Deadly Intent

by Camy Tang

  The lines around Gloria’s mouth lengthened subtly, although she was trying to keep her expression still.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Reynolds. I shouldn’t listen to rumors,” he said.

  “There’s no truth in any of it,” she replied, a bit too quickly.

  “Of course not. Donald Reynolds has a history of making strong decisions.”

  She smiled stiffly.

  “Is your husband much acquainted with Augustus Grant?” It was a long shot, but there wasn’t much else he could milk out of this verbal sparring.

  To his surprise, Gloria gave a wider smile than she had since they’d entered her house. “We are not as closely acquainted as we’d like to be.” It seemed that she suddenly remembered Naomi’s silent presence, for she turned to her with that same unctuous smile. “We would love to invite your family to dinner at some point, Miss Grant.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.” Her voice could have been drizzled on a cinnamon roll. “I’m afraid we don’t understand the diamond industry very well, however. We are woefully uninformed.”

  Gloria gave a short, light laugh. “We wouldn’t invite you over to discuss business. We’d love to simply get to know you all.”

  Stranger and stranger. Naomi’s eyes met his with a wild confusion behind them, although she kept her expression firmly polite.

  “We’ve already taken up too much of your time, Mrs. Reynolds.” He rose to his feet. Naomi followed suit, hastily.

  “Thank you for stopping by.” Gloria spoke more to Naomi than to Devon. “And please let me know when would be a good day for your family to come by.”

  “With three sisters, our schedules are often very disparate.”

  “Well, I must say I’m especially interested in getting to know your sister Rachel much better. I believe I met her briefly at the Fireman’s Ball this past year.”

  Naomi’s smile hardened. “Yes, she might have mentioned that.”

  They said their goodbyes and as soon as the front door shut behind them, Naomi hightailed it to his car, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake.

  “Slow down. What’s wrong?”

  “She’s never met Rachel. We don’t go to the Fireman’s Ball.”

  “Maybe she was mistaken.”

  “Rachel is the real reason she suddenly changed tactics in the conversation. What could Gloria want with her?”

  “Do facial products have anything to do with diamonds?” Devon asked.

  Naomi’s step stuttered. “Diamonds.” Her face had gone white.

  “What is it?”

  “Rachel was working on top-secret formulations. Some involved carbon-based minerals.”

  “Diamonds.”

  “But Devon,” she said, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “No one is supposed to know about Rachel’s research. How would Gloria Reynolds know, unless…” She swallowed. “Unless she’s spying on the spa?”

  FOURTEEN

  “None of this adds up.” Naomi bit into a slice of cheese as she surveyed the wonderful view.

  They’d bought cheese, salami and fruit and driven to Lake Sonoma Winery, high in the foothills and several minutes north of Sonoma at the end of a winding road. The countryside spread out before them as they sat on the winery’s outside patio and ate their lunch.

  Naomi had suggested coming here. She loved this view, and after the undercurrents of tension and secrets from the interview with Gloria Reynolds, she needed to be here, to let the cool breeze fill her lungs and remove the shadows within her.

  “Gloria did know Jessica,” Devon said, popping a grape in his mouth.

  “And apparently Jessica said something disparaging about her husband’s diamonds. Perhaps there’s some truth to the rumor that he’s selling poor-quality stones.”

  “Jessica would have been able to tell poor quality. She knew her jewels.”

  “Perhaps that’s what they argued about.”

  “But is that enough for Gloria to want to kill her?”

  “I don’t know.” Naomi sat back in her patio chair.

  “Gloria also didn’t know Eloise Fischer. I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I do believe she was telling the truth there.”

  “That leaves us with nothing.”

  “And why take the necklaces? Jessica’s—rather, my mother’s necklace—wasn’t from Donald Reynolds. And from what Gloria said, she didn’t think much of Eloise’s pendant, so it was unlikely that was from her husband’s business, either.”

  Naomi shook her head. “My instincts are telling me that the necklaces are a ruse. The real motive was getting rid of Jessica and Eloise.”

  “Not to discount your instincts, but we don’t have proof of that. And to most people, those necklaces are still worth a great deal of money.”

  “And there’s truth in the rumors that the Reynoldses’ business isn’t doing very well, but they’re desperately trying to hide it.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you find it embarrassing?”

  “Yes, I would. I almost feel sorry for her,” Naomi said.

  “Maybe she really does have nothing to do with the two murders. She didn’t know who I was today—not when she saw me, and not when she heard my name.”

  “Or maybe the attacks against you are completely separate from the murders. Who have you upset lately?”

  Devon sighed and sat back in his chair, frustration clouding his face. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Naomi watched a hawk lazily circling in the sky. The conversation with Gloria today had been ultimately unproductive. What did they get out of it except more questions and more loose ends that seemed to lead nowhere?

  Her cell phone chirped. She checked the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Naomi Grant?” asked a gruff voice, with underlying oiliness making his words slick and hard to follow.

