The Scent of Lies

by Debra Burroughs

  Feeling disappointed but undeterred, Emily knocked on the door of Albert Osterman, an elderly gentleman with bowed legs, thin gray hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. He waddled as he stepped out onto the wide porch and seemed more than happy to tell her everything he knew.

  He sat down on a crisp white rattan settee, motioning for her to take the matching chair next to him. Emily happily complied, eager to take down his statement. “I called the police on the evening of the murder, told them I’d seen something and they better come check it out. They sent a young detective out this way to interview me that very night.”

  Albert beamed with pride. “I explained to the detective that I was out walking my dog—the little guy needs his walk, same time every evening, rain or shine, won’t quit barking until I get my shoes on—”

  “Mr. Osterman?” Emily interjected to steer him back on track.

  “Right, anyhow, that’s when I noticed movement in the front window of the Vega-McCall house. The living room faces the street, you know, so I stopped for just a moment to see what was going on—not because I’m nosy, just a concerned citizen.”

  “Of course,” Emily agreed.

  “The two were going at it like cats and dogs, screaming at each other,” he said. “Then she slapped him and he slapped her back.”

  Emily scribbled everything he was saying into her notebook as fast as she could write. “Then what?”

  “Then he turned and looked straight at me, so I skedaddled.”

  “And you’re sure it was Ricardo Vega?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Like I said, he looked straight at me.”

  “And who was he arguing with?”

  “His wife, of course.”

  “So she looked at you too?”

  “No, but it was a woman with dark hair down to her shoulders. That’s what his wife looks like. I’ve seen her many times.”

  “Do you remember what she was wearing?”

  “Is that important?”

  “It could be. I want to get all the information I can.”

  “Well, let me think.” His eyes searched upward as he scratched his whiskered chin. “Oh, yes, I think it was some light color, like white, or tan, or something like that.”

  “Anything else, Mr. Osterman?”

  “Oh heavens, dear girl, you can call me Albert.”

  “Okay, Albert, do you remember anything else?” Emily questioned, her pen poised to write any new bit of information down.

  “Well, now that I think of it, there was something else. Heck, I forgot to tell the nice police detective when he was here—it just came to me. It’s terrible getting old, you know.”

  “Yes, Albert, I’ve heard that. Now, tell me, what else do you remember?”

  “Well, there was a car parked across the street—a dark sedan—maybe black. No, no, dark blue. Oh, heck, I’m not sure. And I couldn’t tell you what make or model, they all kind of look the same these days.”

  “Was there anyone in the car?”

  “Yes, a man. Dark hair, I think. Middle aged, maybe.” He squinted as he tried to recollect. “I don’t know. It was hard to see inside the car and he slid down a bit in the seat when he saw that I noticed him. So, I turned and looked at the license plate number once I was out from under the light of the street lamp. I didn’t want him catching me staring at his car. I said the numbers out loud over and over again until I got home. Then I wrote them down.”

  “You could see the license plate numbers in the dark?”

  “My mind may be fading, girl, but my eyesight is still pretty sharp, especially when I’m wearing my glasses, which I was. Besides, it wasn’t that dark with everyone’s front house lights on and the car was parked near the street lamp.”

  “And you said you wrote down the license number?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Well, now, let me think where I put that little note pad,” Albert muttered as he stepped back into his house. Emily stood at the open door, not having been invited in. She could hear him rummaging through things in the kitchen.

  “Here it is,” he said, waving the note pad in the air as he walked back toward the open front door.

  She copied down the license plate numbers in her notebook and stuck it in her oversized purse. “Thank you, Albert, you’ve been a big help.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, young lady. Now, you make sure you tell the nice detective about that car, all right? That’ll save me a phone call.”

  “You can count on it.”

  Chapter 11

  “Hello?” Emily stood in the open doorway of Alex’s office. His secretary had already gone home for the day.

  “Hey, Emily, come on in.” Alex waved her in then finished typing something into his computer. “Did you learn anything from the neighbors?”

  “Actually, I did. One of them, an elderly man, told me he had called the police that night to report he’d seen something. The man said a detective had already questioned him. I’m assuming it was Colin.”

  “Yeah, I read that in the file you dropped off.” Alex opened the file and flipped to the report the detective took from the neighbor. “It says he saw Ricardo and Delia arguing loudly and then they slapped each other. The time would have been shortly before he was killed. That’s not helpful for Delia.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t make Delia look good. But, what if I told you that wasn’t all he saw?”

  “What do you mean?” Alex looked up from the file papers.

  “If that’s the same neighbor, Albert Osterman—”

  “It is.”

  “Well, he told me he never saw the woman’s face, so I was thinking it’s impossible to prove it was Delia.”

  “Yes, but it makes sense that a woman with long dark hair, medium height, and slender build in that house would be Delia, doesn’t it?” Alex asked. “Although, now that you bring that up, I believe the housekeeper said there was another woman that came to the house and she saw her arguing with Ricardo before he died.”

