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“I don’t know. It’s hard to nail this element, and I’m waiting on his med records to see if he was being treated for anything. Be patient.”
Nash didn’t have any patience today and struggled for a scrap. “I thought you couldn’t detect digitalis.”
“That’s why you can’t quote me.”
Nash hung up and studied his notes. Winfield had lived in New York and the NYPD had been notified. The victim’s apartment would be sealed off and swept for evidence. It was time, he thought, to find more suspects. Yet in the back of his mind lingered one troubling question. Had Lisa Bracket Winfield changed enough over the past four years to be capable of murder?
LISA SLID INTO the booth in the diner and smiled at her lawyer, Trisha Flynn. Trish had her notebook out, ready to talk.
“We could have met at the office, Lisa.”
Lisa shook her head, grateful for the cup of coffee waiting for her. “That would make me feel like a real suspect.”
“From what you told me, you’re the best possible one.”
“Gosh, you’re a fun date, huh?” Lisa’s heart sank and at the same time, anger unfolded. Was Peter going to keep ruining her life? “Dammit, Trish, I didn’t do this,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “When I left Peter last night, he was very much alive.”
“And mad as hell, I’ll bet.”
Lisa scoffed. “He wasn’t getting his way, so yes, he was mad.” Lisa glanced at the menu, and they ordered, silent till the waitress left them.
“Was it the same argument?” Trish asked.
“Oh, yes. When was it not?”
“You don’t look upset that he’s dead.”
“I grieved. I loved him once upon a time.” And I loved Nash, too, she thought, and knew if it had been him who died, she wouldn’t be functioning nearly as well. “But you know better than anyone what it was like with him, Trish. And now to have Nash nosing around in my personal business, my marriage…”
“You should have told him.”
Trisha had been with her when she’d miscarried her baby. “Is that my lawyer or friend talking?” Lisa asked.
Trisha smiled, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulder as she reached for the creamer. “Your friend. Who’s on lawyer time.”
Lisa tried to smile and couldn’t. “I know you think Nash should know about the baby I lost, but I understand him better than he does. It wouldn’t have worked out then, and bringing it up now will only hurt him more.” Four years had eased the loss only a little.
“But Nash wants to know what you and Peter fought about.”
“I can’t, Trish.” Lisa’s eyes teared up, and she grabbed a paper napkin, blotting them. Wimp, she thought, you’ve been through worse. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, honey. We’ve all been there.” Lisa met her gaze. “Do you want me to petition to have him removed from the case?”
“You can do that?”
“He has a personal attachment.”
“No, it will just make me look guilty.”
“Is Nash an honest man, Lisa?” her lawyer asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Would he use this to hurt you?”
“I…I don’t think so.”
Trish voiced no opinion on that, and Lisa wondered how bad this was going to get. “Okay, the conversation you and Peter had last night is inadmissible, and your word against a dead man’s is hearsay,” Trisha said. “Don’t worry about it now. It has no bearing on his death that I can see.”
Lisa relaxed back into the leather seat and nursed her coffee. “And if Nash believes it does?”
“Let’s wait to see what they come up with, because right now, we know you didn’t kill Peter.”
Lisa was grateful Trisha believed her, but the certainty that Nash didn’t was brewing like a storm inside her.
“Do you want me to hire a private detective to find out what I can?”
“No.”
Trisha eyed her, making notes.
“The police are working on it, Trish. I’m innocent.”
“Nash has already ordered a deep background check on Peter and it will include you.”
Lisa shrugged. “That can’t be helped.”
“And if he reads medical records?”
Suddenly Lisa went still. “Don’t they have to get a court order?”
“Not if you’re a suspect. And if you want to look innocent, you give them permission.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I have to.” But the thought of telling Nash the truth gave her nothing but pain. He might still be a little hurt, but the truth would destroy him.
Their food arrived. Lisa stared down at the healthy-looking green salad, then called the waitress back.
“I’ll start with dessert. Chocolate. Anything with chocolate.”
“Woman after my own heart,” the waitress said as she left.
Trisha shook her head, smiling.
Lisa shrugged. “Hey, I’ll jog an extra two miles.”
A minute later the waitress slid the dessert before her. And both women gaped at the five-layer torte covered in chocolate fudge.
“Better make that five miles,” Trisha said, laughing. “With sit-ups.”
Lisa stabbed a chunk of torte enjoying the calories one at a time. “You could join me, but I know how you look running in those high heels you refuse to lose. It ain’t pretty, sugah.”
Trisha smiled and forked a bite of the dessert.
Lisa devoured bite after bite, knowing that not even gooey chocolate would keep her mind off Nash and that he thought she was capable of murder.
Chapter Three
The next day Lisa was still fuming, and the best thing for her temper was to dig in the dirt. Leaving Kate to oversee the register, she repotted new stock and replaced the plants in the smaller gardens that had been sold in the past few days. She scrubbed terra-cotta pots, clipped cuttings, clipped herbs and tied them to dry, then deadheaded flowers. Anything to keep her mind off Nash Couviyon and the fact that he thought she was capable of killing another human being. It made her ill. And it hurt.
Lord, it hurt.
Obviously whatever relationship they’d had—and she still wasn’t certain they’d had a real one—meant nothing. Not when you’re faced with murder charges, she supposed.
