Hidden Deception

As he jotted notes in a small spiral, the clatter of silverware and dishes filled the air. Elena tried to peek at what he wrote, but his head came up, and she smiled and settled back into her seat.

“And you never knew anything about her personal life?” he pressed.

Something was going on here. “No, I didn’t, but I’ve got a feeling that you know something I don’t.”

He leaned back against his chair. “Did you know that Joyce had a criminal record?”

TWO

She looked stunned. “No.”

“Hey, Stillwater.” Jeff Muller, a patrolman and fellow soccer dad, walked up to the table. He nodded toward Elena. “You going to the girls’ soccer game this afternoon?”

His daughter, April, and Jeff’s daughter, Melissa, played on the same soccer team, the Red Peppers. They were 9-1 for the season. This was their final game. “I wouldn’t miss it, Jeff. Has your daughter’s injury healed?”

“Yeah. She’s only got a few scabs left, but she’s ready to play.”

“I’ll see you at the field at five.”

Jeff nodded and walked off.

When Daniel looked back at Elena, he saw her struggling with the information he’d just dropped about Joyce. She was either a good actress or the info came as a total shock. His heart wanted to believe it was surprise, but his brain argued she could be acting.

Of course, he was fighting an unseen enemy—attraction.

She was the first woman who’d grabbed his attention since his wife’s death. He’d found himself looking forward to seeing her today. Of course his reaction could be a combination of tiredness and hunger.

Liar, a voice in his head whispered.

“Are you sure you have the right woman?” she carefully asked.

They’d taken the dead woman’s prints and run them through their AFIS computer system. Joyce Murphy’s name and mug shot had popped up. “I’m sure. She’d been convicted of passing counterfeit money.”

Elena’s mouth fell open.

“So my news comes as a big surprise,” he continued.

That jerked her out of her fog.

“Of course.” She shook her head. “I never knew. She was a trusted employee. I’m sure my parents didn’t know about her past. She was the only employee my parents had over the past few years, with the exception of my brother, Adrian, and me. Joyce was there for my mom when Dad had his heart attack and has helped since his death.”

Elena’s impression of Joyce didn’t sound as though she continued her criminal ways. “Did your parents ever mention a concern about Joyce?”

“They never said anything to me. You could call my brother in Seattle to see if they mentioned anything to him. Of course, he left home before I did.”

Elena’s phone rang. She dug around in her purse and grabbed it. “Hi, Mom. No, I’m with Detective Stillwater.” She looked up at him. “Did you know that Joyce had a criminal record?”

He watched her face as she listened to the answer.

“You did, but I don’t—” Her hand curled into a fist. “Okay. No, I’ll be at the shop in a few minutes.” She closed her phone and carefully placed it in her purse. Raising her chin, she met his gaze. “Mom knew about Joyce’s past. Are we finished? I need to meet her.”

“We are for now.”

“What does that mean?”

“I might have more questions as the investigation goes along.”

She nodded, gathered her purse, and left. He carefully observed her. He’d checked out her background. Elena Segura Jackson had no criminal record. Adopted at the age of ten by the Jacksons after the trauma of seeing her mother murdered by her father, she’d had a normal life with teenage rebellion. She had one ticket for speeding, but that was it. Her college records showed her as an A student and her move to New York had been uneventful as far as law enforcement was concerned. He needed to interview the mother and brother. It might turn up something.

There was something that bothered him. It was this attraction thing. What he needed to do was to chalk it up to too little sleep.

His cell rang.

“Hey, Dad, are you going to be home before I leave for school?” April asked.

“I’m on my way, now, sweetie.”

“Good. Grandma wants you to bring home some milk. She says you won’t mind.”

He laughed. His mother’s friend, Rosalyn Mendoza, had come to his rescue when he came home from his unit in Afghanistan to take care of his wife, who had breast cancer, and daughter. His own mother had died before his daughter was born, but Rosalyn had adopted his daughter as if she were her own granddaughter. April only knew Rosalyn as her grandma. “You tell her I’ll bring the milk. If she’s plays her cards just right, I might bring home some apricot empanadas from Juan’s.” He knew the baked turnover was a favorite of his daughter’s.

April cheered. “Hurry home.”

He laughed. “You just want the empanadas before you go to school.”

“No, Dad, it’s you I want to see.”

Her words brought on bittersweet pain that reminded him of how little he’d given his daughter over the years. But with the Lord’s help, that would change.

Getting off the bus at the northwest corner of Amarillo Plaza, Elena tried to put aside the fear gnawing at her. She didn’t want to think about what happened last night, but it seemed to race after her like a stalker. Hurrying past Mama Rosa’s Cantina on the corner, Elena walked toward Past Treasures on the north side of the central plaza in old town Santa Fe. This square was part of the original city, built with adobe. Wooden beams used to construct the adobe stores were used to support the new wooden awning built to give shoppers shade in the middle of a blistering day. In the center of the square, old hitching posts were left to emphasize the history of the area.

When she got to the shop, there was nothing there to indicate a murder had occurred within those walls. All the police tape was down, but the door remained locked. She found the keys in her purse and opened the door.

With her hand on the knob, she prayed, “Lord, give me strength.” Slowly, she entered the building. Her gaze scanned the room. The police had moved things, and there was black powder on several pieces of furniture and the back door.

Walking into the room, she heard voices coming from the janitor’s closet at the back of the store.

“You don’t have to do that yourself, Diane. Call your experts that deal with rugs.”

From the voice, Elena recognized Preston Jones, the owner of the art gallery next door. Preston dealt exclusively with artists from Santa Fe, Taos and the surrounding area.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Cam McGinnis asked. Cam owned the native jewelry store on the other side of the shop.

The three of them emerged onto the showroom floor. Cam carried a bucket, and Preston had sponges. Diane saw Elena, handed her rag to Cam and raced to her daughter’s side.

“Oh, baby, how are you?” Immediately she was surrounded by her mother’s favorite perfume. “I was so worried about you. How did you get down to the police station?”

“The bus.”