Free Murder with a Twist by Allyson K Abbott

a little over four years. He spoke easily and freely, and there was a relaxed confidence in his body language that told me he was comfortable around other people. He had a strong Boston accent, and when he spoke it triggered a sweet vanilla taste that bordered on being overpowering, kind of like eating a too-rich dessert. The flavor sensations I get are typically bursts of taste that hit hard and fade fast, but occasionally they linger. That was the case with Will and it created an interesting medley of flavors in my mouth when his voice’s lingering flavor mixed with the various chocolate tastes that Duncan’s voice always triggered for me.
    Duncan ran Will through the same basic litany of questions he’d used on Theo, questions about the firm, the peer groups, how well he knew his coworkers, and whether he’d ever been inside Dan Thornton’s apartment. Will answered each question without hesitation, providing basic minimal information, but never once providing more information than was asked for. He sat slightly slumped in the chair, one arm casually tossed over the back of it, his legs extended out to the side, his ankles crossed. The fingers on the hand of the arm that hung over the back of the chair were beating a gentle rhythm on the frame. The other hand was also in constant motion as Will played with a fifty-cent piece, flipping it back and forth between his fingers and occasionally rubbing his thumb along its edge. Aside from these nervous activities, he appeared to be someone who didn’t have a care in the world. At one point, he looked over at the window and I could have sworn he was looking right at me. He flashed a little know-it-all grin, gave a slight nod of his head, and then turned his attention back to Duncan. Even though Duncan had told me the glass was a mirror on the other side, I reared back, unsettled by Will’s glance.
    His voice maintained its overly sweet flavor until Duncan asked him if he’d ever stolen anything. Unlike Theo, Will didn’t answer right away. His hands stopped moving and he narrowed his eyes at Duncan before saying, “Are you asking me if I’ve ever stolen anything in my entire life?”
    â€œHave you?” Duncan asked.
    â€œSure,” Will said with a shrug. “When I was a kid, I used to take money from my father’s dresser drawer and use it to buy candy. And I remember getting into trouble for stealing a kid’s watch once when I was in grade school.”
    â€œHow about on the job?” Duncan asked. “Have you ever stolen from an employer?”
    â€œHell no,” Will said, looking indignant. His voice took on a salty, almost bitter, taste. He straightened up in the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And, frankly, I resent you asking that question. I thought you wanted to talk to me about Dan. From what I heard, he’s the one who stole the money. Don’t try to drag me into it.”
    â€œSo it’s common knowledge at Stratford and Weber that money is missing?” Duncan asked.
    â€œYeah, there was an internal audit at the end of last month and rumors have been circulating ever since. Everyone has been on pins and needles. And then we heard about Dan.”
    â€œSo you think Dan took the money?”
    â€œThat’s what I heard.” It was a cagey answer, one that didn’t require an out-and-out lie on his part if he was involved, but that also didn’t implicate anyone else. The flavor of his voice when he said it was an odd mix of sweet vanilla and salt, like the taste of a salted pecan eaten in a spoonful of ice cream sundae.
    I had the distinct impression that Will Dorner was a smooth operator, someone who was used to being able to sway people to his opinions and confident in his ability to do so. Given more time, I feared he would become one of those people who could lie easily and without guilt. But he hadn’t made it to that stage yet.