Murder in Roseville Read online

  Murder in Roseville

  Formerly One Small Touch

  Denise McGee

  Author Denise McGee

  ATLANTA, GA

  Copyright © 2018 by Denise McGee.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Murder in Roseville/ Denise McGee.

  ISBN: 1480286575

  ISBN-13: 978-1480286573

  Contents

  Strange Events

  The Accident

  The Facts of the Case

  The Coat Conundrum

  At the Airport

  Trashed

  A Little Tied Up

  Followed

  Stuck in Bed

  Nicki Attacked

  Out of the Hospital

  Questions

  Questioned

  Ambushed

  Torture

  Endings

  Beginnings

  To my darling husband - my favorite cheerleader

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I must thank Shanti Krishnamurty for her tireless encouragement and endless patience. Without her this book would never have been written.

  Next, I wish to thank D. Kai Wilson-Viola for the wonderful editing and priceless tips.

  Additionally, a big thanks to Amy Lykins for her excellent proofreading.

  Finally, I wish to thank my family for occasionally being quiet long enough to let me write. I love you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Strange Events

  LAUREL

  The doorbell rang.

  Exasperated, I dropped the pen I held onto the desk covered with index cards and books on Thailand. 10 am was right in the middle of my work day and I hated to lose momentum.

  Frowning, I left my office and headed down the hall towards the front door. "Really?" I grumbled as the bell rang once more. "Give me more than ten seconds to get to the door."

  A figure paced back and forth, crossing and crisscrossing the stained-glass sidelight windows. The visitor’s shadow intermittently darkened the hardwood floors of the living room. As I got closer to the door, the anxiety of the person on the other side was palpable enough for me to taste. My feet responded by moving faster. Irritation flowed away like water, to be replaced with a burgeoning concern something was wrong.

  I reached the door as my unwelcome guest raised an impatient arm to push the chime a third time. The sound chirruped on the wall above my head as I turned the knob.

  Stress, wearing an expensive suit and with a receding hairline, stood in my doorway. No, he crowded my doorway. He loomed over me, his urgency hammering at my psyche. My chin shot up and I refused to step backward, despite his stoop-shouldered attempt to invade my personal space.

  "Can I help you?" I didn't bother to hide my annoyance.

  "Mrs. Edwards?"

  I nearly snorted. I'd kept my maiden name of Wentworth when I'd married Nathan. It made a great way to weed out unwanted salesmen.

  "Didn't you see the 'Absolutely NO Solicitation' sign and the note on the door?" I tried to shut the door but he'd managed to squeeze a knee into the doorframe, despite my refusal to be intimidated. I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you mind?"

  His voice cracked and slipped out in a rush, "I'm not selling anything. I work with Nathan. Is he home?"

  I blinked in surprise and took a closer look. Add more hair…and less stress…

  “Graham Harrison,” I said. “I remember you from the Christm

  as party.”

  “Hamilton. Yes, you brought the imported cheese,” his smile was brief and didn’t reach his eyes. “I can't find Nathan. He's not answering his cell and I need the plans for the Dean Manor project. Do you think they're here?"

  He oozed anxiety. It tasted horrible and had an edge of desperation to it that I didn't like. I thought about grabbing a mint from my pocket to erase the taste but didn't want to cloud my talent with him still standing at my door.

  I wondered what was going on. Nathan was just a landscape architect - not a job that led to the level of stress the tall man in front of me exhibited.

  "Isn't the Dean project finished? I thought Nathan said it was."

  "Yes, but I need the papers to send out the final invoice." Another truth but only a partial one this time. He needed the papers for something else, too.

  "Well, he's not here but I can see if he'll answer for me." I pulled my cell from my pocket and, ignoring Graham's impatient grunt, called Nathan's phone. It went straight to voicemail.

  Graham’s need for these papers sat on my tongue as a truth. And it was a need, not a want. Graham was driven to find the papers and his edgy sense of urgency made me wonder how far he'd go to get them.

  I sighed and held open the door I had been trying to shut. The sooner he got his papers the sooner he’d go away. "He's not answering. Any papers he has here would be in his office, though."

  He followed me down the hallway off the living room, his coffee and cinnamon scented breath tickling my neck.

  Trying to put a little space between us, I tripped on the runner protecting the wood floor in the hall and bumped into the small table set against the wall. The vase of colored marbles decorating the top teetered a moment before settling back into place.

  My embarrassed look over my shoulder turned into a glare when I realized I hadn't tripped. He'd stepped on the back of my shoe.

  He shrugged an apology and gave a sheepish half-smile, but if he felt any true remorse I didn't sense it.

  I gave him a considering glance, as I realized I was alone in my home with this strangely intense man I’d met one time.

  How very foolish of you, Laurel, I thought to myself. Have you bothered to even read the books you write?

