A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(4)

"I’m Investigator Sylla. And you are?" she said in a clip, British accent.

"Arthur Bishop. My wife, Gwen, she and her coworker found the body."

She nodded, and Art followed her into the house. He was hurried through an entryway, down a hall, and into a wide living room. The impression of the house was brief, but poignant, an Addams-family-goes-on-vacation kind of place. The woman ushered him out onto a sunny veranda, then turned and was swallowed again by the gloom of the house.

Maricela sat on the cement with a blanket around her shoulders sipping water from a bottle. Gwen stood with her back to him, looking out to sea. He walked up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her. "You okay, honey?"

She nodded, but stepped out of his embrace. Apparently finding a dead body wasn't a sufficient distraction to end the frost she'd been leveling at him since their argument that morning. Now that he thought about it, her calm explanation on the phone might have been part of the same treatment. If there was one thing his wife was good at, it was maintaining a chill.

He decided to check on Maricela. She'd appreciate his concern. Her color wasn't good. Mascara streaked her cheeks. He squatted beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She gripped it with damp fingers and held on tight. He was beginning to wonder how long he could maintain the position, his knees not being what they once were, when the detective came outside.

Art stood, stifling a groan of relief.

"I need to take the ladies to the station to make a statement." Sylla's tone was all business. "Follow us, if you like."

#

Five hours later, Art handed Gwen a glass of wine. She sat with her feet curled under her on the couch in the family room. She was a tall woman, but the pose made her look small and vulnerable. Like a child.

"Want to tell me about it?" he said.

She took a large swig of wine. He waited. She drank half her glass, stared at the wall for a full minute then said, "It was awful." Once the pump was primed, the words flowed. "I thought it was a joke at first. Can you believe it? I actually thought someone had dragged a naked mannequin into the house, slashed it, and put that fake blood from the costume store on it. She looked like plastic—white and shiny." Gwen shivered.

Art reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"Of course, that makes no sense when you think about it. They don't make mannequins that look like people you know. Or mannequins that have pink fingernails. Or nipples. Or pubic hair." Gwen breathed deeply through her nose like she was trying to calm her stomach. "It was Sondra Olsen. From Team One Realty. She showed the place last night. Her husband reported her missing, but the police weren't taking it too seriously. Hadn't been long enough, I guess."

"Did you know she was going to show the house?"

"Yes. I talked to her in the afternoon. I warned her it needed help, but she said she had a hot prospect—wanted to see the place right away."

"She didn't say—"

"No. She did not." Gwen snapped at him. "I have no idea who she showed it to. That detective, Sylla, couldn't seem to understand that. She must have asked me fifty times."

"She's just doing her job," Art said.

Gwen removed her hand from his. "She also said I'm not supposed to talk to anyone about what I saw, and look at me. I've already blown it."

"I'm not anyone." Irritation tightened his jaw. "I'm your husband."

"It must be okay to talk to you, right?" Gwen looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

"Of course it is." Art pulled her close, leaned her head on his shoulder and rocked her as she finally cried. He felt the iceberg that had been separating them all day melt.

Several years ago, the family had visited the Living Desert—a zoo in the Palms Springs area that featured indigenous animals. Emily, their youngest, only about two at the time, toddled past the mountain lion exhibit.

Art remembered the adrenaline-fueled surge of protectiveness that coursed through him when one of the lions charged the plexiglas of its enclosure. It was hunting his daughter. It couldn't reach her. She was safe, but his hormones didn't get the message. He had that same feeling now. When Gwen's sobs subsided, he said, "You should take a break from work."

She pushed damp, auburn hair from her forehead and took a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'll take a few days off."

"That's not what I mean," Art said. "Take a break until they catch this guy."

Gwen pulled away. She didn't say anything, just played with her wine glass and took another sip. After a minute she said, "What're the chances I'll run into another dead body? I mean, that seems like a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"This guy might be targeting agents, Gwen."

"Nobody knows who did this, or why. Most murders are personal. Maybe Sondra was having an affair with some nut case, and he flipped out on her."

"She told you she was showing the house to a client." Gwen didn't answer, just sat up a little straighter on her side of the couch. "What about Texas?" he said.

"What about Texas?"

"The murders."

"They happened in Texas."

"Maybe the murderer moved to Orange County."

Over the past ten months, three real estate agents had been found dead in vacant homes in the Dallas area. There'd only been one short article in the local papers after the last death, but the Orange County Association of Realtors had taken it seriously. Safety had been a featured topic in the newsletters Gwen brought home from the office. The concern Art felt when he first saw them now exploded into full-blown worry.