I’m staring at Lisa Porter in disbelief. Yes, I came here thinking she might be the killer, but I never expected her to confess to Cam and me. “You stabbed him,” I say, unable to stop myself even though I know it’s stupid to call her out like this without police backup.
“What?” She holds up both hands. “No, that’s not what I meant. Please, you have to listen to me. I didn’t kill Simon. I could never hurt him. I called his mistress. I know who she is. Of course, I do.” She clenches her jaw, and then she continues, her words coming out rushed like she wants to finally confess what happened that night. “I told her Simon and I weren’t going through with the divorce. I wasn’t going to sign the papers. She got so angry. She hung up on me and called him immediately. They yelled a lot, and I heard her say she was coming to the hotel to see him right away.”
That means she could have brought a steak knife from her house. The mistress was furious with Simon. “Mrs. Porter, why didn’t you tell the police all this from the start?” I ask.
“Because I know how it looks. You just thought I was confessing to murder. Simon and I were in the process of getting divorced. I’d be the first person they suspected if I told them I was there that night.”
She’s not wrong. “But you could have told them about his mistress.”
“If I did, she would have told the police I was with Simon the night he was murdered.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t risk it. It’s better that the police don’t know who she is.”
“What if she killed him?” Cam asks.
When Cam’s question goes unanswered, I say, “Mrs. Porter, you overheard Simon and this woman yelling on the phone. She probably went to the hotel site to see him. She could have brought a knife with her and then stabbed him when they fought. You could help the police catch her.”
“I…” She starts sobbing again.
A patrol car pulls up in front of the house. Quentin steps out, holding his badge in the air. He marches right over to us. “This better be worth it, Jo. I was at the hospital.”
That explains how he got here so quickly. The hospital is very close by.
Lisa Porter looks horrified. “Detective, what are you doing here?” Her gaze goes to me. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s good he’s here. You need to tell him what you told us.”
“Should we have this conversation down at the station?” Quentin asks.
“No, please. Come inside.” Mrs. Porter opens the door and waves us in.
Quentin goes first, and Cam and I follow. Lisa brings us into the kitchen. There are tons of papers on the kitchen table.
“Sorry for the mess, but I was going through some things. I have to make the funeral arrangements and get the life insurance policy and…” She stops and looks at us. “Coffee? I could make a pot. I should make a pot.” She nods and walks over to the coffee maker. She’s losing it.
“Mrs. Porter, tell Detective Perry what you told us about the night your husband was murdered.”
She finishes filling the coffee pot with water and pours it into the coffee maker. Then she repeats her story as she adds the coffee grinds. When she finishes, Quentin says, “I’m going to need the name of your husband’s mistress.”
Lisa turns to face us. “I’ve never said her name out loud. I’m afraid hearing it will make it all feel more real.”
I’d say her husband’s dead body makes all this very real.
“Mrs. Porter, if you don’t give us the name, I can arrest you for obstruction,” Quentin says. “I don’t want to have to do that.”
“It’s in your best interest to cooperate with the police,” Cam says in a soothing tone.
Lisa takes a deep breath. “Her name is Carla Bishop.”
Quentin jots down the name. “Thank you. Where did you go after you left the hotel site Sunday night?”
“Here. I came home.” She walks out of the kitchen, and Cam, Quentin, and I exchange looks. Are we supposed to follow her? Before we can, she returns holding a photo album. “I came home and looked through this. It’s our wedding photos.” She hands the album to me.
I flip through the photos. “You both look so happy,” I say, knowing she needs to hear that and know that her husband did love her once.
“Thank you.” She’s still clutching the tissue I gave her in her hand.
I come across a photograph of the entire wedding party. The best man has his arm around Simon. “It looks like he was very close with his best man.”
“That’s Gabe.”
I know that name. “The Gabe who was in the car accident with Simon twenty years ago?”
She squints at me. “You know about that?”
“What car accident?” Quentin asks.
I turn to Lisa, hoping she’ll tell us about it since Cam and I only know what was reported in the newspaper.
“Simon and Gabe were the best of friends. They worked together, too. They were on their way to a job site. They were working the night shift, and there was a terrible thunderstorm. Simon was driving. He hated driving in storms. It made him nervous, but Gabe had a way of calming Simon down.” She smiles at the memory. “They were like brothers.”
“You were neighbors, too, right?” I ask.
She nods. “Gabe’s wife still lives next door, but we don’t talk anymore. The accident…”
“Gabe was killed,” I tell Quentin. “The car slid into the side of the mountain.”
