Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(88)

CHAPTER 38





I unlocked the front door of my house and let myself in, surprised by the silence inside until I remembered the children were with their father. Still, the quiet was unsettling. The TV was off. All the lights were out.

“Vero?” I called. Her name echoed back. Maybe she’d gone to the library to study.

My dress heels clicked loudly across the kitchen. I cracked the door to the garage. Vero’s Charger was there, beside the empty space where I usually parked. I’d left Ramón’s loaner car back at his shop after the incident with Feliks, and I still hadn’t gotten my van back.

I shut the kitchen door, and as the sound was absorbed by the empty house I had the sudden heavy feeling that I wasn’t alone. That I was being watched.

Something was definitely wrong. Something was very—

“Surprise!” My heart skidded to a halt. Vero jumped through the opening of the dining room with Zach on her hip. Delia jumped out after her. A bouquet of helium balloons had been tied to the buttons of her overalls with brightly colored ribbons that matched the spikes in her hair. A cake perched in the center of the cleared folding table where our bills used to sit. Streamers had been strung from the brass chandelier, and a bottle of champagne and two juice boxes were chilling in a bucket of ice.

Delia bounded into my legs, nearly knocking me over. I wrapped her in a tight hug, memorizing the shape of her—her slight weight, the feel of her soft skin against mine—wondering how old she would be the next time I saw her after Nick found Harris’s body.

“I thought you were spending the weekend with your father.” I pulled back to look in her big hazel eyes.

“Daddy had to go to work,” Delia said, her tiny hands fiddling with the diamond studs in my ears.

“Steven showed up with them about an hour ago,” Vero explained, rocking Zach on her hip. “He said there had been some emergency at the farm and he needed to go. Theresa was out showing homes and he couldn’t reach her, so he asked if the kids could stay here tonight. And considering the amazing news, the three of us thought it would be a good excuse to celebrate!” Delia handed me a balloon. Zach blew spit into the plastic noisemaker in his mouth, his toothy grin wide around it.

“What news?” I asked as Zach reached for me and leaned into my arms. I squeezed him tight, pretty sure nothing was as newsworthy as Nick’s discovery this afternoon.

Vero handed me a folded copy of the local gazette. “Bottom of the front page,” she said.

I set Zach on the floor and he toddled off. My balloon thumped against the ceiling as I let it loose to open the newspaper.

There I was.

My author photo—me with my blond wig-scarf, my eyes ob scured behind dark sunglasses—had been printed in black-and-white under a headline: Local Author Scores Six Figures for Her Upcoming Crime Novel.

My heart soared for half a second before it crashed in a burning pile of ash.

I was in the newspaper. My book was in the newspaper. What the hell had Sylvia done?

I skimmed the article, my pulse climbing.

An interview with Fiona Donahue’s agent, Sylvia Barr, of Barr and Associates in Manhattan, revealed a sneak peek into Donahue’s book, due out next fall.

When asked why she felt this book had made such a splash with her publisher, Mrs. Barr said, “Fiona is a real talent. This book will put her on the bestseller charts. It’s fresh. It’s hot. I smell a huge hit with this one!”

I let out a breath. Maybe that was all she’d told them. Maybe she hadn’t told anyone what the book was actually ab—

I sank down into a chair, certain I was having a coronary as I read on.

When a professional hit woman is hired by a desperate wife to dispose of her problem husband—a wealthy accountant with ties to the mob—someone beats the assassin to the punch … and now the wife’s gone missing, too. Determined to investigate her mark’s mysterious murder before she can be framed for it, a sexy contract killer teams up with an unsuspecting hotshot cop to figure out what went wrong.

“You did it, Mommy! Vero says you’re famous. Like a TV star.” Delia squeezed my legs, looking up at me with the same doe-eyed, adoring expression she usually reserved for her father. “Can we have cake now?”

“Yes, this calls for cake!” Vero marched the kids to the kitchen as I read the rest of the article with my heart in my throat. A month ago, this news would have been every dream I’d ever had for myself. But if Nick secured a warrant to dig up that field, this press release could be the nail in my coffin.

Vero set a frosting-slathered chunk of cake on Zach’s high chair tray, and another in front of Delia. “Can I talk to you?” I whispered.

“After cake,” Vero said, carving herself a slice and dropping a dollop of ice cream on top.

I grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her with me, the ice cream scoop clutched stubbornly in her hand dripping a path into the living room.

“Ow!” She scowled at me as she adjusted her paper party hat. I resisted the urge to knock it off her head.

“Nick and I just left Steven’s farm,” I whispered.

Vero paled. “What were you doing there?”

“He found sod on Feliks’s car and traced it back to the field. He’s pulling a warrant to dig it up.”