The Scent of Lies: A Paradise Valley Mystery by Debra Burroughs Page B

in her life that made her happy and kept her satisfied, it reminded her of her loss, made her feel lonely. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe it was time she moved on, opened up to the possibility of another relationship. After all, Evan had been gone for six months and he wasn’t ever coming back.

 
    Chapter 6
     
    The next morning Emily called Delia and elaborated about what had happened the previous night.
    “I’m sure the person in the condo is not a business connection he’s making,” Delia said. “He wouldn’t have left in the middle of our company’s launch party to make a business deal.”
    “Did you ask him last night where he went?” Emily inquired.
    “No, I was so angry I could spit nails. I would have probably ended up saying something I’d regret.”
    “Good call.”
    “Besides, I don’t want to tip my hand just yet.”
    “I understand. Just phone me the next time you want him followed. I’m going over to a friend’s house tomorrow evening—the one I mentioned who works for the FBI. We’ll put together a plan to review your financials and see if there’s anything hinky going on. If there is, Isabel will find it.”
    After downing a quick glass of orange juice, Emily headed over to Bank of Idaho to investigate her own mystery. She had called to make sure they were open on Saturday mornings and the cheery female voice that answered confirmed they were.
    Plagued by suspicion, Emily was anxious to see if that skinny silver key might unlock a safe deposit box, and even more anxious to see what might be inside if it did. No matter what the key unlocked, it meant Evan had hidden something from her.
    “I’d like to speak to the bank manager, please,” Emily told the bank assistant who greeted her.
    “Have a seat, please, and I’ll see if he’s available to meet with you,” the assistant replied, motioning toward the group of chairs in the corner. “What is your name?”
    “Emily Parker.”
    “I’ll be right back.” She turned sharply to go and find the manager.
    After a few minutes, a portly, balding man of about fifty, wearing a gray-pinstriped suit walked into the waiting area. He had to be the bank manager.
    “Emily Parker?”
    “Yes,” she replied as she stood up.
    He extended his hand to shake hers. “I’m George Johnson, the branch manager. What can I do for you today?”
    “I’m hoping you can help me with something.” She pulled the key out and showed it to him. “Does this key go to one of your safe deposit boxes?”
    “Yes, it looks like our keys. Does is have the letters BOI stamped on one side?”
    “It does. Although very faintly, and the number four-zero-seven.” She turned the key over and showed him.
    “How is it that you have it, but you don’t know what it belongs to?” He looked more curious than suspicious.
    “It was my husband’s key, but he died a few months ago. So I guess now it’s mine.”
    He asked for her husband’s name and went to a computer nearby to see if the number on the key matched his name. It did. Then he asked for proof that she was his wife and that he was dead. Emily figured it might be required, so she had stashed both their marriage license and Evan’s death certificate in her bag before she left the house. She pulled them out and handed them over.
    He looked at the papers. “I’ll be right back.”
    Is there a problem? She hoped not. She was too eager to see what was in the lockbox—maybe her grandmother’s diamond ring.
    “Right this way.” He turned and walked toward the back as she followed. “I had to get the bank’s key to this box. You’ve got to have them both to open it, you know.”
    Relieved, she followed him all the way to a heavy steel door at the back of the bank, which he unlocked by punching a code into the keypad. Once inside, he went directly to box number 407 and held out his hand for her key. He took both keys and unlocked the small door housing the box. He pulled the rectangular metal box out and