Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
When Eric begged off the visit to Ashley Jones, Emma didn’t argue.
He’d spent the night in Nell’s room, trying to sleep in the recliner.
On the heels of the attack at the jail, he looked pale and exhausted.
He needed to rest. He turned over the keys to his rental car, and Emma drove him home before returning to the city.
She kept checking the rearview mirror, glancing at Nell in the backseat with her leg propped up, keeping vigilant for signs of a tail.
Nell appeared relaxed and content, showing no indication of noticing how edgy Emma was.
By the time they reached the bakery on Main Street, Emma was convinced the accident in Ohio was exactly that—an accident—and she was merely paranoid.
After the stop at the bakery for cookies, they headed to the Jones residence.
By the time they arrived, storm clouds blocked the sun, promising rain.
Little had changed from Emma’s previous visit.
Sonny’s truck and Ashley’s car sat side by side under the car port.
The blinds in the house were drawn, as if shutting out the world.
Emma parked in the same spot Matthias had, stepped out, and was immediately swamped by the humid air. “Ugh,” she groaned as she held the back door and helped Nell scoot from the car. “I think it’s gotten even hotter.”
“It’s definitely muggier. We’re gonna get rain.” Nell hopped on her good foot as Emma handed her the crutches. “Good thing we decided against getting a cake. The icing would’ve melted.”
Emma retrieved the cardboard box from the passenger seat and trailed Nell along the sidewalk to the front door. Nell pressed the video doorbell.
“Just a minute,” Ashley’s voice filtered through the speaker.
Emma could hear footsteps inside and wondered what Ashley was doing. Tidying? As they waited, the wind kicked up, ruffling Emma’s short hair and whispering through the leaves of the big maple in the front yard. Finally, the door swung open.
Ashley was still wrapped in her hoodie, only her face and fingertips exposed. “What do you want?”
“We brought cookies,” Nell said, glancing back at Emma. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“Do you mind if we come in?” Nell tapped her cast with a crutch. “I have a hard time standing right now.”
Emma remained silent, content to let her sister take the lead. After all, this was Nell’s idea. Nell’s mission.
“I just got Daphne down to sleep.”
Nell didn’t budge. Neither did Emma.
Ashley’s jaw tightened. “You can go around to the back deck. I’ll meet you there.”
Emma stepped forward. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but it’s about to start pouring, and the bugs are eating us alive out here.” To demonstrate, she held the bakery box in one hand and slapped at a mosquito with the other. “Besides, Nell’s still learning how to get around on those crutches.”
“They’re not as easy as they look,” Nell added. “We promise to be quiet so we don’t disturb Daphne.”
Ashley breathed another exasperated sigh. “Fine. If you must.” She pushed open the storm door and stepped back.
The furniture inside the Jones home appeared to be mostly thrift store finds, but the mismatched wooden side tables had been painted a bright white, and the sofa and armchair were slipcovered in a soft blue.
When Emma had been here before, she’d agreed with Matthias that Sonny hadn’t spent his money on creating the appearance of a model home.
Clearly he hadn’t spent it on the interior either.
Had Ashley been the crafty one, fashioning comfort from secondhand finds?
A pink plastic toy kitchen playset sat against one wall, and a collection of Barbie dolls, complete with enviable wardrobes and all the accessories, were scattered across the carpeted floor.
Daphne’s playthings did not appear to be hand-me-downs.
And whatever Ashley had been doing while they’d waited at the door, she hadn’t been tidying up.
At least the air conditioning was blasting.
Ashley held out her hands, mostly hidden by the long sleeves. “I’ll take the cookies to the kitchen.”
Emma handed over the box. Ashley turned, took a step, hesitated, and turned back. “Do either of you want some?”
Nell shook her head. “No,” Emma said with a smile. “Thanks, but those are for you and Daphne.”
