Summer in Eclipse Bay (31 page)

Act normal.

“I've got an energy bar in the car.” Another lie. Was she getting good at this or what?

“All right. Well, take care. And I'll see you on Friday.”

“Right. Friday.”

She gave him what she hoped was a bright, professional-looking smile, tightened her grip on the chartreuse tote and went briskly toward her car. She tried not to appear as if she was rushing away from the screaming house.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the vehicle. Yanking open the door, she tossed the tote onto the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, put on her dark glasses and fired up the engine, all in what felt like a single motion.

Her hands were still trembling. Aftershocks from the surge of adrenaline, she surmised. This wasn't the first time. She could handle it.

But she had to grip the wheel very tightly in order to steer her way out of the exclusive community. To her left was the long stretch of impossibly green fairway that served as the approach to the sixteenth hole of the Desert View Country Club. Elegant homes similar to the Mason residence were scattered artfully around the golf course.

Beyond the vivid green links stretched the rugged expanse of the Sonoran desert and low, rolling mountain foothills. The golf club community and the adjoining town of Whispering Springs were a little more than an hour's drive from Phoenix, close enough to catch some of the spillover from the tourist trade but far enough out to avoid the traffic and congestion of the city.

The harsh, dry landscape had seemed a strange and alien place to her when she had moved here a year ago but somewhere along the line her new environment had begun to feel familiar, even comfortable. She had discovered an unexpected beauty in the desert, with its spectacular sunrises and sunsets and the astounding depths of light and shadow. She had always been drawn to contrasts and there was nothing subtle about this place.

The decision to move to Whispering Springs had been a good one, she mused, but maybe she should reconsider the career move she had made at the same time. Interior design had seemed like a natural, logical way to go. After all, she had a background in the fine arts, a good, trained eye and she certainly knew how to get the feel of a living space. Best of all, she hadn't needed any additional degrees or qualifications in order to set herself up in business legally. But today's encounter was enough to give her some second thoughts.

A uniformed guard came out of a small building located at the gated entrance. The emblem on his snappy khaki jacket declared him to be an employee of Radnor Security Systems. He greeted her politely, wished her a good day and went back inside his air-conditioned sanctuary to make a note on his log.

Security was tight here in this carefully planned enclave of wealth and status but someone in the Mason residence had not benefited from it.

She waited until she was clear of the gates and on her way back toward the downtown section of Whispering Springs before she picked up her phone. She punched in the only number that she had coded into her speed dial.

Arcadia Ames answered on the third ring, giving the name of her gift shop in her low, throaty voice. “Gallery Euphoria.”

Arcadia sold unique, expensive gifts to an upscale clientele but Zoe was pretty sure her friend could have sold sand here in the desert with that voice.

Arcadia was her best friend; make that her
only
friend. She had once had other friends, Zoe thought. But that was a long time ago; back when she had had a real life and had not been living in the shadows.

“It's me,” Zoe said.

“What's wrong? Something happen with Mr. Ideal Client?”

“You could say that.”

“He decided not to hire you after all? That idiot. But don't worry, there will be other good clients like him. The divorce rate doesn't seem to be going down very much.”

“Unfortunately, Mason didn't change his mind,” Zoe said evenly. “I wish he had.”

“Did the creep make a pass at you?”

“He was a perfect gentleman.”

“He must be rich because everybody who lives in Desert View is, by definition, a high-roller,” Arcadia said patiently. “So what went wrong?”

“I think Mr. Ideal Client may have murdered his wife.”