The Chain of Lies

CHAPTER 3



While Maggie and Molly were winging their way to Hawaii, Emily returned to the storage unit, keeping an eye out for any tail. Page by page, she again foraged through each box, reading about her late husband’s exploits as a secret agent at the CIA. Though some of the comments were abbreviated, she found she could decipher most of the text, but she wondered when she kept seeing orders for him to handle someone with extreme prejudice. What exactly did that mean?

He appeared to have been in some very dangerous situations. She didn’t know he could be so bold and cunning, so physically aggressive. The Evan on those pages was not the man she had fallen in love with.

She had grieved for him, mourned the loss of their love and life together, for more than six months when the series of accidental discoveries led her to realize the man she had married was not who he said he was. So she really shouldn’t be surprised now. She was grateful, though, that she hadn’t uncovered these things earlier on. It would have been more than she could handle, piled on top of the shock and sorrow of his death.

These discoveries, as painful as they were, forced her to dig down deep and become a stronger woman, which presented her with the opportunity to follow in his footsteps as a private investigator. The things she had learned as she had covertly helped Evan on various cases had given her the skills.

Her thoughts drifted back again to the note he had left for her, folded and concealed in the center of one of the bundles of cash he had secreted away in the safe deposit box. He had to have known she would eventually find his hidden stash, because the note was addressed to her. In it, he explained who he really was and why he did what he did.

Studying the case files, reading about the operations, Evan’s face came to her mind—his sandy blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes, that sexy off-centered smile that she loved so much. Even though that note said his real name was David Gerard, she knew she would always think of him as Evan Parker.

Some of the descriptions of the dangerous secret operations read like something out of a bestselling spy novel. She thought for a split second that maybe she would turn these gripping scenarios into a novel one day, but that made her laugh. She was no writer. If there truly were grammar police she surely would be given a citation or two. Better to just continue to solve mysteries rather than write about it.

Poring over the files, minutes quickly turned into hours. Before she knew it, several had passed and she realized it was time to head home. Even though Maggie was gone, the rest of the girls were getting together for their weekly Thursday night girls-only potluck supper, and it was Emily’s turn to host again.

The theme this week was end-of-summer barbecue. Isabel promised to provide barbecued chicken, enlisting Alex and his superior grilling skills—at least that’s what she had told him to get him to help her. Camille, with her culinary flair, offered to bring scrumptious twice-baked potatoes and a luscious lemon crème cake. Not being known for great cooking, Emily offered to provide a crisp green salad and a fresh loaf of sourdough bread from the local bakery, which happened to be the same contributions she had made to last month’s Italian-themed potluck.

She raced home to her little bungalow, stopping first by the bakery around the corner to buy the bread. Rushing around, setting the table, making a big pitcher of sweet tea, doing a bit of last-minute picking up, she thought of Colin and wondered how far he’d made it by now.

The phone began to jangle in her purse as it sat on the breakfast bar. She raced to grab it and saw it was Colin calling.

“I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s always good to hear.”

His warm and comforting voice brought a smile to her lips.

“Where are you now?” Emily slid onto a bar stool and crossed her legs.

“I just drove through Reno, so I’ve got a few more hours to go. Enough about me, how was your day?”

“I got Maggie and Molly to the airport. They should be landing soon in Hawaii.”

“Lucky dogs.”

She was glad he called, happy to tell him about her day. She needed to tell someone. “Oh, by the way, I wanted to let you know that I figured out what that mysterious brass key goes to.

“From the safe deposit box?”

“Good memory.” Emily remembered standing in her walk-in closet the day the whole mystery about Evan came to light. She’d been contemplating packing his clothes away, hoping it might help her move on with her life. As she began taking his folded t-shirts off a shelf, a long silver key fell out from between the shirts and bounced on the floor. Once she’d figured out it was to a safe deposit box, well, her entire history with Evan came into question then.

“How did you find out what the key went to?”

“Funny thing, I sorted through yesterday’s mail and there was a letter from a storage facility. It said Evan’s annual prepaid renewal was coming due again the first of next month, so I assumed there must be a padlock on the unit.”

“There usually is. Did you know he had a storage unit?”

“No, I didn’t. Just one more thing he hid from me. I thought maybe the key would fit the lock, so I went by and checked it out today.”

“Did the key fit?”

“Yeah, but all there was in the place were some banker boxes with files in them.”

“I would have expected weapons, maybe, or some spy equipment—that sort of thing.”

