Page 106 of Hell Hath No Fury

Emma didn’t believe her for a minute. Fran was organized, meticulous. She had to be for her job. Emma was certain she could pick out any one of her finds on display, and Fran could give her a rundown of where and when she’d found it.

Matthias stepped to Emma’s side and reached out an open palm to Fran. “I’ll take that.”

Fran closed both hands around the ring and hugged it to her chest. “I didn’t find it on Emma’s property, so she has no claim on it.”

“You’re right.” He didn’t withdraw his palm. “She doesn’t. But it’s evidence in a police case, soIdo.”

Emma pressed her lips closed. He was bluffing, and she knew it.

Fran didn’t. “What do you mean? Evidence?”

“Read the inscription,” he said.

Reluctantly, she brought the ring in front of her face, still keeping it well away from Matthias. She made a show of squinting at the words etched inside the band, but Emma had a feeling Fran already knew them by heart.

“So?” Fran again hugged the ring close. “How does that make it evidence?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Sonny Jones gave that ring to someone. Now he’s dead.”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“We don’t know that.” He wagged the fingers of his extended hand. “However, if we determine you’re right, we’ll release the ring.”

Fran gave his words considerable thought until she finally acquiesced and dropped the band into his palm.

“Naturally,” he said, “we’ll have to determine the rightful owner of it first.”

“It’s mine,” she insisted. “I found it.”

He shrugged and slid the ring into his pocket. “Tell me what you know about Patrick Winslow.”

The question threw Fran off balance. “Not much. He was Sonny’s project manager, I believe.”

“Did they get along?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Emma wanted to believe her. But she didn’t.

“Why are you asking?” Then Fran gave a dramatic—too dramatic—gasp. “Do you think he killed Sonny?”

“I’m asking you,” Matthias said.

Fran’s headshake appeared more like tremors. “I have no clue.” She looked to Emma. “What’s going on? Why are you asking me all these questions?”

Emma wanted to jump in—to slow Matthias down—but he didn’t give her a chance.

“Where were you early this morning?” he asked Fran.

Her eyes darted from Emma to Matthias. “I’ve been here since I got home from work yesterday at five thirty p.m.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

She planted her fists on her hips. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Patrick Winslow’s dead. He died in a fire at the Powell farm construction site.” Matthias dropped his chin, fixing her with the look known to scare the heck out of suspects. “You know. The same place where you found Jones’s body. Tell me something. How is it, out of all the acreage on that property, you managed to pick the exact spot where Jones was buried to metal detect?”

ChapterThirty-Two