Hidden Deception. Leann Harris

the first time she’d disobeyed Phillip. She’d been in the antique store and spilled her purple grape soda on her father’s desk. She knew the rule about not bringing drinks into the office. When Phillip had discovered it, he’d been livid. He’d yelled and approached her. She covered her head with her hands expecting a blow. When nothing happened, she peeked through her fingers. Her father’s stricken expression shocked her. He squatted before her and waited.

      It took several minutes, but she lowered her hands. He then said the most amazing thing. “I’m sorry, Elena.” She hadn’t believed her ears.

      “I was wrong to yell at you. Please forgive me.”

      Elena wasn’t sure she heard right. “Huh?”

      “I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

      It was the first time in her life anyone had asked for her forgiveness. But he didn’t move and continued to look at her.

      “Yes. I forgive you.”

      He nodded. “I give you my word, Elena, that I will never raise my hand to you. That doesn’t mean that when you do wrong you won’t be punished. But you will never have to fear me.”

      Her father had been true to his word. He’d loved her and guided her through her teens. She knew her father would forgive her, but there were consequences for doing wrong. Slowly over the years, she learned to trust, and God had worked through Phillip to show her what a true father would do for his child.

      Phillip had been that way with all the people around him. “Why didn’t you tell me about Joyce?”

      “It happened while you were away at school. Besides, your father felt if Joyce wanted to share her past with you, she would’ve.”

      Oddly, the information made Elena feel worse. Why hadn’t her father trusted her with that information?

      “I guess I better start on the carpet.” Diane stood and walked back to the spot where Joyce’s body had been.

      Elena came to her side. “I agree with the guys. Let a professional clean it.”

      After a moment’s pause, Diane nodded her head. “Okay.”

      “I’ll go call our regular guy.” She started toward the office.

      “Elena—”

      She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

      “It wasn’t you, sweetheart. Your father thought it wasn’t his secret to tell.”

      “I understand.” But in her heart, she didn’t.

      

      When Daniel woke at two in the afternoon, he showered, dressed, and made himself a cup of coffee. The night shift always took it out of him or maybe he was getting too old for night shifts. On the refrigerator under the magnet from Carlsbad Caverns was the playoff schedule for April’s soccer team. The final game was tonight at five. Her gym bag with her soccer uniform and shoes sat by the back door. He grabbed his digital camera, wanting to catch all the action of the game, and added it to the pile he needed to put into the trunk of his car.

      Sitting down at the kitchen table, he opened his Bible to Ephesians 6 and read the chapter. Verse 11 jumped out at him—Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.

      He knew from experience how important that armor was. When he was in Afghanistan fighting with his unit, he felt at peace in the midst of the flying bullets and tank fire. But when the chaplain had told Daniel his wife was dying of cancer, he’d felt naked. He’d come home within days and had two weeks with Nita before she died. In those dark hours beside her bed, he realized what he’d done to his wife. He had more of a bond with the guys in his unit than his wife. She hadn’t blamed or accused him of being a rotten husband, but she exacted a promise that he would not leave April. It was a promise that he’d not broken.

      Shaking off the memories, he closed his Bible, snagged April’s gym bag and walked to his car. “Thank You, Lord, for another chance with April.”

      He loved every moment with his little girl.

      

      Walking into the police headquarters, Daniel met Raul. He held up the file in his hand. “ME’s preliminary report.”

      The news stunned Daniel. “Already?”

      “Amazingly, there was a lull at the morgue, so he got to our vic. She was stabbed four times. With the first three, our perp missed her heart. It was the final blow, straight into the heart that killed her.”

      Obviously the crime had occurred at Past Treasures. Had the murderer been trying to rob the shop, or did it have something to do with Joyce’s life? “You want to interview the surrounding shop owners to see what they know?” They needed to know more about the victim. The square where the murder had occurred had a very low robbery and murder rate.

      “I do. Let me get my coat and we’ll canvass the area.”

      Once Raul got his coat, it took less than five minutes to get to Past Treasures. The store remained closed and Daniel didn’t see activity inside. They walked next door to the art gallery.

      A tall, distinguished-looking man with a full head of dark hair and a deep tan approached them. “Gentlemen, how may I help you? Are you here to see the latest Jean-Paul Jaunes painting before it flies out the door?”

      “I’m Detective Daniel Stillwater and this is my partner, Detective Raul Rodriguez. We’re with the Santa Fe Police and are investigating the murder of Joyce Murphy.”

      He shook his head. “When I saw that Diane hadn’t opened the store, I went over there to see what the matter was. That was so tragic.”

      Raul scowled. The guy was putting it on rather thick.

      “Could we speak to you about Joyce?” Daniel asked.

      “Of course. Why don’t we talk in my office?”

      They followed him to the back of the store. His office was off the back workroom. Paintings, storage crates and bubble wrap filled the room, but no one was in sight. Mr. Jones walked to the enclosed office in the front corner. He’d spared no expense in furnishing the room, from the antique Spanish desk to the Tiffany lamp on the desktop. Beside it sat a laptop, open and working. Motioning to the chairs before the desk, he sat in the chair behind it.

      Once settled, Daniel asked, “How well did you know Joyce?”

      “She worked next door for several years. We traded hellos, but I didn’t know her very well.”

      “Did you ever see her with a boyfriend? Or a friend she hung with?”

      “No. The woman was completely closed up. She didn’t do small talk.”

      Raul leaned forward. “Did she ever come over here and look at your gallery? Maybe talk about business at the store next door?”

      “She came over here a couple of times. She didn’t appreciate fine art. And she couldn’t afford it. I told her it was a good investment, but she didn’t believe me.”

      Daniel jotted down a couple of notes. “Do you know if anyone had anything against Joyce? Someone who she had a fight with.”

      “I can’t say I ever saw anyone fight with her. But she mentioned working at the homeless shelter, the food bank and her church. There are plenty of people at the homeless shelter you can’t trust. Try there.”

      “What church?” Raul asked.

      “First Community Church over on St. Mary’s Avenue.”

      “Did she ever mention anything about her past?” Daniel wondered if Joyce had told anyone about her time in prison.

      “Nothing. One time I asked about her plans over the Fourth of July holidays—if any of her family was coming into town. She said nothing about family and planned