“The mountain is all rocks. Several came dislodged on impact. The passenger side of the car was completely crushed.” Lisa dabs her eye with the crumpled tissue. “Rebecca never blamed Simon. It was an accident, and Simon was in a coma for a week after that. But it was too difficult to talk to her or see her. I couldn’t face her in the end. Neither could Simon.”
Quentin clears his throat. “Back to Carla Bishop, do you know anything about her?”
The coffee pot finishes brewing, and Lisa pours four cups for us all. “Yes, I did extensive research on her. She’s married, too. She’s a trophy wife.” Lisa scoffs as she hands me a mug.
“What does her husband do?” I ask.
“He’s some big shot executive with a computer company. He’s much older than Carla. He’s closer to Simon and my age. Carla, on the other hand, is only twenty-seven.”
Wow. I can’t help wondering why Carla would cheat on her husband when he was so much more successful than Simon. It doesn’t add up. “How did Carla and Simon meet?” I ask.
“Simon did a security job for Marcus Bishop’s company. Carla came in to bring her husband his lunch, which he forgot at home, and Simon ran into her in the elevator.”
“Mrs. Porter, how did you find all this out?” Quentin asks.
“Detective, when a man steps out on his wife, you better believe we find out every detail of how it happened.” She raises one brow, and it’s almost like she’s set down a challenge of some sort. “When I found out who Carla was, I went to the company where her husband works. I recognized it as one of the places were Simon worked security for a brief time. One of the administrative assistants is very chatty. She told me everything I needed to know.”
“Do you happen to remember her name?” Quentin asks. “I’d like to follow up with her as well.”
“No, sorry. But she worked on the third floor, if that helps.” Lisa sips her coffee.
Quentin jots that down, too. “Do you know if Carla went to the hotel site after you left Sunday night?” he asks.
“I can’t say for certain, but it sounded that way.”
“Why did you leave? Why not stay and confront this woman now that things were out in the open?’ Quentin asks.
Lisa leans back against the kitchen counter. “I’m a fifty-two year-old-woman, Detective. Do you think I wanted my husband to see me next to his twenty-seven-year-old mistress? I can’t compete with that.”
“So you knew it was over,” Quentin says. “Your marriage.”
She nods. “I knew he’d never choose me over her. My only hope was she’d be so angry with him that she’d leave him.”
“Why was she so angry?” I ask. “If she was married, too, why would you and Simon not getting divorced be a problem for her?”
Lisa bobs her shoulders. “Maybe they planned to run away together, or she was going to leave her husband once Simon and my divorce was finalized. I don’t really know. I guess it doesn’t matter much now.”
But it does. If Carla Bishop was angry enough to kill Simon, it matters more than anything else at the moment.
“Mrs. Porter, I’m going to follow up with Carla Bishop, but I might have more questions for you after that. Do not leave town unless you hear from me.”
I guess Quentin is officially back to work.
We leave Lisa Porter’s house, and once we’re outside, I say, “I’m sorry for pulling you away from your son. I didn’t know what else to do. For a while, it seemed like she was confessing to killing her husband.”
“You did the right thing. It was stupid of me to think I could hand this case to Liberman. He’s a good cop, but he’s not a detective.”
“What about Quentin Junior?” I ask.
“Sam is with him.” He meets my gaze as he opens his car door. “I want to thank you for that. I know you called her. She didn’t tell me what you said, but whatever it was, it worked.”
I nod. “I’m glad.”
I expect Quentin to tell Cam and me to go back to Cup of Jo and let him handle the case from here, so I’m completely caught off guard when he says, “Want to follow me to Carla Bishop’s house? I’ll call Liberman and have him get me the address.”
“Yeah, we’ll be right behind you.” I open the passenger door of Cam’s SUV and get in. “I can’t believe he invited us to tag along,” I say as I click my seat belt.
“I can. He knows he’ll solve this case a lot quicker with help, and then he can get back to his family.”
Cam follows Quentin to a really nice community. It’s gated, but Quentin uses his badge to get us all through. The bad part is that the security guard is most likely going to call Carla Bishop to inform her we’re on our way. That will give her time to run. Not far, but far enough to hide until we’re gone.
The community sits on a member’s only golf course, and each home is the size of a mansion.
“Quentin better not ever take Samantha through this place,” I say. “She’d want to live here for sure, and his career salary to date probably isn’t as much as what these houses cost to buy.”
“Have you ever wanted to live in a place like this?” Cam asks, eyeing me briefly.
“Are you kidding me? I love my apartment complex. I can’t imagine not living with other people one door over. I love how we all come and go in and out of each other’s apartments. I wouldn’t trade that for a giant house where I’d be all alone most of the time.” I turn to face him. “What about you?”
“I was never into material possessions. I still wear my grandmother’s apron, and that thing has seen better days.”
