Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Matthias awoke the next morning to the ringing of Emma’s phone. “Who’s calling at this hour?” he mumbled.
She rolled over, and he heard her slap the bedside table twice before locating the device. “I don’t recognize the number.” She accepted the call with a sleep-fogged, “Hello?” and immediately sat bolt upright. “Yes?” She nudged Matthias, bringing him fully awake. “I want to be there.”
He watched her expression shift from concerned to dismayed.
“Oh. Okay… What happens next?” A long pause.
“Yes, of course. You’ll let me know?” She nodded as if the caller was able to see her.
“Thanks so much for calling. Tell Eric we’re doing everything we can.
” She dropped the phone on the bed and drew her knees in, hugging them as her head hung in dejection.
Matthias shifted to drape an arm around her. “Let me guess. Eric’s lawyer.”
“Yes.” She exhaled. “Eric’s being arraigned this morning. The attorney said it will all be done over closed circuit TV, so there’s no use for me to be there. And he’s not hopeful about bail.” She covered her face with her hands. “Poor Eric.”
“Hey,” Matthias said softly, giving her a gentle shake. “The attorney called you. Eric gave him your number and asked him to contact you. Not me.”
Emma lowered her hands. “Maybe he’s forgiven me.”
“You knew he would.”
“The only problem now is that I can’t forgive myself.
Nell’s in the wind with drugs and alcohol in her possession.
Eric’s going to be arrested for murder, all because he was trying to negotiate with Sonny on my behalf.
I’ve managed to screw up the lives of the two people I care most about in the world. ”
Matthias tried to ignore being left out of the category.
She must have felt him tense. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I understand. You’ve known Eric and Nell your entire life. You’ve known me for three months.”
“You’re lucky. Give me time, and I’ll screw up your life, too.”
The bitterness in her voice stunned Matthias. She flung off the covers and disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later, the hiss of the shower drifted through the wall.
He closed his eyes. Emma was stressed. Overwhelmed.
He knew he shouldn’t take her words to heart, despite the sharpness of their sting.
Exhaling, he opened his eyes again and checked the time.
Too early to call Fergusson. Pissing off the trooper by rousing him from his sleep might be fun, but not if Matthias hoped for his cooperation.
Instead, he propped himself up with pillows, unplugged his phone from the charger, and began searching.
A notice had been posted on North Star Developing’s webpage.
Due to the untimely death of its owner, the company would not take on new projects at this time.
The announcement was followed by a statement.
Anyone wishing to do business with them in the future should email a request. A response would be sent as soon as possible.
North Star Developing planned to continue operations without Sonny Jones at the helm. In addition to pondering who would take over, Matthias wondered who had placed the announcement on the website.
His next search was Eric’s company. There was no hint of trouble; no mention of its owner being incarcerated. Death was an acceptable topic for the business public. Being jailed was not.
Or Eric handled his own website and wasn’t in any position to update it.
Matthias noticed the background of Eric’s website included photos of his offices. Sleek and modern, lots of chrome and wood, but no full glass doors, dividers, or floor-to-ceiling windows. Nothing that might’ve broken and been used as a murder weapon.
He checked the time again. Technically, it was still too early to contact Fergusson.
He placed the call anyway.
As expected, Fergusson sounded pissed when he picked up. “Who is this?”
“Not a very professional way to answer the phone.”
“Honeywell?” Fergusson swore. “I should’ve known. Call back in a couple of hours. I might be willing to speak to you then.”
“Or you could give me a few minutes now, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
Fergusson repeated the epithets. “I didn’t get home until two in the morning, but hey, what the hell. Let’s give Detective Matthias Honeywell a pass on being a son of a bitch.”
Matthias almost mentioned it took one to know one but decided that went beyond the tipping point.
From the other room, the shower fell silent.
“Have you heard anything new from the lab?” he asked.
“Why do you think they would have any more than the last time we talked?”
“Because if they didn’t, you’d just tell me ‘no.’”
Fergusson called Matthias a few more names. “All right. They contacted me late yesterday. The glass we found in Jones’s car wasn’t from a window or a mirror.”
“What then?”
“It’s thicker. More like what they use to make glass room partitions, tabletops, maybe a shower door. Except this wasn’t tempered, which we already knew since it fragmented into shards.”
“Interesting.”
“Before you bother asking, forensics have been to Baker’s house. We have his computers and a phone that I don’t think is his. It’s password protected, but our tech guys’ll get into it today.”
Matthias debated whether to mention who the phone belonged to. Yes, they would have no problem accessing it, but part of him wanted to make them work for it. Then again, cooperation on his part might mean Fergusson would share if they found anything pertinent. “The phone belongs to Nell Anderson.”
“I figured as much. Does your girlfriend know the password?”
“I doubt it.”
Fergusson chuckled, a low, repugnant sound. “Honeywell, you sure can pick ’em. Let me guess. You met Emma Anderson when she was a suspect in one of your cases.”
Matthias’s jaw clenched so hard that pain shot through his temple.
Fergusson clearly took his silence as an affirmative.
“I knew it. You have a type. Helpless female, accused of a crime—maybe falsely, maybe not. Tearful. ‘Help me, Matthias.’ And you, the hero, swooping in to save the damsel in distress. Except the damsel isn’t so helpless after all. Nor is she so pure and innocent.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Matthias growled into the phone.
“What was her name again? Cindy? No. Wanda?”