“Me, too, but no—just files. I went through almost half of them today. It was pretty interesting reading.”

“I’ll bet. You’d better not tell anyone else about it, though. I doubt the CIA would want anyone knowing that intel is floating around out there.”

“You’re probably right. I have enough drama in my life right now. I don’t need the CIA giving me grief too.”

“Maybe you should think about moving those boxes somewhere more protected,” Colin suggested. “What about Isabel’s place? Don’t they live in a gated community? I imagine they have an alarm on their house.”

“Yes, but…”

How could she tell him she had suspicions about Isabel? That she wasn’t sure if she could trust her anymore? They had been best friends for the last five years, but lately she was starting to suspect Isabel wasn’t who she seemed, either.

“I don’t understand. What’s the hesitation?”

“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but—”

“But what?”

“What if Isabel is the one who’s been searching for something in my house? What if she’s not who she says she is?”

“Wow. What on earth would make you say that?”

Emily went silent. She thought of the note again that Evan had left her. In it he had told her that if she was reading the note it meant he was dead and she was to trust no one. Those words still echoed in her mind. She had learned enough about Colin Andrews to feel confident she could trust him, but Isabel was another story.

Isabel Martínez worked for the FBI as a financial analyst, but Emily was beginning to suspect she was actually more than that. The two had met over five years ago at a cooking class that Camille was teaching, shortly after Isabel moved to Paradise Valley from back east, or at least that’s the story she told. Isabel had met Alex in Paradise Valley and married him soon after.

The cooking class was where they met Maggie too, and the four of them had become fast friends. But since finding Evan’s note, warning her to trust no one, she wondered if Isabel had intentionally signed up for that class to meet Emily and insinuate herself into her and Evan’s lives.

As Emily had unraveled the truth about her late husband, she’d learned of his past involvement in the CIA, and more about his murder. She had recently discovered that his shooting might have been carried out because someone wanted to exact revenge on him as payback for a young woman’s death.

She wondered how much of her suspicions she should divulge to Colin. He’d probably just think her paranoid. Colin didn’t know all that Emily had uncovered. She hadn’t told him about the ominous note she’d found in the safe deposit box, or the totality of the box’s contents.

“Emily?” Colin waited for her answer. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t want to go into all of it right then and there, but she knew she had to say something in response to his question. “Let’s just say with all that’s been happening lately, the black car, the break-ins, and with Isabel’s FBI friend Jethro poking around, I’m feeling a bit suspicious and uneasy.”

“That’s understandable. But suspicious of Isabel or of Jethro?”

“Both. You probably think it’s silly.”

“No, I wouldn’t say it was silly. As a cop, I know you have to sometimes trust your gut when nothing else makes sense. If you don’t want to leave the boxes with Isabel at this point, then you’d probably better leave them where they are while you hunt for a better place to hide them.”

“I appreciate the support.” Emily slid off the stool and went to the refrigerator to start her salad. “Still, I feel uneasy.”

“You’re watching for a tail, aren’t you?”

“I am, don’t worry.”

She pulled the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers out of the vegetable drawer.

“What’s all the noise?” he asked.

“The girls are coming over for our weekly potluck and I’m making the salad. I was just pulling the fixings out of the fridge.”

“Say hello for me.”

“Speaking of the girls, I did find something in one of Evan’s boxes that I think might have to do with Isabel.” Emily tugged a salad bowl out of the cupboard and cradled the phone against her shoulder so she could rinse the vegetables off and begin chopping them on the cutting board.

“What was it?”

“A little leather address book. It had the name Izzy Handler in it, with a phone number.”

“Izzy Handler? Who’s that?”

“I think Izzy Handler might be Isabel.” Emily chopped the first tomato and tossed the pieces in the salad bowl on top of the torn lettuce.

“You think Izzy is a nickname for Isabel?” he questioned. “It does make sense.”

“Emily! Hello!” came a female voice wandering through the house.

“Hi, Isabel. It’s good to see you.” Emily wiped her hands on a towel and uncradled the phone. “I’m on the telephone,” she whispered, giving Isabel a quick one-arm hug, the phone still in her hand.

Isabel was holding a tray of barbecued chicken pieces covered with foil. Although Emily couldn’t actually see the chicken, the savory, barbecued aroma was unmistakable.

“Colin, Isabel’s here and I’m sure Camille is not far behind. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“All right. I know when I’m not wanted.” He laughed. “I love you, Emily.”

“I love you, too.” She clicked her phone off and tossed it in her purse.

