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He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll send my bill to your accountant.”
“Don’t bother. She’s on her honeymoon in New Zealand.”
“Did you know last month she made me redo the whole bill because she said I overcharged a hundred bucks? Seriously.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled. “Vivian isn’t messing around.”
“I sent her a hundred dollar bill.”
“Guess I should let her keep it as a bonus.” Note to self to give her a hard time about that.
“I’m gonna need a fucking sabbatical after dealing with all your shit.” He gathered his briefcase and stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
I parkedthe truck in the underground garage, a heaviness weighing me down. We’d said our goodbyes this morning, but I still didn’t feel right leaving Muriella behind. Not with things like this. Not to deal with any more flashbacks on her own.
I checked my watch. She should be home from school by now. Maybe I could talk her into coming with me. But no. I had to give her this time. Let her figure out on her own she could lean on me. Because she would. I felt it down to my depths.
The elevator doors slid open onto Muriella’s floor. I hesitated as I unlocked the door. Damn it, I didn’t want to do this interview. Why hadn’t Zegas scheduled it here in the city?
The faint scent of something burning hit my nose.
“Muriella?”
Silence answered me.
I checked the kitchen. It looked as it had this morning when I left. Tidy, that damn dishtowel folded by the sink.
I forged on to my bedroom, found my phone on the dresser. A zillion missed calls from Zegas—cell phone, office, hell, even his wife’s phone—littered the screen. There was one at the bottom from the ranch. I’d call back once I got on my way.
No sign of Muriella. Probably stayed late at church.
As I moved back toward the front door, the smoky smell hit me again. I detoured back to the kitchen, made sure the stove and oven weren’t on.
All clear, I stopped in the foyer with my hand on the doorknob. I doubled back to the living room, where the scent was stronger.
When I saw the condition of the room, my blood ran cold.
Muriella’s purse lay limply on its side on the sofa. Its contents were scattered across the cushions. A gallon of milk still in the bag sat on the coffee table. Ashes littered the hardwoods around her chair.
With a shaky finger, I dialed her number. A phone buzzed face down on the floor.
I sank to my knees and picked up the device. A fear like I’d never known gripped me by the throat.
Where are you?
Chapter Forty
Muriella
I’d procrastinatedafter escaping to church.
The apartment would be empty, and that wasn’t so appealing. I’d lingered in the deserted chapel, lit a candle for Mama and Carlos, apologized to God for being so angry, and prayed Stone had a safe journey to Texas.
I wandered around admiring the Christmas decorations near the apartment until I’d grown cold. Even that didn’t lift my spirits. After one last detour to the market for some milk, I’d run out of ways to avoid going home.
“Hi, Paul.” I held out a bag of popcorn from the old fashioned machine they had at the market. “I thought you might want a snack.”