I reach for his hand. “You’re sentimental and sweet.”
“You say that like it’s preferable to being rich.”
“Because it is. I look at it this way. Espresso is the richest coffee, and it’s also the smallest. Being rich isn’t about how much you have, but the value of what you have.”
He smiles at me. “In case I haven’t told you in a while, I love you, Joanna Coffee.”
“Right back at ya, Camden Turner.”
Quentin stops in front of a house with a six-car garage.
“Do you think they really have six cars?” I ask as Cam parks at the end of the driveway.
“I can’t imagine what anyone would do with that many vehicles. It’s almost enough to drive a different one every day of the week.”
“Maybe they rest on Sundays,” I joke.
We get out and meet up with Quentin.
“Let me do the talking,” Quentin says. “We might be dealing with the murderer. Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“Why are you looking directly at me when you say that?” I ask, completely offended since Quentin wouldn’t even have this lead without me.
“I know you. You let your emotions get the best of you, and that makes you say things you shouldn’t.”
Normally, I’d fight back, but I still feel kind of bad for pulling him away from his son, so I let him have this one.
Quentin rings the doorbell, which plays this elaborate song. A blonde woman answers the door. She’s wearing form-fitting yoga pants and a sports bra, and her hair is pulled up into a ponytail. The odd thing is that her face is done up fully. I immediately notice she’s about two shades darker than Lisa Porter.
“Carla Bishop?” I ask, earning me a scathing look from Quentin since I’ve already broken his rule of letting him do the talking.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
Quentin flashes his badge. “We need to speak with you about Simon Porter.”
“Oh.” Carla’s face falls. “Come in.”
“Is your husband home?” Quentin asks as we step into the large foyer.
“No, he’s at work. I’d prefer if you didn’t speak to him where Simon is concerned.”
“Is he not aware that you were having an affair?” I ask, and once again, Quentin shoots daggers at me with his eyes.
“Mrs. Bishop, were you with Mr. Porter Sunday night?” Quentin asks, redirecting the conversation.
“I…” She looks around the house. “I think maybe I need a lawyer.”
If she lawyers up, we won’t get anything out of her. So I decide to use the fact that she doesn’t want her husband present to our advantage. “You can certainly have a lawyer present, but I’m sure your husband would find out about that. Maybe you’d like to talk to us in private instead.”
She pauses as she considers it. “Am I being accused of anything?”
“Not yet,” Quentin says.
“Then I suppose I can talk to you for a few minutes. Follow me.” She leads us into a sitting room. I don’t want to call it a living room because there’s no television or anything. It’s literally a room with tons of chairs, and between each is a tall bookshelf. She takes a seat in an off-white high back chair. “Please sit anywhere you’d like.”
We each select a chair. It’s definitely the oddest room I’ve ever been in. It’s positioned to the right of the staircase, and it’s a deep room but not wide. I suppose it’s meant for people to literally sit and wait for whomever they come to see.
“Tell us what happened Sunday night,” Quentin says.
“I was home. My husband was working late, as usual. I wasn’t supposed to meet up with Simon because he was working, too.”
“What does your husband do that he was working so late?” I ask.
“He’s an executive at some computer or technology company.” She waves her hand in the air as if it’s not at all important.
“Sometimes he falls asleep in his office, and then he comes home whenever he wakes up. It could be three in the morning.”
“Okay, so you were home alone,” Quentin says, getting back on topic. “Then what happened?”
“I got a phone call. I didn’t recognize the number, but I thought maybe Simon was calling from a friend’s phone or a work phone. He does that sometimes because he’s always forgetting to charge his own phone.”
Something tells me she’s the type to always offer up more information than you ask for. That could definitely work in our favor.
“Was it Simon?” I ask, knowing from our conversation with Lisa Porter that it wasn’t. If Lisa was telling the truth, that is.
“No, it was his ex-wife.”
Cam and I exchange a look.
“She was saying all this nonsense about how she wasn’t going to sign the divorce papers, but Simon had already divorced her. I think she just wanted to scare me off so she could try to get Simon back.”
“Lisa Porter told us the divorce wasn’t finalized. It was close, but they were still technically married,” I say.
“She also said you were on your way to the job site when she got off the phone with you,” Quentin adds. “Did you go to the hotel site?”
“Well, yes. I had to talk to Simon.”
“Lisa said she overheard you and Simon yelling. Were you angry? Did you two fight?” He’s baiting her, trying to get her to slip up. With a talker like Carla Bishop, his plan might work, too.
“Of course, I was angry. I didn’t know why he was there with her. We were in a committed relationship. I was so angry I could’ve killed him.” She fell right into Quentin’s trap.