Free Gilt by JL Wilson Page B

"Well, maybe," I conceded. "But I need to think about all this. You're tossing around accusations that I'm not sure I believe."
    "All we want to do is gather information and evidence." Tinsley's gaze was direct, those blue lasers once again probing into my brain. It was unnerving. Most people weren't comfortable making eye contact. This guy had no problem with it at all. "Your husband was murdered, Mrs. Carlson. Don't you want to know who did it and why?"
    "Of course I do. But I'm not sure anything I do could help."
    Tinsley got to his feet. "Please think about it. I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss any questions you might have."
    I scrambled to my feet, too, so he wouldn't tower over me. "I don't enjoy being put on the spot like this."
    He stiffened and his already harsh face settled into a hard frown. "Your enjoyment is irrelevant. This is a police investigation."
    A faint, melodramatic meow made me turn. Dan was untangling himself from Grumble, who didn't want to lose his new best friend. Grumble slipped off Dan's lap and onto the chair, stretching once in an imploring way before curling into a heap of black-gray-and-white fur that purred loudly.
    "We would appreciate your help," Dan said, petting Grumble one last time. "Please. Think about it." He leaned over for his cane, holding the chair to manage the maneuver without the benefit of a right leg that could bend.
    When he straightened, I could see that his jeans were now liberally covered with gray cat hair. "Sorry about that," I said, darting past Tinsley to get to the hall closet. I rummaged inside and finally found my lint remover. I rejoined Dan and Tinsley at the kitchen door. "Grumble is such a big shed monster. Here, I can--" I started to run the sticky paper over Dan's legs but stopped. Such an action seemed a little too intimate. I held out the roller. "Help yourself."
    Dan waved it away. "Not a problem." He was behind Tinsley, who opened the door and started to step outside. "Please consider it. I promise I won't get in your way. It will only be for a few days." He stared at me briefly, eyes intent as though searching for an answer in my face. Then he followed Tinsley, holding the railing carefully while almost hopping down the steps, one at a time.
    I closed the door behind them and went to the kitchen window to watch as they approached Dan's pickup truck. They paused in front of the truck to talk. Dan glanced back at the house, his face troubled. They seemed to be arguing, Tinsley making a point with an abrupt, cutting gesture and Dan shook his head. I peeked through the division in my curtains, wishing I was a butterfly on a bush so I could overhear.
    Their disagreement was brief. Dan swung into the driver's seat of his pickup and Tinsley went around to the other side and entered, not quite as gracefully as Dan did. Dan drove the truck into my driveway to turn around and when he did, I had a good look at his face. He seemed tense, with a frown that I could see even from a distance. Then they were gone, disappearing into the fog that shrouded the street in mist.
    After they left, I went to my office and made a half-hearted attempt to do Internet research but a Google search of ghost found all sorts of fiction, pseudo-documentaries, pseudo-experts, and other nonsense. I extracted my notepad from the accordion folder, adding a note to rent ghost movies. I thought of Dan Steele in his wet clothing. Maybe I needed to rent Ghost . I remembered those hot love scenes with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. I shook my head at my own absurdity. Either my hormones were in an uproar or--
    Or what? Dan Steele was an attractive man and he and I were both available. And he was investigating his late wife's death and he called in an FBI buddy to help him. He didn't sound too available to me. I sighed and added "Ghost Research" to my list of things to do at the library the next time I went. I flipped over the page and found the questions I had jotted.
    John: target? Filled