The Chain of Lies

CHAPTER 21



Emily’s cell phone beeped on her nightstand, alerting her to a new text message. She rolled over in her bed and felt for her phone. Through bleary eyes, she could see the time on her digital alarm clock—which she purposely did not set—read eight thirty-five. It was almost three in the morning when she had finally crawled into bed, and she was having a hard time opening her eyes and focusing, even in the bright morning light.

Pulling herself up against her pillows, she worked to get her tired eyes to adjust to the tiny screen on her phone. The text was from Isabel. Took gun to lab. Results asap.

Flipping the comforter back, she dragged herself out of bed and wandered into the sunny kitchen, in her bare feet and oversized t-shirt, to make her morning coffee. Her phone buzzed again. Her eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window over the sink, but she was beginning to focus.

The text was from Colin this time. Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Gun in lab, will have results today. R U up?

Emily texted back. I’m up. Not awake, but up.

She pulled herself up on a stool at the breakfast bar, ran her fingers through her curls, and waited for the coffee machine to do its thing.

Be there in 10 minutes, his next text read.

“Shoot!”

No time for coffee.

As she sprinted down the hall to throw on some clothes and a dab of makeup, the tone on her phone signaled another text. It was Colin again.

She paused in the doorway of her bedroom and looked at her phone. His text read Gotcha! LOL! Stuck at work. Meet 4 lunch?

We’ll see, she shot back, bristling with annoyance as she padded back to the kitchen to get her cup of coffee.

Opening the cabinet, she pulled a coffee mug out and poured the steaming dark liquid into it. Since Colin was stuck at work for the morning and Isabel apparently was too, Emily decided she’d drop by the hospital and see if there was any news on Molly.

She ripped open a packet of sweetener and emptied it into her cup. As she swirled it around with her spoon, she thought about Jethro, who was also in the hospital. Should she call him Jerry, now that she knew who he really was? Should she pay him a surprise visit? Terminally ill or not, if he was Evan’s murderer, she had to know.

How could she approach him without seeming insensitive to a dying man?

Her thoughts flew back to the gun Evan had hidden away at the bank and the note she’d found bundled in the center of a banded wad of money he had kept secret from her. She recalled the handwritten note said he had wrestled the gun away from someone who had tried to kill him but slipped away when Evan fought back. Could that someone be Jerry Banderas? Had he returned and finished the job? Did he blame Evan for his daughter’s death and so took his life as payback?

The Beretta was now in the hands of the FBI lab, Isabel saw to that, and she would have some answers soon.

As she sat on a stool, drinking her coffee, her phone shrilled on the counter and she jumped at the noise. She had been lost in her thoughts, but she was instantly pulled back to reality by the ringing. She picked up her phone off the breakfast bar, noticing the caller was Maggie this time.

“Good morning, Maggs,” Emily answered brightly. “Any news on Molly?”

“That’s why I’m callin’. Peter and I stayed at the hospital all night, hopin’ that girl would wake up—and she finally did.”

“Oh, Maggie, that’s great news!” Emily slid off the stool and stamped her feet in a little happy dance, spinning around with joy and relief. Abruptly, she stopped. “She is going to be all right, isn’t she?”

“The doctor believes so, but they want to keep her another day or two for observation. She had some heavy-duty sedatives in her system.”

“That poor girl. I want to get her story, find out how she ended up inside that house and what they did to her.” She knew Colin, Isabel, and Peter would as well, for their own reasons.

“Peter already asked her if he could interview her, but Camille pushed him right out of the room and gave him what-for.”

“Thanks for the warning. But I would like to come by and say hello, see if Camille and Jonathan need anything.”

“Now that she’s awake and doin’ okay, the doctor sent them home to get some rest. They didn’t get any sleep last night at all in that flimsy cot and uncomfortable chair. Heck, y’all can hardly get any sleep in the hospital bed with all the noise and lights and nurses comin’ in every couple hours to check y’all’s vitals.”

“I’m going to stop by anyway. This is my fault. She wouldn’t be in the hospital if it wasn’t for me.”

“Don’t say that, Em. Y’all couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“It’s not just me. I get the feeling Camille blames me, too.”

“Why on earth would y’all say that?”

“Last night, when I offered to do anything I could to help, she told me I had done enough. I’d say that was pretty clear.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean anythin’ by it. She was tired and upset.”

“Maybe. Somehow I need to make it up to her—and to Molly.”

