by Sara Rosett
“It’s not exactly a common problem. Maybe you should try the romance section.” Helen waggled her eyebrows.
Zoe pulled out a book, replaced it. “What brought on this change of heart?”
Helen sipped her smoothie and shrugged. “I’ll admit I wasn’t his biggest fan.”
Zoe snorted.
Helen ignored her. “But it turns out, he had his reasons for doing what he did.”
“Which part do you think I should overlook? Lying to me? Omitting huge chunks of his personal history, not to mention skipping town without a word, then staying in hiding for months on end?”
Helen’s nose squished up. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t sound good when you put it like that. But he’d thought that he’d finally put that part of his life behind him. Also, he’d signed one of those confidentiality agreements—”
“I don’t want to hear about confidentiality. You marry someone, you should tell them about your past, especially if it involves shady characters who want to mess with your current life.”
“Did you tell Jack every detail about your past?” Zoe drew a breath to speak, but Helen kept talking. “About your mom? About the reality show?”
Zoe closed her mouth.
“I didn’t think so,” Helen said.
“He found out soon enough.”
“Yes, but it’s not fair to hold the full disclosure thing against Jack when you didn’t fill him in on your history. Listen, I asked Tucker about those confidentiality agreements, and he said the government doesn’t mess around. They’re serious about tracking down people who talk about....well, about whatever they’re not supposed to talk about. Anyway, the point is once all hell broke loose, Jack tried to keep you safe. And, despite everything that has gone on, look at you.” Helen swept her smoothie cup down to Zoe’s sandals. “Everything turned out okay. You’re home, alive and unhurt. And it seems your FBI escort has disappeared, right?” Helen glanced around the bookstore. “I don’t see that rumpled older guy or the hot younger one.”
“You seriously think I should just forget all the lies, the deception?”
Helen sipped her smoothie for a moment. “You want to know what I really think?”
“Yes.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, although now I’m a little scared.”
Helen guzzled more of her smoothie. “You know what, I shouldn’t say. I shouldn’t interfere.” She focused on the titles. “You do what you think is right for you.”
“Okay, now you have to tell me.”
Helen sighed. “Don’t be hasty. That’s my advice.”
“I need more than that.”
“I realize getting back together with Jack goes against the grain for you, but I think you shouldn’t turn him down without really thinking about it.”
“What do you mean, goes against the grain?”
“Well,” Helen raised a shoulder, “You keep most people at arm’s length and following through is not exactly your strong point.” Zoe opened her mouth, but Helen lowered her chin and talked over her. “The leaf biology project our freshman year. Remember?”
“Ugh. I’ll never forget it. I still have nightmares about it, that I didn’t get it finished.” She sighed. “And you’re right; the only reason I got the assignment turned in was because you were my partner.”
“Don’t feel too bad. That project was never ending. All those scientific names. I’m a detail person, and that one about did me in.”
Zoe wanted to say she’d changed, but thought of her extremely long list of client follow-up calls that she never got around to making. “Okay, so following through is not my thing.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. The flip side of that is that you’re flexible and spontaneous and decisive. Where I’d dither for days, you make the call, and go on. Anyway, all I’m saying is don’t dismiss Jack without really considering what you’re giving up. Despite everything that’s happened, guys like him don’t come along every day. Okay, stepping off my soapbox now. There’s a book I want to find. I’ll be over there.” She walked away noisily slurping the dregs of her smoothie.
Zoe blew out a breath and shook her head. She knew Helen meant well, but there was no way Zoe was going to jump back into a relationship with Jack. She had thought about it. A lot.
She’d considered the possibility of getting back together with Jack, especially during their recent impromptu jaunts around Europe, but that wasn’t real life. Sure, they’d connected, and she felt a tug toward him as if an invisible cord were pulling them together, but things were different here in the everyday, mundane world. Those experiences and emotions they’d shared were heightened. Fear and terror had a tendency to do that.