“So that’s where we are, is it?” Isabel said, setting her platter down on the counter. “He finally said those three little words.”

“Yes, he did.” Emily beamed as she picked up the utensils to toss the salad.

“I assumed he would take the leap before leaving for Cali. He was acting like a smitten teenager last night at the party. I’m happy for you, girl.”

“Isabel, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Emily’s cheerful voice grew serious. “Do you think you could stay awhile after Camille leaves tonight?”

“She’s not here now. What’s on your mind?”

“Not now, she’ll be here any minute.”

“Emily! Isabel! Can someone help me?” a high-pitched voice rang out from the direction of the front door.

“See.” Emily’s head cocked slightly as she flashed Isabel her I-told-you-so look, and then they both dashed to Camille’s aid.

Camille had a pan of twice-baked potatoes in one hand and a large clear-plastic covered cake plate with a tall lemon crème cake in the other. “Can you guys help me out? I can’t hold onto both of these much longer. If Isabel hadn’t left the door ajar, I wouldn’t have been able to get it opened.”

“I didn’t leave the door open,” Isabel replied.

Emily took the cake, casting a puzzled glance at Isabel.

If Isabel didn’t do it, who did? And where is that person now? Did they overhear her conversation with Colin?

“Was the door open when you arrived, Isabel?”

“No, but it was unlocked.” Isabel leaned over to Emily and spoke in a low voice so as not to rattle Camille. “You want me to take a quick look around?”

“Please.” An uncomfortable chill rippled over Emily as she and Camille meandered back to the cozy kitchen. After setting the cake down, she hurried back and locked the door, trying to convince herself it was probably nothing.

“My goodness, Camille, how many people did you think were coming tonight?” Isabel chuckled as she noticed the pan loaded with potatoes on the breakfast bar.

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

“All’s clear,” Isabel whispered in Emily’s ear.

Emily nodded.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s eat. I’m hungry.” Isabel grabbed one of the plates from the table and the other girls followed her lead.

Each one filled their plate and took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Hey, did I tell you my brother is coming to visit,” Camille mentioned, spreading her napkin on her lap.

“No, you never said,” Isabel replied, enjoying her barbecued chicken leg.

“Which brother?” Emily asked. She knew Camille had several spread around the country.

“Peter, the youngest one. He’s thirty-five. He was a TV news reporter in Buffalo, but he’s been hired by one of the stations in Seattle. Peter’s taking a month off between jobs, so he’s stopping by to see me for a while. He grew up here, you know.”

“Just him?” Isabel asked. “No wife or kids?”

“No, he’s single.” Camille took a forkful of potatoes and wagged it at Isabel as she spoke. “Hasn’t found the right woman, he says.”

“When will he be here?” Emily asked, cutting into her chicken.

Camille swallowed her mouthful of potatoes. “Tomorrow.” She took a sip of her sweet tea. “I’d like to do a brunch at my house on Saturday to introduce you all to him. Can you come?” She looked from Emily to Isabel.

They both nodded at her, their mouths too full to speak.

“It’s too bad Maggie and Molly won’t be here. The last time Peter saw Molly she was in grade school.” Camille took another long drink of her sweet tea. Her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and read a text. “Molly says they just landed in Hawaii.”

“I hope they have a great time. I bet Maggie will be sorry she missed your brother though,” Isabel added.

“I’m not sure how long he’s staying. Maybe I can convince him to wait until they get back,” Camille supposed. “I know Molly will be disappointed if she doesn’t get to see her uncle.”

“You’ll have to get him to stay at least that long,” Emily said. “Maggie will be heartbroken she didn’t get to meet him.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be looking for another man for Maggie?” Isabel asked.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Is.” Emily frowned. “I just meant she’ll feel like she missed out on something we all shared. You know how she is.”

“That cake looks heavenly, Camille.” Isabel glanced at the lemon cake on the counter, an obvious attempt to change the subject. “I’ll have to make sure and leave room for it.”

The subject of Maggie’s love life did not come up again the rest of the evening. After her last disastrous relationship, it was probably best.

Camille cut the cake and brought a slice for each of them back to the table.

“Mmm, looks delicious,” Isabel said with a grin as Camille set the dessert plates down on the table and took her seat.

“Any new events you’re planning, Camille?” Emily inquired, cutting into her cake.

“Why, yes, there is,” she replied, fluffing her short, spiky red hair as she sat back in her chair. “I’m planning, as well as catering I might add, an important event next weekend at the Hilton Hotel for the Zigon Corporation.”