“I think your puttin’ those traffickers behind bars was doin’ plenty in my book.”

“It wasn’t like I did it single-handedly.”

“From what I heard from Peter, y’all were a big part, though. Don’t worry about Camille, hon, she’ll calm down and all will be back to normal before we know it.”

“Sounds like you and Peter are getting pretty cozy,” Emily remarked.

“Cozy? No. I’m not ready to jump into another relationship just yet, but we are on friendly terms. He’s very interestin’ and very easy to talk to. We’ll see where it goes.”

“Friendly terms, huh? I saw how he looks at you. I’d say the man is smitten.”

“Ya’ think?”

“I do.”

~*~

Mid-morning, Emily boarded the hospital elevator with a vase brimming with yellow Shasta daisies in one arm and a stack of Molly’s favorite magazines under the other. Trying to balance her load, she awkwardly bent forward and pushed the button to go to level three, trying not to spill water on her jeans.

The doors glided open and Emily gingerly stepped out, catching sight of Maggie and Peter strolling down the corridor toward her. Maggie’s white V-neck sweater set off her bronze Hawaiian tan. She waved as soon as she noticed Emily and hurried toward her.

“Here, let me take those flowers,” Maggie offered, reaching for the vase.

Emily gladly relinquished them with a smile. “Thanks, Maggs. How’s our girl?” Emily shifted the stack of magazines and cradled them in front of her with both arms.

“Holding her own,” Peter replied. “We’ll walk you back to her room, then Maggie and I are shoving off.”

“Peter’s offered to drop me off at my house on his way to Camille’s,” Maggie said as the three of them started down the hallway.

“What a gentleman,” Emily replied, glancing over at Peter who wore an impish grin.

“I do my best.” Peter pushed the door to Molly’s room open for the two women.

Maggie led Emily in, carrying the vase of daisies. “Look who the cat dragged in,” Maggie said, setting the flowers down on her night table.

A smile blossomed on Molly’s face when she saw Emily step from behind Maggie. “Emily!” she squealed, extending both arms to her.

Emily set the magazines down at the foot of the bed and bent down to give Molly a hug. She kissed the side of her head and stroked Molly’s hair a couple of times before she released her embrace, wishing she could take the last few days back.

“I’m so glad you came, Emily. I heard it was you that rescued me.”

“No, sweetie, it wasn’t me.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Peter chided. “It was the SWAT team that pulled her out of the hidden crawlspace, but none of this could have happened if it hadn’t been for you.”

Heat rushed to Emily’s cheeks and she gently shook her head in denial, making her loose curls tickle the back of her neck. “You give me too much credit, Peter.”

Molly reached out and took one of Emily’s hands. “You saved my life, Em.” The girl’s vivid green eyes were moist with tears, her bottom lip quivered as she spoke. “And you saved those other girls, too.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t just me. I only played a part in it.” Emily squeezed Molly’s hand lightly before letting it go. “Your uncle Peter, now he was amazing.” Emily glanced over at Peter, who was standing next to Maggie on the other side of the bed.

“I can’t wait to see the video footage.” Maggie smiled admiringly at him. “From what you told me—”

“There’s video?” Molly asked, her eyes brightening at the prospect.

“Absolutely.” Peter seemed to bask in the glow of their admiration. “It’s going to be a compelling story once I edit it and make it ready for media release.”

“You’re going to have to wrangle it away from the FBI first,” Emily pointed out.

“Special Agent Ellis promised I’d get a copy, so if he’s a man of his word, it shouldn’t be too long.”

“Can we put it on YouTube?” Molly asked. “Then everyone can watch it. I bet you’d get over a million hits on something like that.”

A chubby middle-aged nurse with frizzy blonde hair bustled into the room. “Sorry to break up the party folks, but this gal needs her rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“We’ll be back, sweetie.” Emily leaned over and kissed the top of Molly’s head. “You get some rest. And if you get bored, I brought some magazines for you.”

Maggie and Peter skirted around the bed and they all headed out to the hallway.

“We’ll be off then,” Peter said. “Shall we walk you out, Emily?”

“No, I’m not leaving yet. There’s someone on the fourth floor I want to pay a visit to.”

“Who would that be?” Maggie asked.

“No one you know. He’s involved in another case I’m working on,” Emily replied. “I’ll walk with you to the elevator.”

“One case after another. You’re a firecracker, Emily Parker,” Peter remarked as they began to walk. “I’ll bet that Colin Andrews has his hands full keeping up with you.”