They did well as a couple under pressure, but she knew how they functioned in the real world. They’d been there, done that, and had a divorce certificate to show for it. Couldn’t they transition to one of those cool divorced couples who got along better as friends than they ever did as husband and wife?
Since there didn’t seem to be any how-to books on being a cool divorced couple, Zoe went to find Helen. She spotted her golden blond head under the PREGNANCY sign and hurried over, feeling like a heel. Had her moaning about her situation run over some big news from Helen?
“Find what you’re looking for?” Zoe asked.
“Yep.” Helen held up two books, Everything You Wanted To Know About Infertility But Were Afraid to Ask and Eat Your Way Fertile. “Apparently, I shouldn’t have had that smoothie,” she said, going for a light tone, but Zoe could sense the sadness laced within her words.
“Oh, Helen.” Zoe gave her a one-armed hug. “Are you sure you need....” she pointed to the books, “you’ve only been trying for a couple of months, right?”
She returned Zoe’s hug then stepped away and squared her shoulders. “After ten months, I think it’s time to admit that there might be a problem. Come on, let’s check out. I want a burger, and I think I better eat it before I read this book.”
***
LUCINDA McDaniel was a seriously successful Dallas realtor. She lived in a gated community, but since that apparently wasn’t enough security, she had a set of gates at the foot of her driveway as well, which were set between tall stucco walls covered with tendrils of ivy.
Zoe’s window on her old Jetta labored down, letting in a blast of warm air. Only March and it was already eighty-five and humid. She leaned out, punched in the code, and the gates began their slow crawl backward. Zoe accelerated between them when they were partway open, her mirrors coming within an inch of the iron. She navigated the gently rising curve of the drive through the lush landscaping quickly and then hit the brakes, parking dead center in the sweep of the driveway in front of the French-style home with a mansard roof and a mix of light stone, stucco, and decorative copper accents.
She grabbed the three stacks of papers she’d picked up at Staples and trotted up the steps. It was two-thirty on the dot. Lucinda disliked tardiness. The first time Zoe had met her, Lucinda had been chewing out her twentyish assistant for arriving with her Starbucks coffee at 9:02 instead of nine.
Lucinda sold luxury homes, and she wanted full-color flyers that showed off every aspect of the high-end homes. Zoe was extremely happy that Lucinda was so busy with her clients that she didn’t have time to layout, proof, and print the flyers herself. While there wasn’t a salary high enough to entice Zoe to work with Lucinda one-on-one—Lucinda had a tiny employee retention problem—Zoe didn’t mind working as a freelancer. Not one of her assistants had stayed over two months, so Zoe was happy to step in—for a nominal fee—and work with her virtually, which freed up Lucinda to meet with bigwig clients who wanted a mini-Versailles as their home sweet home.
A yellow post-it note on the front door handle stopped her from ringing the bell. “Out back. Gate to the left,” it read.
Zoe retraced her steps back to the driveway then took the curving stone path to a metal gate with so many intricate curly-cues it looked like somethin
g out of a Tim Burton movie. She pushed it open. “Lucinda, it’s me, Zoe.”
The mechanical whir of an air conditioner hummed in the distance, and the wind filtered through the tall cottonwood trees shading the yard. “Lucinda?” she called again, scanning the large deck that dropped down to a brick terrace, which stretched to the pool’s edge. The water glistened turquoise, reflecting back little sparks of sunlight.
Maybe Lucinda had gone inside? She shaded her eyes, checking each grouping of outdoor furniture scattered across the deck and terrace. She spotted a yellow legal pad with several pages curled back and a cell phone on a table next to a wicker chaise lounge, which was facing the pool, its back turned toward her.
“There you are,” Zoe said.
Zoe covered the distance quietly. She could just see a wisp of Lucinda’s black hair near the arm of the chair. Had Lucinda curled up and fallen asleep? That would be a first. Zoe had never seen her when she wasn’t moving. Maybe her hectic pace had finally caught up with her, and she was taking a short siesta. If she had, Zoe wouldn’t wake her. She’d just leave the flyers.
