Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel Read Free Page B

right."
    He leaned forward. "I'm going to have to take possession of your weapons as well as the clothing you wore last night."
    Fear ran through me, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. "You're going to test the handguns to see if they've been fired and test my clothes for gun powder residue."
    He nodded. "I see you know the drill."
    The deputy followed me upstairs to my room.
    I handed him both weapons as well as the jeans and the big shirt I'd worn on the flight. "The guns are clean, haven't been fired recently. But, I'm sure you know as well as I do, the test for gun-powder residue is unreliable. Residue hangs around. It's likely on every garment I own. My shoes and handbags might have it on them as well."
    "My job is to bag the evidence and have it tested. If it goes to trial, ma'am, you're defense attorney will have to make that argument to a jury."

Chapter Three
     
     
    Abilene, TX
    Day Four, Early Afternoon
    Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
     
    Three days later, I stood inside the sheriff's department signing a receipt. I returned the Glock to my conceal and carry shoulder bag, pulled up the hem of my GAP straight-leg jeans, and slid the Colt into to its ankle holster.
    Crushing the paper bag with my garments to my chest, I got into the front seat of the deputy's patrol car. They'd told me what I already knew, the weapons hadn't been fired and the clothes had gunpowder residue on them. Thankfully, there had been only a small amount of powder particles, which hadn't raised any alarm bells. That kinda trouble a girl doesn't need.
    Keeping my facial muscles from sliding into a smirk wasn't the easiest thing, as I fought down the urge to tell the deputy: I told you so . Instead, I made a production of slipping my seatbelt into its clasp. When I turned to face him, I'd mustered a modicum of self-control, though now, my unreliable emotions had slipped toward bitterness.
    "I had no idea Mark bought a house in Abilene. Some PI, huh? Not a clue what my own husband was up to, and that's what I do for a living. Guess I was in wife mode as far as he was concerned. What is it they say? The wife is the last to know."
    The deputy pulled out of his assigned parking spot. "All too often that old sayin' is very true."
    "From what you mentioned in the station, I gather it's a house, not a condo." The thought rankled me. Mark hadn't wanted to go for a house in Brooklyn. Of course, houses were very expensive there, and you didn't get much square footage for what you paid.
    "It's a three bedroom Spanish-style hacienda with a detached casita. Nothin's in there yet, of course, and the windows are bare."
    "What's a casita and who showed you the house?" I couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice.
    He gave a soft chuckle. "A casita is a detached bungalow for guests. The real estate broker gave the Abilene PD detective the nickel tour, not me... but I want to see it for myself."
    "I see."
    "They just closed on the house and a second set of keys for Ms. Renault hadn't been made yet."
    I gazed out the car window. Scrappy trees... miles and miles of rolling, arid-hills and plenty of cacti. Devastatingly beautiful, but somehow I missed cement and the smell of exhaust... longed to hear birds coughing in the morning. Of course, they'd be big black pigeons, mostly. Rats with wings, some called them. "I guess after we leave, the agent can give the keys to Cassidy."
    "Actually, no. You're still the wife. The house belongs to you."
    I swiveled in my seat to face him and laughed. "Isn't that a weird kind of poetic justice in this sad, sorry mess? I get the house Cassidy wanted, only I don't want it."
    Hughes pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style home with a tiled roof. A red brick wall to one side with shrubbery in front of it hid a private courtyard. The most interesting feature was a square room jutting out of the roof, reminiscent of a fort's lookout tower. I imagined a conservatory of some type up there.
    The real estate broker's Lexus was