Dirty Little Secrets by Liliana Hart

Author:Liliana Hart [Hart, Liliana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Suspense, Women Sleuths, Police Procedural, Romance, Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9781466082816
Publisher: 7th Press
Published: 2011-07-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I was pretty sure Harvey Wallace had no idea about his wife’s extramarital affair, considering he collapsed at my feet once Jack told him about the nature of his wife’s death.

It had taken death threats and blackmail to keep the news of Amanda’s murder from hitting the grapevine. Most of the threats were directed at Barbara Blanton in the dispatcher’s office because she could never keep her big mouth shut.

“Geez, Jack. Maybe break the news a little easier next time,” I said. Harvey was crumpled on the floor like a rag doll and lay pale and still as death. I bent down to make sure he was still breathing and gave Jack the thumbs up sign when I saw his chest rise.

“I wasn’t going to draw it out,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “That makes it worse for everyone. Bad news should be delivered quick and clean. Like a band-aid.”

“So says the guy not lying in a heap on the floor. Help me get him to the sofa.”

Jack lifted Harvey up without my help and moved him to the sofa. Someone had been working out, I thought, eyeing the arm bulges appreciatively. I was still a woman, even if I was having regular sex now. “Damn, Jack, that’s impressive,” I said.

“That’s because you live on sugar and starch, whereas my body is a temple. Plus the fact that I actually use my gym membership.” He gave me a pointed look, one of those meant to instill guilt, but I looked up at the ceiling and started to whistle. I was a master evader of the guilt trip.

But Jack was right about one thing, there was no way I was going to give up powdered donuts to make my body a temple for anyone. Men liked a little softness to their women, right?

“Harvey,” I finally said, putting my fingers at the pulse on his neck. It was rapid, but strong. “Harvey, can you hear me?” Startled blue eyes opened, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Amanda?” he asked. He looked lost and old, fragile.

“I’m sorry about your wife, Harvey. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”

He sat up slowly and Jack and I sat in the dainty Queen Anne chairs across from him. Jack looked at Harvey with sympathy, and I knew this was harder for him than he let on. It was never easy dealing with grief, whether it was your own or someone else’s.

“We need to do this by the book, Harvey,” Jack said, “So we can find who did this to your wife.”

“Yes. Do whatever you need to do,” he said. His eyes were dilated and his voice shook slightly. “I understand the process and that I would logically be your number one suspect. But I assure you, I did not kill my wife.”

“Can you tell us your whereabouts between seven and noon yesterday morning?” Jack asked.

“I was here,” Harvey said. He touched the little lace doilies that sat on the coffee table, a telling nervous habit.

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