Free Looming Murder by Carol Ann Martin

about you being out of jail?”
    He shook his head, looking pale. “He was just being stupid. I was only in custody for a couple of hours, until my sister posted bail.” He was silent for a moment, and then he shuddered. “I don’t feel so good.”
    No sooner were those words out of his mouth than he swung to the side of the road and screeched to a stop. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, his breath coming in gasps. “Sorry.” His voice was shaking. He sat up abruptly, stumbled out of the car and around to the back. Poor guy. The confrontation had upset him more than he wanted to let on. I waited in the car, a dozen questions rolling around in my mind—questions I would never ask. They would only embarrass him more.
    A few minutes later he returned, looking slightly jaundiced. “Listen, Della, I want to apologize about what happened back there. It was completely unforgivable on my part to put you in the middle of it. I would understand if you—”
    “Don’t be silly. You didn’t do anything, David. That man is a jerk.”
    He answered my silent question. “That was my ex-wife, by the way.”
    I turned to look at him. “She’s . . . Really?”
    He nodded. “That’s what the argument with Jeremy was about. He was involved with my sister and broke her heart by two-timing her with my wife.” He grimaced. “He’s a real piece of work.” He added, “As it turns out, so is she.”
    I was slack-jawed for a moment, reeling from this revelation. It was too awful for words, and I couldn’t imagine how betrayed he must have felt. “Wow! No wonder you lost control. You
do
deserve a medal for the restraint you showed.”
    “Thanks for saying that. God only knows why Jeremy was showing her that apartment.”
    “Is Jeremy a real estate agent?”
    “Yes,” he said, sounding bitter. “Which, as far as I’m concerned, is completely unethical on his part. He is also a developer and should not sell his own project—conflict of interest. An agent is supposed to represent his client, not himself.”
    There was an uncomfortable silence during which his eyes bored into mine. He must have seen what he was looking for, because he let out a sigh of relief.
    He started the car and turned onto the road. When we neared the house, I spotted Matthew’s antique Triumph TR6 behind my Jeep, and my heart did a somersault.
    “Looks like you have company. Is that Matthew’s car?”
    “Of course you would know Matthew.”
    He chuckled. “We were in high school and played football together. Besides, this is a small town. Everybody—”
    “—knows everybody in Briar Hollow.”
    He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Say hello to him for me.”
    “I’ll do that,” I said, stepping out of the car. I closed the door, waved good-bye to him and watched his car disappear down the street.
What a nice man he is
, I thought, feeling sorry for him. David probably wanted no more than what anybody else wanted—to have someone who loved him, somebody he could love back. I felt sad for him. Was he going home or heading to a bar to get drunk? And for some reason I couldn’t explain, I had the bad feeling that David Swanson’s troubles were about to get much worse.
    Uh-oh. I’m starting to sound like Jenny
, I thought, chuckling.
    Next, I’d be seeing auras too.

C hapter 8
    I shook off the pall that had descended on me and crossed the street.
    “Hello-o, anybody home?” I called out, pushing the door open. A second later Winston came galloping over, almost knocking me down in his excitement.
    He whipped out his tongue, giving me a sloppy kiss. “I love you too, Winnie,” I said, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “But please spare me those wet kisses.”
    From the kitchen, I could hear music and the sound of laughter—Matthew on the phone. But to my surprise, when I walked in, Matthew was not on the phone, but clinking glasses with—of all people—Jenny. And right there, in the middle of