“A firecracker?” Emily raised her eyebrows at him.

“Land sakes, Peter, I’d say they both have their hands full with each other.” Maggie giggled and winked at Emily. “Am I right?”

They reached the elevator and Emily quickly pushed both the up and down buttons, wishing she could worm out of the conversation. As luck would have it, the doors for the elevator going up slid open almost immediately and Emily stepped in and spun around. “You’re right, Maggie,” she said, waving good-bye as the doors glided shut.

Emily felt the lift as the elevator took her to the next floor up. The doors swept open and she went to the nurses’ station directly ahead. A young brunette in light blue scrubs sat behind the counter, typing something on the computer’s keyboard. She looked up as Emily approached.

“May I help you?”

“Can you tell me which room Jerry Banderas is in?”

“Banderas, let me see,” she replied, typing his name into the computer. “Room four twelve.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Emily spun on the spiky heels of her black-leather boots and headed toward his room. She remembered Isabel mentioning she would come and see him that morning, and when Emily asked if she could tag along, Isabel told her it would be better if she went alone. That didn’t mean Emily couldn’t pop in on her own, though.

Emily read the room numbers as she meandered down the corridor until she found room four twelve. She pushed the door open slowly, judging if anyone else was in the room. Not hearing any voices, she pushed it open all the way.

Jerry’s eyelids raised as she approached, likely hearing the click of her heels on the hard surface of the floor. His face remained expressionless.

“Hello, Jethro. Or should I say Jerry?” Emily forced a friendly smile onto her lips.

“How did you know?”

“I figured it out. It’s what I do.”

“I’d forgotten you were a private eye.”

She found that hard to believe.

“I hear you’re pretty sick, Jerry. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He raised his eyebrows in doubt. “Really?”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t be?” She knew exactly why, but she wanted to hear him admit it. She cast him a sad look. “I would never wish you any harm, Jerry. You were trying to help me to find out my husband’s true identity. I’m grateful for that.”

“Did you ever figure out what to do with that hypothetical gun you asked me about?”

“As a matter of fact, I gave it to Isabel and she turned it in to the FBI lab, like you suggested.”

She saw disappointment in his eyes—or was it fear? The gun was no longer within his reach.

“We should have results later today, then we’ll know who the gun belonged to, maybe even who killed my husband.”

“That couldn’t have been the gun that killed him,” he said with a slight shake of his head.

“How do you know that?” Emily toyed with him. She knew it wasn’t the gun, but she wanted to rattle him, get him wondering how close she and Isabel were to figuring things out.

“If that gun had been used to kill him, then how did your husband manage to hide it away? I remember you saying the gun was hidden away.”

“I was only speaking hypothetically,” Emily reminded him.

“Hypothetically my eye. I never believed that for a minute, girl.”

“Was it your gun, Jerry?”

“That’s enough!” Delia shouted from the doorway, her deep brown eyes almost glowed with anger. “The man is sick and I won’t stand by and let you rile him up with your questions, Emily.”

Emily turned in shock. “Delia, what are you—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Delia cut her off. “This interrogation is over.”

“But we were just having a little chat, weren’t we, Jerry?” Emily smiled sweetly at the man in the bed, patting him softly on the arm. She noticed the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced than she remembered, and his skin was more sallow.

“We were talking about my late husband.” Emily turned her attention back to Delia. “Someone killed the man I loved and has been tormenting me for the past few months. I hoped Jerry could help me figure out who that might be.”

“I can’t let that happen, Emily. He’s too ill to be badgered into helping you.”

“Delia, I thought we were friends. I helped you get through your own husband’s murder investigation, and I found the killer, not all that long ago. If I hadn’t, you’d be rotting in prison right now. Can’t you and your dad do the same for me?”

“You know he’s my father?” Delia’s eyes widened for a moment, then they narrowed as if she realized that Emily knowing that fact now put her in jeopardy somehow.

“Delia, let me tell her,” Jerry pleaded.

“No,” she said firmly. “Emily, you need to leave.” Delia walked to the door and held it open, avoiding making eye contact with her.

Emily started to walk through the doorway, but paused as she reached Delia. Standing toe to toe with her, she searched the woman’s face for any sign that they had ever truly been friends. “This isn’t over, you know.”

“I know,” Delia replied, pressing her perfectly painted lips tightly into a straight line, still refusing to look at her.