A Widow's Guilty Secret (6 page)

There was a pause on the other end. Finally, her sister said, “Suzy, I think there’s something wrong with the connection we have. I thought I just heard you say that Peter—”

“He died,” Suzy repeated in the same flat, disembodied voice. The words sounded so strange, so stilted, to her ear. Swallowing, she forced more words out of her mouth. “Peter’s dead, Lori.”

“How? When?” Lori cried in utter disbelief.

“The police detectives who came to the house said that someone suffocated Peter yesterday.” Guilt shot through her with sharp, fresh arrows, piercing her conscience if not her heart. “Oh, Lori, I was waiting up all night for him—”

“Because you were worried,” her sister ended her sentence for her. They’d always been able to do that with each other, second-guess what the other was going to say. Except for this time.

“No, Lori. Because I was going to ask him for a divorce. That’s what makes this so much worse. Peter might have been fighting for his life at the very moment that I was sitting here, trying to figure out just how to finally tell him that I was leaving him, that I wanted a divorce.”

Lori heard the pain, the heavy sting of guilt in her sister’s voice and she ached for Suzy.

“It’s not your fault, you know, Suz,” she told her. “Not your fault he’s dead.”

Suzy blew out an unsteady breath. “I know. But I still feel guilty.”

“Don’t,” her sister ordered, then added, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang in there, Suzy. Everything’s going to be all right,” Lori promised just before she hung up.

Suzy stared at the phone receiver in her hand. “Everything wasn’t all right before this happened,” Suzy said quietly, more to herself than to the sister who was no longer there.

She didn’t remember hanging up the phone. It was in her hand one minute, then back in the cradle the next. She stared at it in surprise.

Get a grip!
she ordered herself.

Taking a deep breath, Suzy squared her shoulders, turned around and walked back into the living room, placing one foot in front of the other numbly. It was all that she could do.

She was just in time to see Andy spit up on the detective’s jacket.

Rushing over, she scooped up the baby, taking Andy from him with one arm while offering Nick a cloth wipe that she had left draped on the arm of the sofa.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized with feeling. “If you take that off, I can clean it for you so that the stain doesn’t set.”

Though being christened with recycled milk didn’t particularly upset him—he’d had worse things hurled at his clothing—Nick regarded her offer to clean his jacket rather dubiously.

“You have a dry cleaner out back?” he quipped.

She placed Andy into the playpen she had set up in the living room. The infant fussed for a moment, then began playing with his feet, which were still a source of utter fascination for him.

“No,” she replied to Nick as she held her hand out for his jacket, “but I got pretty good at getting all sorts of stubborn stains out of clothes when I was growing up.”

Nick came to the only logical conclusion he could with the information he’d been given. “You were a tomboy?” he asked. He shrugged out of the jacket and folded it so that the stain was on top before he handed it over to Suzy.

“No, I had parents who made falling down in a drunken stupor wherever they might happen to be into pretty much of a way of life.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, he thought she was just being flippant. But one look into her eyes told him she was serious.

The woman had led one hell of a life in her relatively short time on earth.

For the second time within an hour, he felt the very definite, strong stirrings of protectiveness rising to the surface.

He did what he could to block them.

Chapter 5

“T
here you go,” Suzy said, emerging from the laundry room roughly fifteen minutes later. She presented Nick with his jacket. “I did manage to get the stain out, and once that section dries—” she pointed it out to him “—there shouldn’t be any telltale evidence that my son decided to use your jacket as his napkin. If you still want to take it to the cleaners anyway, I’ll be more than happy to pay the bill.”

Nick looked the jacket over carefully, clearly impressed. He couldn’t detect even a trace of the milky substance that had decorated his shoulder a short while ago.

At this point, all that remained was just the faintest hint of a damp spot, and that looked as if it was disappearing, as well.

“How did you do that?” he marveled. He had a razor-sharp mind when it came to solving crimes. Common everyday things, though, like cooking or doing laundry, turned out to be far more of a challenge for him than he was happy about.

Suzy looked at him with an utterly serious expression. “I don’t usually give away my secrets.”

Maybe the woman was trying to get a patent on the process. It certainly had performed a minor miracle on his jacket. “Oh, well then—”

The serious expression was instantly gone, replaced by a suppressed laugh. Suzy put her hand on his arm to keep him from withdrawing. She’d always been a toucher when she spoke to people. It was one of the things that had attracted Peter to her in the first place—and one of the first things he’d objected to once they were married. He didn’t like her touching other people. And by “other people” he’d meant men.

“I was just kidding,” she said quickly. “The secret is just getting to the stain fast, before it sets, and then soaking the area with lemon juice.”

He had to have heard her wrong. Was she talking about cleaning something or cooking it? “Lemon juice?”

She nodded. “Lemon juice. You’d be surprised at how good it is at getting out all sorts of stains—including blood.”

“Blood,” he repeated, wondering just how she’d found that out. “I’ll have to remember that the next time someone shoots me,” he said drolly.

