Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (10 page)

“I’m sorry,” Jewels said with a long sigh. “I’ve had a rough day, and—”

“Say no more,” Folsum interrupted, resting his hand over heart and bowing slightly to her. “It is me who owes you the apology.” Nodding at Hines, “The boss said you were someone we could have a little fun with and I guess I went too far.”

“Really.” Cocking her head, she lobbed a puzzled look at Hines. “Is that what he said?” Her voice edged with intrigue as she continued to fiddle with key. Finally the massive oak door unlocked.

Boo-Boo, her three year old golden retriever, bulldozed her way between the door and wall before Jewels could even open it all the way. The dog rushed out onto the porch, enthusiastically greeting her like she’d been gone for years instead of just a few hours.

Jewels adored her big cuddly Boo-Boo Bear. Immediately bending down and wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck, she energetically stroked the silky hair on her back for a vigorous mini massage. “How’s my little moon pie today?” Her voice was high pitched and baby-talk playful. Robert and she had chosen the pup from a litter of eight. Boo-Boo was their
baby
and the closest thing to a child they would ever have.

The agents took a quick step backward as the one-hundred-twenty pound fur ball bounced up and down, squealed with delight, and happily wiggled its entire body in Jewels’ embrace. Clearly this was a well-established welcome home ritual. It was also clear Jewels was in no hurry to rush it despite the presence of two hovering FBI agents.

Finally Jewels stood up, straightened her suit, readjusted the handbag on her shoulder and bloody jacket on her arm, then stepped through the door, holding it open wide. “Come, Boo-Boo,” she called, patting her thigh as a signal the dog should enter the house. Obediently, she followed, but instantly parked in the middle of the entry creating a furry blockade, eyes eagerly fixed upward on her
momma
. “Move Boo-Boo. Get out of the doorway so the nice FBI guys can come in and
grill
your momma just for the fun of it.”

Hines tilted his head back in laughter. “I promise, no more
bad cop
routines.”

Raising a brow in a questioning slant, she grinned. “I guess we’ll soon see.”

Boo-Boo responded to the visitors by dashing off down the hall, quickly returning with a half-skinned tennis ball. She nudged the ball into the palm of Agent Folsum’s hand.

“Interesting. Despite your earlier antics, Agent Folsum—”

“Michael. Call me Michael.”

Smiling and nodding. “... she must sense you’re a good person,
Michael
. Boo-Boo is rarely this friendly with strangers the first time she meets them. It usually takes her two or three visits before she warms up.”

Hines forcefully blew air out between gritted teeth. Growled. Neither Jewels nor Agent Folsum acknowledged his negative reaction to her calling the rookie agent by his first name, though both noticed it. How could they not?

“Gee, I’m honored,” Folsum said, staring at the slobbery ball in his hand.

“Go ahead, throw the ball in the house. I don’t mind. But be forewarned: play ball with Boo-Boo once and, as far as she’s concerned, you’re friends for life. Shun her once, and she’ll never forgive or forget you.”

Directing the agents into the formal living room, Jewels instructed them to make themselves at home. “I’m dying for a Diet Coke. Would you gentlemen like to join me?”

The agents nodded in agreement.

Hustling off to the kitchen, Jewels was eager to dump the blood soaked jacket from her arm and the heavy purse on her shoulder. Plus she really
needed
another Diet Coke.

Fine country wood furnishings added a warm glow to the hunter green and burgundy plaid fabric of the sofa. The two wine colored over-stuffed wingback chairs parked opposite the sofa looked too inviting for the agents to refuse. They each plunged into a chair, both sighing in comfort.

An ornately hand-carved wooden mantel added pizzazz to the towering stone fireplace. Venetian plastered walls were adorned with original western paintings, several by Gary Carter, a distinguished member of the prestigious Cowboy Artists of America. Folsum almost instantly relinquished the comfort of the chair to examine the art more closely.

Boo-Boo followed him, persistently nudging the ball into his hand. Obliging the dog’s request, he continued tossing the slobbery ball around the room.

