Page 47 of Little Hidden Fears

“You still haven’t answered the question. You got the letter to her somehow.”

“When her friend Zoey visited me, she said a few things about herself during the visit, which made her easier to find. I do not choose to engage in any kind of social media online, but one of the men in my church group does, and his father was in law enforcement. It took all of ten minutes to find Zoey online, and then once we figured out her last name, the rest was easy.”

“So you wrote to Zoey, and what, asked her to give Noelle your letter?” I asked.

“I did, and I never knew if she had done it—not until now.”

“When did you send the letter to Noelle?” Foley asked.

“A week after I received her letter.”

“A couple weeks before she was murdered.”

Gabe nodded.

Foley raised a hand. “I’ve heard enough for now. Gabe, I’d like you to come down to the department, and we’ll continue this conversation there.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet.”

Gabe grabbed a hoodie off the arm of the couch.

The four of us headed for the door, and Foley turned toward me.

“I’d like for us to speak to him alone,” he said.

“Meaning, you don’t want me in the room when you question him.”

“Correct. But we should catch up soon and compare notes.”

I shot him a wink and said, “Oh, don’t worry. We will.”

CHAPTER 18

It was dinnertime when I arrived back in Cambria, but before I retired for the night, I had one more stop to make. And since Giovanni was away, there was no rush to get home, though I imagined our furry friend was missing us both.

I turned into the parking lot at the Royal Palms Tennis Club, taking a moment to admire the stark-white grandeur of the club’s massive building before I exited the car. It was impressive, giving off an air of wealth and status. Reaching for my phone, I pulled up a text message Hunter had sent me, listing the names of the club’s staff members.

Looking over the list, the most likely woman who’d talked to Noelle about the possible fraud taking place at the club was Annie Jackson in the accounting department.

I entered the club and made my way to the reception desk. A spunky teen with blond pigtails dressed in a fitted, long-sleeved shirt and a tennis skirt blinked at me and smiled. “Hi, welcome. Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Annie Jackson. I believe she works in accounting.”

“Annie, yeah.”

“Is she here?”

The girl leaned to the side, glancing down the hallway. “Umm, I don’t know. Wait here, and I’ll check.”

The girl bounced her way in the opposite direction, entering an office down the hall. Staring through the office window, I could see she hadn’t gone to find Annie for me. Instead, she was talking to a man. I wondered why.

The man looked to be close to my age, and he was tall and fit, his arm muscles bulging out of the polo shirt he was wearing.

He turned toward me, narrowing his eyes.

Then he advanced in my direction.

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