I chose to ignore his question. "Hey, who wants cookies to take downstairs if they do their homework?"
"Is this a bribe?" Seth asked.
"Only a little one."
After the twins headed downstairs, I went to my room and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. What a horrible day. The bed looked so inviting that I decided to lie down for a few minutes. I found myself thinking about Ken again, and the bile started to rise in the back of my throat. I knew I had to do something to keep my mind occupied, so I got up and folded some laundry sitting in a nearby basket.
Downstairs, the twins shrieked with laughter. There was a repeated thud, with something loud hitting the wall. I guessed they were throwing Rusty's ball across the hardwood floor and laughing as he'd slide across to get it, banging his head into the wall in the process. He was cute but not the brightest of pups.
I got up and went down to the kitchen to start dinner. Tomorrow morning was our weekly office meeting. How I was dreading it. I thought about not going this time but feared it would make me look worse if I didn't show. And how the heck was I supposed to face Donna after what happened with her husband today?
I'd been playing phone tag with Sylvia Banks for the last couple of days but had finally managed to reach her last night. I knew she was looking for another agent and now had an appointment to interview with her agency, No Place Like Home Realty, tomorrow morning. If she was aware of Tiffany's death, she hadn't mentioned it. I was starting to wonder how the current circumstances would affect my being received at other prospective offices.
I flipped through the mail I'd brought in with me. A couple of bills, a flyer, and an envelope addressed to me. My name and address were typed neatly, all in capital letters. I turned it over. No return address. I remembered the note from this morning, and a sick sensation swept over me. I tore the envelope open with shaking fingers.
Inside was a picture of Tiffany, lying on the floor of her office. My heart stuttered in my chest, and my breathing became so rapid that I was afraid it might suffocate me. A sheet of white copy paper accompanied the picture with a two-line message, also typed in all capital letters. It read, I know you did it, and I can prove it with this picture.
The picture lay on the floor, face up, where I'd dropped it. Tiffany's face blurred, and I saw Paul again. He was lying motionless with a gun in his hand. I became light-headed and sat down on the couch, shuddering violently. The urge to scream or cry was great, but I didn't want to frighten the boys. The walls began to close in as they always did when I became panicked. Lunch and the wine I'd consumed weren't helping, either. With my head between my knees, I focused on my breathing as I gave myself a mental pep talk. You are not going to faint. Don't worry. You did nothing wrong.
I reached for my phone and dialed Jacques' number.
He answered on the first ring. "Cin, are you okay?"
A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. "I don't think so."
"Did you tell Greg about Ken the Groper?"
"No, it's not that. I—I got a picture in the mail. It's her—Tiffany. Someone's threatening me." I gulped.
"You're not making any sense."
I took a couple of deep breaths. "It's a picture of her—when she was murdered. It must have been taken right after she was killed."
"Oh my God."
"They said they have proof I did it."
"You've got to take it to the police."
"No way. Don't you know what this means? The police might think I took it when I killed her."
Jacques snorted into the phone. "I guess you don't understand what this really means. Whoever took the picture is the one who killed her."
"Why should they believe me? I'm scared, Jacques."
"Okay, okay. What does Greg say?"
"I haven't told him yet. He's been at a conference all day, so I'll show him tonight. But I'm not going to the police."
Jacques clucked his tongue in disdain. "Honey, you have to go. Not only for the note but because of old frisky fingers, too. What happens when his mother calls next week and wants to see one of the houses again? By the way, which ones did you show him today?"
A car door slammed, and I looked out the window. "Shoot, I've got to go. Greg's home early, and I haven't even started dinner yet."
"All right, call me later. And don't be late for the office meeting tomorrow," Jacques reminded me.
"I don't even want to think about it. How can I face Donna after everything that happened today?"
"I'll be there to protect you, don't worry. I won't let you down."
My heart overflowed. "You never do." I disconnected and ran into the kitchen to turn the oven on.
* * *
"You're quiet tonight, babe."
Greg was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He seemed to be concentrating unusually hard as he'd been reading the same page for over twenty minutes now.
Stevie and Seth were out back on the trampoline, and Darcy was upstairs, talking on her cell phone. She said she was doing homework, but I knew better.
"Just tired, I guess." I glanced up from the stove, where I was making meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
"So, anything interesting happen today?" he asked.
I shivered. That was a loaded question. I didn't want to tell Greg what had happened because I knew he would track Ken down like a rabid dog and probably kill him. Or, at the very least, maim him for life. Like most married couples, Greg and I often knew what the other one was thinking. We even finished each other's sentences. I was afraid he'd figure it out before I told him.
The smart thing would be to get it over with and somehow try to make light of it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I gave him a blow-by-blow account of my day. "Well, a reporter came to the house and wanted to do a story on me. You know, the killer-of-the-year feature. Then I went to the school, and the twins' classmates basically accused me of murder. After that, I showed a couple of houses to a client, and we stopped for lunch. I told you about it last night, remember?"
Greg put down the paper. His eyes burned into mine as he spoke in a low, angry tone. "Yes, I remember. Donna's new husband, right? Ken, wasn't it?"