Returning with a stack of bright yellow paper napkins, a plate of chocolate covered chocolate cake donuts arranged in a pyramid, and three glasses of Diet Coke, “Help yourself, guys,” Jewels said setting the tray on the coffee table. “Thought you might like some donuts.” Teasing, she added, “They
are
the preferred snack among you law enforcement types, aren’t they?”

“And apparently of beautiful women as well,” Agent Micheal Folsum quickly returned.

“Every girl’s gotta have her chocolate and I keep quite a stash,” Jewels said in good humor.

Everyone chuckled.

Snagging one of the glasses, she sat down on the sofa and noticed the agent was studying her art collection. “Michael, are you a Gary Carter fan or just fond of western art?”

“Oh, Carter. Cowboy art. Western art. Arnold Friberg. I love all the fine arts, especially the more outdoorsy stuff,” he confessed, admiration in his voice as he continued scrutinizing the paintings.

“Me, too. I’ve got a large limited edition print of
Prayer at Valley Forge
hanging in my office. Mister Friberg wrote a personal inscription to me on it. It’s one of my favorites. Remind me to show it to you before you leave. You’d probably also—”

“Enough already, you art critics,” Hines interrupted, a tinge of jealously in his tone as he picked up a soda, quickly pounded it down in one big gulp, then slammed the empty glass on the table.

Hines’ abrupt words and uncouth behavior caught Jewels’ usual good manners off guard. “Party pooper. No wonder Boo-Boo doesn’t like you.” Wincing at the harshness of her words, she wished she hadn’t said them like
that
. Quickly, she pressed the glass to her lips, swallowing a drink of Diet Coke.

Folsum caught the whirlwind of tension building and launched a stab at de-escalating it. Turning to Jewels he offered a courtesy bow. “Pardon me, Miz Andrasy. Special Agent Hines is absolutely right. We’re here on
business
.” Stepping toward the coffee table, he picked up a glass of Diet Coke, then stood to the side of the couch, gazing down upon Jewels. “I’d very much love to see that Friberg print, but not tonight. Maybe we could get together another time, go out for a drink, talk art....”

Michael was hitting on her, but, incredibly, she wasn’t bothered by it. Jewels wondered why she didn’t mind the notion of seeing Michael when she had been so adamant about saying
no
to Hines who had been bugging her for a date for months.

Though she had never thought about it before this very moment, the fact was, Boo-Boo
didn’t
like Theodore. But why? Her mind floated back to nearly two years ago. The dog had made a point to steer clear of Agent Hines the half dozen times he had visited the house as her
source
when she was writing the series of articles on the FBI’s Most Wanted. Jewels subscribed to the notion dogs have an innate ability to read human character and to sense good from evil but ... then again, maybe Agent Hines simply wasn’t a dog-loving person and Boo-Boo picked up on that instead.

Swallowing another drink of Diet Coke, she refocused her thoughts on the
now
and decided, all things considered, it was best if she didn’t respond to Michael’s suggestion about going out for a drink and talking art. Instead she just quietly sat. Smiling. Sipping Diet Coke. Unintentionally looking drop dead gorgeous.

Hines was still seated in the comfy chair but looked like an agitated house cat primed for a fur-flying confrontation with a rival. Folsum had returned to ogling the paintings, occasionally drinking the cold refreshment.

After a moment of awkward silence, Hines cleared his throat and leaned forward toward the coffee table, closer to Jewels. Holding a small electronic device, he waved it at her. “Miz Andrasy, I would like to record our conversation. Is that okay with you?”

Nodding in agreement, she crossed her legs to get comfortable and then motioned for Boo-Boo to come over. The dog climbed on the couch, collapsed next to Jewels and parked its head in her lap.

Agent Hines inched near the edge of the chair, sat erect and straightened his suit and tie.

Stroking the dog’s silky golden hair, Jewels probed. Her voice was calm, tone cooperative. “I must admit, gentlemen, I’m most curious. What in the world does the FBI want with me?”

“Exactly what was your relationship with the deceased, Sharon Jeppson?” Hines asked, his voice cold, FBI businesslike.

