Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,69
note was left in her car?”
Meg’s heart skipped a beat. “No.”
“Your husband’s DNA was found within inches of her car door.”
That was kind of a weird coincidence.
As if he’d read her mind, Lange continued. “Don’t you think the odds of that are minuscule?”
She straightened her shoulders. “He was working at that facility. It could happen.”
Lange crossed an ankle over a knee. “Where was your husband that night?”
Steve had said they might ask that if they cornered her.
“Mostly at home, other than a quick trip to get gas.”
Except he’d been gone far longer than it took to fill up his tank at the corner station. A sudden urge to take a drive and clear his mind from the clutter of the week was how he’d explained his absence to her—but the police wouldn’t consider that a valid alibi. She had to verify his presence at the house.
Any woman would do as much for her husband.
“How quick?”
The detective wasn’t giving up—and while his tone was smooth as ever, his eyes were sharp. Probing.
“I didn’t time his absence.”
“An estimate would do. Ten minutes . . . an hour . . . two hours?”
She clenched her fingers together in her lap. “I don’t mean to be rude, but Steve said I’m not required to talk with you.”
“That’s true. However . . . since Eve is an old friend, I hoped you’d be willing to help us find who’s been targeting her.”
“Of course I am. But it’s not Steve.”
Lange watched her for a moment, then flipped open his notebook. “Do you know a woman by the name of Candy Norris?”
If the left-field query was intended to throw her, it succeeded.
“No.” She’d remember a name like Candy. “Why?”
“Your husband calls her on a regular basis. Has he bought you any jewelry lately?”
She twisted the combination wedding/engagement band with the line of diamond chips on top that adorned her finger. The only jewelry he’d ever given her.
“No. Why?”
“According to his credit card report, he’s made three purchases over the past year at a local jewelry store.”
A cold knot began to form in her stomach.
Why was Steve frequenting a jewelry store? Did those purchases have anything to do with this Candy woman the detective had mentioned?
Except . . . jewelry stores did sell other items, like watch batteries. And they did repairs and appraisals and—
“He bought an emerald ring, a diamond tennis bracelet, and a woman’s gold necklace.”
As the detective ticked off her husband’s purchases, the knot in her stomach tightened and the air whooshed from her lungs. Steve had been buying women’s jewelry. And given how Lange had framed his questions, he suspected it was for Candy.
But . . . but Steve wouldn’t do that to her. They’d only been married eighteen months. They’d taken vows. Why would he wed her if he wanted to play around?
Simple. He likes to control people—and you’re easy to manipulate.
No.
She smothered the taunting voice in her head.
That wasn’t true.
Steve would have an explanation for the purchases. For his calls to Candy. They could be grief related, even. A coping mechanism. From the beginning, he’d admitted that the loss of his first wife had been devastating. You had to cut people whose hearts had been broken a little slack.
Didn’t you?
“In case you’re wondering who Candy is, she works in a local bar.” The detective named it.
The burger joint Steve visited on occasion with his buddies. Never with her.
Tentacles of suspicion began to slither through her, as insidious as the calories that crept onto her hips and undermined her good intentions to lose weight.
“Who do you think the jewelry was for, Ms. Jackson?”
The bagel she’d scarfed down this morning after dragging herself out of bed hardened into a lump.
While his question came across as casual, it was obvious this man had already reached his own conclusion about the answer.
But it couldn’t be true. Not after last night. Not after all the things she and Steve had done into the wee hours. It had been as if they were back on their honeymoon. Operating on fumes today was a small price to pay for that romantic interlude.
The detective watched her, waiting for her to comment.
She had to defend Steve—at least until she talked with him.
“I know what you’re implying.” Her interlaced fingers began to throb, and she loosened the pressure on her knuckles. “But you’re wrong. About that, and about his involvement in the situation with Eve. Why would he want to hurt her?”