Page 2 of Gage
“A little over six months ago, my husband had his annual physical. Everything came out perfect, and for a man of his age he was declared healthy. A few weeks later, he had a business trip. London followed by Edinburgh, and then Paris. While he was in Paris, he started feeling strange. He didn’t really think much of it at first. Told me he was a little lightheaded when he stood up. Again, he pretty much ignored it because he felt fine otherwise. We attributed it to him having caught some kind of bug. It happens sometimes when you’re traveling, especially foreign travel.”
She stopped and nodded thanks to the waitress who deposited a beer in front of her. Wrapping her hand around the bottle, she lifted it and took a long swallow, wetting her parched throat. She’d never enjoyed the taste of beer, but she wasn’t about to say anything to Mr. Newsome—Gage—in her mind she’d been calling him that ever since Brandon told her about his friend. The one who had friends and connections in places he couldn’t even begin to match.
“Did he go back to the doctor after he got home?”
Suzanna nodded. “He didn’t want to but I insisted. Steven was never sick. I could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s had a cold or the flu since I’ve known him. But he couldn’t shake whatever was making him dizzy. It got to the point where he refused to drive himself anywhere. He hired a full-time drive, because he refused to put anyone in danger. His doctor couldn’t find anything wrong, even did a battery of tests.Steven had brain scans, MRIs, CAT scans, and every kind of blood work imaginable. He even had an appointment scheduled with a neurological specialist two days before…” Her voice trailed off, because she couldn’t bring herself to say the word died. Though he’d been gone for months, the pain of his death still ached.
Gage leaned back against the vinyl backing of the bench seat, one hand wrapped around his beer bottle. She noticed he hadn’t taken a single drink of the beer the waitress had delivered, though he’d been listening intently to her story.
Did he believe her? Nobody else did, not even her family. Friends she’d had for years had distanced themselves after Steven’s death, especially once rumors and gossip columns began printing speculative pieces suggesting she’d killed her husband. Though they didn’t have a motive, everyone suggested she’d offed him for his money.
“Tell me about the morning your husband died.” Gage’s voice sent a chill down her spine. The sound was harsh and gravely rough but it didn’t frighten her. No, it was the dangerous glint in his gaze that had her straighten in her chair, because she refused to be cowed by anybody. During her marriage to Steven, she’d gone from being meek and shy to gaining self-confidence and had grown into a self-assured woman.
“I suppose you’d need to know my husband and I didn’t normally share a bedroom. Steven was a restless sleeper, often having night terrors, and would thrash around in his sleep. He was afraid he’d accidentally hurt me, so our bedroom suite was reconfigured to contain two complete bedrooms with a living area between them. Similar to what you’d find in one of the larger high-end hotels.”
“That was considerate of him. I know several people who suffer from night terrors or bad nightmares. They can be scaryfor the uninitiated or someone who isn’t used to dealing with them.”
“Exactly. Anyway, no one outside our staff knew we didn’t share a bed.” It was embarrassing talking to a perfect stranger about not sharing a bed with her husband. It honestly wasn’t anybody’s business except hers and Steven’s, but Brandon emphasized she needed to be totally honest with Gage if she wanted his help. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard baring my soul, my intimate secrets with somebody I don’t know.”
“Mrs. Dawkins, outside the necessity of needing to know about the details of your husband’s death, I couldn’t care less about your sleeping arrangements, or whether or not you shared your husband’s bed.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at his words and she knew her face flushed bright pink. It wasn’t so much his words as the almost emotionless way he said them, she had the sinking sensation he wasn’t going to take her case.
“Mr. Newsome, I’m sorry. My husband and I are…were…very private people. But, as I was saying, Steven and I didn’t normally share a room at night. But the night before he—died—Steven asked me to stay with him. He’d had a couple of drinks after dinner with a business associate, Donald Blackthorn, and said he didn’t want to be alone. I don’t know, there was something in the way he said it, a bit of melancholy in his voice that worried me.”
“There was someone else who’d seen your husband the night before he died?”
She nodded. “Yes. Donald and his wife came over for supper, then Steven and Donald went into the study to discuss some business, and I entertained his wife, Elizabeth. It wasn’t unusual to have business associates or acquaintances visit our home. Donald and Steven had been in meetings all day with a company they’d considered contracting services with. I’m assuming whenthey went into his study, they were talking about whatever they’d learned at their earlier meeting.”
“Do you know who the company was?” She could see she’d piqued Gage’s interest at the mention of Donald and his wife. It wasn’t as if that evening hadn’t played out a thousand times in her head, ever since Steven’s death—no, Steven’s murder. Might as well call it was it was, because the police and the district attorney’s office certainly classified it as such.
“Sandoval Enterprises.”
Gage closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a pained expression crossing his face. It was the first emotional response she’d noticed since walking through the door. Obviously the name meant something to him, but what?
“Mrs. Dawkins—”
“Please, call me Suzanna.”
“If the police are deeming your husband’s death a homicide, an autopsy must have been performed. What was the official cause of death?”
Tears prickled the back of her eyelids and she blinked rapidly, fighting to keep them from falling. Though she hadn’t been in love with her husband, she’d cared about him and for him. They’d shared a life together, one the rest of the world wouldn’t understand, and he hadn’t deserved what happened to him.
“He was stabbed to death. In his bed. I woke up to find my husband covered in blood lying next to me. The knife was on the floor beside the bed. The police claim it had my fingerprints on it.”
“Stabbed? That’s a violent and messy death. Unless he was drugged or restrained, he would have fought back, struggled. You didn’t wake up? You said you were sleeping next to him. Hard to imagine you didn’t see or hear anything.”
His emotionless tone broke through the icy shell that seemed to encase her emotions, and she finally lost it. Slamming her hand onto the tabletop, she deliberately kept her voice low. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention.
“No, I didn’t hear anything. No, I didn’t see anyone attack my husband in our bed. No, I didn’t take the knife and plunge it thirty-seven times into his chest. No, I did not kill him, though I can tell just like everybody else you don’t believe me. So, thank you for your time, Mr. Newsome.”
Grabbing the messenger bag, and clutching it against her chest started to rise, but froze at Gage’s chuckle.
“Finally. That’s what I wanted to see, Suzanna. Emotion. Not the ice princess who’s sat across from me since you got here. I needed to see how you really feel, to gauge if you’re telling me the truth.”
“I haven’t got a reason to lie to you, Mr. Newsome—Gage. I’m asking for your help, though you don’t seem inclined to give it.”
“It’s easy for someone to lie when they’re suppressing their emotions. It’s when the fire of passion lights, when tempers flare, that’s when it becomes harder to keep the truth from spewing forth. I believe you, Suzanna.”