  She hesitated. Something told her not to answer him, not to confirm it.

  “It’s too late to try hiding, Miss Grant. I want my money.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If you play, you have to pay up. That’s what I told you when you came to me.”

  “Who is this? I’ve never met you.”

  Devon had straightened in his chair. “Who is that? What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “I hate liars as much as I hate thieves. And you’re a thief. Bet you didn’t think I’d find this number,” the man on the phone said.

  Her heart was pounding slow, hard, painfully against her chest. “I haven’t stolen anything from you.”

  “Ten thousand dollars ain’t nothing. I’m not a patient man.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “I want my money, or your pretty sisters will be strung up by their thumbs.”

  “You’ve got the wrong number.”

  “You’ve got three days.” Click.

  She dropped her cell phone, and a few pieces flew as it fell against the floor. Her heart throbbed as if a knife plunged into her with each beat. She gasped. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Naomi!” Devon’s face swam in front of her. “What happened?”

  “Someone…some man. Saying I stole money from him.”

  “What?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. I didn’t understand what he was saying.”

  “Maybe he got the wrong number.”

  “He called me by name.” She closed her eyes and clenched her chest. Oh, God. God, where are You?

  How could she believe in God’s strength and sovereignty? He could rip apart this net closing around her. Why didn’t He do it? Why was He forsaking her?

  My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

  Suddenly she was sobbing, her face pressed against Devon’s shoulder. Why wouldn’t God help her? Why wouldn’t He shine light in this darkness all around her? She was so afraid, and He wasn’t doing anything to help her, to let her know He was still there.

  And surely I am with you always, to the very
end of the age.

  Then why wouldn’t God show Himself?

  It hurt to pray. It hurt her heart. It hurt her spirit.

  The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.

  No. No, He wasn’t. He hadn’t, not yet.

  Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles.

  She remembered the hawk, its slow, patient circles. She wasn’t patient. Time was running out—she could sense it.

  The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “Where are You?”

  Devon held Naomi as if his arms were the only thing keeping her from shattering. Maybe it was true.

  He sensed that something deeper was going on inside her. Something more than the phone call, something harder for her to take. He wondered if her faith always stayed strong and solid, the way it seemed to with her family. Where was God now?

  Who are you to question her faith? You have none.

  But a part of him wondered. A part of him wanted to have faith.

  And a part of him just wanted to rebel against his opinionated, atheist father. He had to admit that.

  Maybe when this was over, he could ask her about her faith. Maybe he could talk to her aunt.

  And maybe her faith wouldn’t survive this.

  What was he thinking? Who was he to doubt her? Faith had carried countless thousands of Christians through hard times, grief, loss.

  Except that he only cared about this one Christian. And wished he could do something, anything, to help her.

  And that’s when he knew he was falling in love with her.

  She quieted and pulled away. She wiped her eyes, then vainly wiped at his damp shirt.

  “What happened? How can I help you?” he asked.

  She hiccuped. “I’m not even sure what happened. A man called. He knew my name. Said I owed him ten thousand dollars.”

  “Who was it?”

  She shook her head, and tears sprayed from her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That if I didn’t get him the money in three days, he’d hurt my sisters.”

  He picked up her phone from the floor. Pieces were broken off, but the screen lighted when he pressed a button. He jotted down the caller’s phone number.

  He pulled out his own cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Detective Carter.”

  “Again? He’s going to think—”

  “What he’d better think is that someone is trying to hurt you, and that he’d better do something about it.” Devon punched “send” on his phone.

  “Detective Carter.”

  “It’s Devon Knightley.”

  “What can I do—”

  “Naomi Grant just got a call from a man who says she owes him ten thousand dollars.” Suddenly, hearing himself say it, he wondered if this might be hurting Naomi, rather than helping the case. He almost shut his phone.

  “A man? Who?”

  “He didn’t say. Here’s the caller ID number.” He rattled it off.

  “I don’t recognize it. I’ll cross-reference it.”

  “He threatened her.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  Devon looked into Naomi’s wide eyes, bright and wet. “What exactly did he say?”

  She stared at the ground as she thought. “I don’t recall exactly…I was so upset. Something about…he’d string my sisters up by their thumbs. Something weird like that.”

  Devon repeated it to Detective Carter, but received only silence in reply. “Detective?”

  “She’s certain that’s what he said?”

  “Yes.”

  The detective sighed. “I know who she spoke to,” he said.

  “What? Who?”

  “A bookie. Dusty Price. He’s been suspected of some unusual murders in the past year.”

  “Unusual?”

  “Victims strung up by their thumbs and wrists. It’s a form of crucifixion—they suffocate slowly. We’ve never caught him. Never proved it was him.”

  “Devon, what is it?” Naomi touched his forearm. Her eyes were frightened. She looked the way he felt.

  “He’s a very dangerous man, Dr. Knightley.” Detective Carter sighed again. “Protect Miss Grant. You’ve got to protect her.”

