Page 63 of Hell Hath No Fury

“What was her name again? Cindy? No. Wanda?”

“Wendy.” He immediately regretted giving Fergusson the satisfaction of a response.

“Aw, yes. Wendy Seager. All big blue eyes and blonde hair with a killer pout and a killer soul to match. I saw through her the first time I questioned her. But you? She had you pegged as a sucker at the crime scene. Tell me something, Honeywell. Did you bed her? All the guys on the case were taking bets. I had twenty on you sleeping with her but could never collect. All because you aren’t one to kiss and tell.”

Matthias choked back a retort about Fergusson’s involvement in how that case had gone to hell. “What went on between her and me fifteen years ago is no one’s business. Especially yours.” He jabbed the button to end the call, regretting that he wasn’t on a corded phone and could slam down the receiver. He settled for flinging the cell across the room, where it bounced off the wall and landed with a dull thump on the carpeted floor.

He heard a short gasp behind him and realized Emma was standing there, watching him in horror. God. How much had she heard?

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She simply turned and disappeared back into the bathroom.

* * *

Emma sat across from Matthias in the breakfast area of the hotel’s lobby, picking at a slightly burnt bagel with cream cheese. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not after the rage she’d witnessed.Wendy, he’d said. Emma knew all about the woman he’d wanted to marry twenty-some years ago, but her name was Melissa. Wendy—whoever she was—had beenfifteenyears ago. Emma wouldn’t have cared. This person was from his distant past. There was no reason for him to tell Emma about her. It was Matthias’s reaction to the name that concerned her. The first time she’d encountered him, the fury in his eyes had frightened her.She’d seen him angry—almost murderously so—when his father had been in town. This was different. She just couldn’t figure out how.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said it before, when he spotted her watching, and again on the elevator.

Both times, Emma had remained silent. Now, after a cup of coffee and part of a bagel, she decided she should reply. “For what?”

If his expression was any indication, it wasn’t the right response. He pushed a greasy sausage link around on his paper plate. “For letting Fergusson bait me like that. For you having to witness it.”

She set the bagel down, folded her hands, and lifted her gaze to his. “I knew you and the state trooper had a history. I didn’t realize it was personal.”

“It’s—” Matthias hesitated, pressed his lips together, then tried again. “It’s only personal because he’s dredging up ancient history. I’m not perfect. I’ve not always had the best judgment.” He winced. “Especially about women.”

Emma watched him squirm and decided to cut him some slack. “I’m glad your judgment has improved.” When he looked at her, puzzled, she opened both arms and grinned. “Now you have me.”

The worry and confusion melted from his face. “No argument there.”

She opened a second single-serve container of cream cheese and lathered it onto what was left of the bagel. “So, before Fergusson started baiting you, did he have any news on Eric’s case?”

“Not much. If I’d kept my head, I would’ve asked a few more questions. He did tell me the lab determined the glass was thicker than what’s used for mirrors or windows, and it wasn’t tempered.”

Emma thought about the new revelation. “Where on earth would it have come from? I know for a fact that Eric doesn’t have any glass dividers or tables in his offices. He hates the constant smudges and fingerprints.”

A look passed over Matthias’s face.

“What?” she asked.

“Fingerprints. That’s one of the questions I should’ve asked Fergusson. Surely, they lifted some from the shard with Jones’s blood on it.”

“Those might clear Eric,” Emma said, feeling a glimmer of hope.

Matthias’s eyes narrowed in thought as he ate. Emma finished her bagel, waiting for him to sort out whatever was cycling through his mind.

He finally set his fork on his plate and pushed it away. “If we can locate the source of the broken glass, we’ll have the location of the murder and likely the identity of the killer. Our first stop will be North Star Developing.”

“Follow the money,” Emma said, echoing their discussion last night.

“Right. While we’re there, we can take a casual look around.”

“For glass furniture.”

“Formissingglass furniture.”

“Won’t that be challenging? Looking for something that isn’t there?”