Page 59 of Fierce Hope
Jade studied the woman across from her. Behind the expensive clothes and careful makeup, Gillian Wycoff lookedtired. Not just tired—worn down, as if life had truly given her lemons instead of lemonade.
Gillian took a sip of coffee. “I outgrew the role. Got older. Started having opinions. Sticking up for myself. Fatal mistake in a marriage like ours.”
“You’re doing great,” Deke encouraged in her ear, his voice steady and reassuring. “Keep her talking.”
“So if you know I’m not having an affair with your husband,” Jade said carefully, “why did you want to meet?”
The toast arrived, two plates with pads of butter sliding onto the table with a clatter. Jade watched as Gillian meticulously spread a thin layer of butter across the bread’s surface, her movements precise and controlled.
“Because the police think I hired this Chad Delgado person to harass you,” Gillian replied, not looking up from her task. “And I didn’t.”
“Do you even know him?” Jade asked, adding butter to her own toast and taking a small bite. It was slightly burnt, the butter not quite masking the charred flavor.
Gillian scoffed. “Never heard of him until the police accused me of texting him. I certainly didn’t hire him to do anything.”
“But someone did,” Jade pressed.
“Well, it wasn’t me.” Gillian glanced around the diner, then lowered her voice. “Though honestly, I’d be happy if Kent did run off with one of his little playmates.”
Jade nearly choked on her toast. “Then why are you still married to him?”
Gillian’s laugh held no humor. “The prenup. If I leave him, I get nothing. Twenty years of marriage, and I walk away with the clothes on my back.” She tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the tabletop. “But if he leaves me? Half of everything is mine.”
It was cold but logical—the same math many of her clients worked through during divorce consultations.
“Ask her why she’s telling you this,” Deke’s voice prompted in her ear.
Jade set down her toast. “Why are you telling me all this, Mrs. Wycoff?”
Something flickered in Gillian’s eyes—fear, Jade thought. She glanced toward the door, then the windows, as if checking for observers.
“Because Kent knows bad people,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And if you end up dead, I have no intention of being set up for the crime.”
The general din of the diner—clinking silverware, murmured conversations, the sizzle of the grill—faded. “Why would I end up dead?”
“Get her to clarify,” Deke’s voice was sharper now, all traces of warmth gone. “What does she mean by ‘bad people’?”
Before Jade could relay the question, the bell over the door jingled. A group of truckers entered, their loud voices momentarily filling the space. Gillian used the distraction to lean closer.
“I know my husband. He’s hiding something,” she said. “Whatever it is, it’s big. He’s been making calls from our home office with the door locked. Meeting people I’ve never heard of. And he’s scared, which makes him dangerous.”
“How does this involve me?” Jade asked, her mouth suddenly dry.
Gillian shook her head. “I don’t know. But it started around the time you began working with the church finances.”
“Does he know we’re meeting?” Jade asked.
“Are you kidding?” Gillian’s eyes widened. “He thinks I’m at my Pilates class, followed by a hair appointment.”
“Stay calm,” Deke’s voice soothed in her ear. “You’re handling this perfectly. Ask about the storage unit.”
Jade took a sip of coffee to steady herself. “Do you know anything about a storage unit the church is leasing?”
A flash of confusion crossed Gillian’s face. “Storage unit? No, why?”
The genuine surprise in her expression suggested she wasn’t faking her ignorance. Jade filed the information away.
“Just something that came up in the church books,” she said vaguely. “Listen, Gillian, if you’re afraid of your husband, there are resources?—”