  “We never asked Gloria about her middle name,” Naomi said to Devon the following day as they sat in the outdoor seating area of a café in downtown Sonoma.

  “Gloria just makes the entire thing more convoluted and confusing.”

  She and Devon had stopped for lunch after Naomi had done her duty this morning and made calls on the Tamarind members who had been at the spa when Eloise’s body was discovered. A few clients had already left town, but she had managed to appease a few with her personal attention and promises of pampering attention when they rescheduled.

  If the spa ever opened again. But she didn’t tell them that.

  They’d also stopped by the mobile phone store to get her a new phone. Transferring her SIM card had been quick and easy, and her broken phone sat in her purse alongside her new one.

  The thought of the phone made her deliberately shift her mind away from the memory of the bookie’s call yesterday. Devon had told her what Detective Carter had said, and the stress and worry had been eating at her insides all morning during her calls to the spa’s clients.

  “How dare you!” The shrill voice that distracted Naomi’s attention was familiar to her.

  She craned her neck around a family of four who was noisily passing their table. Across the street, in front of a pottery shop, she saw Marissa Paige.

  And a young woman with long, straight blond hair.

  “Devon!” she exclaimed, excitedly.

  “I see them.” He rose and tossed a few bills on the table. “Let’s get closer.”

  Marissa seemed so upset she’d forgotten her surroundings, Naomi realized. Her entire being raged at the pouting blond woman in a silky sundress.

  “You’re an animal!” Marissa shouted. “You hunt down innocent men and devour them.”

  “Your pansy son would be devoured by a bunny rabbit,” the woman sneered.

  “Don’t you talk that way about him!” Marissa lunged.

  Devon sprinted the few feet that separated them and grabbed Marissa’s arms while the young woman teetered backward on her expensive heels.

  Marissa beat against him with flailing arms. “Let me go! She’s a tramp!”

  “Mrs. Paige.” Devon spoke low but firmly. “That might be true, but you’re not behaving like a lady.”

  Marissa collapsed against him in a flurry of tears.

  The blonde gave her a disdainful stare. “Psychotic, overprotective…”

  “You’d better leave,” Naomi said, stepping into her line of vision.

  The blonde’s pink mouth squeezed into a lemon-drop shape. “She’s the one who won’t leave me alone—”

  “No, you’re the one trying to upset her.” Naomi pointed to the shopping bags discarded at Marissa’s feet, then to an older gentleman sitting on a bench several yards away, watching the scene with a bored expression. “She was out shopping and you went out of your way to make sure she saw you. What are you trying to do, pick a fight?” Naomi stood up straighter and rolled her shoulders in what she hoped was an intimidating gesture.

  The blonde turned her nose up and stalked away.

  Naomi went back to where Marissa stood, swiping at her blotchy eyes while Devon picked up her fallen shopping bags.

  “Mrs. Paige, where’s your husband?”

  “He’s having lunch with some business partners.” She sniffled. “I was just doing some shopping…” Her voice cracked.

  “Let’s get you something to drink.” They escorted her across the street back to the café where they’d been eating.

  Devon spoke to a waiter, who sat them immediately at a table in a dark corner. Naomi took Marissa to the wome
n’s restroom.

  Mrs. Paige wiped her face and fixed her makeup in silence. But as she was reapplying her lipstick, tears filled her eyes again, and she bowed her head.

  Naomi took tissues from a nearby box and put them in Marissa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled in the tissues.

  “Did that woman…”

  “She’s my son’s ex-girlfriend.” Marissa started sobbing again. “She hurt him horribly. Then I said things about her to my friends that ruined her relationship with another young man even wealthier than our son.”

  “So she’s upset with you?”

  “She seems to enjoy following me, making a spectacle of herself, embarrassing me, needling me with her comments. I’ve tried so hard to ignore her…”

  And today she’d cracked.

  Marissa again fixed her makeup. When they returned to the table, Devon had ordered some ice water for them both.

  “Naomi, Detective Carter called.” Devon’s words were light enough, but he said them slowly.

  “And?”

  “He needs to speak to you. He should be here in a few minutes.” A crease between his brows deepened as he spoke.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Devon hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure. Something seemed…off.”

  They sat mostly in silence. Marissa sighed a great deal as she sipped her water. She also attempted to smile at Naomi and Devon to convey her thanks that they had stayed to take care of her.

  In a few minutes, Detective Carter entered the café—followed by two policemen. Patrons turned to look at the odd procession.

  Something in Naomi’s gut did a quick flip.

  “Miss Grant.” Detective Carter removed his sunglasses, but he didn’t look directly at her. He wasn’t as confident as he usually was—he seemed almost unsure of what he was doing. “Would you please come with us?”

  Her hands started to shake, while at the same time, they became completely numb, as if she’d plunged them into buckets of ice water. She stood and swayed on her feet because she couldn’t seem to feel them, either. “What is it?”

  Devon also stood. “What’s going on?”

  “Miss Grant, I need you to come with us.”