Debra Burroughs - Paradise Valley 02.5 - The Edge of Lies (6 page)

After breakfast, Emily phoned Isabel and extended the invitation. Isabel was happy to come, she told Emily, and she was sure Alex would be too.

~*~

Friday arrived and Emily spent the afternoon racing around the house cleaning, then making a green salad and potatoes au gratin from a box to complement the steaks that Evan promised to grill. Isabel had offered to bring tiramisu for dessert, a recipe she had gotten from Camille.

Their guests arrived on time and Emily made the introductions. Alex was dressed down from his usual lawyer garb, wearing a polo shirt and khakis. Even though his thick black hair was beginning to show a little gray in the temples, he was still a handsome man.

Emily watched Evan proudly as he was the perfect host, charming and funny. How could they not love him? She poured each person a glass of wine, and they sat outside on the new patio furniture and chatted easily. She observed Evan and Alex as they talked, and she hoped they would become friends.

She darted inside to check on the potatoes and grab the steaks for Evan to get busy grilling. Soon after, Alex poked his head in the back door and asked to use the facilities. Emily gave him directions, and when he came out, she was sticking the garlic bread in the oven.

He stood at the back door and stared out the window. “Evan and Isabel seem to be getting along well.”

Emily moved to his side and peeked out the window to the backyard. Evan and Isabel had walked to the end of the yard and appeared to be deep in conversation.

“Do you think we have anything to be worried about?” Emily teased—although, they did look awfully familiar with one another.

“You really think so?” Alex asked, turning to face her. It sounded as though he thought Emily was serious.

“I’m joking, Alex.” Emily went to the refrigerator to get the dressing.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

He drifted out the door, and Emily followed, carrying the platter of meat outside as Evan and Isabel returned to the deck. “What are you two up to?” she asked, setting the platter on the extended metal shelf of the gas grill. “You guys looked thick as thieves out there.”

“I was just telling Isabel what else we have planned for the backyard,” Evan said. “A gazebo maybe.”

“A gazebo? Really?” Emily threw her arms around Evan. “I’d love a gazebo out there.”

~*~

The next morning during breakfast, Evan suggested they go to the shooting range again.

“I don’t understand why you want me carrying a gun,” Emily moaned.

He took a sip of coffee. “I simply want to make sure you can defend yourself, love.”

“But, sweetheart, the people here are nice and very friendly. Google says this is an extremely low-crime area.”

“Well, of course, if Google said it, it must be true,” Evan joked.

“You’re the one who picked out this
perfect
place.”

“No matter how nice and friendly a town is, Emily, there’s always a bad element. I just want you to be safe.” He grinned and stuck a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

Her phone began to ring. She picked it up and checked the screen. “Private number,” she muttered. “Hello.”

There was no one on the other end, and after a few seconds of dead air, the call ended.

“Who was it?” Evan asked when he saw her set the phone down.

“Hang up again.”

“Again?”

“Well, it’s happened several times in the last few weeks,” she said, picking up a piece of buttered toast.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged. “I assumed, because we got new phone numbers when we moved here, it was probably someone calling the person who had my number before me.”

“Always the same number calling?” he pressed.

“No, different ones. This time it said private number. What’s the big deal?”

“Not a big deal—probably nothing.” He took a swig of coffee. “Next time, write down the number for me, would you? I’ll try to trace it back, just to make sure.”

“All right.” She picked up their plates and carried them to the sink.

“So, what about the firing range?”

~*~

Her charming husband had been, as always, impossible to resist, and Emily found herself staring down the barrel of a gun as she relaxed her stance at the firing range.

“When you fire your weapon, your goal is to take the assailant down, Emily, not just wing him.”

“I put three rounds in his chest.” Emily was surprised—her aim was not too bad for someone who was out of practice.

“Out of how many?” Evan laughed.

Her dad had taught her how to use a gun as a teenager, on their farm in Virginia. She had thought it was cool back then, but now, as an adult and watching the network news every evening, she had to get used to the idea. This was only the second practice she’d had since the farm, and the kickback was taking some getting used to as well, but her aim and comfort level were quickly returning. Though she hoped she’d never have to use her gun, Emily supposed it did give her a bit of confidence, knowing that she knew how.

