Unless she already knew that Scott wasn’t dead and maybe the police now saw him as the primary suspect.
Brenda almost called her back, but she didn’t. Instead, she called Detective Shelton.
“Shelton,” he said rather than hello. The sound of traffic told her he was still on the road. Maybe headed home by now.
“Detective Shelton, this is Brenda Devers. I’m sorry to bother you but I just called Lena Jenner, and she said her attorney advised her not to talk to me. Do you have any idea why she would get that kind of advice? Scott and Tate were partners in the business and in the office. I can’t imagine why she would see me as some sort of enemy.” She just couldn’t fathom what was going on.
A sigh hissed across the line. Brenda braced herself for news she obviously wasn’t going to want to hear.
“Since your husband was not in the office at the time of the explosion, even though his car being in the parking lot and the fact that he told you he had a meeting there implied he was, it suggests…”
He didn’t have to say the rest. “You think Scott arranged for this man to be in the office and to die in his place.” Dear God, there was no longer any way to ignore where this was going.
“There is no reason to believe otherwise,” Shelton pointed out.
It was true then. The victim was a presumed setup and the detective believed Scott had arranged for him to be there.
“Why would he do that?” Brenda couldn’t fathom the reason. Scott had life insurance, but how would that benefit him if he was supposed to be dead?
“There was a business policy in place. If anything happened to one or both partners, all debts and damages were covered. It appears,” he said with audible reluctance, “the business was in deep financial trouble.”
“What? No. He bought a house last year. How could he be in financial trouble?”
“The house on The Ledges,” Shelton said, “was leased. Not purchased.”
A new wave of shock radiated through her. Brenda didn’t know what to say. “Okay,” she finally managed to get out. “Scott and Tate were partners. If the business was in trouble, that would involve both of them.” She couldn’t stop thinking about how Lena refused to speak with her…had retained an attorney. A big-deal attorney at that.
“Ms. Devers, the bottom line is that your husband, Scott,” Shelton explained, “is no longer a victim in this investigation.”
Her breath left her in a rush as the reality of the situation sank fully in. “He’s a suspect.” The words croaked out of her, no matter that she had known this was coming.
“Yes.”
“Who was the other man—the one I buried.” This was too much.
“We don’t know yet,” Shelton explained. “But you should be aware that given this latest turn of events, we’ll be applying for a warrant to search your home, Ms. Devers. Your bank accounts will be frozen.”
“Wait, we’ve been separated for a year. We each have our own bank account.” This was not right.
“The two of you were still married. There’s not a lot more I can tell you, Brenda.” That he used her first name had her going cold. “My advice? Go to an ATM and take out as much cash as you can as quickly as you can.”
The call ended and Brenda simply sat there for a time. This had to be wrong. A mistake of some sort. Why would Scott kill his partner and arrange for someone else to die in his own place? Was he trying to outmaneuver their creditors? Surely they weren’t mixed up with loan sharks. It was ridiculous to even think…
No matter how she analyzed what she had just learned, the truth was Brenda knew nothing of Scott’s business dealings. He did his thing and she did hers when it came to careers. She was aware his company was an investment firm, but she had no idea about the details or the clients. In fact, she actually knew very little about Scott’s partner, Tate. Or his wife. She just assumed…too much apparently.
She had made a terrible, terrible mistake allowing herself to be so oblivious.
Chapter Four
5:45 p.m.
A knock on her door had Brenda lunging to her feet.
The pizza must have been delivered. She went to the door and opened it.
But instead of her new neighbor there was another man. Older. Fortyish. His navy suit was rumpled, and he needed a shave. A few threads of gray had found their way through his dark hair.
“Ms. Devers?”