by Gayle Leeson
Seeing that I was on the verge of tears, albeit happy ones, Scott did what he always did whenever he saw someone he cared about in an emotional situation—bear hug.
Scowling, Michelle returned to the kitchen. I could only imagine what she’d tell Ryan.
I WENT HOME, SHOWERED, changed clothes, had a sandwich, and fed Rory and Princess Eloise before going out again. Jackie had texted me earlier that Roger was bringing their dinner from a restaurant in Abingdon, so I planned to pay a visit to Belinda Carpenter. Not wanting to go to her home empty handed, but also not wanting to appear to be shoving Down South Café food in her face at every opportunity, I went by the local grocer’s floral department and selected a tasteful arrangement.
“Amy, hi,” Belinda said, upon opening her door. She scanned the area around me to ensure I was alone. I wondered if she was looking for Jackie or someone else. As she took the flowers, she invited me inside.
“These are beautiful.” She placed the vase on a table in the living room. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I jerked my head slightly in the direction of the window. “I was surprised to see a realtor’s sign on your lawn.”
“Yeah...although given the current state of the housing market in Winter Garden, I’m not anticipating a quick sale.” She gestured toward the armchair. “Please have a seat. Would you like coffee?”
I declined.
Belinda perched on the edge of the sofa. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me. And from what I can understand, you didn’t know Devon well either.”
“You’re right—I didn’t. But I’ve been in a predicament similar to yours.” I told her about my former boss being murdered and my finding her body. “If you’re like I was then, you’re under a lot of pressure. You don’t know who to trust. You understand why you might be considered a suspect, and yet you still feel persecuted because of it. And you feel frightened. What if the killer comes after you?”
Nodding, she said, “I am scared...half to death.”
“I also know it’s hard to talk with the police.” I spread my hands. “Ryan and Sheriff Billings are great—and the other members of the WGSD that I’ve met seem to be also—but I was always scared I’d say the wrong thing during interviews and end up implicating myself somehow.”
“That’s it.” She leaned her elbows on her knees. “That’s precisely how I feel when they come to talk with me.”
I carefully weighed my words. What I wanted to say next could either open a floodgate or drop down an iron wall. “Do you think Devon’s death had anything to do with the life he left behind in Florida?”
She stared at me in silence. I could clearly read the rapid-fire expressions as they flitted across her face: fear, suspicion, indecision.
Pressing on, I said, “Does what happened to him have anything to do with the name Murphy?”
Gasping, Belinda asked, “Who told you that name?”
“I came across it by accident when I was searching online for information about Devon.”
“Why would you do that?” She got up and stalked over to the window. After a furtive glance outside, she turned and awaited my answer.
“One of my best friends is a suspect in your husband’s murder,” I said. “A search for a viable suspect other than Roger is what drove me to see what I could learn about Devon’s past.”
“But why is Roger a suspect? He and Devon got along great.”
I shrugged. “The police always question everyone close to the victim. Plus, someone said they’d overheard them arguing.”
“Over what?” she asked. “Jackie?”
“No. It had something to do with appliances.” Because I was uneasy with the way Belinda was prowling around the living room peeping out the windows, I stood and walked toward her. “There was never anything between Devon and Jackie other than friendship.”
“I know that now.” Uttering a guttural cry, she said, “I wish I’d realized it before I got Devon killed.”
{ }
Chapter Twenty
“W
hy do you think you got Devon killed?” I asked.
“Because I did.” She was weeping then, and it was hard to understand what she was saying. “I...jealous.”
“You were jealous of Jackie?”
Belinda nodded and composed herself enough to explain. “I knew Devon was talking with somebody and was trying to conceal that fact from me. Then I glimpsed a text from Jackie saying she’d send him a picture. When I asked Devon about it, he was really weird—he said he needed a photo of something he and Roger were working on. I wasn’t buying that. I thought he and Jackie were having an affair.”
“She was probably going to send him a snapshot of a necklace to see if it was what he was searching for,” I murmured.
“I know that now! But I didn’t then.” She took a shuddering breath. “All I knew was that my husband was phoning and texting another woman and trying to keep it a secret from me. What would you have thought?”
“I’d have probably jumped to the same conclusion you did. What did Devon say when you asked him about it?”
Looking down at the floor, she said, “I didn’t ask him. Instead, I confided in my best friend in Florida. Sheila was always more level-headed than I was, and I hoped she could tell me what I should do. But all I ended up doing was confirming our location.”
“Confirming your location to whom?” I asked. “Why were you in hiding?”
Belinda closed her eyes and said nothing.
“When I ran across Devon’s real name, it was in connection to a smuggling story on a newspaper’s website.” I took her gently by the arm and led her back to the sofa.
“Then you already know why we were hunkered down here in the middle of nowhere.” She sank into the cushions.
“Are you in witness protection?” I hoped not because if they were, they had a terrible cover story.