  "Is the invoice urgent, Mr. Hamilton?" I asked as we continued down the hall. "You seem stressed."

  "Not really." He hesitated a moment, readying a lie. "We were either delivered the wrong foliage for the side yard or grossly overcharged. I need the paperwork, so I can track it down." He made a face, his mouth twisting. "As you can imagine, I don't want to get anyone's panties in a twist before I figure it out."

  I nodded and let the odd choice of words pass. He wanted the papers, true enough, but his words about plants tasted bitter to me. He was lying.

  We reached Nathan's office door as the hall made a sharp right and continued toward the back of the house.

  For a man in a hurry, Hamilton didn't enter right away. He took his time gazing down the corridor at the other doors. I was glad I'd closed the door to my own office. He made me nervous.

  My cell rang, making us both jump. I frowned at it, although I was secretly glad someone else had interrupted my day. It was Cheryl, my agent.

  "If you want to go on in and look on his drafting table, I'll just be a moment," I said to Graham. "It's my agent. She always calls around th
is time."

  As lies go, mine was bad but I doubted he could taste the truth like I could. Besides, I wanted to check his reaction.

  He looked relieved and entered Nathan's office, leaving me to my call.

  I grinned at my imaginings as I answered the phone. "Hey, Cheryl. How goes it?"

  "Laurel? Sorry for bothering you so early, but I've got news for you!"

  "I can't talk long, Cheryl. One of Nathan's coworkers stopped by looking for one of his plans, so I'll need to get back to helping him look. What's the news?"

  I could almost hear Cheryl’s interest resonating down the nonline. "Oh, so you're entertaining a gentleman caller. I'll be brief then." I rolled my eyes but bit my tongue. Glancing into the office, I met Graham’s cold eyes. He stood near the desk but not close enough to look for anything, trying to listen to my call. I turned my back on him and walked a short way down the hall. "You ready for this? Halcyon wants you to teach at their workshop this summer."

  "Really?" I smiled. Halcyon was a big deal. It was a huge honor to be asked to be an instructor.

  "Yep. So, you're saying yes?"

  "Yes, absolutely yes."

  "Excellent! I have you scheduled to come in tomorrow at noon to sign the paperwork."

  "You know me too well, Cheryl."

  "Ha, I knew only a fool would turn this down and you're no fool."

  I laughed and thought about the man in Nathan’s office. "Thanks, but sometimes that’s debatable."

  "I'll let you get back to your boy toy. Catch you later!" Cheryl hung up on a laugh.

  I stuck my tongue out at the now dead phone and joined Graham in the office. Nathan had a thing for wood so, while the walls weren't paneled, decorative molding was rampant and his desk was an eye-catching wooden monolith. It was all you saw from the moment you entered the room. I hadn't a clue why he bought it though - he did all his work on the smaller drafting table in the corner.

  Hamilton had moved closer to the monster in the center of the room, glaring at its clean surface.

  I laughed at his disgruntled expression. "I'm sorry. I should have mentioned he never uses the desk. This is his workspace." I strolled over to the cantilevered table holding several large sheets of paper. The topmost one was labeled "Dean".

  I held it out to Hamilton. "Is this what you need?"

  He took it and gave it a cursory glance, eyes on the remaining papers. "This is one of them but there should be a couple of others."

  I motioned toward the table. "Help yourself."

  I moved away from him, hoping to get far enough away that I could no longer sense him. It would take a while before the oily taste of his lies would stop coating my tongue as it was. I again resisted the urge to pop a mint into my mouth.

  He gathered up the rest of the papers and looked towards me. "There should be a manifest listing all plants ordered. I don't see it here. Any ideas where it might be?"

  I shook my head. "If it's not there, then I haven't a clue. I don’t get involved in his work. Let me try his cell again." Once more it went directly to his mailbox.

  "He's still not answering. He should be home in about an hour, though, if you want to try back then."

  He didn't move. His gaze on me was thoughtful, calculating. I rubbed my arms and tried not to shiver. He was so focused I couldn't read what he thought anymore. All the whirling thoughts in him stilled while he stared at me.

  I moved across to the door, fighting down the urge to swallow. I wasn't about to show my unease. I don't know why an image of a lion attacking a gazelle appeared in my mind, but I took the hint from my subconscious and proceeded with feigned confidence to the hall. No fear.

  He stayed where he was, still watching me with his cold, quiet eyes. I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Hamilton?" my voice may have been cool and collected but inside I was a twist of nerves.

  He released my gaze and looked at the paintings on the walls. "Quite a collection you have here. Some of them are really nice."

  I shrugged, "It's Nathan's hobby."

  He looked amused, "You two don't get along." It wasn't a question.

  I shrugged again but I wasn’t sure what my face showed. Whatever it was, he took it for confirmation.

  "You know, someone with your...attributes...should have no problems getting any man you wanted. Why stay with him?"

