Free Threats by Amelia Gray Page A

in his pocket. “It was nothing,” he said. “It was a piece of the bag that fell into the sugar. I felt ashamed to serve the sugar to guests with a piece of the bag loose inside.” He attempted a religious convert kind of gaze with the detective, but Chico’s eye contact was stronger. It was clear that in a past life the detective had been a phone booth beside an empty highway. David felt the page wilting in his warm hand. The sugar stuck to his palm.
    From the corner of his eye he could see that Marie was nodding. “Such a good host,” she said.
    â€œA good host,” Chico said. He was making the kind of eye contact employed by officers of the law. He had once been a mechanical crane that hauled beams to the top of a skyscraper.
    David tipped his ruined tea out in the sink, took the paper out of his pocket, and laid it on the table. Chico stood beside him and read it aloud:
    I WILL STRIP THE BARK FROM A TREE AND MAKE YOU NEW CLOTHES. YOU WILL WEAR THESE CLOTHES AS YOU WANDER THE FOREST FOR FOURTEEN YEARS. YOUR FATHER WILL DIE WATCHING THE SKY AND YOUR MOTHER WILL FORGET YOUR NAME.
    Chico stopped reading, but David could tell he was looking over it again, memorizing it. The man had no visible reaction beyond his jaw moving slightly down and to the left behind his closed mouth. It was enough for David to know that he should not have trusted either of his visitors.
    â€œI don’t know what to make of it,” David said.
    â€œThere are more like this?”
    â€œNo,” David said. “I found it there before. I was afraid to move it.”
    â€œI should take it with me,” Chico said, pulling on his gloves and holding one out for the threat.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” Marie asked, bracing herself to stand.
    â€œOfficial police business,” Chico said.
    David held the threat close to his chest. “There’s no police business. I can’t let you have this.”
    Chico made no initial response, but his jaw moved again within his closed mouth. He was tonguing the surface of his molars. He seemed exceptionally calm. “This could be considered evidence,” he said.
    â€œThere’s no reason why it would be. My wife was probably playing a prank on me, and she forgot about it.” David worried that he was talking too fast. Correcting the error would be simple enough but would require talking more to the man, who was probing the grooves in his teeth as if they contained an illuminating secret. “I usually don’t take sugar in my tea,” David said, slower, moderated, trying his best to sound reasonable by employing a reasonable voice, “so there was no reason for me to look here. I don’t usually take sugar.”
    â€œThis could be an important piece of evidence,” said Chico.
    Marie had abandoned her teacup and stood by Chico’s side. “Goodness,” she said, replacing her thin glasses with thicker ones and reading the page. “Classic transferred umbilical addiction. ICD-10 F20. The coupled individual fears the opposing parental unit and conspires to destroy him or her.”
    â€œThere’s no reason why you wouldn’t allow us to take this,” Chico said.
    â€œOr it’s a ruse,” Marie said.
    â€œYou’ve been nothing but helpful so far,” Chico added. “Your attitude has helped to ease my mind regarding your status in this case.”
    David folded the paper in thirds. “Ease your mind.”
    â€œYou’re a person of interest, after all. That’s normal procedure. You’re only helping yourself by cooperating. But really, right now you’re getting your fingerprints all over what could be a key piece of evidence.”
    â€œThis could be something my wife wrote as a joke,” David said. “Probably years ago.”
    â€œDavid,” Marie said. Her face was the color and shape of an oblong shell, a shaved almond, a cuttlefish bone on which a