“No. Devon didn’t know his partner was involved in smuggling illegals into the country in the beginning. When he bought into the charter business, he believed it to be strictly for fishing and sight-seeing.” She gazed up at the ceiling. “He and I discussed it later, and the business probably was legitimate initially. But Rick—his partner, Richard D’Angelo—was always looking to make more money. We figured one of the smugglers came to him with a lucrative offer, and he started doing the smuggling on the side.”
“And he hoped to keep Devon in the dark so he wouldn’t have to share the profits,” I said.
“Exactly. On the night their ship was raided, Devon had learned about the illegals on board just before their departure back to Florida. He knew there was no arguing about it until they got back, but Devon planned to tell Rick to either stop the smuggling or to buy him out.”
The Christmas tree lights must’ve been on a timer because they came on and started blinking, casting an ethereal glow on the room. I wished I could turn them off because it made the situation even sadder somehow.
“Of course, they never got back to port that night,” Belinda continued. “When the Coast Guard boarded the ship, Devon was able to slip into the water and swim out to a buoy. He clung to it for over an hour until he was rescued by the captain of a party barge. Once the barge docked, Devon called, asked me to pack up only what we needed, and to pick him up.”
“So you came to Winter Garden to escape the authorities,” I said.
“That’s only half of it. Had we stayed in Florida, the people Rick was working for would’ve expected Devon to shoulder blame and, if necessary, go to prison for something he’d taken no part in.” She sighed. “The authorities would’ve wanted to either prosecute Devon or give him a plea deal in exchange for information on the smuggling operation.”
“But how could Devon provide information if he had no prior knowledge?” I wondered if maybe Devon’s story to his wife about his not being involved had been a lie.
“He knew who booked the trip, and he knew who Rick had been working with to arrange e
verything,” she said. “Poor Devon was between a rock and a hard place. Either he’d go to prison for something he didn’t do or run the risk of being murdered for informing on the smugglers. We felt our only option was to change our names and move here.”
Her story had more holes than Rory’s favorite blanket. Why would they move to a place where they had family if they were trying to hide from everyone? “I thought one of Devon’s relatives was a principal in the charter business?”
“Cyrus—yeah, he is. But, like Devon, he didn’t realize what Rick was doing either.”
“How did Cyrus avoid prosecution in the case?” I asked. “Or did he?”
“The feds gave him a hard time, and he thinks he’s still being watched pretty closely. But it was his suggestion that we come here to Winter Garden and lie low for a while.”
“If people from Florida knew where you were, why do you think you’re responsible for Devon’s death?” Was she blaming herself because she felt so guilty? “Anyone could’ve divulged your location.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Only Cyrus and my closest family members knew where we’d gone. They’d have never give us up to Rick or the smugglers. But when I got jealous and called Sheila, I cost my husband his life.”
“If Sheila was your best friend, why do you think she’d betray you?”
“For the money, I guess. I don’t know.” She plucked an accent pillow off the sofa and clutched it to her chest. “We heard from Adam not long after we left that the smugglers were going around offering to pay our friends for information.”
“Still, don’t you think the smugglers could’ve found Devon on their own? I imagine they’re thorough and resourceful, not to mention desperate.” I didn’t say so to Belinda, but I wouldn’t put it past Adam to betray Devon for money. He didn’t strike me as the most loyal person in the world. “Have you spoken about any of this to the police?”
“No. I’ve been afraid to. What if they think I was involved with the smuggling and turn me over to the feds?”
“They wouldn’t do that.” I hoped they wouldn’t do that. And I was fairly confident they wouldn’t do that. “Why don’t you let me call Ryan, and I’ll stay here with you while you talk with him? The more he and Sheriff Billings know, the more they can help you.”
Sniffling, she said, “All right.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Belinda, Sheriff Billings, Ryan, and I were sitting at Belinda’s kitchen table. I’d made coffee and was heating up the chicken casserole I’d brought over when Jackie and I had first visited Belinda upon hearing of Devon’s death.
By the time Belinda finished telling them the same story she’d relayed to me, the casserole was hot. I removed it from the oven and spooned some onto plates for all of us.
“Belinda, you’re obviously afraid for your life,” Sheriff Billings said. “I’d like to put you into protective custody. Unfortunately, the Winter Garden Sheriff’s Department doesn’t have the manpower for that, so I’ll have to reach out to county law enforcement to see if they’ll lend us a hand.”
“I don’t want protection,” Belinda said, poking her fork dejectedly into the food on the plate in front of her. “I deserve whatever happens to me.”
“Now, you know that’s not true.” Sheriff Billings accepted the plate I handed to him. “Thank you, Amy.”
“We’ll have the agents involved in the smuggling case speak with Sheila to see if she did, in fact, tell someone you and Devon were in Winter Garden,” Ryan said. “If she did tell someone—even innocently—her testimony could go a long way in helping us find Devon’s killer.”
I set a plate in front of Ryan and took one for myself before sitting down. “When would the county be able to start the protective custody for Belinda?”
“That’s hard to say.” Sheriff Billings sipped his coffee. “It will take at least a day or two to get the process started. In the meantime, I’d suggest you stay home and be extremely careful about who you open your door to, Belinda.”
