Page 123 of Hell Hath No Fury

Nell didn’t budge. Neither did Emma.

Ashley’s jaw tightened. “You can go around to the back deck. I’ll meet you there.”

Emma stepped forward. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but it’s about to start pouring, and the bugs are eating us alive out here.” To demonstrate, she held the bakery box in one hand and slapped at a mosquito with the other. “Besides, Nell’s still learning how to get around on those crutches.”

“They’re not as easy as they look,” Nell added. “We promise to be quiet so we don’t disturb Daphne.”

Ashley breathed another exasperated sigh. “Fine. If you must.” She pushed open the storm door and stepped back.

The furniture inside the Jones home appeared to be mostly thrift store finds, but the mismatched wooden side tables had been painted a bright white, and the sofa and armchair were slipcovered in a soft blue. When Emma had been here before, she’d agreed with Matthias that Sonny hadn’t spent his money on creating the appearance of a model home. Clearly he hadn’t spent it on the interior either. Had Ashley been the crafty one, fashioning comfort from secondhand finds?

A pink plastic toy kitchen playset sat against one wall, and a collection of Barbie dolls, complete with enviable wardrobes and all the accessories, were scattered across the carpeted floor. Daphne’s playthings didnotappear to be hand-me-downs. And whatever Ashley had been doing while they’d waited at the door, she hadn’t been tidying up.

At least the air conditioning was blasting.

Ashley held out her hands, mostly hidden by the long sleeves. “I’ll take the cookies to the kitchen.”

Emma handed over the box. Ashley turned, took a step, hesitated, and turned back. “Do either of you want some?”

Nell shook her head. “No,” Emma said with a smile. “Thanks, but those are for you and Daphne.”

The smile Ashley returned was lukewarm at best. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned only seconds later. “Please sit down.” She curled into one of the slipcovered armchairs, hugging her knees against her chest.

Emma moved a plush pony with sparkles in its mane from the small sofa to allow Nell to sit closest to Ashley. Emma took the other side.

“Aren’t you warm in that thing?” Nell asked, her voice soft, non-threatening.

“I’m fine.” Ashley adjusted the hood tighter over her head as if intentionally contradicting Nell.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m an addict. I was clean for a while but started using again a couple of months ago. Me and my boyfriend.”

Ashley shook her head. “Why are you telling me this?” Her tone suggested she couldn’t care less.

“Because I’m going back into rehab tomorrow morning.” Nell withdrew the brochure from her hip pocket and launched into what sounded to Emma like the facility’s promotional pitch.

While Nell talked, Emma took in the space around her. The off-white carpet appeared worn and stained in places, scrubbed clean in others. The paint on the walls showed scuffed marks, and one baseball-sized spot had been patched. Daphne was too young to throw a ball hard enough to dent drywall, and the repair was too high to have been caused by a tricycle.

Emma’s gaze returned to the rug. The plush pony’s sparkles had shed, much like those glittery greeting cards. No amount of vacuuming was capable of getting rid of all of it. Otherwise, the area at her feet was one of the clean ones. She suspected there had been a spill, which had required breaking out the carpet shampooer. It was odd that, in a living room of this size, there was no coffee table. Matthias had one and used it as a place to set files, books, and magazines, as well as cups of coffee, bottles of beer, and wine glasses. There was nothing like that here. However…

The ceiling light didn’t throw much of a shadow, but Emma noticed a dimple in the carpet’s matting. As if a coffee table had once been there and was now gone.

* * *

Fran’s words played on a loop in Matthias’s mind.A woman can only take so much before either she or the bastard abusing her ends up dead.

If Fran was to be believed, Ashley Jones had taken a lot of abuse.

“Hey,” Fergusson said, his voice sharp, “did you hear a word I said?”

Matthias’s mind had been elsewhere as he and the troopers reached their vehicles in Fran’s driveway. “No.”

“I asked what you thought about her story? She admits she was still in love with Jones.”

“But she was smart enough to get out,” Matthias said as much to himself as to Fergusson, “and stay out.”

Lukan leaned on the passenger side of the unmarked sedan and gazed skyward to the threatening clouds. “The wife, on the other hand…”

Fergusson opened the driver’s door but didn’t get in. “Yeah. We’ve been discounting her involvement because she sure wasn’t standing to benefit financially from Jones’s death.”