I started to feel sick at the mention of his name. "Yes."
He studied the paper again. "I heard you looked quite cozy together at lunch."
Please let this day be a bad dream. My heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"
Greg slammed the paper down. "Tom Shipley was having lunch right next to you and said he heard you guys laughing and carrying on. And who the hell is that scumbag to put his arm around my wife?"
Wonderful, a full report. "Who the heck is Tom Shipley?"
"He's the warehouse manager. You met him and his wife at the Christmas party. You were a bit snookered then, too, so perhaps you don't recall him. He remembered you though. Described my wife perfectly, and the bastard who couldn't keep his hands off her." His voice became acid-like. "Who does he think he is to touch my property?"
"Your property?" I managed to squeak out. What was this, the Middle Ages? I flung the dishcloth down on the counter and squared my shoulders against him. In the past twelve hours I'd been threatened by a reporter, interrogated by a class of eight-year-olds, groped and nearly attacked by my boss's husband, delivered two menacing notes, and now my husband thinks I may be cheating on him?
I fought to control the anger rising inside me. "I don't believe this. What do you really think, Greg? That I went to meet my manager's husband at some sleazy hotel?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "No. I know you'd never do something like that."
"Then what's the problem?"
"What's the problem?" Greg echoed, in full-blown screaming mode now. "Tom said the guy looked like George Clooney, and he was all over you. And you're asking me what the problem is?"
This would have been a good time to tell him the truth, but my pride wouldn't let me. At that moment I was more concerned with the fact that my husband
didn't trust me, so I said nothing.
"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"
I sighed wearily as I turned off the stove and headed for the front door. "Tell the kids dinner is ready."
He jumped out of his chair and followed me. "Where the hell are you going?"
"For a walk. I need to clear my head."
Greg scoffed. "Well, that figures. Whenever things get rough you head right out the door."
I turned on him, exasperated. "I'm leaving because I can't talk any sense into you when you act like this. For the last time, nothing happened. Not what you think anyway."
"And what exactly does that mean?"
I took a deep breath. "It means I love you and would never do anything to hurt you. But I can't keep defending myself to you or anyone else. This is all getting—" My voice broke as tears filled my eyes, making it difficult to see.
"Cin." Greg put a hand on my shoulder, but I angrily shook him off and reached for the doorknob. At that moment, the twins came running in from the backyard.
"Is dinner ready?" Stevie wanted to know. "Where are you going, Mom?"
"I need to get some air." I didn't want the boys to know we'd been arguing, so I kept my tearstained face turned in the other direction.
"Are you going to the police station to turn yourself in?" Seth asked excitedly.
I shut the door behind me so that they wouldn't see me cry, then took off at a run down the driveway. I ran from Tiffany, Ken, and Donna—all the people causing havoc in my life. I made it to the next street in our development and quickly slowed to a walk, gasping for air, with my chest about to explode. I'd never been a runner. Back in high school, it was all I could do to finish one lap in gym without falling on my face in exhaustion.
In my haste, I'd forgotten a jacket. The early evening air was brisk, although not as cold as the night I'd gone to meet Tiffany. I walked with my arms wrapped around me, head bent down against the wind.
This day was growing worse by the minute. I was on pins and needles wondering if the police might show up to arrest me. Since finding Tiffany, I couldn't stop thinking about Paul. My entire career was in the toilet. And now this whole episode with Ken. I had to tell Greg. I knew this, but wasn't looking forward to it. The coward in me just wanted to forget about the incident. My only hope for some relief was to find out who Tiffany's killer was.
I stopped dead in my tracks. Was this why the killer was sending me things? Were they afraid that I knew something? Could it be someone in the office? Bill, or maybe Pete? Perhaps Jacques was right. I had to be at the office meeting tomorrow. Someone might slip up, and I needed to hear what was said.
With a deep sigh, I turned back toward the house. The sun sank quickly in a vibrant sky streaked with orange and red. As I watched it disappear, I was ashamed of myself. Greg had always been there for me, and now I didn't even have the nerve to tell him the truth. I tried to put myself in his shoes. If someone tried to hurt him, I'd be upset if he didn't share it with me. Trust was the basis for our marriage. Without it, we wouldn't have one.
I thought again about the house Tiffany had listed days before her death. There was something unsettling about the place, and it was really starting to bother me. Why couldn't I get it out of my head?
I slowly turned the front doorknob and entered the house. Silence greeted me at first, interrupted by a faint sound coming from the kitchen where Greg was washing the dishes. I stood for a moment behind him, watching his powerful shoulders move back and forth. He sensed my presence and turned around.
"Where's Darcy?" I asked. "She's supposed to be doing those."
"She said she had a history test to study for, so I let her off the hook." Greg observed me carefully for a long moment. The beautiful ocean-blue eyes I adored were full of pain. He turned back around to the sink.
My heart ached. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my husband. I started toward the den, then stopped and flung my arms around him from the back.
He switched off the water, calmly dried his hands on a towel, and turned around to gather me in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered into my hair. "I was way out of line."
