Under His Protection. Amy Fetzer J.
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been notified. The victim’s apartment would be sealed off and swept for evidence. It was time, he thought, to find more suspects. Yet in the back of his mind lingered one troubling question. Had Lisa Bracket Winfield changed enough over the past four years to be capable of murder?
LISA SLID INTO the booth in the diner and smiled at her lawyer, Trisha Flynn. Trish had her notebook out, ready to talk.
“We could have met at the office, Lisa.”
Lisa shook her head, grateful for the cup of coffee waiting for her. “That would make me feel like a real suspect.”
“From what you told me, you’re the best possible one.”
“Gosh, you’re a fun date, huh?” Lisa’s heart sank and at the same time, anger unfolded. Was Peter going to keep ruining her life? “Dammit, Trish, I didn’t do this,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “When I left Peter last night, he was very much alive.”
“And mad as hell, I’ll bet.”
Lisa scoffed. “He wasn’t getting his way, so yes, he was mad.” Lisa glanced at the menu, and they ordered, silent till the waitress left them.
“Was it the same argument?” Trish asked.
“Oh, yes. When was it not?”
“You don’t look upset that he’s dead.”
“I grieved. I loved him once upon a time.” And I loved Nash, too, she thought, and knew if it had been him who died, she wouldn’t be functioning nearly as well. “But you know better than anyone what it was like with him, Trish. And now to have Nash nosing around in my personal business, my marriage…”
“You should have told him.”
Trisha had been with her when she’d miscarried her baby. “Is that my lawyer or friend talking?” Lisa asked.
Trisha smiled, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulder as she reached for the creamer. “Your friend. Who’s on lawyer time.”
Lisa tried to smile and couldn’t. “I know you think Nash should know about the baby I lost, but I understand him better than he does. It wouldn’t have worked out then, and bringing it up now will only hurt him more.” Four years had eased the loss only a little.
“But Nash wants to know what you and Peter fought about.”
“I can’t, Trish.” Lisa’s eyes teared up, and she grabbed a paper napkin, blotting them. Wimp, she thought, you’ve been through worse. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, honey. We’ve all been there.” Lisa met her gaze. “Do you want me to petition to have him removed from the case?”
“You can do that?”
“He has a personal attachment.”
“No, it will just make me look guilty.”
“Is Nash an honest man, Lisa?” her lawyer asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Would he use this to hurt you?”
“I…I don’t think so.”
Trish voiced no opinion on that, and Lisa wondered how bad this was going to get. “Okay, the conversation you and Peter had last night is inadmissible, and your word against a dead man’s is hearsay,” Trisha said. “Don’t worry about it now. It has no bearing on his death that I can see.”
Lisa relaxed back into the leather seat and nursed her coffee. “And if Nash believes it does?”
“Let’s wait to see what they come up with, because right now, we know you didn’t kill Peter.”
Lisa was grateful Trisha believed her, but the certainty that Nash didn’t was brewing like a storm inside her.
“Do you want me to hire a private detective to find out what I can?”
“No.”
Trisha eyed her, making notes.
“The police are working on it, Trish. I’m innocent.”
“Nash has already ordered a deep background check on Peter and it will include you.”
Lisa shrugged. “That can’t be helped.”
“And if he reads medical records?”
Suddenly Lisa went still. “Don’t they have to get a court order?”
“Not if you’re a suspect. And if you want to look innocent, you give them permission.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I have to.” But the thought of telling Nash the truth gave her nothing but pain. He might still be a little hurt, but the truth would destroy him.
Their food arrived. Lisa stared down at the healthy-looking green salad, then called the waitress back.
“I’ll start with dessert. Chocolate. Anything with chocolate.”
“Woman after my own heart,” the waitress said as she left.
Trisha shook her head, smiling.
Lisa shrugged. “Hey, I’ll jog an extra two miles.”
A minute later the waitress slid the dessert before her. And both women gaped at the five-layer torte covered in chocolate fudge.
“Better make that five miles,” Trisha said, laughing. “With sit-ups.”
Lisa stabbed a chunk of torte enjoying the calories one at a time. “You could join me, but I know how you look running in those high heels you refuse to lose. It ain’t pretty, sugah.”
Trisha smiled and forked a bite of the dessert.
Lisa devoured bite after bite, knowing that not even gooey chocolate would keep her mind off Nash and that he thought she was capable of murder.
Chapter Three
The next day Lisa was still fuming, and the best thing for her temper was to dig in the dirt. Leaving Kate to oversee the register, she repotted new stock and replaced the plants in the smaller gardens that had been sold in the past few days. She scrubbed terra-cotta pots, clipped cuttings, clipped herbs and tied them to dry, then deadheaded flowers. Anything to keep her mind off Nash Couviyon and the fact that he thought she was capable of killing another human being. It made her ill. And it hurt.
Lord, it hurt.
Obviously whatever relationship they’d had—and she still wasn’t certain they’d had a real one—meant nothing. Not when you’re faced with murder charges, she supposed.
Peter was dead. She grieved for him of course, but it was mild. That shamed her. She’d been his wife, in name only for the past three years. Still. He didn’t deserve to die, although she’d learned quickly in their marriage that he wasn’t a very nice person. Once she wore his ring, he’d become controlling, manipulative, obsessive.
He’d damn near driven her crazy in a few short months. And she’d learned her true purpose in his life. Be pretty, behave, give great parties, and schmooze…
A trophy wife.
Boy, did he learn he’d chosen poorly. And so did she. She’d left and started over. Started over a couple of times, in fact, she mused, and now she had every cent she’d earned in the past three years sunk into this house and her nursery business. She’d done most of the work herself and business was steady. Temple Couviyon had steered some contractors her way for her more exotic plants. Life was getting back to good, she thought, and felt as if she’d spent a century getting to this very moment.
And now it could be over. If word leaked out that she was a suspect in a murder case, she’d be ruined. Her reputation would be shot.
Shaking her head, she plowed her hands deep into the potting