Whispers of Murder by Cheryl Bradshaw

Author:Cheryl Bradshaw [Bradshaw, Cheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Espionage, Romance, Romantic Suspense, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Thrillers, Mystery & Suspense, Suspense
Amazon: B006YYJZK2
Publisher: Pixie Publishing
Published: 2013-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

“Are you okay?”

Isabelle removed her moistened hands from her face and stared up at Emmett. “I would be if none of this was happening right now.”

He walked over to the reception counter, pulled a few pieces of tissue from a box and offered them to her. “They said your dad is going to be fine.”

“Why is this happening—I don’t understand?”

“Your father is worth a lot of money.”

“Why would that matter? Who could benefit from that besides family?”

Isabelle’s eyes wandered over to the vending machine across the hall and she saw someone she recognized. She looked at Emmett. “I’ll be right back.”

The woman at the machine bent down and pulled out a candy bar. When she stood back up, Isabelle was in front of her.

“Tara, I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you again,” Isabelle said.

Tara’s eyes were fixed on Isabelle’s arm. “What happened to you?”

Isabelle wiggled her arm. “Long story. What are you doing here?”

“My mom,” Tara said. “She had a heart attack last night.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“What about you?” Tara said.

“My dad—he uh, got shot today.”

Tara latched on to her candy bar like she was trying to squeeze all the nougat from the center onto the floor. “That’s awful, is he okay?”

Isabelle nodded. “He’s fine.”

“Was it an accident?”

“Something like that. Is your mom alright?”

Tara glanced at the clock on the wall. “She’s supposed to be out of surgery any minute, so I’m going to ask if they’ll let me see her,” she said. “But I’d love to grab lunch one of these days and pay you back for that coffee.”

“I don’t know. There’s so much going on right now.”

“That’s the perfect reason to take a break.”

“Could we make it later in the week?”

Tara scribbled some digits onto a piece of paper. “This is the number to my cell. Call me and we’ll set up a time.” She started down the hall and then turned. “It was nice seeing you again, Isabelle.”

As Isabelle walked back toward Emmett, something occurred to her. Tara had called her Isabelle, but there was just one problem with that: in the brief encounters they’d shared, she never once mentioned her name.

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