of the couple’s free and easy spirit.
She dropped the picture. It hit the floor at her feet, the glass cracking in two.
Numbness stole through her, surrounding her heart and chilling her soul as she picked up another frame. In this picture, a party by the looks of it, Paul was flanked on either side by recognizable faces. Some celebrities, others political figures.
Grabbing at another frame, she again saw Paul with famous and well-known people. She plucked at another picture and another until her arms were full. What is going on?
It wasn’t unreasonable that he would know these people in his line of work. After all, he was a consultant for wealthy people. But why hadn’t he mentioned he had the kind of relationship with them that was evident in these pictures?
It was clear that all the photos were taken at the beach house. Some even in the very room she stood in. Her throat constricted and tears blurred her vision as bitterness settled around her like a smothering cloak.
Abruptly, she dumped her load onto the couch. A cloud of dust puffed into the air, little bits and pieces floating away and doing nothing but making her sneeze.
Moving in a fog, Kate went from room to room looking at the remains of a life cut short. Of a life she’d known nothing about.
Besides the dust, the rooms were clean, uncluttered and devoid of personality. Guest rooms. She came to the room with the broken window. Before nightfall she’d have to have someone come out and repair the damage. She turned away from the reminder of her terror and continued on.
In what appeared to be the master bedroom, she saw signs of Paul—the scent of his cologne clung to the clothes hanging in the closet, his shirts and undergarments folded with precision in the drawers. She swallowed back the vile taste of betrayal.
She found receipts and notes in the top drawer of the oak dresser. The writing was Paul’s, but the signature said Pete Kinsey. She stared at the papers. Pain squeezed her head like a vice. How could she have been so oblivious?
The tremors started deep down inside and quickly worked their way out. She sank to her knees and rested her head against the bed. Sobs clogged her throat and tears burned a salty trail down her cheek. Why had Paul, or Pete or whoever he was, lied? Why had he kept a part of himself from her? Was this other identity the reason he’d been killed?
Her hands curved into fists. Why had he involved her?
Lord, I’m so angry and hurt and confused. This doesn’t make sense.
A line of scripture floated through her consciousness. My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest.
Clinging to that promise, she slowly crawled up onto the bed and curled into a ball. So tired, so very tired. Her mind shut down and blessed numbness wrapped around her, taking her away from the hurt and endless parade of lies.
Brody’s fingers drummed on the desktop. What was Kate’s story? The thought had plagued him since he’d left her at the Kinsey house.
“What’s eating at you, boss?” Deputy Teal’s voice broke through Brody’s thoughts.
“Nothing,” he replied, absently.
Nothing, everything…Kate. For more hours than he cared to admit to, Brody had been unable to keep his mind off Kate Wheeler. She’d made her feelings clear. And he was glad. He certainly didn’t want to be bothered with a headstrong woman who couldn’t accept the truth even when it stared her in the face.
Brody stilled his fingers. He’d wasted enough time today thinking about Kate. She wasn’t his problem. She owned the house now, and would eventually realize that what he’d told her was the truth and then she’d go back to where she came from. He nodded to close the subject in his mind, but he couldn’t quite banish the nagging terror he’d seen in her eyes.
There were other matters needing his attention. Like the feud still raging between Mr. Haskel and Mr. Moore. The two old codgers each swore that the other was poaching fish. Like you could poach fish from the ocean during fishing season.
He shook his head, knowing that the fighting gave the two widowers something to keep their minds active. Only they sometimes got carried away in their attempts to out-fish each other. On numerous occasions, Brody’d had to settle a dispute over whose fish was whose.
Today it seemed Mr. Haskel had caught Mr. Moore using his lure.
Rolling his chair away from the desk, Brody heard the crinkling sound of paper caught under the wheels. Teal and his paper basketballs. He bent to retrieve what he assumed would be a stray ball and discovered a sheet of fax paper.
He stared at the contents of the fax for a good thirty seconds before he remembered to take a breath.
He knew it. He just knew it. Below the L.A.P.D. heading, the fax stated that Katherine Wheeler was considered a “person of interest” in the murder investigation of Paul Wheeler and that currently Mrs. Wheeler’s whereabouts were unknown and she was being sought.
He hoped they were wrong, but if they weren’t…
His lip curled. He knew where she was. Sitting back down in his chair, he picked up the phone and called California. The line was picked up on the third ring and after Brody explained to the desk sergeant what he wanted, he was transferred to a Detective Arnez.
“Sheriff, what can I do for you?”
Brody swiped a hand through his hair. “I have information concerning the Wheeler investigation.”
“Wheeler. Hold on.”
Brody heard the rustling of paper before Arnez came back on the line. “Oh, yeah. Got the file right here. Hey, didn’t you request the current status of the investigation earlier today?”
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