Peter was dead. She grieved for him of course, but it was mild. That shamed her. She’d been his wife, in name only for the past three years. Still. He didn’t deserve to die, although she’d learned quickly in their marriage that he wasn’t a very nice person. Once she wore his ring, he’d become controlling, manipulative, obsessive.
He’d damn near driven her crazy in a few short months. And she’d learned her true purpose in his life. Be pretty, behave, give great parties, and schmooze…
A trophy wife.
Boy, did he learn he’d chosen poorly. And so did she. She’d left and started over. Started over a couple of times, in fact, she mused, and now she had every cent she’d earned in the past three years sunk into this house and her nursery business. She’d done most of the work herself and business was steady. Temple Couviyon had steered some contractors her way for her more exotic plants. Life was getting back to good, she thought, and felt as if she’d spent a century getting to this very moment.
And now it could be over. If word leaked out that she was a suspect in a murder case, she’d be ruined. Her reputation would be shot.
Shaking her head, she plowed her hands deep into the potting soil she was mixing. Though the fresh compost smelled fine, the stench of cow manure was strong enough to make her eyes water.
It was how Nash found her. Elbow deep in black dirt, pausing to add vermiculite to the mix. Outside the greenhouse, she kneaded and folded the soil, and although there were tears in her eyes, her expression said she wasn’t crying. She looked on that road between pissed off and pleased.
Nash wasn’t sure he should interrupt. “Lisa?”
She hesitated, then kept folding dirt in the large galvanized tub.
“What is it, Detective?” Lisa recognized his voice instantly, almost felt his presence before he spoke. It was irritating as hell that he could still do that to her.
He moved to her side. She glanced at him.
The impact of those green eyes left him momentarily hurting for air. “Peter was poisoned.”
Her head whipped to the side, her eyes wide. “Good Lord, how?”
“That we don’t know yet. Did he have heart trouble?”
She snorted and went back to mixing. “No. He was never sick. He’s…he was a guru about eating healthy foods, taking vitamins. Working out. It was really annoying that the man wouldn’t relax and just have fun. Be a slug, lie like a potato.” She bit her lip, knowing she’d said more than she should have. “I don’t think I should talk to you without a lawyer present.”
“You haven’t been charged.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“Cooperating will go in your favor. Do you want to impede an investigation?”
“I’ve told you all I can recall.”
“Except what you and Peter discussed, exactly.”
“He wanted me back… It doesn’t matter,” she said tiredly. “He was alive when I left him.” She moved to the sink and washed her hands. “I get it. You don’t have motive.”
“You were his wife—”
“Ex, or soon to be, at the time,” she stressed.
“—and you stood to gain. On the day of his death you were still legally married.”
“Splitting hairs, Nash. I didn’t ask for anything of his when I left him, and I hadn’t been his wife in any sense, including the biblical, for three years.”
Nash’s brows shot up. Where had she been all this time? “Not according to the legal system.”
“Fine. Have it your way. You always do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She turned, resting her rear against the sink edge and drying her hands. For a second she debated opening up this can of worms, then decided he could take a piece of the truth. “Four years ago you wanted me to wait around till you were ready for more than a few dates a month.”
Nash said nothing, bracing for the attack.
“You wanted me to be yours, but you weren’t willing to ever claim me. Even your brothers thought I was just a friend.”
The bitterness in her voice smacked him across the face. They’d shared a bed, shared each other, dammit. “So you went elsewhere?”
“I was still here before I met Peter and a couple of months after that.” She hooked the towel on a peg near the sink. “It doesn’t matter that it didn’t work out. At least I did something about it. Fish or cut bait, you know.”
“You’d have wanted to force me into something I didn’t want, then?”
She made a face. “No. Which is why I ended it.” So he wouldn’t feel he had to do the right thing because of their baby, she thought. “But that’s not the point. Face it, Nash. You weren’t ready for me.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
She made a sound between a laugh and disgust. “You had plenty of chances. You just didn’t want me the way I wanted you.” Forever.
There was hurt in her voice, a hint of it, barely disguised. She pushed past him, but didn’t make it far.
He caught her arm, the move putting her nearly against him. “My God, Lisa, did you think I didn’t care about you?” His gaze raked her face as he searched for something to grasp and knew he shouldn’t even be trying.
“Caring was all I got from you.” And a baby I never got to hold, she thought.
Nash struggled with his heart. He wanted to say things, things she needed to hear and he wanted to tell. But he couldn’t. Not when just looking at her pushed the heat simmering between them up a notch. Even in the apron and grubby T-shirt and steaming mad, she turned him inside out. He’d always felt incredible heat and electricity with her, more than anyone else. He’d never trusted it. And there was more here, this time. Yet the expression on her face said he didn’t have a chance. And the fact that he was prying into her life and considered her a prime suspect wasn’t helping his position. Did he want something with her? Was he willing to resurrect the past? No. Attraction was only about hormones, he thought, and forced himself to shut off the thoughts and turn up his cop brain.
He let her go. After a moment he asked, “What herbs and flowers do you use to make the teas?”
Back to detecting, she thought, rubbing the warmth from her arm. “For the bath I use lavender, rosemary, lemon balm…eucalyptus, if I have it. For drinking…mint, lemon mint, chamomile and catnip. A couple of other herbs if they’re growing well.” Her frown deepened. “Why?”