  "I'm hardly going to discuss my personal life with you, Mr. Hamilton," I said tartly, my face assuming a mocking look.

  "What if I were to tell you he was in a car headed out of town with another woman as we speak?" He watched me with those passionless eyes.

  I laughed. "If you're trying to upset me, I'm afraid that ship has sailed. She's not the first and she won't be the last."

  His lips twisted into a wry smile. "You never know she might be."

  "Perhaps, perhaps not. This topic is over, though." I gestured towards the office door. "After you."

  He looked again at the paintings. "Any safes behind one of those?"

  "I haven't a clue but feel free to look, if you like. I don't have a combination or keys for anything you might find, though."

  Hamilton's last look at the paintings was regretful. Finally, he shrugged. "If you don't have a combination, then looking is useless. If you hear from Nathan, let him know I'm still missing some pages."

  He strolled out the office door. It was sudden, and I was a bit surprised. I'd expected him to insist on not only looking for a safe but also for any papers in Nathan's desk containing the combo.

  I followed him down the hallway and locked the door behind him.

  "What a weirdo," I leaned against the door. His anxiety level had never lessened, even while he’d baited me about Nathan.

  Nathan. I idly wondered who his new fling was, but I didn't really care. We'd long ago decided our lives were separate.

  He liked being married because it was easier to dump his 'lady friends' when they became boring. He could always claim I had found out and he didn't want to lose me.

  I stayed married because it was comfortable, and I felt no need to get a divorce. I'd never been tempted to have an affair, much less fallen in love with anyone else.

  Not that I didn't want to. I was a romance writer after all. You can't be that if you aren't at least partially a hopeless romantic. Well, not and be good at it anyway. I'd just never met a guy that lived up to the heroes in my books.

  My imagination - great for writing, horrible for my love life, I thought.

  I sighed, pushed myself away from the door, and wandered back to my neglected work. An old Bonnie Tyler song played in my head and I danced a little as I headed down the hall to my office, pushing the strange visit from Graham Hamilton out of my head.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Accident

  AARON

  The soft snick of the wipers and the hum of my engine were the only sounds as I drove down Grant Road. A windy, ground-soaking downpour had inundated the area for hours, and I was checking outlying roads for obstructions.

  The glint of my headlights picked out another branch on the road as the clock neared midnight. I pulled over to the shoulder, so focused on the branch I nearly ran over a broken briefcase. It was open - hinges burst - and papers were clinging to the pavement in scattered bunches.

  I parked my unmarked patrol car and was about to radio dispatch about my stop when fresh ruts in the soft turf beyond the downed briefcase caught my attention. There were no street lamps on the desolate rural road and I nearly missed them in the dark. The deep furrows in the grassy verge glinted at the very edge of my headlights, mica in the soil making them visible.

  I flashed a light, following the torn earth until the beam silvered across the rear end of a car. It was about ten feet off the road and appeared to have hit a tree. As I surveyed the scene a chill wind blew raindrops down my back. As omens went it wasn't the clearest one I'd ever received, but I got the message. This case wasn't going to be easy.

  I looked back at the deserted road. Aside from the
patter of raindrops falling through the leaves, silence smothered the woods. I could have been the last man on Earth. The last one alive anyway, I thought looking back at the wreck.

  Half-wishing I was in uniform so I had a shoulder mic, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and headed for the shattered vehicle. No service. I sighed.

  As I got closer to the car, I whistled softly. It had been a beautiful blue convertible sports car. Ferrari, if I wasn't mistaken. Now it was a twisted heap of aluminum and glass and... clothing?

  Two leather bags were lying on the ground by the rear of the car. They were both open to the elements - contents strewn over the trunk and grass. Almost as if someone was looking for something. Did someone survive?

  I aimed my light into the car. The top was down, so it had been here for several hours. It'd been raining since 9 pm. No way anyone would drive around in an expensive car like this with the top down in this weather.

  A motionless figure slumped in the passenger side of the coupe. From this angle, it appeared to be a small woman or a child.

  I stumbled and slid my way to the passenger side of the car for a better look. The ground was a minefield of tangled weeds and scrub brush that tripped me with every step.

  She was held in a mostly upright position by her seatbelt, the odd angle of her head and her blank staring eyes told me she was dead. A branch skewered the shoulder closest to me and impaled her to the seat. Blood stained the front of her white shirt. The deflated airbag brushed her knees, blocking the view of her lower torso. She'd been pretty, in a petite Audrey Hepburn sort of way, and I wondered why the airbag hadn't saved her. Perhaps she'd been too short, and it hit her wrong. It happened more often than most people thought.

  I shook my head and looked for the driver. The windshield was shattered on the driver's side and drooped towards the hood - the plastic in the glass the only thing holding it somewhat in place. He'd been ejected. At least I assumed it would be a guy based on the looks of the chick and the type of car, anyway.