Free The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery by Debra Burroughs Page A

of surprise. Then her eyes flashed to the side as if something caught her attention. “Who was that?” Anna snapped, putting her hand up to her burning cheek.
    Ricardo spun around to look, but the person was gone. It had to have been Marcela. “It was nobody, just the help,” he remarked, turning his gaze back at his mistress. “I warned you to keep your voice down. Now you’ve gone and done it.”
    Ricardo was furious. Anna was ruining his plans. Looking past her, through the front window, he noticed someone outside of the house. An old man with a leashed dog stood on the sidewalk, under a street lamp, watching them through the large front window. He hurried away when Ricardo spotted him.
    “I hope the housekeeper didn’t hear you say you were pregnant.”
    “Why not? Everyone’s going to know soon enough, when I start showing.” She looked at him smugly.
    He grabbed her by the upper arms. “But not now—I keep trying to tell you,” he said through gritted teeth.
    She yanked her arms free from his grip and wrapped them around herself in a protective gesture. “You told me you loved me, Ric. Was it all a lie so you could get in my pants??”
    “Of course not, Anna, I do love you, but I need you to trust me. I’ll take care of things, just not tonight. Please, you need to go before you mess everything up.”
    “You keep saying that. Mess what up?” she asked, suspiciously. Her voice had become softer, but no less intense.
    “I can’t tell you right now.” He looked toward the dining room, hoping Marcela hadn’t heard too much. “I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll talk then.”
    “I don’t know what to think,” Anna said, shaking her head, wiping her cheeks with her hand. “I have to get out of here.”
    “I agree.” Ricardo walked to the door and opened it.
    She cast him a look of disappointment and rushed out. Ricardo followed her outside and watched as she got in her car and drove off. Standing on the porch for a moment, he looked over at a man sitting in a dark car parked across the street. He nodded to the man and stepped back inside.
    * * *
    “Ricardo?” Delia called out as she came down the stairs. “Ricardo?” There was no reply. She assumed he had gone out again, as she had suspected he would. Dressed in an ivory silk robe, with her dark wavy hair cascading around her shoulders, she was prepared to curl up on the sofa in the family room and spend the rest of the evening watching an old movie.
    As she reached the bottom of the stairs and walked past the living room, she spotted her husband lying on his back on the living room rug. His white shirt was soaked with blood and a knife was stuck in his abdomen.
    “Ricardo!” she yelled at the top of her lungs and rushed to his side.
    “Help me,” he gasped, struggling to breathe. “The knife...”
    In shock, Delia pulled the knife out.
    Marcela came running into the dining room in response to Delia’s cry. She let out a terrifying scream at the gory scene on the floor of the living room.
    Kneeling beside her husband’s body, Delia stared down blankly at the bloody kitchen knife in her hand.
    “Help me,” he moaned again, almost imperceptibly, weakly grabbing hold of Delia’s wrist.
    “Ricardo,” she called out, shaking her head violently. “No! This can’t be happening.”
    “Delia...” he gasped.
    “Call nine-one-one, Marcela!” she ordered.
    “Marcela,” the man cried out with his final breath.
    “Oh, my God, Miss Delia!” The housekeeper stood frozen.
    “For heaven’s sake, Marcela, go call the police!” Delia shrieked. “I think my husband is dead!”

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Isabel and Camille followed Emily into the kitchen, anxious to know why she rushed away from the table, leaving Colin with a perplexed look on his face.
    “He seemed happy to talk to me when he thought I was a real estate agent, but I couldn’t stand his condescending attitude when I told him I was starting work as a private