Gilt (27 page)

"That may be true, but exactly what is coming together here and now?" I had to shout to be heard over the music blaring from the amplified speakers sitting on the front lawn of the courthouse. Now that we had rounded the corner, we received a full blast of sound in our faces.

Dan shook his head. "Later," he shouted in return.

Amy touched my arm and pointed through the crowd. Jack Tinsley stood opposite us across the intersection next to a tall man with white hair dressed in a dark blue police uniform shirt tucked into faded jeans. Jack saw us and raised a hand. Amy took off, wiggling through the crowds of people who watched dancers in the street gyrating to the Beatles'
Paperback
Writer
.

Dan put an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the wooden food booths that lined the sidewalk. "How about some 'que?" he shouted.

I nodded eagerly. We checked all four booths and finally shopped at one for beer and another for over-stuffed pulled pork sandwiches. A spot opened at a picnic table and we nabbed it, probably because people saw Dan's cane and made way for us. I didn't care. I was shameless when it came to comfort, and if sympathy got us a good spot to sit, I'd take it.

We sank down and dug into the food while the D.J. spun Beach Boys songs, keeping a sizeable portion of the crowd on its feet, either dancing or swaying to the music. It was a perfect night for an outdoor dance with a gentle breeze blowing, sending smells of green and growing plants our way to mingle with the potent odor of barbeque and beer. The setting sun lent a golden halo to the whole scene with the long expanse of lawn in front of the four-story limestone courthouse, the small-town storefronts across the street, and the old-fashioned streetlamps, now flickering into life as dusk settled in.

"Lots of people here," Dan said during a lull in the music.

I wiped a dribble of sauce off my chin. "The summer dances are big events in the county. They get a lot of folks from surrounding towns. I think on Saturday it's mostly square-dancing." I caught a glimpse of Amy, her arm linked through Jack Tinsley's, but the crowd moved and they were lost to view again. I craned my neck, trying to glimpse anyone else I might recognize. "I thought Michael might be here, but I suppose this is too small-town and informal for him."

"That's McCord talking to Jack," Dan said, following my gaze as I watched Tinsley talking to the white-haired man again. "I wonder if he got any information from the tox reports on your aunt."

I washed down the last of my sandwich with a swallow of beer. "I don't understand any of this," I confessed. "I still don't see what my aunt has to do with a bunch of gangsters who kidnapped Paul's kid. Why did they involve Jack Tinsley in this? What does Michael have to do with it all?"
And why is my husband's ghost haunting me?
I thought.
And I don't know if I can trust you and I don't know how Michael caused John's death.
Oh, hell. There were so many things that I didn't know, it made my head spin.

Dan stood and picked up his empty paper plate. "Come on. Let's go somewhere and talk." He angled his way through the crowd toward a trash can and I followed, almost knocked over by two teenagers who made a dash for our picnic seats. Dan headed for the wide sidewalk that led to the courthouse steps, avoiding people sitting on the lawn on their blankets or lawn chairs.

The east side of the courthouse was in dense shade with fewer people scattered here and there. We found a spot on a worn bench that faced the dance intersection and sat, Dan next to me. The dancers were still moving, but the music faded then was louder, alternating with the breeze that wafted sound to us.

"What is Tinsley supposed to do?" I asked, tugging the legs of my capris to protect my knee-pits from potential splinters. I slipped off my slip-on sneakers to rub my toes into the cool, faintly damp grass under the bench.

"He was told he'd get a call telling him where to meet the kidnappers and what they wanted." Dan appeared worried, his eyes continually going to the far side of the dance area where we could see Jack and Amy with the tall man in the police uniform. They had been joined by a short woman with dark hair dressed in red sandals, black shorts, and a red-and-black striped top. She spoke to Amy, laughter on her face, as she gestured toward the food booths. "It doesn't make any sense. The kidnappers know Jack is FBI. They can't hope to get away with it."

"There must be another reason they did it," I reasoned. "Maybe they're assholes and they enjoy terrorizing people."

Dan immediately shook his head, leaning back on the bench, his shoulder touching mine. I could feel the heat of his body through his blue shirt. "They're business people more than anything. This doesn't add up."

"Well, they're people, too," I pointed out. "Maybe they're jerks. Speaking of business, what about Portia's stuff? Did you find anything?"

"When I went through the financial statements in your aunt's portfolio, I found irregularities as we suspected." Dan leaned forward, his shoulder and arm rubbing against me. "That investment club she was involved in made a few very bad choices. Your aunt was able to recover because she didn't sink as much equity into it as others probably did. There's a record of a subsidiary fund being closed and the funds being transferred to another fund, but when I checked that second fund, there wasn't a record of a deposit until several months after the date when it should have occurred."

"So what does that mean?" My mind blanked when he said Subsidiary Fund, not an unusual occurrence for me whenever anything financial was discussed.

"It's possible money was removed and replaced later. I'd have to see the transaction records to be sure. But it was more than five years ago, so Portia would have to request a legal audit of her account in order to verify the transaction." He turned slightly to face me. "Do you think she would do that?"

I considered it and also considered his warm body snuggling against me. "No," I finally said. "She probably wouldn't. As long as no money is missing, I don't think she would want to rock the boat. She's friends with Michael's mother, and if Michael was involved, then, no, she wouldn't." I shrugged, my action pushing me more firmly against him.

"I'll bet Bennington was counting on that." Dan turned to the right as
Lost in Love
started to play over the loudspeakers. His head tilted to one side and his hand clenched on his knee.

I leaned forward to see what held his attention. Jack was leading Amy into the cleared dance intersection. He said something to her and she nodded at him as he pulled her into his arms. He eased them into a small circle, stepping deftly around the other more sedate dancers.

