Free Be Afraid by Mary Burton Page A

for liars since he’d joined the Force. Amazing how shocked and sad a really good liar could look when the spotlight shone on them. “No, sir. Not after the fire.”
    “My God.” Lockwood’s eyes held the right blend of surprise and shock, but no one earned this kind of money without a good poker face. “Did she have any trouble with coworkers or clients?”
    Lockwood’s buffed fingernails caught the light as he drummed his fingers. “No. She’s a talented real estate attorney slated to be partner in this firm by the spring.”
    Bishop stared out the tall window behind Lockwood’s desk. He took his time shifting his gaze back to Lockwood. “Did she have any business deals that went sour? Make anyone mad?”
    “Not everyone wins in every deal. That’s par for the course. Of course she bested other agents. That’s why she was slated to be partner.”
    “What deals was she working on?” Rick asked.
    “A new strip mall out on I-40. Several condo developments and a proposed housing project. All her work was high dollar with large profit margins.”
    “Anyone express anger over a deal recently?”
    “Bob Boone wasn’t happy with her.”
    “Bob Boone?”
    “He works for a competitor. He lost out on a development bid last winter. He was angry and called Diane a few choice words. Didn’t like losing to a woman. She’s stepped on toes, but you’ve got to break a few shells to cook the eggs.”
    Diane had been most likely tied to a bed and shot at close range, both indicators that the killer had enjoyed controlling her last minutes. “Where can we find Bob Boone?”
    Lockwood looked through contacts on his cell and rattled off a number and address. “He’s got a reputation for his temper but he’s well respected in the community. Active in his church.”
    Neither Rick nor Bishop commented, both knowing they’d arrested their share of respected, churchgoing men.
    “Where did Diane Smith live?” Bishop asked.
    “She just bought a new home near Franklin. It’s an older home and she’s restoring it. I do know she was having trouble with her landscape architect over a bill. I don’t remember the name but if you visit her home you’ll get the number from a neighbor. Also speak to her neighbors. I’m not sure it’s the one to her left or right, but one of them wasn’t happy with a tree she’d cut down a few weeks ago.”
    A real estate deal. A tree. A landscape job. People killed for far less.
    “You said Diane worked here ten years?” Rick asked.
    “That’s right.” The lines deepened with sadness. “She was one hell of an employee. She’ll be missed.”
    After collecting Lockwood’s alibi contacts, Rick and Bishop left Lockwood’s office and climbed into Rick’s car. “Why do I get the vibe that guy’s not telling us all he knows?”
    Bishop slid on his sunglasses. “Because he’s not.”
    Rick fired up the engine. “We still have time before Jenna’s scheduled to be at the medical examiner’s office. Want to have a chat with the neighbor and Bob Boone?”
    He scowled. “Would love to.”
    A half hour later, they arrived at the 1920s home that Diane had just purchased. Its color was a faded white that peeled and bubbled in several spots. Three stories high, it sported a wide front porch, faded blue gingerbread trim, tall gabled windows and a high-pitched tin roof that had dimmed from red to a muddy brown. Overgrown bushes blocked the view of the large bay window. An oak with a trunk at least three feet thick hovered close to the house. The roots were thick, reached into the foundation, and likely threatened the house’s sewage system.
    Rick had firsthand knowledge of old houses. He had learned a few valuable renovation lessons working on the Big House and just a glance told him that this place, though it had been a showpiece at one time, was going to cost a fortune to restore. “She must like a project.”
    Bishop shook his head in disbelief. “Must like to spend money. It’s one