The sound of a door opening caught Aiden’s attention. Zander must have run a few red lights to get home so quickly, but he was grateful for the added company. Gabrielle was on her second cupcake, this time a chocolate one. Maybe she’d behave herself with her husband in the room.
“Hey,” came a female voice.
“Oh, hi, honey,” Gabrielle answered stiffly, the word “honey” seeming to stick in her throat. “This is Aiden. He’s a private dick, here to ask your dear old daddy some questions.” She plucked up a cake and held it out. “Want one?” She threw her daughter a wink.
The girl shook her head. “Surprised you’re willing to share.”
“This is my loving daughter, Natalie,” Gabrielle said to Aiden with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
Natalie gave a nod in his direction, narrowed her eyes, and skulked out of the room.
A cup of coffee and another cupcake later, Zander Lyons finally made his entrance. Aiden stood and offered a hand in greeting. The tall man swung his briefcase onto the counter, making his wife jump. “Who the hell are you?”
“Aiden O’Rourke. I’m a private investigator. Sheriff Wilkins brought me in to help with the Sara Valier murder investigation.”
Zander gave Aiden’s hand a reluctant shake then turned to his wife. “Why don’t you and your cupcakes disappear and let me talk to Mr. O’Rourke in private.”
Gabrielle let out a huff of displeasure before leaving.
“This is why I was summoned?” Zander said, anger coloring his voice.
“I won’t take much of your time.”
“Hope not.”
Aiden wondered if he should sit down again or whether they were going to have the entire conversation standing up. He decided to let Zander take the lead and if he sat, Aiden would follow suit.
Zander stood like a statue, legs slightly apart, arms folded tightly across his chest, the seams of his expensive suit jacket straining.
“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Lyons. According to your statement, you empathically deny having anything to do with Sara Valier’s murder. You do, however, admit she was carrying your child and you were not happy about that. Is that correct?”
Zander’s lips tightened into a grim mask of displeasure. “I did not want another child. That’s correct. Look, do I need a lawyer?” He plucked his cell phone from his pocket, finger poised over the keypad.
Aiden smiled in an attempt to disarm him. “No. Not at all. I’m just coming in late in the game and have to play catch-up. No need for lawyers.”
Zander cocked a thick brow, studying him, then seemingly satisfied, put the phone away. “Hurry and ask your questions. I have work to do.”
“Did you ask Miss Valier to have an abortion?”
“Yes. I told her I would take care of everything…all the expenses.”
“Did she want to keep the baby?”
There was a moment of hesitation before he answered, “No. We were in agreement that she’d…take care of things.”
“Really?” Aiden asked, then waved him off. “It’s OK, no need to answer that. I understand you were out of town on business the day of the murder. I’d like to see some proof, a receipt or credit card statement. Do you have anything like that?”
“You’re not a cop. I don’t have to prove anything to you. I already spoke to the authorities about that.”
The man was right. He had no authority to demand such a thing, but sometimes he got lucky. Suspects panicked and said and did things their lawyers would have fits over.
“OK. One last thing and I’ll leave you alone. What do you know about firearms? Do you own any and, if so, are you experienced in their use?” Aiden noticed Zander’s expression change from one of anger to uncertainty. He knew the look of a man who was about to lie.
“Absolutely not.”
* * *
No one saw Natalie leave, a satchel casually slung across her shoulder.
She made it to the diner with only half an hour to spare before closing and sat in the booth at the back. After shrugging off the bag, she eyed the restaurant carefully, taking note of who was where and what they were doing. Annie was at the front, cashing out some old guy. A group of teenagers sat by the window, and a middle-aged man, draining a coffee mug, was engrossed in the news on the flat screen over the counter. Other than that, no one else was there.
The only worry she had was that Lily was in the back somewhere. Natalie twisted around to look down the short hallway. Lights were off. That was a good sign. She decided to make her move before Annie spotted her and came for her order.
She was on her feet and moved as fast as she could without breaking into a run. It had been years since she’d wandered to the back of the diner looking for the washroom, but she remembered the layout. In particular Lily’s office because the walls were covered with pictures of the Valier family.
So many photos all in the same black frames. They’d piqued her curiosity and lured her in. Most were of Lily and her sister, Sara, the home wrecker, at various ages. A few of their mother Nancy too. In all of them, Lily and Sara looked deliriously happy, with their arms around each other, smiles huge and genuine. She remembered one picture in particular—the girls just freckle-faced kids, in summer at the beach, their mother looking on, watching them play. A real mother, one who loved them and would do anything for them. Even without a dad they were a happy family. Her heart broke at the sight of them, and her hatred, borne of jealousy, grew even more.
Natalie made her way past the staff room to Lily’s office. If she was discovered, she’d say she was looking for the washroom.
The room was black as pitch, making Natalie stop in her tracks for fear of accidentally knocking something over. She dared not turn on the light. Luckily she’d thought of everything. Natalie was nothing if not conscientious and resourceful. She fished out her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Its feeble light was enough. She shone it around the room and finally let out the breath she’d been holding. It was the same! Exactly the same.
The room was small and Natalie was by the couch in just three strides. She pulled out a pair of leather gloves from her bag and put them on, then lay down on the worn area rug that covered most of the floor. She could smell the old of the place, the dust in the rug, the worn wooden floorboards and the leather of the couch. Reaching out, she shoved her arm and shoulder as far as possible under it. The wood frame pressed into the flesh of her upper arm despite the down fill of her winter jacket, but the pain was worth it. Finally, her fingers reached the end of the rug. She could feel the fringe on it, stiff and ragged with age. She plucked it up and with her other hand, removed the gun from her satchel and placed it underneath the carpet in the farthest corner. Exactly where she’d told Antonio he could find it.