Nick slipped on his jacket again. As he did so, he glanced down at his watch. He’d been here far longer than he’d intended for an initial interview, but even so, he was rather reluctant to leave the woman alone like this. And then he suddenly remembered that he had to call the precinct to have a car sent for him since Juarez took off in the one they normally shared.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said to Suzy as he took his cellphone out of his pocket and turned away from her to make the call.

The moment he pressed the last number, someone immediately came on, needlessly identifying themselves as “Dispatch.”

“Dispatch, this is Detective Jeffries. I need a car sent to Sheriff Burris’s house.” Pausing to listen to the question being asked of him, he replied, “Because Juarez’s wife went into early labor, and I let him have the car so he could get to the hospital, that’s why. Now I need to requisition another car so that I can get back to the station house and start digging through some paperwork.”

The detective, Suzy thought, didn’t sound very happy about having to explain himself. He struck her as someone who was accustomed to following his own rules, going his own way, without being subjected to questions.

“How long?” she heard him ask sharply. From the impatient noise he made, she took it to mean that “how long?” had suddenly translated into “too long.”

Suzy thought for a moment, made up her mind quickly and then planted herself directly in front of the detective to get his attention. He looked at her quizzically.

“I can drive you there,” she mouthed to him, not wanting her voice to interfere with the voice that he was listening to on his cellphone.

“Hold on a minute, Gus,” Nick told dispatch. Covering the lower portion of his phone, he addressed his question to Suzy. “What?”

Because her throat suddenly felt hoarse out of the blue, she cleared it before she spoke up. “I can take you to the station.”

He’d just told the woman her husband was murdered, and then all but accused her of being behind the crime before he’d decided that she could be ruled out. That was more than enough for anyone to handle in one day. He had no intention of imposing on Suzy Burris any further—at least not unless he had absolutely no other choice.

Nick waved away her offer. “That’s all right, I can have—”

“No, really, I insist,” she said a little more forcefully, although she made sure that she maintained a friendly expression on her face. “The fresh air might do me some good. I’ve been in the house for going on two days straight and I’m coming down with cabin fever.”

Nick looked over toward the playpen where Andy was still finding his extremities to be utterly fascinating entities. “What about your son?”

“He’s too young for cabin fever,” she told him matter-of-factly.

Nick completely missed the humor in her eyes. “No, I mean what are you going to do with him while you’re driving me?”

“Andy has a car seat,” she assured Nick. “And I’ve already taken him on road trips, so yours won’t be the first. He’s very accommodating.” Thank God she had Andy, she thought. He made everything worthwhile, even if he had wreacked havoc on her hormones. “Of course,” she speculated, looking over toward her son, “he doesn’t talk yet, so that might change once he thinks he has a say in matters.”

Her banter didn’t distract him from his concerns. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Up to it?” she echoed with a small laugh that wasn’t altogether laced with humor. “I’d say I pretty much
need
it.” She paused for a moment, taking a breath before continuing to try to convince the detective. “A little fresh air might help me clear my head. And this way, I’ll have a direction instead of driving around aimlessly, so you’ll actually be doing me a favor.”

He watched Suzy for a long moment, debating whether or not to believe her. Finally, he inclined his head. “If you put it that way, I guess I can’t turn the offer down.” Removing his hand from his cellphone’s mouthpiece, he changed his instructions to dispatch. “Cancel the car, Gus. I’ve just managed to hitch a ride.” Terminating the call, he closed his phone, looked at her and smiled. “Whenever you’re ready,” he told her, letting his voice trail off.

She nodded. “Just let me get a coat and an extra blanket for Andy.” For the beginning of February, it was unseasonably warm, but this was still winter and she wasn’t about to take any chances on her son catching a chill if the temperature suddenly dropped.

She’d crossed to the stairs to get the items when the doorbell chimed and stopped her in her tracks. Backtracking, she went to the front door. But as she was about to open it, she heard Nick shout out a warning, “Suzy, don’t!” then suddenly found herself being physically blocked from the door because Nick had put himself in between her and it.

“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded. She nearly stumbled and fell backward because of the body block, and most likely would have, had Nick not grabbed her arm to steady her. “What the hell was that all about?” she cried, utterly stunned.

Was he trying to keep her sister out, after telling her to call Lori over?

Nick realized that it was a woman standing on the doorstep, a petite blonde who resembled the sheriff’s widow.

This had to be the sister, he thought, feeling somewhat relieved. Lowering his guard, he allowed himself to relax a little.

“You have to be more careful about answering the door,” he told her.

“Any particular reason why?” Suzy asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

He didn’t want to frighten her or add to her burden, but it was better for her to be cautious than sorry.

“Your husband wasn’t the only one killed yesterday. He was one of three. Now if his death was a random killing, or one that was carefully planned with the other two murders thrown in to throw people off the trail, I don’t know. But until we sort it all out, I’d say it was better to ask the person to identify themselves before opening your door.”

Oh, Peter, what have you done?
“Then you think that my son and I might be in danger?” she asked before Lori could ask the same question.