"Sorry," Dan said softly, his eyes intent on me. "I can't dance."

I was so surprised I almost tipped over. "I don't care."

"Yeah, but look at them."

We both watched Jack lead Amy around the cleared space in dips, swirls, and spins. I had never seen two such attuned dancers in person and it was an enchanting experience. Jack's arm was firmly around Amy's waist, and he kept her left hand high as he guided them around the other dancers. Amy's eyes were pinned on Jack's face as he stared down at her, mesmerizing her and willing her to follow his lead. Each of them was so lost in love that I was surprised they weren't swept away into a big cloud.

"They're so well matched," I murmured. "They must have danced a lot when they were together before."

"Jack said they took lessons together." Dan's mouth quirked upward. "I never would have thought Jack Tinsley would learn ballroom dancing, but he told me once that he would have gone through fire for Amy." His eyes followed them as they swirled, a wistful expression on his face. "That's when I knew he was in love."

I felt a brief stab of jealousy. I had never felt such overwhelming love for anyone. "How long have you known him?"

"I met him when he and I went to the police academy, in Chicago."

"Chicago?"

"Yeah, that's where Diane and I grew up. Jack and I went through the academy together. After Diane and I got married, we moved to Minneapolis. We wanted to get away from family. We both had too many people interfering in our lives. Of course, now that her parents and my parents are gone and the kids have all scattered, I'm wondering what we were running away from." He watched Jack and Amy move effortlessly around the intersection. I wondered if he missed that kind of mobility or if he had come to grips with his disability. "I'm glad we were in Minneapolis when I was shot, though. I had the best surgeons possible at the Mayo Clinic. I'd probably be dead otherwise."

He spoke about it so easily. John used to talk that way, too, causally discussing running into a burning building or how a wall full of flames almost fell on him. "I don't know how anyone can put their life on the line, day in and day out," I said, thinking aloud. "John loved doing it, though. And you don't sound like you regret it."

Dan's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Regret it? Of course not."

"But..." I tried to sum up my confusion. "John could never leave work behind. It was always there, every day. He was never off duty." That wasn't quite what I wanted to say, but it was the best I could manage.

"I was a cop." Dan leaned over and plucked a piece of grass, letting the pliable stems trickle through his fingers. "I understand him. You're always on the job."

"That's what I hated," I said. "He never could leave it behind him."

Dan frowned. "Of course he couldn't. It's who he was, not what he did. In a job like that, you have to let it define you. Otherwise, you die."

The simple, matter-of-fact words hit me like a hammer. He was right. John was a fireman. That wasn't what he did.

It's who he was.

"Once I started talking to you and the people who knew him, that's when I knew this whole thing was a setup," Dan continued, unaware of my epiphany. "A fireman wouldn't put people in danger, any more than a cop would. It would have gone against his principles. Not unless he was a sociopath, and from what others have said, he was anything but that." He laughed briefly. "Listen to me. I'm talking like I know him."

"But you do," I said. "You might know him better than I did."

He tilted his head to regard me. "And I get the feeling you understand my wife better than I did. Isn't it weird?"

I nodded, not sure I wanted to explore that idea any further. "It must have been hard for you to put your police life behind you, after you were hurt."

"You never quite put it behind you, I guess. That's why I'm here, helping Jack." He glanced quickly at me. "To help you and Jack."

My stomach dipped. Did he really mean that? I wasn't sure I was ready to know. I turned my attention back to Jack and Amy. "I'm so glad they were able to forgive each other."

"Jack deserves love in his life." Dan looked away as the dancers swirled past us again. For an instant I glimpsed bewildered pain in his dark brown eyes.

The song shifted to
Slowhand
, by the Pointer Sisters. "Ooh, one of my favorite songs. Come on," I said, getting to my feet. "Let's give it a try."

"I don't think--I'm not sure--"

I tugged on his arm. "We don't have to be as dramatic. Come on."

Dan got up, leaning on his cane. "Well, if you're willing to try, I am, too."

I paused, hearing the implied invitation in his words. Was I? I remembered Amy saying
Time is a precious commodity
. "I'm willing."

"Good. So am I." He put his arm around my waist and we edged through the crowd to the intersection. Dan left his cane near the loudspeaker as we joined the fringe of the bobbing and moving couples.

John and I seldom danced because of the difference in our heights. I didn't realize how marvelous it could be to have a partner like Dan, who was closer to my height. We swayed together, Dan moving awkwardly until it got to the chorus. He leaned back slightly to look at me. "Care to try a twirl?"

I laughed. "Just don't let me drop." He lifted his arm and I ducked underneath, ending up pressed against him even tighter than before. The streetlights illuminated the scene as did the final rays of the setting sun, the shadows cast by the twenty or so couples moving like additional people around us. I raised my head from Dan's shoulder and peered around us. I couldn't see Jack or Amy, but I suppose they were nearby somewhere. I lowered my face again, inhaling aromas of sweat and faint soap.

"I don't understand what's happening," I murmured. I wasn't sure if I meant how my heart was pounding so erratically or how I felt. All I knew was that I felt bewildered, bothered, and bewitched. Not a bad feeling.

"I know," Dan murmured against my ear. "It's like something brought us all here at this moment in time."

I sighed. How true. It was as though everything had combined to allow me to find him and him to find me.

"What is the one common factor between Michael Bennington, your husband, your aunt, and Paul Denton?"

I frowned. So much for my idea of a romantic intersection of fate. Dan was more interested in a criminal intersection of fate. "Besides me, you mean?" I said with a laugh.

His steps slowed and I slowed with him. "What?"

"I'm related to Portia and John. I know Paul and Michael." He stopped completely and pulled away from me, staring blankly, his eyes wide. "Hey. I'm joking."