Dead on Ice by Lauren Carr

ear. “When was she killed?”
    “Summer of 1985.”
    “I have no idea how she ended up with that phone number.” She suggested, “I give my business cards out to a lot of people. Someone must have given it to her.”
    “Then you deny seeing her and giving this to her?”
    “I haven’t spoken to Cheryl Smith since that night at the Melody Lane Skating Rink, which is when she killed Angie.”
    “But didn’t you just tell me that you told her after Angie disappeared that you’d call the police if you ever laid eyes on her once they got proof that she killed Angie?”
    Brianne’s mouth became tight.
    “How did you tell her that after Angie’s disappearance if you never spoke to her since that night at the skating rink?” Cameron smirked. She had tripped her up.
    “I meant since Cheryl left town after Angie disappeared.”
    “Fair enough,” Cameron said. “You were eighteen years old when Cheryl Smith took off for Hollywood. Your father was running the winery at that time.” She showed her the copy of the business card. “This lists your name as owner, which you became in 1983 after your father’s death, before Davenport Winery expanded and went public in the 1990’s. This business card was made up after Cheryl went to Hollywood. Do you have any idea how she got it?”
    “No.”
    “How about your husband?”
    Brianne scoffed. “Ned? He hated Cheryl more than I did.”
    “But he was her boyfriend at one point.”
    “In high school, and only because she put out.”
    “There was another number on this card, on the back.” Cameron held up the paper for her to read. “Your husband’s car phone number.”
    Brianne’s eyes widened. Her face grew pale. “You’ll have to ask him about that.”
    “I will.” Cameron folded up the paper, and put it back in her pocket. “What were you doing at Albert Gordon’s house?”
    Brianne’s eyes widened at the question. “What?”
    “What were you doing at Albert Gordon’s house on the day of the explosion?”
    “Same as everyone else,” she replied. “I was helping to clean it out. I hired the caterer, who’s mad as hell at me since he lost his truck. Don’t you remember?”
    Cameron nodded her head. “Yes, I remember you being there. My question is why were you there? The volunteers were all members of the Albert’s church, to whom he had left the farm and his estate. You don’t belong to that group.”
    “Neither do you,” she countered.
    “I was invited by Joshua Thornton,” Cameron said, “Albert’s cousin—to help his family.” She cocked her head. “I still can’t figure out why you were there. You don’t strike me as the type who gets into doing hard, physical, dirty work. How well did you know Albert?”
    “He and my father were fishing buddies,” Brianne said. “And as for why I was there—Joshua invited me.”
    “Joshua? My Joshua?”
    “My Joshua.” Brianne smirked. “Any more questions?”
    “No.” Cameron stood up. “I’m through here.” She got halfway across the room before turning around.
    Brianne was smirking like a schoolgirl, who just got one over on the nerd.
    “One more thing.” Cameron stepped up to her. “Don’t ever lie to me again. Because that makes me mad—seriously mad. It’s not a good idea to get a woman who carries a police shield—and a gun—seriously mad at you—because you’re very liable to get seriously hurt. Understand?”
    The color drained from Brianne’s face. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Understood.”
    “Stay away from Donny. He’s not into older women.”
    Brianne’s attractive features dissolved. Her face hardened with determination. “I have yet to meet a young man who’s not into older women, especially when that older woman is me.”

    Chapter Eight
    “Has the board made any decisions yet about Albert’s replacement as church elder,” Doris asked Joshua while his mouth was filled with runny scrambled eggs.
    I wish I were someplace more pleasant right now—like