“There’s a possibility,” he allowed. “Until I start getting some straight answers, I really can’t tell you what it is you might be up against.”

Worried about what she had inadvertently dragged her sister into, Suzy told her, “Then maybe you shouldn’t stay here with me.”

Lori was cut out of the same fabric as she was. “My place is here with you and my nephew. Just
try
to get me to stay away,” Lori dared her. Turning, she gave the man her sister had been talking to a thorough once-over. “Hi, I’m Lori, Suzy’s sister.”

Nick took the hand she offered, closing his over it. The women more than just looked alike. They obviously had the same temperament.

“I kind of figured that out,” he told her warmly. He looked back at Suzy. “Forget about driving me,” he said. “Stay here with your sister, try to get a decent night’s sleep if you can. I’ll be back
tomorrow—or the day after,” he qualified. He had no idea how the rest of the investigations were going and always wanted to leave space for adjustment in case the feds had other leads that were more pressing. When he saw the confused expression in Suzy’s eyes, he explained, “I have more questions I need to ask you.”

Although Peter’s death was still very much of a shock to her, she was beginning to regain control over herself, beginning to find her way back to even ground. But the last thing she needed right now was to be left wondering what else would be unearthed about her husband. If the detective had more questions, she wanted to hear them now, not spend the next twelve or so hours anticipating them.

“I doubt if I’m going to be able to fall asleep at all tonight, much less get a decent night’s sleep, so unless you have to be somewhere else right now, you might as well get started asking those other questions, Detective. Although,” she reminded him, “I’m really not sure how much of a help I’m going to be. Like I said earlier, Peter didn’t exactly bring his work home with him.”

“Literally?” he asked.

She had no idea what Nick actually meant by that. “Excuse me?”

“Literally,” he repeated. Seeing that she was still puzzled, he elaborated on the question. “Did the sheriff bring home any files, a briefcase he might have carried back and forth with him. A laptop computer he kept locked up somewhere?”

The answer to all but the last question was yes. “Peter turned the guest bedroom into his office,” she volunteered. “Anything he brought home I guess would be there. He never left any of that anywhere else in the house.”

A home office. Maybe now they were finally getting somewhere. “Do I have your permission to go through it?” Nick asked.

Peter was gone, there was no longer a need to protect his things, she thought.

“Sure, if it’ll help you find out who killed Peter. But first,” she cautioned, “you’re going to have to get into it.”

It was Nick’s turn to be confused and say, “Excuse me?”

Before she could explain, the baby began fussing again. Suzy looked toward the playpen, torn.

“Go, I’ve got this,” Lori told her, waving her sister off as she went to get her nephew out of the playpen.

“Thanks,” Suzy said to her sister, then beckoned for the detective to come with her. “It’s this way,” she told him, leading the way to the room in question. “Peter keeps—kept—” she corrected herself “—his office locked up. When I asked him about it once, he said that it was to make sure that if anyone ever broke into the house, they wouldn’t be able to get into what he called ‘sensitive’ material.”

Nick wondered if that was just a term the sheriff had bandied about to make himself seem important, or if it actually stood for something.

“Any idea what that was?” he asked her.

Suzy stopped before the closed door and shook her head. “Not a clue.”

Nick regarded the door for a long moment. It didn’t look particularly reinforced. Why the drama?

“You realize that anyone who could break into the house could easily break into this room, as well,” he pointed out.

The weary smile that curved the corners of her mouth told Nick that the sheriff’s widow was well aware of that.

“The way I saw it,” she told Nick, “whatever Peter had in there was something he didn’t want me to see. Can’t say I wasn’t curious,” she admitted, then shrugged indifferently, “but then I thought that maybe it was like Pandora’s box—once it was opened, the things that I’d find there could never be put back and life might never be the same again. I decided not to risk it.

“But I can’t say I liked him having secrets like that. It really bothered me. A lot.” She looked at Nick. “It’s one of the reasons I decided to divorce him,” she confessed with a sigh. “There were just too many secrets.”

Whatever she could tell him might just make his job that much easier. “What were some of the others?”

“The usual things.” When he looked at her, waiting, she elaborated. “Hang-ups when I would answer the phone. More and more late nights out. Inconsistencies in the things he told me.”

“Such as?” he prodded.

“Such as why he left the Dallas police force.” That was the biggest inconsistency—she didn’t want to call it a lie, but in her heart, she knew it had to be. Or at least, that one of the reasons—if not more—that he’d given her was a lie. “When he first told me about it, Peter just shrugged it off, said he felt it was just time for him to make a move, to try something different.

“Another time he said that he left because he felt there were just too many corrupt cops on the force and rather than turn on them—and risk getting killed himself—he just resigned.

“And then there was the time he ran into someone he knew from Dallas,” she continued. She wasn’t aware that her expression hardened somewhat—but Nick was. “I overheard the other man saying something about Peter having to disappear quickly because of some kind of scandal he was involved in.”

Nick made a note to look up the sheriff’s record with the Dallas Police Department. “Do you know who the other man was?”