Zoe stepped around the table, caught sight of Lucinda, and sucked in her breath. Lucinda was indeed sprawled on the chaise lounge, but she wasn’t napping. She had a knife in her back.
Chapter Two
ZOE jerked back, wanting to pull her gaze away from the knife handle, but she couldn’t stop staring as the thought that Lucinda McDaniel was slumped over the arm of the chaise lounge with a knife sticking out of her back reverberated through her mind. On another level, Zoe registered in a distractedly way that she had dropped the flyers. Most of them were at her feet, but the wind caught a few and whipped them toward the pool. Lucinda was going to be very upset.
Zoe gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? At this point, Lucinda had much worse problems than ruined flyers.
How had this happened? And was she...dead? Lucinda wasn’t moving, but there wasn’t much blood, just a splotch or two on the taupe and black striped cushion. Zoe wanted to step backward and run, but she had to check...see if there was anything she could do to help. She stepped over the flyers and squatted down so she could see Lucinda’s face, which was pressed against the arm of the chair.
Her eyes were fixed and staring. Zoe stumbled backward, shocked at the vacant gaze. There was nothing she could do.
That was the last full thought she had before a sharp pain cracked into the back of her head, and the ground, covered with full-color pictures of pools and granite countertops, came rushing up to her.
***
THE first thing to penetrate the blackness was music. Music? What was going on? Zoe opened her eyes and blinding light cut across her pupils. Reflexively, she squished her eyes closed and groaned. Her head ached with a throb that seemed to go down to her spine. She hadn’t felt this bad since the morning after Helen’s bachelorette party.
Zoe narrowed her eyes and located the music. It was coming from the car radio, which was cranked up, pumping out Maroon 5’s Love Somebody.
Radio? She was in...her car? She sat up. A wave of nausea hit her. She fought it down, working deep breaths in and out as she gripped the worn seat cover. She reached out a shaky hand and snapped off the radio. Cool air from the air conditioner flowed into the car, and she aimed one of the vents at her face, cautiously leaning forward. The seasick feeling was still there, but this time it was a ripple instead of a wave.
She looked out the window and saw the sun was lower, slanting directly into the Jetta’s front window. The clock on the dashboard read three o’clock. She’d been out for a half-hour?
She looked from the clock to the imposing gates at the foot of Lucinda’s drive. Lucinda. The knife. The blackness. Zoe put a tentative hand to the back of her head and felt a squishy bump. Someone had hit her....and carried her back to her car then kindly turned on the A/C so she wouldn’t get too hot?
With a lunge that sent more shock waves through her head, Zoe hit the automatic lock button then reached into her messenger bag, which was in the passenger seat. Swallowing hard, she dug around until her fingers closed on her cell phone. Murmuring, “Thank God,” Zoe dialed 911 and quickly shifted through the rest of the contents of her bag. Her wallet, a meager stack of single dollar bills, and her two credit cards were all there.
A woman’s voice came on the line. “What is your emergency?”
“Lucinda McDaniel. She’s dead. I’m at her house. I found her. With a knife in her back.”
***
THE responding officer, Officer Alverez, took down Zoe’s information and listened as she explained how she’d found Lucinda. “Then someone hit me on the head. That’s all I know.”
Officer Alverez’s dark brown eyes looked concerned. “There’s an ambulance on the way. Let’s have them take a look at you when they get here.”
A second police car rolled to a stop behind Alverez’s vehicle and another police officer, a woman with her hair in a bun at the back of her neck, got out. While the two officers conferred, the ambulance arrived. Alverez directed the EMTs in Zoe’s direction then he and the female officer approached the gates. He punched in the code Zoe had given him, the gates opened, and the police officers walked slowly up the drive, guns drawn and pointed at the sky.
Zoe had lights flashed in her eyes and the back of her head examined. “Any nausea?”
“Some when I first woke up, but not now.”
“Blurred vision?”
“No.”
