Free Whispers of Murder by Cheryl Bradshaw Page B

but she had made a judgment about one thing: no more running.    
    Isabelle rummaged through her bag for her cell phone and then realized she’d left it in the car.  She ran out and grabbed it.  A text message popped up from Emmett:
    WENT TO STORE.  BE BACK SOON TO MAKE YOU DINNER. :)
    Isabelle shut the car door, but before she could spin around a voice behind her said, “Walk.”
    She tried to curve her head around but stopped when she felt the chilled sensation of a gun forced into the back of her head.  “I didn’t say turn around,” the person said, “I said walk.  Move it.”
     Isabelle ceased all movement and stood there like a windmill in a field without any wind.  “Walk where—straight?”
    “That’s right, and don’t bother to scream, no one will hear you.  That officer out front—what’s his name, Davis?  He’s dead.”
    Isabelle eyed the darkness that surrounded her and allowed the moon to guide her steps as she took a step forward. 
    “Not too fast,” the voice said.
    “Are you…Marsha?”  Isabelle was sure she’d heard her voice before, but she couldn’t place it.  “Have we met?”
    The woman ruptured with laughter.  “You could say that.”
    “And you’re here to…shoot me?”
    The woman thumped the gun against Isabelle’s head a few times.  “There’s more smarts upstairs than I thought.”
    “Is it because I married Leo—I mean, Jerome?”
    “Among other things.”
    “What do you get out of this?” Isabelle said.  “I didn’t know he was married.”
    “Of course you didn’t.  That was the idea.”
    Isabelle stopped. 
    The woman said, “Keep moving,” but Isabelle’s hot button was in overdrive. 
    “If you’re going to kill me, do it.  I’m not taking another step.”
    The heel of the woman’s shoe connected with the bone in the middle of Isabelle’s back thrusting her forward into the soft dirt below.  She wondered how long it would take Emmett to get there and realized he would probably be too late—a gun was pointed at her head and there wasn’t a thing she could do—except…turn around.  So she did. 
    Isabelle faced her attacker, and although their surroundings were dim, she could still make out the woman’s face, and she identified the necklace that clung to her neck.  “Renee?  You’re Marsha?” 
    “Have you put it together yet?” the woman said.  “C’mon Isabelle, two plus two, equals…”
    “But you’re…dating my dad.”
    “Oh, we’re way past those pleasantries.  Your father and I are engaged.  He was just waiting for the divorce to go through before he told you.”
    “So all this has been about what—money?”
    “All this time, your father thought you were the smart one, but I have to say, I think he had it all wrong.  Allow me to bestow the gift of enlightenment before I put an end to your life.”
    Isabelle remained quiet, hoping somehow that if she kept her talking, Emmett would arrive, or her father, or anyone who could put an end to the madness.
    Marsha continued.  “The man you knew as Leo was my husband.  When I came to work for your father, he told me he was going to pass his estate down to you.  I stalled him long enough for Leo, as you called him, to meet you with the idea that he would convince you to marry him.  That was the easy part.  Emmett always rattled on and on about you, so we made Jerome over: same haircut, same eye color; he even wore the same cologne.  And you fell for him in no time.”
    A tear escaped out of the corner of Isabelle’s eye.  “He married me for my money?  And then what was he going to do?”
    “Kill you.  Remember?  No prenup.”
    “So why’d he die then and not me?”
    “My husband made the mistake of actually falling for you and not sticking to our plan.  And when that happened, he thought he could convince me to get lost by offering me some squatty little payoff and a divorce.  If it makes you feel any better, Jerome wanted a fresh start