Tears spilled over my cheeks. "You have nothing to be sorry about. It's all my fault. I should have told you what really happened when you asked."
His body tensed against mine. "What are you talking about?"
I blew out a sigh. "I never should have taken him to see those houses today."
Greg held me away from him at arm's length so that he could study my face. His mouth hardened into a thin, firm line. "He made a pass at you, didn't he?"
I lowered my eyes to the floor. Greg lifted my chin in his hand until my eyes were level with his blazing ones. "Answer the question, please."
"Yes," I whispered.
A four-letter word spilled out of Greg's mouth. He stood there for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. "I'll kill the bastard."
"No. I think we should forget about it."
"Not likely. Tell me exactly what he did."
Oh, no. "That's not important."
"The hell it isn't." As he continued to stare at me, a look of alarm swept over his face. He gripped me by the shoulders, his face turning white. "Did he try to—?"
I burst into tears. Again. "No. It didn't get that far. Please, Greg. I don't want to talk about him anymore." I threw my arms around his waist, burying my face into his chest. "Don't worry. He won't forget about it anytime too soon."
He lifted my face and cradled it between his hands. "What did you do to him?"
"Let's just say that my knee happened to connect with a sensitive part of his body that he seemed very fond of."
Greg's mouth twitched at the corners. "That's my girl."
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "I promise to tell Donna, but I'm sure she won't believe me. Please don't do anything for now. We have to wait until after my closing tomorrow. We can't afford to lose the money."
"Cynthia Ann, think about me for a minute. How am I supposed to live with myself if I don't go to this guy's house and punch his lights out?"
"I never have to see him again. Even if he does want one of those houses, which I doubt, I'll have no part of it. "
Clearly frustrated, Greg ran a hand through his hair. "All right, baby. I'll let you handle it your way—for now. But if I happen to see him, or he comes anywhere near you again, he's going to lose a few teeth." He kissed the tip of my nose. "I'm sorry I got angry with you."
"I'm the one who's sorry. I should have told you as soon as you got home."
Greg wiped a lone tear off my cheek. "Forgive me?" His voice filled with raw emotion as he tenderly covered my mouth with his.
I sighed with contentment after we broke apart. "There's nothing to forgive. But I do have to tell you something else. And don't worry, it has nothing to do with Ken."
His face paled. "Now what?"
I grabbed my purse off the kitchen counter, then handed him the envelope with Tiffany's picture and the note that had been on our door.
Greg pursed his lips together as he examined the picture and then glanced anxiously at me. "When did you get these? And why didn't you tell me about it sooner?"
"One this morning, and the other in the afternoon mail." I folded my arms across my stomach. "I was afraid and knew you'd want to take them to the police. I'm scared. What if they think I killed her and took the picture?"
Greg was silent for a minute. "You have to tell the police, Cin. The killer took these."
That was the same thing Jacques had said. "They might think I wrote the notes myself, trying to throw them off track."
He placed his hands on my shoulders. "First off, you've done nothing wrong, so why shouldn't you report it? Second, if you give these to the police, it might help them catch the real killer."
I hadn't thought of that. I'd been too busy panicking and worrying about what the police would do to me. "You're right. Okay, I'll go down there in the morning, after my offic
e meeting."
"That's my girl." He hugged me. "What time does your meeting wrap up?"
I tucked both envelopes back into my purse. "Around eleven or so. And my closing is scheduled for 1:30, so that doesn't leave me a lot of time."
"Call me when your meeting is over. I'll come to the police station with you. I don't want you to go alone."
I threw my arms around his neck. "Thank you."
He stroked my cheek gently with his fingers as he gazed into my eyes. "There's no need to thank me. I happen to love you and our kids more than anything in this world."
"What would I ever do without you?" I said softly.
Greg smiled as he brushed his lips lightly across mine. "You'll always have me. We're in this together, babe."
As I hugged my wonderful husband, I felt a twinge of sympathy for Donna. She thought she'd won the lottery with her new, snake-in-the-grass husband. The truth was that I had hit the jackpot long before her. Seventeen years ago, to be exact. Something told me her marriage was not destined for such a long term.
"This might sound crazy with everything else going on, but right now, I feel like the luckiest woman alive."
Greg didn't say anything. His only response was to wrap his arms tighter around me while I rested my head against his broad chest. We stayed like that for several minutes, listening to the boys' roughhousing with the puppy downstairs and Darcy's lilting voice coming through the ceiling above. So much for that history test.
I clung to my husband gratefully, hoping that our world would return to its normal chaotic state soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The school bus honked again as I shouted in the direction of the stairs. "Darcy, the bus isn't going to wait forever."
"Mom, I'm not a moron." Darcy gave me one of her cute little pouts as she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and grabbed her lunch from me.
"Don't forget I need you to come straight home with the boys today. I have a closing and will probably be late."
Darcy didn't even look in my direction. "Yeah, whatever. Bye, Daddy." She blew Greg a kiss and strolled nonchalantly out the door.
Killer Transaction (Cindy York Mysteries Book 1) Page 10