  Alex looked in the file again, finding Marcela’s statement. “Yes, that’s what she said. So, it could have been her and not Delia. Any idea who the other woman might be?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll keep digging,” she assured him. “Oh, and another thing—I think you’ll find this very interesting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mr. Osterman told me something he says he forgot to tell the nice detective—his words, not mine.”

  “What?” Alex said, leaning forward in his chair.

  “He said he noticed a dark car parked across the street from Delia’s house with a man sitting in it at the same time he saw the fight in the living room window.”

  “Really? What else did he say?”

  “He said he memorized the plate numbers on the way home and wrote them down when he got there. He showed me his note pad and I copied the numbers down.”

  Alex’s eyes lit up and Emily could see he was getting excited by these new facts. “You don’t think that was a coincidence, do you? I mean, that guy sitting in the car across the street the very night Ricardo was killed?”

  “Not likely, Em. And you said the police and the DA don’t know about this?”

  “No. Mr. Osterman is elderly and his memory isn’t what it used to be, but the fact he wrote it down on a note pad and wasn’t just telling me about it should give him more credibility as a witness, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but we need to find out who the car belongs to—” Alex started to say.

  “And who was watching the house, and why.” Emily finished his thought.

  Alex nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

  “I’m getting the hang of this thing.”

  “I hoped you would,” he said.

  “Aren’t you obligated to share this information with the DA’s office?” Emily asked.

  “No, the defense has no obligation for discovery.”

  “But if Colin knew to investigate the man in the parked car, w
ouldn’t that help to get the charges dropped against Delia sooner?”

  “Listen, Em, we need to sit on this information until we know what it means. What if we found out who he was and it was bad for our client?” Alex said. “We need to know the answers to these questions before we pass this information along.”

  “Bad for our client? Like how?”

  “Like what if Delia isn’t telling us everything?”

  “Oh, Alex. How can you say that?”

  “Take your rose-colored glasses off, Emily. People lie.” He raised his voice a bit, catching her off guard.

  “I know people lie—believe me, I know.” She fidgeted restlessly with her empty ring finger.

  “Think about it for a minute,” he said. “If Delia did do it, would she tell us?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Or what if she hired that man in the car to kill her husband, and she took the long bath with her music blaring, claiming she didn’t hear anything, so she would have an alibi? With her housekeeper to back up her story?” Alex proposed.

  “I guess anything’s possible,” Emily replied, a little deflated in her trust in Delia. “So let me ask you then, what do we do if I can’t find out who the man was?”

  “Then you’d be off the case and I’d have to call in one of my experienced investigators,” he said. “I’m sorry, Em.”

  She looked him in the eye as her jaw clenched and her stomach tightened. That was the last thing she wanted. She needed to prove herself on this case or go back to trying to sell real estate.

  “I’ll find out, Alex, one way or another,” she promised.

  “Let’s hope you do, my friend, but it needs to be quickly.”

  “All right, then.” She drew in a deep, calming breath before proceeding. “Do you mind filling me in on what the DA’s file says they have on Delia, I mean besides the obvious thing about the housekeeper seeing her holding the bloody murder weapon?”

  “I don’t mind sharing, as long as you know everything is to be kept confidential.”

  “Of course, that goes without saying, Alex.” She rolled her eyes like a teenager.

  “The ADA’s file showed Delia’s initial statement, which was brief, as well as the housekeeper’s and Mr. Osterman’s reports. There was a forensic report stating the fingerprints on the murder weapon matched Delia and the housekeeper, which was what they had expected. Since Marcela did the cooking, it made sense her fingerprints would also be on the kitchen knife.”

  Emily sat on the edge of her seat, listening intently while Alex continued.

  “Then there was a photocopy of a hand-written note from Detective Andrews to Assistant District Attorney Laraway saying that he’d learned Ms. McCall had hired a private investigator to tail her husband, suspecting him of infidelity, which he was going to look into further, since a wife suspecting infidelity would be considered a likely motive.”

  “Do you think the assistant who copied this information from Miss Laraway’s file meant to copy the note, too?” Emily quirked a questioning eyebrow.

  “Good question. Probably not,” Alex answered with a chuckle, “but it does tell us that he knows about it.”

  Emily wondered how Colin knew Delia had hired her. Or was he talking about the time she had hired Evan before he died. I hope he doesn’t know Delia was having her husband investigated for embezzlement too. If he did, Colin, as well as the prosecutor, would jump right on that as another strong motive.

  “This statement from the housekeeper says Ricardo and another woman were arguing—which we already knew—and she says she heard the woman say she was pregnant and that he needed to tell his wife he wanted a divorce. That’s the first I’ve heard of this. I wonder if Delia knows,” Alex said.

  “If she does, she never mentioned it to me,” Emily answered.

  “That would definitely be considered a strong motive for murder at my house.”

  “Hello, anybody here?” Isabel called out from the reception area.

