Free Bundle of Trouble by Diana Orgain

adrenaline from finding Michelle dead had left my system and now all I felt was sadness, disbelief, and bone-deep weariness.
    I sighed. “I really don’t think she killed herself.”
    “Earlier, you said Mrs. Avery thought whoever killed her husband might come after her,” Jones said. “Did she give you any indication, any at all, about who she thought that was? Take your time.”
    I shook my head.
    “You said you hadn’t seen her in long time?” McNearny asked. “When was the previous time?”
    “I hadn’t seen her until . . .”
    How much should I say? Surely the medical examiner had told McNearny I’d retrieved George’s things.
    They waited for me to answer, exchanging looks. Finally Jones prompted gently, “Until when?”
    “Monday,” I said.
    “I see.” Jones made a note.
    There was a deafening silence in the room as they both consulted their respective notebooks. I licked my lips. I was parched again. Couldn’t they get me more water?
    “Where did you see her?” McNearny asked.
    Didn’t he already know the answer?
    “I saw her at the medical examiner’s office.”
    “Ah, yes. Mrs. Avery would have had to sign release papers,” McNearny said. “What were you doing there?”
    If he didn’t already know, he could find out. Why mess with me like this? I sat back in my chair, crossed my feet, then uncrossed them.
    Honesty would be best.
    I fidgeted with my empty water cup, finally depositing the crumpled tissue inside it. “I was picking up my brother-in-law’s bags.”
    Inspector McNearny flipped through his notebook. “Ah, brother-in-law. Would that be George Connolly?”
    Jim had been right. Nothing good would come from meddling in George’s business. “Yes,” I mumbled.
    “Interesting. Very interesting. Mrs. Avery said she didn’t know George Connolly.” He tapped his fingers on his notebook. “Do you know why she would say that?”
    I felt a protective surge for George, Jim’s brother, Laurie’s uncle. Not to mention I was getting tired of McNearny’s attitude. “What makes you think they knew each other?” I challenged.
    “Well, if he was your brother-in-law and you and she were friends . . .”
    “I went to high school with Michelle. Before Monday, we hadn’t seen each other since . . .” When had been the last time I’d seen Michelle? “I don’t even remember when. Probably our reunion a few years back. It was a coincidence seeing her at the medical examiner’s office.”
    McNearny frowned. “Was it?”
    I nodded emphatically. “Um-hum.”
    McNearny sucked some air between his teeth, sort of tsking at my response. “Now see? That’s where I have a problem.”
    The weariness in my bones was slowly turning to dread.
    Why not tell them everything I know?
    But then, what did I know, really? Michelle had said George was with her the night Brad died. Therefore, George couldn’t have killed Brad. He couldn’t have, right?
    Unless, Michelle and George were in on it together. Or he killed Brad after leaving Michelle. Who killed Michelle? Dread was overcoming me.
    No! George is not a killer!
    “I don’t believe in coincidences, Mrs. Connolly,” McNearny said.
    Of course, neither did I. Normally anyway, but in this case I really really needed to believe. I blurted, “Sometimes things happen for no reason at all. An accident, a fluke, chance.”
    “I had to release those bags to your family, because I couldn’t prove there was any connection to Mr. Avery. He was last seen on June fifteenth and the medical examiner places his death in June. George Connolly’s bags were found on September nineteenth on the same pier where Mr. Avery was recovered. Months apart. Is there a connection?” McNearny opened his hands toward me in question. “Mrs. Avery tells me she doesn’t know a George Connolly. So technically, I can’t prove a thing. But this”—he patted his broad stomach—“isn’t technical. My gut says there is a connection between the Connollys and the