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“Jeffrey Sellers’ ex-wife,” I replied.
Henry’s gaze flickered ever so slightly, but that was his only reaction. “NancyAnne Nielsen?”
“You knew about her?”
“Of course,” he said, then went on, his tone just a little too smug, “Their marriage and divorce is a matter of public record, so her information came up when we were doing a standard background check on him. But she’s in Iowa, so we didn’t consider her a suspect.”
Ha. At least there was something I knew and Henry didn’t. “Well, actually,” I said, “she’s here.”
Shock registered on his blunt features before he could completely hide it. “In Mesa?” he demanded.
“No, in Phoenix,” I said. “She’s staying in a hotel at the airport. Or at least, she was. She had a two o’clock flight today, so she’s probably waiting somewhere at the airport. But she’s definitely checked out of the hotel by now.”
“Damn it.” He pulled in a breath, the look on his face telling me he wasn’t happy with himself for allowing even that brief outburst in my presence. “When I talked to her, she told me she was at home in Davenport. How long was she here?”
I hesitated. Revealing that NancyAnne had been in the Phoenix area for the greater part of a week would only get Henry thinking she’d had ample opportunity to slip that poison into the creamer.
Well, except for the part where she had known nothing about the blackmail plan or Victoria.
Unless she had.
What if she and Jeffrey had been working together, and she’d decided to kill him so she could keep all the blackmail money herself?
The thought of the two of them working as a team didn’t seem very likely, though. And what was the point of killing him before he’d even gotten the money from Victoria?
Maybe she miscalculated, I thought then. Maybe she’d thought the poison wouldn’t act as quickly, and he wouldn’t die until after he’d gotten the money.
“I think around the middle of last week,” I said, after I realized Henry would only have to do the same thing Calvin’s deputy had done to get all the information he needed about NancyAnne’s itinerary, so there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to hide it.
His eyes narrowed again, and I could tell he was doing the same mental math I’d performed only an hour or so earlier. “Well, it sounds as though I need to have another chat with Ms. Nielsen,” he said. “Might be time to remind her that making false statements to an officer of the law is a crime in this country.”
“Don’t do that,” I blurted, and he shot me an annoyed look.
“Why not?”
“Because she’s just had a shock,” I replied. “She didn’t know Jeffrey was dead until I told her. Also, she’s got a small child at home, and is living with her parents because Jeffrey bailed on his child-support payments. But I suppose you already knew that.”
Henry didn’t reply right away, telling me I was right, and that he knew all about NancyAnne Nielsen’s home situation. “Still,” he said after a weighty pause, “even if she’s innocent, she’s not making a very good case for herself by lying to the police regarding her whereabouts.”
I couldn’t argue with that observation, so I settled for giving a tiny lift of my shoulders.
To my surprise, Henry seemed satisfied with that response, saying, “Well, there’s nothing more either of us can do here, so I think it’s a good idea if you head back to Globe, Selena. You have a store to run, after all.”
No point in telling him I had an assistant managing the place for me in my absence, because I guessed his wife Joyce had already let him know about my new hire. Should I mention my theory that Jeffrey might have hidden his laptop in the trunk of his car?
Might as well, I told myself. You might earn back a couple of brownie points.
“Have you searched Jeffrey’s car?” I blurted, and Henry Lewis sent me a look that could only be described as condescending.
“That was one of the first things we did,” he said. “He left it parked a couple of blocks down from Victoria Parrish’s studio, and we had it towed to the impound yard. There was nothing to find.”
“No laptop?” I asked, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice.
“No laptop,” Henry repeated. “Nothing in there except an expired registration and a couple of unpaid parking tickets.”
Damn it. And I’d been so certain that Jeffrey Sellers must have stashed the laptop in the trunk or under the seat.
“Oh, well,” I said. “It was just a thought. Have a good one, Henry.”