  “In here,” Alex shouted through the open door. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?” Isabel asked.

  “Just going over some things in the Delia McCall case,” Emily said, smiling up at her friend.

  “Anything I can do to help?” Isabel offered as she plopped into the other chair and kicked her shoes off.

  “Hard day, babe?” Alex asked.

  “It was a real barn burner, as they say.” Isabel let out a long sigh. “But you know I can’t talk about it. Just give me a second to relax and catch my breath, and I’ll be fine.” She leaned back in her chair, letting her long dark curls drape over the back of it, and then crossed her legs on Alex’s desk. “Okay, so tell me, what can I do to help?”

  “Do you remember when Emily was considering taking on an investigating job for Delia, she came over and talked to us?” Alex questioned.

  “Yes, I remember,” Isabel nodded.

  “And you offered to help Em with the investigation of Ricardo Vega’s financials to see if he was embezzling money from Heaven Scent.”

  “Yeah...”

  “Well, we need your help with that now,” Emily said, finishing Alex’s thought.

  “Okay, I could probably do some of it on the side, but it would be better if I check with my supervisor to see if we can make it an official investigation. Heaven Scent is a national company, right?”

  “Yes,” Emily replied, “it might even be international.”

  “There’s another thing too,” Alex said to Isabel. “The housekeeper’s statement said he was arguing with another woman at the house not long before he was killed. We need to find out who she was.”

  “You think she might be the murderer?” Isabel asked.

  “The timeline certainly fits,” he said.

  “The housekeeper said she heard them arguing over her being pregnant,” Emily stated.

  “Oh, my,” Isabel gasped.

  “I see it this way,” Emily said, her voice becoming deadly serious, “Delia knew he was having an affair, maybe more than one. I followed him to a condo building a couple of times, but I haven’t been able to figure out which resident he had been visiting there. That condo building could be where the woman that he was having the affair with lives, don’t you think?”

  Alex and Isabel both nodded in agreement.

  “If I give you the address, Isabel, maybe you could use your government resources to find out who the renters are in that building. I already have the list of owners, but I got nowhere with the building manager on the list of renters. The truth is the murderer could be on one of those lists.”

  “Sure, I can work on that. I know people.”

  “I figured you might.” Emily smiled.

  “What’s the address?”

  “Thirty-four hundred Front Street, in Boise.”

  Isabel keyed the address into the notes app in her smartphone just as Emily’s phone began to jingle in her purse. She pulled it out to see who was calling—it read PV Police. She suspected it was Colin calling, maybe to ask her to dinner again. She clicked it off.

  “Who was that?” Isabel asked.

  “I’m not sure, someone at the Paradise Valley Police Department.”

  “The very handsome and eligible Detective Colin Andrews?”

  “Maybe. He can leave a message.” Emily shoved the phone back in her purse.

  “It doesn’t sound like you want him to call you,” Isabel noted.

  “He’s just so, so—”

  “So what?” Isabel asked.

  “So infuriating, so condescending, so...” Emily shook her head in frustration, her loose curls dancing around her neck.

  “Sexy?” Isabel offered.

  “All right, that’s enough.” Emily jetted out of her chair, exasperated at her friend’s obvious attempt at match making. “It’s time for me to go home now.”

  “She’s got it worse than I thought.” Emily heard Isabel giggle to Alex on her way out.

  ***<
br />
  Driving home, Emily’s head throbbed with the piercing irritation that came from just thinking about Colin Andrews. With Isabel bringing him up like that, pointing out how sexy he was—it was her fault that Emily couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  Her phone began ringing again and she saw PV Police on the display again. Once more she clicked it to ignore the call.

  I’m just not in the mood, Detective Andrews.

  Emily drove a little farther and the phone began to ring once more. Irritated, she picked it up and answered it. “No, I won’t have dinner with you!”

  “How did you know I was going to invite you?” Isabel asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was someone else.”

  “Colin?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Okay, let’s try this again. Hello?”

  “Hi, Em. This is Isabel. Alex says he’s going to stay at the office and work late on another case, so I’m free for dinner if you are.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t say anything while I was there.”

  “I would have if you hadn’t bolted like you did. So, are you free?”

  “Actually, I am. Why don’t you come to my house and I’ll make some chicken stir-fry or something?”

  “You sure? We could go out.”

  “No, come over. I have something I’ve wanted to talk to you about anyway.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

  “All right, then. See you in a little while.”

  Emily ended the call and tossed the phone in her handbag. She had wanted to talk to Isabel about the contents of the safe deposit box ever since she’d found it. This evening she would have Isabel all to herself, and they could have a good talk about it in private. She appreciated Isabel as the level-headed friend in their circle, the one who looked logically at things and wasn’t all caught up in emotions and drama like the other two.

  Emily had the chicken and vegetables cut up and already in the wok by the time Isabel arrived, and the rice was steaming nicely on the stove.

  “Knock, knock.” Isabel slowly opened the front door.