The smile Ashley returned was lukewarm at best. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned only seconds later. “Please sit down.” She curled into one of the slipcovered armchairs, hugging her knees against her chest.
Emma moved a plush pony with sparkles in its mane from the small sofa to allow Nell to sit closest to Ashley. Emma took the other side.
“Aren’t you warm in that thing?” Nell asked, her voice soft, non-threatening.
“I’m fine.” Ashley adjusted the hood tighter over her head as if intentionally contradicting Nell.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m an addict. I was clean for a while but started using again a couple of months ago. Me and my boyfriend.”
Ashley shook her head. “Why are you telling me this?” Her tone suggested she couldn’t care less.
“Because I’m going back into rehab tomorrow morning.” Nell withdrew the brochure from her hip pocket and launched into what sounded to Emma like the facility’s promotional pitch.
While Nell talked, Emma took in the space around her.
The off-white carpet appeared worn and stained in places, scrubbed clean in others.
The paint on the walls showed scuffed marks, and one baseball-sized spot had been patched.
Daphne was too young to throw a ball hard enough to dent drywall, and the repair was too high to have been caused by a tricycle.
Emma’s gaze returned to the rug. The plush pony’s sparkles had shed, much like those glittery greeting cards.
No amount of vacuuming was capable of getting rid of all of it.
Otherwise, the area at her feet was one of the clean ones.
She suspected there had been a spill, which had required breaking out the carpet shampooer.
It was odd that, in a living room of this size, there was no coffee table.
Matthias had one and used it as a place to set files, books, and magazines, as well as cups of coffee, bottles of beer, and wine glasses.
There was nothing like that here. However…
The ceiling light didn’t throw much of a shadow, but Emma noticed a dimple in the carpet’s matting. As if a coffee table had once been there and was now gone.
* * *
Fran’s words played on a loop in Matthias’s mind. A woman can only take so much before either she or the bastard abusing her ends up dead.
If Fran was to be believed, Ashley Jones had taken a lot of abuse.
“Hey,” Fergusson said, his voice sharp, “did you hear a word I said?”
Matthias’s mind had been elsewhere as he and the troopers reached their vehicles in Fran’s driveway. “No.”
“I asked what you thought about her story? She admits she was still in love with Jones.”
“But she was smart enough to get out,” Matthias said as much to himself as to Fergusson, “and stay out.”
Lukan leaned on the passenger side of the unmarked sedan and gazed skyward to the threatening clouds. “The wife, on the other hand…”
Fergusson opened the driver’s door but didn’t get in. “Yeah. We’ve been discounting her involvement because she sure wasn’t standing to benefit financially from Jones’s death.”
“And,” Lukan added, “because she knew how to play the role of a grieving widow. She had me convinced.”
Matthias, too, but he wasn’t going to tell them. Except he didn’t have to.
He caught Fergusson watching him, the sneer back on his lips. “She had you fooled, too. Just like Wendy Seager.” The trooper’s tone was low and taunting.
Matthias’d had about enough of Fergusson’s jibes.
“Who the hell is Wendy Seager?” Lukan asked.
“Do you want to tell him?” Fergusson asked. “Or should I?”
Matthias shot a glance at Lukan but then fixed his gaze on Fergusson. “She’s been dead for fifteen years, so I don’t see why you feel that case matters. You should be focused on who killed Sonny Jones.”
“Agreed,” Lukan said. “Do we want to talk to the widow now or start with her fresh in the morning?”
“I vote for tomorrow,” Fergusson said. “Let’s head back to the office and do some more digging into Ashley Jones’s past. Fran Goodwin claims Ashley never turned him in, but I want to know for certain if she ever filed a restraining order against her husband.”
Lukan opened his door. “I’ll check her hospital records. See if she’s ever been treated or admitted for anything that points to abuse.”
“What about you, Honeywell? You and your girlfriend heading back to Erie?”
