Free Buried Evidence by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

After he changed, he dug inside his gym bag and pulled out a bottle of Bay Lime aftershave, pouring some on his hands and then splashing it on his face. Back in his car, he checked his image in the rearview mirror, making certain Lily had left no incriminating smudges of lipstick.
    Located high in the foothills, his home offered a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. At night the glittering lights of the city replaced the beauty of the shoreline. As he navigated the narrow, winding roads, he reminded himself of the one major drawback—mud slides. After living in California for over twenty years, however, a mud slide seemed insignificant next to the threat of another massive earthquake. He had long ago decided he’d rather ride his house to the bottom of the hill than find himself submerged beneath the swirling waters of a monster tidal wave.
    Entering the kitchen through the garage, he opened the stainless steel refrigerator, gazing inside at the contents. Yogurt, tofu, bean sprouts. Couldn’t the woman at least buy real food? Grabbing an apple and a fancy bottle of herbal tea, he slammed the door shut in disgust. He couldn’t even have a beer anymore, maybe a sack of unsalted pretzels. He’d had to fight for the right to have an occasional soda.
Nothing but flavored chemicals
, she’d told him, chastising him like a child.
    When Richard had added the second story a few years back, he’d also remodeled the thirty-year-old kitchen. The counters were now a rust-colored granite, the cabinets constructed out of the finest cherry. Although he had admired the Tudor mansionwhere Lily rented her guest house, he preferred the clean, uncluttered look of contemporary design.
    He was about to take a bite out of his apple when an attractive blonde came sashaying into the room. She was dressed in her exercise clothes, a pair of black tights and a halter top; therefore, he assumed she’d been working out in the basement gym. Her body was one of her finest attributes, and she seized every opportunity to display it. She had large breasts, a tiny waist, long legs, and her buttocks felt like rolled-up balls of steel. She might visit a plastic surgeon once a year for what he classified as a tuneup, but she could certainly turn heads. They’d been living together for three years, and even today he couldn’t say for certain how old she was. She told everyone she was thirty-five. Somehow she’d managed to get a driver’s license using what he suspected was a phony birth certificate. He’d never pressured her for the truth. What did he care if she wanted to shave a few years off her age? When a single woman got close to turning forty, insecurity became a major problem.
    “Where have you been?” Joyce Lansing said, snatching the apple out of his hand. “I was about to call the police.”
    Richard said, “I’m handling a serious case, Joyce. My client was accused of poisoning his daughter. I’m late, okay. Does that mean I don’t get to eat? Shit, woman, it’s only an apple. A man could starve with the stuff you buy at the grocery store. What happened to food? You know, steaks, chicken, apple pie, ice cream.”
    “Don’t lie to me,” she said, glaring at him. “People don’t have meetings at this time of night.”
    “Good Lord,” he said, “it’s not even ten o’clock.”
    “You could have called,” Joyce said, impulsively hurling the apple at him.
    With the time she spent lifting weights, she could pitch like a man. If Richard hadn’t ducked at just the right moment, she would have popped him one. “Are you having a PMS attack?” he asked, picking the apple up off the floor and rinsing it in the sink. “Or do you just want to make certain you have my undivided attention?”
    “Not funny,” she said, smacking a wad of gum. “Now will you answer my question?”
    “The battery went dead on my phone.” Standing over the sink until he finished eating, Richard decided that the worst invention in the universe had to