Jewels’ lips pursed. Hines hadn’t answered her. An intense contemplative look fell upon her face. Flashing a look over at Michael for his reaction to Hines’ stern questioning, she realized he wasn’t paying attention. He was mesmerized by the paintings. Frowning, she focused on Hines. “Hmph. The FBI isn’t usually involved in a murder case unless that murder is related to
something
they’ve been investigating. That only means one thing: you feds were watching Sharon.”

Negatively shaking his head, Hines’ eyes glanced down at the floor. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case—”

“Ah-ha,” Jewels exclaimed, shooting her finger in the air, her body bouncing up and back down on the couch without disturbing Boo-Boo. “You
are
working on a case that involves Sharon.”

Concentrating on the art, Folsum hadn’t picked up on the sudden escalation of tension. Casually he glanced over at Jewels. Did a double take. Eyes drawn to her sexy long legs draped over the edge of the couch and crossed at the ankles, his attention instantly captured. Paintings all but forgotten.

Sighing with disapproval, Hines resumed questioning. “Miz Andrasy,
please
just answer the question. What was your relationship with Sharon Jeppson?”

Thinking, Jewels rolled her tongue around inside of her right cheek as if it were a piece of jawbreaker candy. Tenderly patting Boo-Boo on the head, she answered, “We became friends through drama club in high school, but it’s not like we were best friends or kept in touch after graduation. As a matter of fact, until earlier today, I don’t think I’ve talked to her since our five-year class reunion, which was...,” Jewels paused looking up at the ceiling to search her memory, then, “about eleven years ago.”

“Uh-huh, and before today you’re telling us you had no prior contact with her or anyone in her organization?”

Irked by the insinuating tone in Hines’ voice, Jewels responded curtly, “Like I said, no prior contact with
her
since the reunion. And I don’t know what
organization
you’re talking about. Does it happen to have a name, or at least a type? Like a religious cult? A drug ring? White slavery? Or—”

“Why were you meeting her at Peggy Sue’s Deli? And what did she say to you when you got there?” Hines pressed.

Agitated, Jewels replied nastily, “Oh, answering a question with two questions, Mister Hines?”

“Cut out the commentary and just answer my question, Miz Andrasy,” Hines demanded.

Mouth quirked in annoyance, Jewels’ Hungarian temper flared. “My response to that is: you can get all the answers you want from the statements I made to the local police. I’m sure everything you need to know is in that report.” Shooting to her feet, she rushed to the front door, flinging it open.

Boo-Boo followed, standing a few feet behind her as if for moral support.

“I think it’s time for you gentlemen to leave. If you want to talk anymore, make an appointment and my attorney will be present.” Gesturing with her hand for them to get up off their butts and out of her house, she added, “And I’m not joking.”

“Now wait a minute, Miz Andrasy,” Agent Folsum piped up, striding toward her.

“Don’t play that good cop, bad cop routine with me.” Standing tall, Jewels firmly planted her hand on her hips. Face rigid. She meant business. “Now if you two gentleman will pleeeeease leave....”

Outraged, Hines evicted himself from the comfy wingback, indignantly tramping past Jewels. Didn’t even look at her.

Folsum’s body language sagged with regret as he trailed his superior, then quickly backtracked a few steps to claim the recorder still lying on the coffee table, voicing a brief apology as he exited.

Expending enough energy on the door to close it with an angry slam, “Damn FBI! Who do they think they are, anyway?” she grumbled, looking down at a wide-eyed, tail-wagging Boo-Boo. That was the second time she swore out loud that day. Not a good sign.

7:25 P.M.
So many questions, absolutely zero answers, like the meaning of Sharon’s dying words,
Don’t trust the old times
. Wearing a faded pair of
Rocky
Mountain
jeans and a bright salmon colored V-neck T-shirt, Jewels sat in the cozy breakfast nook nestled deep within a large bay window. The house was silent. No radio or TV blaring. Lackadaisically, she nibbled at the cooling microwavable lasagna dinner. Boo-Boo sat at attention, eyeing the table and panting in eager anticipation of the leftovers.