carry a gun,” Isabel suggested.

  “Do you?” Emily asked her.

  “Of course. I work for the FBI. I often carry a gun...and not just for work.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Emily asked, taken by surprise. “How did I not know that?”

  Isabel shrugged. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

  “Actually, yes. Evan and I went to the shooting range quite often. He wanted me to become familiar with guns since we had them in the house. I was actually pretty good. Since he died, though, I haven’t practiced or even gone near my gun.”

  “It would be easy enough to get back o
ut to the shooting range for some practice, but what about the other parts of the job?” Alex asked. “No offense, Emily, just playing devil’s advocate here, but do you know anything about investigating?”

  “I did help Evan on a few of his cases, before I became a Realtor, and there were other cases he talked through with me. He didn’t really want that known, you know, that I helped him. He thought it would be safer for me if no one knew I was involved.”

  “Well, I certainly never knew,” Isabel said, glancing at Alex.

  “Me, either,” Alex added with a shrug.

  “I brought some of those skills with me into real estate, digging around, questioning clients to help collect information and uncover their motivations. If I could see that the husband made the decisions I could target his needs, tell him about the two-car garage or the basement ready to be turned into his man-cave. Vice versa if it seemed like the wife wore the pants in the family.”

  “Hmmm,” Isabel pursed her lips, “I never thought of it like that.”

  “So, yes, you could say I have some experience. Certainly an aptitude,” Emily explained, “and I still have Evan’s surveillance equipment. I just need a quick primer on how to use it.”

  “That would definitely help,” Isabel agreed.

  “Oh, and this will be of interest to you, Isabel,” Emily declared. “The client also suspects that her husband may be embezzling money from her company.”

  Isabel’s eyes lit up. That kind of investigation was right up her alley.

  “I thought maybe you could help me with that?” Emily raised her eyebrows along with her shoulders to illustrate her plea for Isabel’s help.

  “We can talk more about that once you decide if you’re going to go for it or not,” Isabel answered.

  “I guess the real question is, do you want to become a private investigator?” Alex asked. “It’s a risky business. Not to mention a constant reminder.”

  “No one knows that more than me, but I could certainly use the money.”

  “Aside from the money, Emily, do you want to do it?” Alex pressed.

  Emily paused and looked out the window, thinking about how she could help Delia find the truth, and in doing so perhaps find her own too. She slowly turned back to face her friends. “Yes, I do. I’m going to go for it.”