He handed Zoe an ice pack. “Put that on your head for twenty minutes, and then take a break. A doctor should check you, and you shouldn’t drive. We’ll take you to the hospital. You can call someone to pick you up—”
Officer Alverez came through the gates, his stride quick. He pulled the EMT away for a quick chat that included several sidelong glances at Zoe then he approached her. “Mrs. Hunter, can you show me exactly where you found Lucinda McDaniel?”
“Yes.” Zoe stood and waved off the EMT who was saying something about she didn’t have to go. As they walked up the driveway, Officer Alverez said, “You said there was a note on the door to go around back?”
“Yes, on the handle.”
“Did you leave it there?”
“Yes.” They came to the front of the house, and Zoe could see there was no yellow square of paper stuck to the handle. She frowned. “The wind must have blown it away.”
Officer Alverez asked, “Which way did you go from here?”
“Around this way. I couldn’t find her at first, but then I saw the legal pad.” Zoe followed the path through to the gate with the iron curly-cues into the backyard. She faltered to a stop. “Where are the flyers?” She scanned the pristine terrace and deck.
“What flyers?”
“The real estate flyers. That’s why I was here, to drop off the flyers. When I saw the knife, I dropped them. They went everywhere.”
Zoe darted forward, the sudden movement making her head pound. The legal pad and cell phone were gone. The chaise lounge was empty. Zoe spun to Officer Alverez, her stomach surging threateningly. “Where is she?”
“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us.”
“She was right there.” Zoe pointed at the chaise. “She was slumped over the arm of the chair with a knife sticking out of her back. There was blood.” Zoe ran her hand over the cushion, but it was dry. She flicked it up, checked the other side, but it was pristine, too.
Zoe felt her equilibrium go. Alverez grabbed her elbow and guided her to a chair. Zoe put her head in her hands. What had happened? Nothing made sense. A pair of dark shoes crossed in front of her, and she realized it was the female officer, speaking in low tones with Alverez. Zoe caught the words “head injury” as she looked up and saw both officers glance at her. They moved away a step, but Zoe still heard, “...not home...out of town.”
“But she was here,” Zoe said. “Right there, on that chaise lounge.”
The female officer turned to her. “I spoke to her
office. Lucinda McDaniel left yesterday for a vacation in Lake Tahoe.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” Zoe said, the skepticism in the woman’s tone making Zoe’s words sharp. “She was here an hour ago.” Zoe looked at Alverez and grimaced as she said, “She was dead, but she was here.”
“So what are you suggesting happened?” the female officer asked. “That someone murdered Lucinda McDaniel, conked you on the head, then carried you out to your car and came back here to move the body?”
“I’ll admit it sounds unbelievable, but what other explanation is there?”
The female officer stepped closer. “I don’t think you understand what could happen to you. Do you realize we can charge you with making a false report?”
Alverez raised his hand. “Go easy, Smithson. No one is going to be charged with anything until we verify that Lucinda McDaniel is actually at Lake Tahoe.” The female officer’s lips pressed into a flat line, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m on it.” She walked quickly away, and Zoe had the feeling Smithson would move heaven and earth to prove Zoe was wrong. Alverez continued, “In the meantime, after we’ve gone over everything, you should go to the hospital, get a written medical diagnosis of your injury.”
“In other words, get it down in an official document that I have a head injury.”
“Those are your words, not mine.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “But it couldn’t hurt to hang onto your discharge paperwork.”
***
ZOE walked Alverez through what happened—and it wasn’t a single linear journey. No, they had to hang out on several points, including how long Zoe had worked with Lucinda, and why Zoe was at Lucinda’s house in the first place. But those questions were nothing compared to the details Alverez wanted on where Lucinda’s body had been and what she’d looked like. After crisscrossing through her story multiple times, Alverez waved the EMT over. Before Zoe was escorted to the ambulance, she saw the employee from McDaniel Realtors, who had arrived with a key to the house, emerge onto the back deck with Officer Smithson. “Not inside,” Smithson said. The grounds had also been searched while Alverez questioned her. They didn’t find Lucinda, a large knife, or even a speck of blood.