Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) by Keyla Hunter
Authors: Keyla Hunter
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that over looked blue mountains with snow-white peaks.
I held the image closer and there was no mistaking her. It was Katherine. She was dressed in a pair of white slacks and a white cotton shirt. Around her slender waist was a slim red belt. A yellow-and-white-striped cardigan was draped around her shoulders and tied in a casual knot at her neck.
Across the table from her sat a man. He looked considerably older than her, with a mass of straight, shocking white hair parted to one side. He wore a casual dark blue polo shirt and beige slacks.
They looked at each other across the table, holding hands and starry-eyed. Her face was soft and a picture of pure serenity. The photograph was date stamped from three weeks ago.
I looked back at my iPad. This time I chose to read a Google news item that carried the headline Frank Walters Divorce: Did Katherine kill Frank? I glanced over the article noting the important points. Most of the information on the divorce I already knew from the TV clip that Channel 10 aired earlier today.
What caught my attention was the reporter’s speculation on what caused the outburst. He opined that it was the fact that Frank had been contesting the divorce and demanding a fifty percent stake in the company because Katherine didn't have concrete evidence to back up her claim to affect the pre-nup.
Why had the police not considered Mrs. Walters as a suspect? Then again, her track record as a successful business woman and as a spokesperson for battered women was well-known. She was a pillar of the community, who was a regular invitee at the mayor’s charity events; it would be hard to imagine that someone of her stature would be arrested in the blasé manner that Ryan was.
I then went over the damning photos that were taken at the spa: the uniform with the gunshot residue and the brown leather wallet etched with the initials FW; a pair of silver cuff links with filigree work and a thick men’s bracelet that matched. The items looked like they had been thrown into Ryan’s locker and sat there on a shelf at eye level. My heart sank at the thought of him still being behind bars. It strengthened my resolve. I looked through all the photos one by one and stacked them up into a neat pile.
What should I do with my suspicions? It was obvious that Katherine had a hand in this. Should I take it to Brett or Millie? The problem was at this point there was nothing solid to back up my claim. It was a hunch—a strong one—but a hunch nevertheless.
All I had were some news articles about an ugly divorce. If divorce was a motive for homicide, then half the married population of America would be in for a murderous end. I thought if I could speak to Katherine myself, maybe she would reveal something more to me. I would have to be careful about how I went about it. That way, I could find out if she was hiding something without offending one of Regency’s most honored guests.
I peered through one of the many glass doors that led inside the Blue Horizon Restaurant. The terrace outside was abuzz with guests who enjoyed the sunshine as they devoured the scrumptious seafood offerings for which the restaurant was known.
Katherine Walters chose to lunch inside. She sat in a cozy corner at a table for two, her back turned away from the ripples of the brilliant blue waves that lapped up on to the shore. Was she saving the view for a friend? When she called the waiter and placed her order, I didn’t think that anyone would be joining her.
She wore a cream-colored crepe cotton halter neckline dress that stopped above her knee. A gold cross hung on a slim chain around her neck. On her feet were brown Roman sandals with muted gold detailing. She caressed a flute of champagne that bubbled and fizzed. The interior of the restaurant was empty for a change and she was alone, so I reckoned that this was the perfect time to have a word with her.
I began to make my way over to her with only a vague idea of what I would
I held the image closer and there was no mistaking her. It was Katherine. She was dressed in a pair of white slacks and a white cotton shirt. Around her slender waist was a slim red belt. A yellow-and-white-striped cardigan was draped around her shoulders and tied in a casual knot at her neck.
Across the table from her sat a man. He looked considerably older than her, with a mass of straight, shocking white hair parted to one side. He wore a casual dark blue polo shirt and beige slacks.
They looked at each other across the table, holding hands and starry-eyed. Her face was soft and a picture of pure serenity. The photograph was date stamped from three weeks ago.
I looked back at my iPad. This time I chose to read a Google news item that carried the headline Frank Walters Divorce: Did Katherine kill Frank? I glanced over the article noting the important points. Most of the information on the divorce I already knew from the TV clip that Channel 10 aired earlier today.
What caught my attention was the reporter’s speculation on what caused the outburst. He opined that it was the fact that Frank had been contesting the divorce and demanding a fifty percent stake in the company because Katherine didn't have concrete evidence to back up her claim to affect the pre-nup.
Why had the police not considered Mrs. Walters as a suspect? Then again, her track record as a successful business woman and as a spokesperson for battered women was well-known. She was a pillar of the community, who was a regular invitee at the mayor’s charity events; it would be hard to imagine that someone of her stature would be arrested in the blasé manner that Ryan was.
I then went over the damning photos that were taken at the spa: the uniform with the gunshot residue and the brown leather wallet etched with the initials FW; a pair of silver cuff links with filigree work and a thick men’s bracelet that matched. The items looked like they had been thrown into Ryan’s locker and sat there on a shelf at eye level. My heart sank at the thought of him still being behind bars. It strengthened my resolve. I looked through all the photos one by one and stacked them up into a neat pile.
What should I do with my suspicions? It was obvious that Katherine had a hand in this. Should I take it to Brett or Millie? The problem was at this point there was nothing solid to back up my claim. It was a hunch—a strong one—but a hunch nevertheless.
All I had were some news articles about an ugly divorce. If divorce was a motive for homicide, then half the married population of America would be in for a murderous end. I thought if I could speak to Katherine myself, maybe she would reveal something more to me. I would have to be careful about how I went about it. That way, I could find out if she was hiding something without offending one of Regency’s most honored guests.
I peered through one of the many glass doors that led inside the Blue Horizon Restaurant. The terrace outside was abuzz with guests who enjoyed the sunshine as they devoured the scrumptious seafood offerings for which the restaurant was known.
Katherine Walters chose to lunch inside. She sat in a cozy corner at a table for two, her back turned away from the ripples of the brilliant blue waves that lapped up on to the shore. Was she saving the view for a friend? When she called the waiter and placed her order, I didn’t think that anyone would be joining her.
She wore a cream-colored crepe cotton halter neckline dress that stopped above her knee. A gold cross hung on a slim chain around her neck. On her feet were brown Roman sandals with muted gold detailing. She caressed a flute of champagne that bubbled and fizzed. The interior of the restaurant was empty for a change and she was alone, so I reckoned that this was the perfect time to have a word with her.
I began to make my way over to her with only a vague idea of what I would
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