“That’s the plan.” Matthias wasn’t going to get into the topic of Nell checking into drug and alcohol rehab in the morning. He hoped Emma would be able to trust her sister’s care with professionals and wouldn’t insist on sticking around.
Fergusson brought a hand to his forehead in a sloppy salute. “Safe travels.”
“Nice meeting you,” Lukan said, sounding a lot more sincere than his partner.
They climbed into the sedan and pulled out. Matthias slid into his Jeep and checked the time. He’d left Emma at the hospital with Eric and Nell hours ago. Surely, Nell had been discharged by now.
Matthias texted Emma to let her know he was headed to Eric’s house and would see her in a bit. Then he started the Jeep and backed out of Fran’s driveway.
* * *
Emma glanced at Ashley, who was staying politely focused on Nell’s sales pitch despite looking like she wished her uninvited guests would just leave already.
Emma lowered her gaze to the floor again.
She hadn’t noticed at first, but now that she was looking for it, she spotted a second divot.
And a third. And a fourth. All positioned where a coffee table would have recently been.
Nell’s voice faded into the background chatter inside Emma’s mind.
There had been a coffee table here. One that was now missing.
For the last few days, she and Matthias had been in search of a missing piece of furniture, specifically glass, that had been removed.
She took in the room’s other furnishings.
The painted side tables had no glass in them but were not an identical pair either.
If Ashley had furnished her house with secondhand items, they wouldn’t necessarily match.
Those sparkles may not have been shed from the toy pony.
Emma needed a closer look. Forcibly maintaining a passive face, she brought her gaze back to Ashley, who continued to listen obligingly to Nell. Emma needed to get Sonny’s widow out of the room. She coughed.
Ashley glanced at her, then back to Nell.
Emma coughed again into her elbow, feigning discomfort. “I’m sorry.” She continued to act as if she was choking. “I must’ve swallowed wrong.” More coughing. “Could I have a glass of water?”
Ashley uncurled her legs from beneath her and stood. “Sure,” she said flatly before disappearing into the kitchen.
Emma knew she could still hear from the other room, so she kept up the coughing act.
“Are you okay?” Nell asked.
“I’m fine,” Emma whispered. “Go after her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Go into the kitchen and keep her there.”
“But—”
Emma fixed her with a sharp gaze. “I think Sonny might have died here.” She pointed at the carpet. “I need to check it out.”
Nell’s mouth hung open, thinking.
“Go,” Emma said as quietly as possible. “Now.”
Nell managed to gain her feet and gather her crutches, but by the time she reached the kitchen, Ashley reappeared in the doorway with a tumbler of water.
Emma swore to herself and kept up the coughing spell.
Nell shot her a grin. “I’ve changed my mind about those cookies,” Nell said to Ashley, pointing to the kitchen. “If you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.” Ashley seemed annoyed but resigned to her fate of playing hostess to two unwanted guests.
It occurred to Emma that Ashley may have learned to be conciliatory thanks to her demanding husband. She carried the glass to the sofa and handed it to Emma just as Nell shouted out, “Ashley, I’m sorry to be a bother, but I need your help.”
Emma concealed her smile behind the act of sipping water. Clearing her throat, she thanked Ashley.
“Whatever,” she replied and returned to the kitchen.
As soon as Ashley was out of sight, Emma set the glass on a side table and dropped to her knees.
She fingered the smashed dents in the carpet.
The feet of a piece of furniture had definitely caused them.
Shifting her focus, she reached for one of the glints of light reflecting from deep in the pile.
She pinched it and immediately knew her first assumption had been correct.
Glitter from the stuffed pony. She brushed it from her fingertips onto her jeans and spotted another.
She almost ignored it, but she was already alone and on her knees.
She sunk her fingers into the carpet’s pile.
She touched something solid. Tiny.
Sharp.
Definitely not sparkles from a toy. As she gingerly came up with the shimmering speck of glass, she froze, aware that she was no longer alone in the living room.