“Sounds like a sizeable job.” Emily refilled her glass with the pitcher of iced tea on the table. “Aren’t they that huge computer chip maker south of Boise?”

“They are, and it is a big job. As a matter of fact…” Camille drew out the words as she flashed a sheepish grin at Emily and then at Isabel. “I’m having a hard time finding enough servers for the event. I was wondering if you might be able to help me out that night.”

“Now I know you’re not talking to me,” Isabel said, dipping her chin as she raised her eyebrows at Camille, flipping her long, dark waves over her shoulder.

“Emily?” Camille turned to her and pleaded, batting blue doe-eyes. “I’ve already wrangled Molly into helping me, but I’m still short handed.”

“What day next weekend?” Emily pulled out her phone to check her schedule.

“Saturday. I’d need you from late afternoon until the end of the evening. Please say yes.”

“Looks like I’m free.”

Camille leaned over and patted Emily’s forearm. “I’ll owe you, Em.”

“Big time, I’d say,” Isabel added.

“I’m happy to do it. With Colin gone, my Saturday nights will be pretty much free again. It’ll give me something to do.”

“No investigations waiting for you?” Isabel put another forkful of luscious cake in her mouth.

“After winding up the Lucas Wakefield case, I’ve only had a few small cases, but I’m sure more work will come. It always does.” Emily smiled weakly then took a drink of her tea. She hoped more work would come. At least the break in cases gave her time to dig deeper into Evan’s murder.

Once dessert was finished and conversation exhausted, Camille said it was time for her to head home. “Don’t forget brunch on Saturday—eleven o’clock.” She packed up her belongings, hugged Emily and Isabel, and went home.

Isabel lingered behind, as Emily had asked her to, and helped clear the dinner table and load the dishwasher. “Now that we’re alone, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Emily poured dishwasher detergent in the cup in the door, snapped the lid shut, and started the machine. She decided there was no point in beating around the bush, so she faced Isabel and dove right in. “Did you know Evan when he worked in Washington, DC?”

Isabel dried her hands on the kitchen towel, seemingly unruffled by the question. But then again, that was Isabel, level-headed and unflappable. “That question seemed to come out of nowhere, Em. Why do you ask?”

She wondered why Isabel didn’t just reply yes or no. It was a simple question. Was she trying to evade the question or find out why Emily wanted to know before answering?

Emily leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms, staring directly at her. She could answer her, but she didn’t want to show her hand too early. “Just answer the question, Is.”

Isabel’s eyebrows furrowed a bit and her dark eyes locked on Emily’s. She crossed her arms, too, in a defensive manner. “What’s with this change in attitude? One minute we’re the best of friends, the next you’re the interrogator. What gives?”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know what this is about, but—”

“Answer the question—Izzy.” Emily used the nickname to see what response she’d get from Isabel. No one in their group called her that, except Evan.

Isabel’s intense stare softened at the name. She dropped her arms and took a step back, her eyes widening a bit, as if she realized Emily had discovered something.

“Did you know my husband in DC?” Emily’s voice rose with irritation.

Isabel’s eyes lowered momentarily. “Yes.”

“So you were in on the whole chain of lies?” Emily’s eyes moistened and her voice cracked as she snapped her accusation at Isabel.

“You don’t understand. I—”

Isabel stepped toward Emily, reaching out to touch her arm.

Emily shook it off. “I understand you have lied to me for the last five-plus years!” She turned away, a couple of tears escaping, and she stepped to the table. She pulled a chair out and dropped down onto it.

“Please, let me explain.” Isabel dragged a chair next to Emily’s and sat beside her.

Emily did not respond. She stuck her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

“I did know Evan in DC—I was CIA, too. Although, when I knew him back then his name was David. He was a field operative, but I worked in the office at Langley, monitoring his operations.” Isabel had never told Emily this, not in all the conversations they’d had in the last few months about Evan’s CIA involvement.

Isabel rested a hand gently on Emily’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off again.

“We worked together for a few years and we had become friends.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Emily muttered through her hands.

“No, Emily, we were just friends. I remember the day he told me he had met someone special, unlike any woman he had ever known, he said. Then he told me he may even leave the agency for her, if he could get her to agree to marry him.”

Emily sat up straight and wiped her tears away with her hands. Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head back and ran her fingers through her loose curls. “He was talking about me?” She looked at Isabel with a sideways glance.

“He was.”

“How do I know I can believe you?”

