Free DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS by Mallory Kane Page B

wore stood out like a beacon. Small replicas of the buckle circled the black cowboy hat that completed his outfit. As they’d walked through the station, Buddy had shaken hands with and spoken to every single person he passed. And the whole time, Benita, his wife of thirty-some years, had clung to his side, her arm through his, and smiled and greeted people right alongside him.
    Davis’s wife was an interesting specimen. She was several inches shorter than Davis and the description that came to Ethan’s mind was lean and hungry. Even though she had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, she wore a sleeveless top and a short denim skirt with cowboy boots. She obviously spent a lot of time either outside or in a tanning bed. He was reminded of an obsessed runner whose primary goal in life was zero body fat. She was leaning near Davis’s ear with her hand on his shoulder and talking rapidly.
    Ethan was not looking forward to this interview. He’d questioned his share of celebrities, local and national, and he knew that he was going to encounter outrage, defensiveness, entitlement, pompousness, irrational demands and probably a quick dismissal with those words every police officer dreads hearing. I want my lawyer.
    He sighed as he walked around from the viewing room to the interview room. He’d give it his best shot until they cut him off. He’d no sooner stepped through the door when Benita attacked him verbally.
    “What’s your name? I’m going to report you. How dare you send a rookie bimbo to bring us in here, without even a courtesy call ahead of time? This is an outrage. I’ve got a good mind to demand to see your captain.”
    “Benni,” Buddy Davis said gently, placing a hand over hers. “Why don’t we listen and see what the young man has to say.” He turned his mild blue eyes to Ethan. “Are you a detective, son?” he asked, smiling.
    “Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “Detective Ethan Delancey.” He chose to respond to the evangelist rather than to his strident, outraged wife. He’d heard bits and pieces of Davis’s sermons on television. The man was as hellfire-and-brimstone as any TV preacher Ethan had ever heard. But he’d never met Davis. The contrast between Buddy Davis the evangelist who dressed outrageously and drove a fancy Italian sports car while he shouted and ranted about love and tolerance, and Buddy Davis the polite, kindly husband who calmed his wife and subtly offered amends to Ethan, was astonishing.
    “Delancey,” Buddy said, smiling. “I never met your granddad, although I’d have liked to. He was a powerful and influential man. I was sad when he died.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Ethan said as Benita continued her tirade.
    “And another thing,” she said stridently. “Why have we been dragged in here against our will? What on earth—”
    “Against your will?” Ethan interrupted. “Surely the officer didn’t force you? Please tell me she didn’t handcuff you or hold you at gunpoint.”
    Benita flushed. “Of course not. If—if she had, I would have already called our lawyer. But she practically threatened us.”
    “Practically,” Ethan repeated thoughtfully. “I see.” He greeted Davis, smiling at him. “Mr. Davis—” he started.
    “ Pastor Davis,” Benita cut in.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said. “Pastor Davis, I’m sure you’ve seen the news about Senator Sills.”
    “Of course he has,” Benita said. “It’s all over TV, radio and the internet.”
    Davis patted her hand again. “Benni, he’s just doing his job. Let me answer his questions and we can be on our way.”
    “Ma’am,” Ethan said, turning his attention to her. “If I have to, I’ll separate you. I need to be able to question Pastor Davis without you interrupting.”
    Her face twisted in anger, but before she could speak, Davis’s hand squeezed hers. With a grimace, she tossed her head as if to say, Go ahead, but you’re going to regret it.
    “Thank you. Now, Pastor Davis,”