Following their practice, Evan took her to the park for a picnic lunch after picking up some sandwiches at a nearby deli. They sat at a wooden table under a shade tree and ate, just like they did when they used to have picnics on the lawn in the center of the Capital Mall when they were dating, stealing moments to be together between his assignments.

“I have to admit, love, you are becoming a better shot. A woman needs to know how to defend herself,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “Keep alert to your surroundings. You never know when—”

“You never know when what?” she asked.

When they were dating back in Virginia, as a young, single woman living alone, he had often told her to be careful, but now she sensed a new level of caution from him.

Growing up in a small farming town, she had been pretty sheltered from the seedy underbelly of the world at large. When they were dating, her naiveté was one of the things Evan had told her he found enchanting about her—her sweetness and her way of seeing the good in most people—but out in the real world, he’d said, it was a dangerous way to live.

“You just never know.” Evan put his arm around her and pulled her close.

His phone began to ring. “Sorry, love,” he said, looking down at the screen, “I’ve got to take this.” He slid his legs over the bench and walked out of earshot.

His private phone calls always unnerved her. She should have been used to them by now, with the job he’d had in DC and now his work as a private eye, but at times it felt like he was hiding something from her. She shook her head and took a bite of her sandwich—she was just being silly.

Before long, he rejoined her, dropping down onto the bench. “A lead I’m following,” he said, raising his phone to her.

She nodded that she understood.

“I hate to do this, love, but I really need to go out later. Why don’t you call one of your girlfriends to come over for a visit?”

Emily knew he meant the women from the cooking class.

“How about that one that came for dinner the other night? What was her name—Isabella?”

“Isabel. Her name is Isabel.”

“Yeah, right, Isabel. You girls seemed to hit it off. Call her.”

Emily fought back a sigh. Apparently, Evan had something urgent to do, something he couldn’t talk about. “Okay,” she said.

She would much rather have more time with her husband, but since that wouldn’t be an option tonight, she would call Isabel to see if she was free. “It is Thursday, after all. Maybe all the girls could come for dinner.”

Chapter 8

A shiver of excitement ran across her shoulders, inspiring a smile across her face, as she thought about getting together with the girls. She’d phoned the three women and invited them over for dinner that night, reminding them that they had talked about getting together once a week for a girls-only potluck.

“This could be our first,” Emily had said, and they all had gladly accepted her invitation.

Emily proposed salads and cold sandwiches, since it was a hot summer day, and she was relieved when they all agreed. Even though she had been to all six classes, Emily hated to confess that her skills had only slightly improved.

Isabel was first to show up, carrying a platter of crudités and spicy humus. She and Emily chatted in the living room until the others arrived.

“Alex seemed to enjoy himself at dinner last Friday night. Am I right?” Emily asked.

“Yeah. I think he and Evan got along well,” Isabel said. “Maybe we can have you guys over to our house.”

Emily smiled. “I’d love that.”

“Is Evan here? We could set a date now.”

“No, he’s working. He got a call and said he’d be out for the evening.” Emily hugged a decorative pillow as she pulled her bare feet up under her.

“In his line of work, when duty calls he has to go, I suppose.”

“But Isabel, he’s a private detective. It’s not like he does what you do at the FBI.”

“Still, when you’re on a case, chasing leads, sometimes if you don’t stay hot on it, the lead is gone.” Isabel took a sip from the glass of lemonade Emily had served.

“I guess.” Emily gave a shrug. “I suppose I should be thankful he doesn’t leave for weeks at a time anymore, like he did in DC.”

“I’m sure he’d rather be here, Emily,” Isabel patted Emily’s knee, “but sometimes things just can’t be helped and work will take him away.”

“You know, it was Evan who suggested I call you and the girls tonight.”

A knock at the door drew their attention. Emily hopped up. “That must be Maggie or Camille.”

She hurried to answer it, with Isabel following close behind. Through the closed door, Emily could hear female voices chattering. She opened it to find Camille and Maggie standing on her porch.

