Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert #3) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,44

about wicked fights she’d have with her husband, but she always said she loved him too. After I saw her with Paul, I thought she was mostly just full of shit.”

Bree tried to make sense of her rambling. “Where did you see them together?”

Deb flushed. “Last Tuesday—I asked Holly to go out for drinks. She said she had to get home, but she was acting really weird.” The woman glanced away. “I followed her.” She flicked more ash. “She drove to Paul’s house. He answered the door and let her in.”

Interesting.

“Do you have any proof?” Bree asked.

“Like pictures?” Deb’s voice rose.

Bree nodded.

“Hell no. That’s creepy. I got the hell out of there before either of them saw me.” Deb smashed her second cigarette, the gesture both angry and final. “What kind of a weirdo do you think I am?”

Bree assumed the question was rhetorical because Deb had been jealous enough to follow Holly, and that was strange enough.

Stalkerish, even.

Which prompted Bree to ask, “Where were you last Friday night?”

Deb jerked. “What?”

Bree rephrased her question to be more specific. “Where were you between five o’clock Friday evening and noon on Saturday?”

Deb drew in a small gasp. “That’s when Holly was killed, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Bree said.

Deb pressed a hand to the base of her throat. “What the hell? I give you information, and you turn it back on me?”

“We’re ruling everyone out who was in Holly’s life,” Bree lied.

Deb squinted, her expression becoming more guarded. “I worked the breakfast shift on Saturday morning.” She inclined her head toward the diner. “Had to be in at five, so I stayed home Friday night and went to bed early.”

“Can you prove you were home?” Bree prodded. Deb was impulsive and temperamental. Anger might make her drop her guard.

She lowered her hand and clenched it into a fist. “I live alone.”

“Did you order pizza or see any neighbors?” Matt asked.

“No.” Deb evened her weight between both feet. “You can’t pin this on me.” Anger deepened her voice.

“We’re not trying to pin this on anyone.” Bree faced her squarely. “But we will find who killed Holly.”

Deb glanced at the diner. “You should talk to Paul’s wife, Angela.”

“But Paul and his wife have been separated for months,” Bree said. “Why would she care?”

Deb’s eyes went a little mean, and she lowered her voice. “For one, Holly was fucking her husband. Two, Paul was heading for bankruptcy. The company was bleeding cash and posting losses every month.”

“What do you mean?” Bree asked.

Deb shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I could get into trouble.” She shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m quitting anyway. Paul is up to something. When I ask him about unusual transactions, he gets all mad and refuses to answer my questions.” She gave her head a frustrated shake. “He’s such an asshole. It is my actual frigging job to reconcile the accounts, which I can’t do if I can’t categorize expenses.” She huffed. “And he’s been acting just generally weird.”

“In what way?”

“Jumpy and even more cranky than usual.” She pursed her lips. “One night a few weeks ago, I stayed late to work on the first-quarter statements with Holly. Paul came in. I’m not sure he knew I was there. He went into his office and left the door open. I saw him take a thick envelope out of his safe. It was full of cash. He counted it, put it in his pocket, and left.”

“Do you remember what day this was?”

Deb’s eyebrows dropped into a V. She pulled out her phone and opened her calendar. “It was three or four weeks ago, on a Wednesday. I didn’t put it on my calendar because they called me in at the last minute.”

Someone knocked on the glass, and they all turned to look. Roger gestured to his watch, then pointed at Deb and mouthed, “Sorry.”

She waved back at him. “The lunch rush will start soon. I really have to go.”

“Thank you for your help.” Bree watched Deb disappear into the diner.

Matt stroked his beard. “I can’t decide if she’s angrier because Paul grabbed her or more jealous that Holly slept with him and not her.”

“I suspect both. Emotionally, she was all over the place.” Bree started toward her vehicle. “We have a solid reason to officially make Paul Beckett a suspect—and request additional warrants.” She called Todd. “In addition to the background info on Paul and his company, I want personal bank and credit card statements and business financials as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Todd said. “We’ve fielded

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