What the Widow Knew: Kali O'Brien legal suspense, #8

By Jonnie Jacobs

In this novella addition to the best-selling Kali O’Brien legal mystery series, attorney Kali O’Brien takes on the case of a young widow accused of murdering her much older, and very wealthy, husband. As evidence mounts and other possible suspects are eliminated, Kali’s doubts about her client’s innocence grow.  As if that weren’t troubling enough, Kali is also grappling with her feelings for longtime boyfriend Detective Bryce Keating.

"The tale races along to a final explosive ending that is sure to please any fan of legal thrillers. . . A great addition to the Kali O'Brien series."  - Midwest Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonnie Jacobs
• Release date: Jul 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386654797

Book preview

In this novella addition to the best-selling Kali O’Brien legal mystery series, attorney Kali O’Brien takes on the case of a young widow accused of murdering her much older, and very wealthy, husband. As evidence mounts and other possible suspects are eliminated, Kali’s doubts about her client’s innocence grow.  As if that weren’t troubling enough, Kali is also grappling with her feelings for long time boyfriend Detective Bryce Keating.

ONE

I was deep into the monthly billing sheets—a project I hated—when Jared buzzed me on the phone.

Hey, boss, there’s someone here to see you, but she doesn’t have an appointment. Do you have time?

Who is it?

She wouldn’t give me her name. She insists it’s important and can’t wait.

I will grab at any excuse to put off the routine tasks of legal office management. Besides, I was curious. Have her come in.

I cleared my desktop, stuffing the billing sheets into a drawer and straightening the collection of notepads and pens scattered across my desk, then slipped back into my shoes. It would probably have been wise to run a comb through my hair, as well, but I didn’t want to be caught mid-action acting like some self-conscious teenager.

Jared gave a pro forma knock on the door, then opened it without waiting for a response, and ushered in my visitor.

She was several years younger than me—in her early thirties if I had to guess—with honey blonde hair that fell in soft curls below her shoulders, and eyelashes as long and thick as a mascara model’s. She was stylishly dressed in a slim skirt and form-fitting jersey top that was a bit too revealing to be considered business attire.

I stood and held out my hand. Hello. I’m Kali O’Brien.

She smiled nervously and shook my hand. Ariel Larson.

What can I do for you, Ms. Larson? I asked when we were seated.

It’s Mrs. Larson, but you can call me Ariel.

My eyes slid reflexively to the flashy diamond on her left hand —a diamond so large it had to be a nuisance to wear. I couldn’t imagine how I’d missed it, especially since rings were on my mind these days. Bryce was pushing hard for an answer—and a firm date.

Ariel smoothed her skirt. I’m not sure where to begin. She took a breath. I guess the bottom line is that I need your help.

Most people who seek out attorneys needed help of some kind so that wasn’t surprising. What sort of help?

I get the feeling the police think I murdered my husband.

That got my attention. I see, I said, although I didn’t. Not really. I’m sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?

Okay. I guess. She blinked back tears. I’m kind of numb still.

Of course you are. Why don’t you tell me a little about your husband’s . . . about his death, and why the police might think you had something to do with it.

Warren, that’s my husband, he was older than me and he had a bad heart. She bit her lower lip. He had a lot of health problems actually. But it had to be his heart because the other things weren’t serious.

He had a heart attack?

That’s what I assume. They haven’t told me much.

I was confused. But you said they suspect he was murdered?

She nodded. It seems like that anyway. It’s mostly the questions they ask, like they don’t believe anything I tell them. And you should see the way they look at me. She pressed her carefully manicured fingertips together. They searched our house, too, and took a lot of stuff.

Questions were spinning around in my head but I could see that getting a cohesive story from Ariel was going to take some time, and patience. Searching the home of a deceased person was not standard procedure.

Why do the police suspect foul play?

I don’t know.

Why would you want to kill your husband?

She raised her chin. I didn’t want to. I loved him.

What I meant was, why would the police believe you wanted to kill him? They must feel you had some motive, some reason to want him dead.

I don’t know that, either. Maybe it’s because we had a fight?

A physical fight? I wondered if there’d been a history of domestic violence.