“Come in, come in,” Emily said, glad to see the rest of her new friends.

“Oh, m’ gosh, Emily. We were so thrilled to get your call,” Maggie gushed, holding her pasta salad in one hand and throwing her free arm around Emily’s shoulders.

“Yes, Emily, just thrilled,” Camille echoed, hugging Emily as soon as Maggie stepped aside. “Where can I set this pie down?”

A wave of surprise washed through Emily. She wasn’t accustomed to all the physical attention from other women. “Uh…why don’t you ladies follow me to the kitchen.”

They set their dishes on the counter beside Isabel’s plate of cut-up veggies with humus dip.

“Is your hubby home?” Maggie asked, searching through Emily’s kitchen drawers until she found the one she wanted, grabbing a big serving spoon. “We’d love to meet him.”

“Sorry, he’s working this evening.”

“Didn’t you tell us he was a private eye or something?” Camille asked, uncovering her lemon meringue pie.

“Yes, he worked for a security firm back in DC, but now—”

Maggie swooned, her hand flying to her chest. “Isn’t it comfortin’ havin’ a big strong man around to protect you?”

Emily agreed with a nod and a grin. “Yes, comforting is a good word for it.”

“Why don’t we put some food on our plates and take this conversation to the table, girls?” Isabel suggested. “I’m starved.”

“All right,” Emily agreed. “Dishes and silverware are on the counter and the lemonade and glasses are on the table.

The women filled their plates and went to sit down.

“Sell any houses this week, Emily?” Camille asked, leaning back in her chair, fluffing her spiky red hair with her nicely manicured hands.

“No, and I still have that big home listed on River Run. I need to move that thing,” Emily said, wagging a carrot stick.

“Didn’t you do an open house there recently?” Maggie asked, as she poured herself a glass of lemonade.

“A few weeks ago, but I didn’t have much traffic.” Emily popped the end of the carrot stick in her mouth.

“I heard a female Realtor in Seattle was attacked at an open house,” Maggie said. “The homeowners found her bound and gagged in a closet when they came home that night.”

“Oh my!” Camille gasped.

“Yes, someone had stolen all their jewelry, TVs, and computers,” Maggie went on, before taking a sip of lemonade.

Isabel set her fork down. “I’m sure Emily is taking precautions. Knowing Evan, he wouldn’t let her just—”

“You know Evan?” Maggie asked, her brows arching.

Isabel cleared her throat. “Well, we’ve met, but really it’s just a figure of speech.”

“Maybe you should ask Evan to help you do your open houses,” Maggie rested a concerned hand on Emily’s arm, “you know, like a bodyguard, so that kind of thing won’t happen to you.”

Isabel leaned forward in her chair. “We can’t expect to have a man around to protect us, girls. We have to know how to protect ourselves.”

“You sound like Evan,” Emily said with a little laugh. “I was alone with a man at the open house when he dropped by. After the guy left, Evan gave me an earful for doing that. But what am I supposed to do? It’s my job.” She shook her head. “Then he insisted on taking me out to the firing range the next morning for some target practice.”

“Target practice? That sounds like a man.” Isabel grimaced, rising from her chair, placing her hands firmly on her hips. “We women need more than that—much more.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked, looking up at Isabel.

“Well, I was thinking,” Isabel began, her gaze floating from face to face, “that between the four of us, with my background at the FBI and you being a personal trainer, Maggie—how about we start a self-defense class at your workout studio?”

“Oh, Isabel!” Maggie squealed, shooting to her feet. “I’m over the moon for that idea.”

Emily stood as well. “That’s funny. I was just thinking about taking a self-defense course. Maybe I can get Evan to show us a few moves, too.”

“Don’t leave me out.” Camille jumped up. “I’ll bring the refreshments.”

~*~

As both dinner and their conversation were winding down, Emily’s phone began to ring on the breakfast bar and she grabbed it up. “It’s Evan.”

“Hey, love. How’s dinner with your mates going?”

Emily looked over at her friends. “We’re having a wonderful time, just eating and chatting away.”

“I’m glad I’m not there, then. I don’t know if I could survive all that estrogen.”