“Wendy.” He immediately regretted giving Fergusson the satisfaction of a response.
“Aw, yes. Wendy Seager. All big blue eyes and blonde hair with a killer pout and a killer soul to match. I saw through her the first time I questioned her. But you? She had you pegged as a sucker at the crime scene. Tell me something, Honeywell. Did you bed her? All the guys on the case were taking bets. I had twenty on you sleeping with her but could never collect. All because you aren’t one to kiss and tell. ”
Matthias choked back a retort about Fergusson’s involvement in how that case had gone to hell.
“What went on between her and me fifteen years ago is no one’s business.
Especially yours.” He jabbed the button to end the call, regretting that he wasn’t on a corded phone and could slam down the receiver.
He settled for flinging the cell across the room, where it bounced off the wall and landed with a dull thump on the carpeted floor.
He heard a short gasp behind him and realized Emma was standing there, watching him in horror. God. How much had she heard?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She simply turned and disappeared back into the bathroom.
* * *
Emma sat across from Matthias in the breakfast area of the hotel’s lobby, picking at a slightly burnt bagel with cream cheese.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not after the rage she’d witnessed.
Wendy, he’d said. Emma knew all about the woman he’d wanted to marry twenty-some years ago, but her name was Melissa.
Wendy—whoever she was—had been fifteen years ago.
Emma wouldn’t have cared. This person was from his distant past. There was no reason for him to tell Emma about her.
It was Matthias’s reaction to the name that concerned her.
The first time she’d encountered him, the fury in his eyes had frightened her.
She’d seen him angry—almost murderously so—when his father had been in town.
This was different. She just couldn’t figure out how.
“I’m sorry.” He’d said it before, when he spotted her watching, and again on the elevator.
Both times, Emma had remained silent. Now, after a cup of coffee and part of a bagel, she decided she should reply. “For what?”
If his expression was any indication, it wasn’t the right response. He pushed a greasy sausage link around on his paper plate. “For letting Fergusson bait me like that. For you having to witness it.”
She set the bagel down, folded her hands, and lifted her gaze to his. “I knew you and the state trooper had a history. I didn’t realize it was personal.”
“It’s—” Matthias hesitated, pressed his lips together, then tried again. “It’s only personal because he’s dredging up ancient history. I’m not perfect. I’ve not always had the best judgment.” He winced. “Especially about women.”
Emma watched him squirm and decided to cut him some slack. “I’m glad your judgment has improved.” When he looked at her, puzzled, she opened both arms and grinned. “Now you have me.”
The worry and confusion melted from his face. “No argument there.”
She opened a second single-serve container of cream cheese and lathered it onto what was left of the bagel. “So, before Fergusson started baiting you, did he have any news on Eric’s case?”
“Not much. If I’d kept my head, I would’ve asked a few more questions. He did tell me the lab determined the glass was thicker than what’s used for mirrors or windows, and it wasn’t tempered.”
Emma thought about the new revelation. “Where on earth would it have come from? I know for a fact that Eric doesn’t have any glass dividers or tables in his offices. He hates the constant smudges and fingerprints.”
A look passed over Matthias’s face.
“What?” she asked.
“Fingerprints. That’s one of the questions I should’ve asked Fergusson. Surely, they lifted some from the shard with Jones’s blood on it.”
“Those might clear Eric,” Emma said, feeling a glimmer of hope.
Matthias’s eyes narrowed in thought as he ate. Emma finished her bagel, waiting for him to sort out whatever was cycling through his mind.
He finally set his fork on his plate and pushed it away. “If we can locate the source of the broken glass, we’ll have the location of the murder and likely the identity of the killer. Our first stop will be North Star Developing.”
“Follow the money,” Emma said, echoing their discussion last night.
“Right. While we’re there, we can take a casual look around.”
“For glass furniture.”
“For missing glass furniture.”
“Won’t that be challenging? Looking for something that isn’t there?”
He met her gaze. “I never said it was going to be easy. There’s something else we need to decide first. I only made our reservation here for one night. Should we book the room for more?”
It was a loaded question. Emma needed to be back in Erie for her doctor’s appointment in two days or risk losing her job. Matthias was aware of her concern and her timeline.
He might also be wondering if she still wanted to share a bed with him after what happened this morning.
She couldn’t deny that his anger issues worried her.
Regardless, she felt safe with him. He’d never come close to directing his rage at her.
Quite the opposite. He’d saved her life more than once in the last few months.
“If you book the room and we manage to clear Eric today, they’ll charge you for the night, whether we stay or not.”
“I’m not worried about the money.” He watched her, his gaze intent. Then he said one word. “Nell.”
Emma swallowed hard. Eric wasn’t her only concern, and Matthias knew it.
He placed a hand over Emma’s, drawing her out of her downward spiraling thoughts. “We can’t leave yet,” he said. “Not until we get some kind of information about your sister.”
Clearing Eric might be a lot easier—and take less time—than finding Nell. “If this drags beyond tomorrow, I’ll have to call Laurie about more time off. She wasn’t happy about the days she already gave me.”
“Nell’s more important than your job.”
“True, but I can’t afford to be unemployed.”
“One thing at a time. I’ll book the room for another night. We’ll see how today goes and then decide.” He stood and gathered their empty paper plates and plastic forks and knives. “I’ll toss this. You refill our coffee cups. Then we’ll pay a visit to North Star Developing.”