Free Gilt by JL Wilson Page A

eyes darting anywhere but to me. "I must have forgotten. I don't recall meeting you or your husband."
    "Hey, isn't this is a conflict of interest for you, too? I mean, you've met the people involved." I let the words die when I saw that the flinty look had returned to his blue eyes. "Maybe not," I concluded.
    "Where did Denton get the money to repay a loan like that?" Tinsley stared at me as though I had the answers.
    "Bennington," Dan said. "I've told you all along, it all comes back to Bennington."
    I squirmed on my seat, trying to find a way to tell them what John had told me. Did Michael embezzle money in order to help Paul? I frowned. That didn't make sense. "I can't see Michael doing anything to help somebody unless it also benefits him. How would loaning money to Paul help him?" I decided to try a small lie. "Aunt Portia mentioned once that she talked to John on the day he died."
    "Really?" Tinsley asked. "Do you know what it was about? Did she give you details?"
    I shook my head. "I can ask her on Wednesday. I'm going home for the holiday weekend."
    Dan glanced at Tinsley, a quick look that I think I wasn't supposed to see. Tinsley frowned, his jaw jutting slightly. "We need your help. We need to discover what they discussed and what part your aunt had in this."
    "Well, like I said, I can ask Aunt Portia about it when I'm there." Neither man spoke. "What? Is that a problem?"
    "I'd like Mr. Steele to go with you," Tinsley said. "He may be able to gather information that you can't."
    "Like what? There's nothing to gather in Tangle Butte, Minnesota, except sunburn and mosquito bites at this time of year." The idea was laughable, but neither man was laughing. "Are you serious? What do you think this is, an undercover operation?" I attempted a chuckle but it ended up a strangled croak. "I'm no undercover spy."
    "I am," Dan said. "I worked undercover when I was a cop." I looked at Dan's leg then at him and I suppose my skepticism showed. "Perfect cover," he said wryly. "Nobody would believe a handicapped guy would be undercover or could protect you."
    I decided to ignore the issues of his handicap and focus on the oddity of what he said. "Protect me? From what?"
    Tinsley leaned forward. "The Wickeds are one of the most dangerous gangs in America, Mrs. Carlson. If there's any chance your husband was involved with them, even peripherally, you could be in danger."
    "But that's silly. It's been two years since John died. What could I possibly have that's useful?" I faltered, suddenly remembering John's words. Look in the notebook from my locker . When John died, Paul put all of the items from John's locker at the station into a box sealed with packing tape. He dropped it off at our house after the funeral. I visualized the box in the basement with John's name on it. As boxes went it was innocuous, a white rectangular container about thirty-by-fifteen inches. John's name was written on top in black marker and underneath was his locker number and the date of his death.
    I shifted gears, hoping no one noticed. "I can't just show up in Tangle Butte with a strange man in tow," I protested. "That would look very odd."
    "Sure you can." Tinsley smiled but it was more like a grimace. I think he was so unaccustomed to smiling that it might have hurt his face. "Pretend he's your new gentleman friend."
    "My what?" I sputtered. "For heaven's sake, nobody would believe that." My words fell into a sudden silence with a little thud. Oops. That didn't sound very nice. "I mean, I haven't told anybody I'm even dating. Why would I suddenly appear with a guy?"
    The tension seemed to ease in the room. "Maybe you're being secretive?" Dan suggested, petting Grumble, who purred and opened one eye. "Maybe you weren't sure how people would react?"
    "I'm not a teenager. I'm long past the point where I care what people say." I suddenly visualized Penny, her plump face creased with concern that I wasn't 'putting it all behind me.' Dan might have a point.