dark-washed blue jeans and a light gray sweater.
Emily put her hand on his knee and looked into his blue eyes.
“All right.”
They curled up on the couch for an hour, discussing the case. How Tricia Wilson had lied about her abuse, and about the ramifications the disclosure might have on the case.
“You still have the computer evidence? You still have his aberrant behavior, right? His affair with his office girl?”
Emily nodded. “Right. We still have all that. But I’m not sure it’s enough. There’s not a single bit of physical evidence to tie him to the crime.”
“I get that,” he said. “Let’s dig a little deeper over dinner.”
“Can’t do it,” she said. “And you know I want to. I have to get back to Cherrystone.”
“Please call me,” was the message that Fatima Hussein left on Emily’s voice mail. The woman’s tone was polite, but with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Emily pulled over to the side of the road. Listening to voice mail while driving was one thing, but making a call and focusing on a conversation involved too much distraction on a snowy highway. The call must have come when she was going over the mountain pass—a location where she never seemed to get cellular reception.
Emily searched her memory. She didn’t know anyone by that name.
“Is this Fatima Hussein? This is Sheriff Kenyon returning your call.”
“Yes. Thank you very kindly for answering my call I made to you. Please hold for one moment while I forward my other calls.”
By the time Fatima came back on the phone, Emily had made the connection. “You’re with Evergreen Marketing, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we met in the lobby. I was doing phone training, practicing my American accent with people as they call in.”
“I remember you,” Emily said as cars whizzed by one after another, kicking slushy snow in her direction. “How can I help you?”
“I am U.S. citizen. I wanted you to know that.”
“OK, that’s wonderful,” Emily said, unsure how to respond.
“That’s why I am phone calling you. It is about our civic duty.”
“What do you have to tell me, Fatima? Is it about Tricia Wilson?”
“Yes. You are correct. I want you to know that something has been going on with her. We all have noticed it here.”
“I don’t see how I can help you with a work performance issue.”
“No that. It is about her new car and her clothes.”
“What do you mean, Fatima?”
“She bought a new Lexus and she’s wearing new garments every day. She is not even close to a top performer. We don’t understand how she could afford all of that.”
Emily remembered how impeccably coiffed and attired Tricia had been when she came to Cherrystone, and again, at the offices of Evergreen Marketing. She was the very picture of success, one of those women in magazine ads or on TV.
“I thought she was an executive there,” Emily said. “She just seemed so in charge, so professional.”
“Oh, not at all. She’s one of our phoners.”
“Phoners?” The term puzzled her.
“She does outreach calls. Surveys, things of that kind of nature.”
“I see.”
“I thought that you should know. I do not want to be involved. But it was my duty to tell you.”
Emily thanked the woman. Civic duty was one thing, of course. But the call smacked a little of getting even. Or maybe even housecleaning.
PART THREE
Jenna
Chapter Fifty
Camille Hazelton didn’t like what she was hearing one bit. She leaned close to Emily Kenyon and jabbed a finger at her.
“This is a huge mess, damn it, Emily.”
“You don’t have to tell me. And you don’t have to poke me to get me to listen. I get it.”
“I’m sorry. But these walls are cheaper than justice these days and I don’t want to raise my voice. But this probably means we have to drop the charges. You know that, don’t you?”
“Can’t you give me a little time?”
“For what? To dredge up another winner like Tricia Wilson? We should have vetted her from the onset.” Camille caught herself, she’d used the word
“She was sworn in. She’s perjured herself in that depo. I’m going to make sure she goes to jail for that. It’s the least I can do. Honestly, paybacks are hell and I intend to make sure Miss Patty or Tricia or whatever her name is understands that.”
“Look, Camille, I think I can do something here. Something’s not right and I’d like a chance to repair it.”
“Oh my God, Emily, are you looking for redemption? Hasn’t the meter on that one run out by now?”
It was a cheap shot at things long since past. It was meant to sting and Camille Hazelton hated herself for saying it. She liked Emily very much, but she’d been pressed to her wit’s end. She could read the headlines the next day. The thought of them made her blood boil.
Car Dealer Released From Trumped-Up Charges
Camille sat down at her desk and Emily slumped in the chair across from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, doing her best to cool off. “I didn’t mean that.”
