AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I knew you’d followed them.”
“More courtesy of Detective Thronson?” He gave a derisive snort. “She’s a pretty big blabbermouth for an investigator.”
“It wasn’t really like that.” Elizabeth didn’t know why she was defending the detective. “It was when I first learned about the accident. I was trying to take it all in and she said you’d told her that. She’d seen you first.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but she could tell it did, at some level. “Better to lay all the cards on the table. I didn’t want the police learning from the hotel staff that I’d been there.”
There’s a girl who looked like you . . . blond hair in a loose bun. . . .
“Have you talked to the detective recently?”
“Not really.” Bellhard’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Why? Have you?”
“She’s called a few times,” Elizabeth admitted, wishing that she hadn’t brought the subject up. She’d counted on the fact that Thronson was keeping in close contact with both of them. After all, Bellhard had admitted to following his wife and Court to Tres Brisas. He’d known about the affair longer and had actively stalked them to their love nest in Mexico. Apparently, he had the nerve to actually face his wife and Court.
But it was a woman who played a dangerous game of tag on the freeway.
“You confronted both of them together?” Elizabeth made herself ask, though every instinct told her not to poke the bear in the cage. She might not like the reaction.
“Well, your husband was there, but he saw me and peeled off and ran away. I told Whitney he was a fucking coward.” He pinned Elizabeth with a look, almost daring her to defend her indefensible husband.
The front door opened at that moment and a young couple came inside. Relieved, Elizabeth shot them a smile as they read the sign to remove their shoes and immediately slipped out of their flip-flops.
“It’s so weird this house is selling,” the girl said brightly.
“I grew up in this neighborhood, over on Royce”—she waved in the direction of the front of the house—“so I knew the people who lived here.”
“Take a look around,” Elizabeth invited.
The twentysomething boy moved toward the kitchen to glance up and down the long counter. “You said there’d be cookies,” he said in a stage whisper.
The girl elbowed him in the side and they quickly walked down the hallway, giggling together.
Bellhard continued as if there’d been no interruption. “I told Whitney, ‘You’d better hope that loser business of yours finally turns a profit ’cause you’re getting nothing from me.’ You know what she said?” Bellhard’s anger, hidden in the beginning, had surfaced with a vengeance. “She said, ‘Court and I are getting married and he’s got tons of money. Lots more than you’ll ever make.’” He was staring at Elizabeth as if somehow she were to blame.
“It’s not true,” Elizabeth blurted, thinking of the disaster that was her finances. “I mean about the money.”
“Whitney always had a nose for cash,” he argued, “but hey, if you don’t want to talk about your finances with me, I get it. Just don’t hide anything from the police. They’ll find out.”
“There is no money.” She didn’t want to tell him anything, but she couldn’t help herself. Bellhard was ramping up her anxiety level.
Arching a disbelieving eyebrow, he said, “Take it from me. Full disclosure is your only ticket out.”
“I’ve been completely honest.”
He clearly didn’t believe her. The look he sent her asked, Have you?
Awash with anxiety, Elizabeth swallowed hard. You didn’t tell her about wishing Court harm. And Mazie . . . and Officer Unfriendly.
None of that is relevant, she reminded herself. It was all just . . . coincidence.
The young couple had gone upstairs. Elizabeth heard their clambering footsteps overhead as they moved from room to room. Wracked with conflicting emotions, Elizabeth stepped away from Peter Bellhard.
“Listen, I don’t mean to scare you,” he said a little more gently. “But take my advice. The police haven’t stopped digging around and if Thronson’s still calling you, she’s not satisfied.” The smile he sent her was more genuine. “Maybe we could get together sometime, for coffee or something? I think we should talk some more. You know, hash things out. Like it or not, we’re in this together.”
Spending more time with Bellhard was about the last thing Elizabeth wanted to do, but before she could even consider declining his suggestion, two middle-aged women entered the house, opening the door and hesitating only a second in the foyer before picking up some of the blue shoe covers, then slipping them over their shoes.
“Excuse me,” she said, thankful for the distraction. “I’m kind of busy.”