“I’m not comfortable having Belinda stay here alone,” I said. “I have plenty of room at my place.”
I saw Ryan and Sheriff Billings exchange glances before Ryan said, “Before I forget, I have something in the car I need to show you, Amy.”
“Right now?” Of course, right now. I’m the one who invented something in the car to mean I need to talk with you privately immediately.
“Please.” He wiped his mouth, put down his napkin, and scooted his chair back.
I was already preparing my defense in my head as we walked out Belinda’s door.
“I am not out of my mind,” I said as soon as we got out onto the porch.
“I didn’t say you were.” He inclined his head. “But you know what they say about the shoe...”
“Marilyn Monroe said something about the right pair changing your life, but I’ve got a feeling that’s not the quote you’re referencing.”
“Amy, you cannot invite this woman into your home. You don’t even know her.”
“I realize that, but she’s afraid for her life.” I took his arm. “Before you and the sheriff got here, she was prowling around peeping out the windows and jumping at every sound she heard.”
“And yet that could be an act.” He turned and put his arms around me. “I love how sensitive you are, but Belinda could be covering for the fact that she’s the one who killed her husband.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I believe she’s devastated over Devon’s death.”
“Even if she is, if you take her into your home, you could be putting yourself and even your mom and Aunt Bess in danger.” He hugged me tighter. “If Devon’s killer is still here, then he or she is willing to do whatever is necessary to keep any witnesses from talking.”
“But what can we do?” I felt that I couldn’t turn my back on this woman who was so frightened of being murdered in her own home. But Ryan was right—I couldn’t put Mom and Aunt Bess in danger either.
“I don’t know.” He kissed the top of my head. “The sheriff will come up with something.”
And Sheriff Billings did have an idea. He took Belinda into custody. He could hold her for ninety-six hours without charging her for a crime. We—or, rather, they—had four days to find Devon’s killer.
{ }
Chapter Twenty-One
O
n Thursday morning, Dilly and Walter were discussing the news about a person of interest being held in Devon’s murder investigation when they came in.
Playing dumb, I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Haven’t you seen today’s newspaper?” Dilly asked.
“No.” Truth be told, I seldom looked at a physical copy of the Winter Garden News. These days, I was more apt to check the news online.
“The story is on the front page,” Walter said.
Dilly was too excited to let Walter be the one to tell me. “Although the article doesn’t say who’s being held, we’re convinced Devon’s murder will be solved soon.”
“I’m glad his poor wife will get some closure before Christmas.” Walter shook his head. “Not much consolation in that, I know, but—”
“I believe she’s the one they’re holding,” Dilly interjected.
“Now, sweet darling, the paper said no charges have been filed against this person of interest yet. Even if it is Belinda who’s being held, that’s no reason to jump to the conclusion that the woman is guilty.”
Dilly rolled her eyes. “You’re such a gentleman. You don’t want to believe a woman is capable of such treachery.”
It was at that moment that Bryson Neal came into the café. “What’s this about treachery?” He grinned. “I feel as if I’ve walked in on a Shakespearean production. I don’t often hear that word being thrown around.”
“I merely detest the thought of anyone murdering a loved one,” Walter said. “I know it happens, but I despise it. Devon appeared to be such a fine young man. I suppose I was still clinging to the hope that his death was the res
ult of a horrible accident.”
“Wait—” Bryson sank onto a stool at the counter. “There’s been an arrest in Devon Carpenter’s murder?”
“No,” Walter said, emphatically. “The Winter Garden News reports that a person of interest is being held for questioning. Nothing was mentioned about an arrest being made at this time.”
“Were you well acquainted with the couple?” I asked Bryson.
“Um...not really. I mean, I met them once through a mutual friend at a tailgating party. Granted, I didn’t know them well, but they seemed to be happy,” he said. “I suppose we only see what people want us to believe about their lives. It’s hard to imagine what secrets could be lurking in someone’s home.”
“That’s true, but we’re all jumping to conclusions,” Walter said. “Nobody has been charged with anything. And even if Belinda Carpenter is being held in police custody, it could simply mean she’s a material witness in the case.”
“Walter has a point,” Scott said, bringing the coffee pot to fill everyone’s cups. “The sheriff could be on a fishing expedition.”
While I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for Dilly, Walter, and Bryson, I used my headset to call Mom. Aunt Bess answered.
“Good morning, Aunt Bess. You’re up early. Is Mom around?”
“She’s in the shower.”
“Well, I was calling to ask if you’d save today’s Winter Garden News for me,” I said.
“Who died?”
“Nobody.” I suppressed a giggle. “No need to update your People I’ve Outlived board as far as I know. I’m just interested in an article Dilly was telling me about.”
“Dilly Boyd knows something I don’t?” She huffed. “I doubt that.”
And I knew Aunt Bess well enough to know she’d barely had the chance to rub the sleep out of her eyes this early in the morning.
“Hold on,” she demanded.