Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jessica had never answered so many questions in all her life. Her nerves were shot, and she needed to relieve herself worse than ever before.
“We’ve confirmed your alibi with Steven Ruckle on your whereabouts yesterday evening. We also confirmed your check in to the motel. Did you leave your room at any time during the night?”
“No,” Jessica assured the detective. “I told you, I took an antianxiety pill and went to sleep.”
Detective Vickerson jotted down something in her notepad. “How often do you take antianxiety medication?”
“Not very often. I wouldn’t have taken one last night had I not been upset about the fight I had with my husband.”
“What was the fight about?”
Jessica stomach tightened in dread. “The message left on the wall of our home.”
“From the break in,” Vickerson murmured, once again writing in her notepad.
“Yes.”
The detective looked up, tapping her pen against her chin. “Why would you argue about the writing on the wall?”
What the hell was Jess supposed to say to that? My husband accused me of being responsible for it? “I don’t know why we fought about it, Detective. I guess both of our nerves were beyond shot by that point.”
The questioning went on for another half hour before a tap sounded on the door.
Vickers excused herself and then stepped into the hall, leaving Jessica alone with her anxiety.
They suspected her of killing Sandy Weaver. How was she supposed to clear herself when she was the last one to call or visit the blonde psychic?
Vickers stepped back into the room, a tall, gray-haired gentleman, carrying a briefcase right behind her.
Setting the briefcase on the table, the man announced. “My name is Lucas Hill. I was hired by your husband to represent you.”
He then turned his intelligent gaze to Vickerson. “Are you arresting my client?”
The detective shook her head. “Not as of yet.”
“Then she has nothing further to say.”
Jessica glanced from one to the other.
The attorney gripped Jessica by the elbow and coaxed her to stand. “Let’s go, Mrs. Nobles.”
Getting to her feet, Jess allowed the attorney to lead her to the door.
“Don’t leave town,” Vickerson called to Jessica’s retreating back. “We’ll be in touch.”
Jess nodded and stepped into the hall. Neither she or Lucas Hill spoke until they reached the front of the station.
Owen pushed away from the wall. “Are you okay?”
Jessica wanted to run to him, but something in his eyes held her back. “I’m tired, but other than that, yes. I just really want to get out of here.”
Owen nodded and then shook the attorney’s hand. “Thank you for getting here so fast, Mr. Hill. I’m Owen Nobles, Jessica’s husband. We spoke on the phone.”
Lucas returned the handshake. “My office is just across the street. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get everything sorted out in no time.”
Releasing the attorney’s hand, Owen stepped back and placed his arm around Jessica’s shoulders.
She had to admit that it felt good to have her husband to lean on; even if he didn’t trust her.
The trio crossed the street and entered a grey, three-story building. They took the elevator to the third floor, following closely behind Hill as he stepped off into the hall and entered a large, extravagant office.
Hill skirted his desk, nodding toward the two leather chairs situated in front of it. “Please, have a seat.”
Jessica and Owen sat while the attorney opened a drawer and pulled out some papers.
“My assistant usually handles the paperwork, but she’s gone home for the day. I just happened to be here working on a case when your husband called.”
Jessica glanced at Owen, noticing the tense set to his jaw. “How did you know I’d been taken to the station?”
“I came home to find the house being searched. One of the officers told me where to find you.”
The attorney cleared his throat, bringing Jessica’s attention back to him. “I need you to tell me everything. Do you understand? Leave nothing out, no matter how small you think it is.”
“I didn’t kill that woman,” Jessica responded in a weak voice. “I barely even knew her.”
Lucas Hill leaned back in his chair. “I spoke with the Sparkleberry Hills police chief. It would seem that they found your fingerprints all over Mrs. Weaver’s living room.”
Owen’s head cranked around in Jessica’s direction. “Who is Mrs. Weaver?”
“The psychic I told you about. I went to see her a few days ago to talk with her about the missing Dayton boy.”
Owen exhaled loudly. “Were you planning on telling me about this?”
“No,” Jessica snapped before pinching the bridge of her nose. “I couldn’t tell you, Owen. You would only think I was crazy and demand I see a psychiatrist.”
A tense silence ensued and then Owen addressed the attorney. “I’m assuming the psychic is dead?”
“Apparently she was murdered in her own home last night. Your wife is suspected of being the last person to see her alive.”
“Jesus,” Owen breathed, glancing at Jessica before returning his gaze to the attorney. “What happens now?”
“Once I’ve heard everything there is to hear, I’ll determine if I need to be placed on retainer. But from what I’ve gathered so far, I think it’s safe to say that detective isn’t going to stop until your wife is behind bars.”
Jessica’s heart twisted. “But I didn’t do it.”
“I’m not here to judge you, Mrs. Nobles. I only need to know what we’re up against.”