No, but one of our neighbors heard us yelling. She’s the sort of busybody who’d tell them. Ariel had full, bee-sting lips, the sort in vogue among the Hollywood set, and they were glossed today in deep pink. Her pout was stunning. We’ve been arguing a lot lately, what with the baby and all.

You have a baby? That was also a subject that’s been on my mind lately.

She shook her head. I’m pregnant, though. Almost five months. Her voice broke. And now I’m a widow. Does it make any sense I’d want that?

Not at first blush.

We hadn’t actually planned on a baby but it happened. I’m really excited about it. I wanted Warren to be, too, but he thought he was too old to be a father.

How old was he?

Sixty-four.

I tried to keep my expression neutral. When Ariel had said her husband was older I hadn’t imagined a difference of quite so many years. I pictured Bryce with his hard body and sexy smile, and was tempted to ask what an attractive thirty-something woman would see in a man thirty years her senior. But I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. Most of the time.

Did he want you to have an abortion?

No. He sort of hinted at it at first, but I think he was gradually getting used to the idea of a baby. She crossed her legs. It wasn’t just that. Warren seemed upset and short tempered. I could tell he was worried about something. I assumed it was the baby, but we were working it out.

Walk me through what happened, I said. When did he die, how did you learn about it, that sort of thing.

Last Friday, that’s when he died. Or maybe Thursday night. But I discovered him Friday morning.

When she didn’t elaborate I prompted her to continue.

I went out to a movie Thursday night, Ariel explained. Warren doesn’t much like going to the movies and I knew he wouldn’t want to see a romantic chick flick. Besides he wanted to watch the playoffs on television so it worked nicely for both of us. When I got home he was already in bed. She paused. He wasn’t an alcoholic or anything but he often drank more than I thought was healthy, and then he’d fall asleep early. So I didn’t think anything of it. He was still in bed when I left for the gym the next morning.

Could you tell if he was breathing?

She looked out the window. We sleep in different rooms most nights. He snores like crazy and I’m a light sleeper. His door was shut and I didn’t want to wake him, so I don’t know if he was alive then or not. But when I got back home and he still wasn’t up, I began to worry. I tried to wake him, and when I couldn’t, I called 911. Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. I think on one level I knew he was already dead but it seemed so unreal I couldn’t believe it.

How terrible for you, I said with genuine sympathy. Death of a loved one is always tough, but to come upon it face-to-face like that had to be particularly upsetting.

I was still full of questions but rather than push for more details right then, I decided to wrap it up. I suspected the shock of her husband’s death meant she wasn’t thinking clearly and might well be overreacting.

If you’d like, I’ll talk to the authorities, I told her. See what I can learn. They may not suspect you at all.

She nodded. Yes, please. That would be a relief.

For now, I’ll need you to sign papers giving me authority to talk to them on your behalf. And I’ll need a retainer. This was always an uncomfortable subject for me, but a necessary one. A small retainer until we know if you’re actually going to need representation. Will that be a problem for you?

Not at all. She retrieved a checkbook from her purse. My husband made sure I’d be provided for if anything happened to him. He worried about that because of his age.

I pulled out the standard forms and gave her time to complete them. When she finished we shook hands again and I walked her to the door.

I’ll be in touch soon, and hopefully I’ll have a better understanding of where things stand. In the meantime don’t hesitate to call me if the police want to question you further.

Back at my desk, I tried to figure out what was bothering me. I didn’t feel any instant rapport with Ariel but I’d represented any number of clients where that was the case, including some clients I’ve adamantly disliked. I decided I simply didn’t know enough about the situation yet to make sense of it.

I started a case file and reviewed the intake sheet, noting the address Ariel had listed—in Glenwood, a country club community of upper-end homes just east of Oakland. That fit with the large diamond and the older husband.

But what got my attention was the name she’d listed in the referral section at the bottom of the page—Sabrina Ashford, my older sister.

This was going to be interesting.

TWO

As usual, Loretta went crazy when I walked through the door. Her tail whipped back and forth, and her whole body wiggled with excitement Springer Spaniel style. It was a greeting that never failed to give me a lift and put a smile on my face. I sometimes feel undeserving of such adoration, but mostly I try not to overthink things that make me happy. Which may have been part of the reason I was having trouble giving