“I may not have always told you the truth, but I’ve always watched out for you, I’ve always been your true friend.”

Emily took another calming breath and relaxed her shoulders. She turned toward Isabel, ready to hear the rest of the story.

“A few weeks later, he came into the office and had a meeting with the head of our department. After the meeting, Evan told me he was leaving the agency, going back into private life. He had asked you to marry him and you said yes. He wanted to start fresh, he said, so he was moving the two of you across the country to begin a new life in a small town.”

“Paradise Valley.”

“Yes. Because of the dangerous nature of Evan’s assignments, my supervisor wanted him to have a lifeline, a safety net, in case anyone came after him. My boss had contacts in the FBI and he got me a job with them and a transfer to the Boise office. That way I could be here for David—I mean Evan—and have contacts in both the CIA and the FBI.”

“I’m sure Evan appreciated having you here.” There was no way she could know for sure, but if Isabel was telling the truth, Emily assumed Evan would have been grateful for her presence.

“How did you know I knew him in DC?”

“I didn’t know for sure.”

“Something must have made you suspect?”

“I found an address book that belonged to Evan. One of the entries in it was Handler comma Izzy. I remembered Evan used to call you Izzy, but no one else did.”

“I see. Where is this address book?”

“It’s safe.”

“Em, if that book were to get into the wrong hands, it could cost agents their lives.”

“I realize that, but forget about the book for now. What about Jethro?”

“What do you mean?”

“You brought him to my house under the auspices of trying to find out who Evan really was—when you knew the whole time exactly who he was.”

“I wanted you to find out about the real Evan, I just didn’t want you to find out about me. Evan’s gone, but I’m still here and I value our friendship. I was afraid I’d lose it if you knew my secrets. A true friend like you doesn’t come along very often, Em, especially for someone in my line of work.”

Emily nodded that she understood.

“Now, where is the address book?”

“I’m not ready to give it up yet, but I will. Give me a few days.” Emily wasn’t finished studying it, there may be more for her to learn from it.

“You never said where you found it.”

“Funny thing. I discovered what that brass key from the safe deposit box was for.”

Emily explained getting the letter from the storage facility and how she had dropped by there that morning. She had suspected the key might fit the padlock on the storage unit after reading the letter and she was right.

“What was in the unit?” Isabel asked.

Emily considered for a moment if she should say or not. Remembering how her husband had scribbled Handler, Izzy in the address book, she wondered if that was enough proof that Evan trusted her. After mulling it over, Emily decided to trust her too. She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

She wished Evan hadn’t said trust no one in the note he had left her. He should have written trust no one, except Isabel. Perhaps he wrote the note before Isabel came to Paradise Valley, which would mean he put the note in the safe deposit box as soon as they’d moved to town.

It was possible, she thought, that Isabel honestly didn’t know anything about Evan’s safe deposit box, or its contents, until she told her.

“The storage unit just had some boxes of old files. That’s where I found the book.”

“What kind of files?”

Emily could lie and say they were from Evan’s private investigation cases, but hadn’t there been enough lies already? She yearned to trust her closest friend again, and she hated the suspicion that stood between them. With trepidation, she hoped she was doing the right thing.

“They were copies of CIA files. They looked like they were documents from Evan’s old assignments.”

“Are you kidding me?” Isabel’s eyes widened and her voice rose. “He’s not supposed to keep those documents.”

“It’s kind of a moot point now, isn’t it?”

“I guess, but I’d like to get a look at them.”

“What was that?” Emily’s head snapped toward the direction of her front door. She had heard the sound of the wooden floors creak in her 1920’s bungalow, followed by the faint sound of a door clicking shut.

Isabel reached into her purse for her gun and Emily followed her closely down the hall and to the front of the house. Emily had tucked her weapon in the nightstand next to her bed before the girls came over and was glad Isabel’s was close by.

The front door was unlocked. Emily had recalled locking it after the girls arrived, but Camille could have left it unlocked when she went home. Camille had said the door was ajar when she arrived, but Isabel insisted she hadn’t left it open.

Could someone have been hiding in her house while she and her friends had dinner? Staying to listen to their conversations? Isabel had done a quick search through the house and gave her an all clear, but maybe the person was clever enough to avoid being found.

“You don’t think…?” Emily wondered if someone heard her talking with Isabel? Emily shivered at the creepy feeling that spread over her body.

“Think what?” Isabel put the safety on her firearm.

“That someone was here and overheard our discussion about Evan.”