Gilt (9 page)

"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. "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 in for Paul
. I needed to check and see if Paul's son was really ill on the night when John went on duty. How could I do that? Why did Paul lose money? Why did he go into debt? Why would Michael loan Paul money? I scribbled a note next to my other scribble.

What did Dan's wife have to do with this? Was it possible she was Michael's secretary? As soon as I considered it, I dismissed it. Michael's law office was in Richfield, a far less classy suburb than Edina, where Dan said his wife had worked.

Aunt Portia. Illness. Investments? Club? Land?
I puzzled over that cryptic note for a minute before I remembered Michael's investment club. I wondered how the various investors fared. I added a note:
When did club form? Who was in it? How long? Still going on?

Slander?
I stared at that thoughtfully. If anyone implied John was involved in the fire, could I sue them for slander? I added a note there:
call Amy
. I shook my head and checked the clock. It was only five-afternoon, which meant it was six in Baltimore, where she lived. Why not call her now?

I rooted in the bottom drawer of the desk, finally unearthing my address book that bulged with old Christmas card envelopes, scraps of paper, and other jottings that I meant to transfer into the book but somehow never got around to doing. I managed to find the "N" entries and there it was,
Amy Nimmer
and an address in a Baltimore suburb. Before I could think twice about it, I dialed the number.

It rang three times before I heard Amy's distinctive, raspy voice, the consequence of an accident when she was a child that almost crushed her larynx. "Genny, is that you?"

I had a startled moment, wondering if she could read minds before I remembered caller ID. "Yes, it's me. How are you, Amy?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for calling today. I was thinking about calling you but I wasn't sure if there would be a memorial service or anything." She sighed loudly. "We should stay in touch better."

I grabbed the opening she gave me. "That's one reason I called. Were you aware that the fire--John's fire--is under investigation again?" I hesitated then plunged ahead. "Jack Tinsley is here and he's investigating it."

"Jack?" She sounded perplexed, not angry. "Why would Jack be involved?"

"I'm not sure. I spoke with him today. He was here, in my house. The FBI is checking into the fire. They think it was arson." I hesitated, remembering that stupid piece of paper I signed. How much did I dare say? Hell, this was Amy. I could say whatever I wanted. Couldn't I? "They're wondering if the other people who died were the targets of the fire."

"A woman was murdered," Amy whispered. "She must have been the reason the fire was set, right?"

"That's what I always thought, but Paul said that now there's a suspicion that John was involved with the fire. The authorities are going through all the evidence again."

"That's bullshit," she snapped, her raspy voice angry. "John would never--"

"I know, I know. I'm going to make sure I get to see any evidence they find so I can evaluate it for myself." I decided to venture another guess based on nothing that had been
covertly
discussed. "I think he's involved because of you, Amy. Tinsley, that is."

"Me?" She laughed but it didn't sound convincing. "That's old history, Genny."

"I'm not so sure about that. He was wounded, you know. Maybe facing death makes a man re-evaluate his life." I wasn't sure about the death part, but it sounded damn good.

She drew in a sharp breath. "I didn't know that."

I struggled to remember what Dan mentioned. "I think he was injured recently and was put on desk duty. Someone I know said that Tinsley was getting bored and asked to be involved in the investigation."

"I didn't know. Poor Jack. He would hate a desk job." She sounded honestly sorry.

"Can you tell me about him, Amy? I have to deal with him, and I'm out of my league here, I can tell you. I don't know anything about the FBI or due process or any of that crap."

There was a long pause. "I'm not sure how to answer that," she finally said. "It's been a long time since he and I were together."

"Was he always grim, humorless, and a bully?"

"What? That doesn't sound like Jack at all."

I sighed. "Then he's changed a lot since you knew him. I guess you can't help me after all. Well, I'm glad I called any way. I wanted to let you know what was going on."

"Do you want me to come for a visit and help?"

I straightened in surprise. "What?"

"I'm not teaching summer school. I have time. I was thinking about visiting Aunt Portia anyway. She's the last of my relatives--her and you, that is. I guess I'm feeling nostalgic or something." She gave an unconvincing laugh. "I'm turning fifty in a few weeks and it's made me stop and think about, well, about life. I can come now as well as later. Would that help you? I hate to have you deal with all this by yourself."

I was amazed at the rush of relief I felt at the prospect. "If you have time and you think you could, I'd appreciate it."

"Let me check the train schedules and see what I can do. I know I can take the Capitol Limited to Chicago and get the Empire Builder there. It stops about fifty miles from Tangle Butte and I can rent a car and drive out. If I can get a seat, I could be there in a couple of days." She laughed softly. "You know how I feel about planes."

Amy's fear of flying was legendary. She had to be a walking zombie on mind-altering drugs before she could even set foot on a plane. "I'm going home to Tangle on Wednesday," I said. "I was going to stay through the weekend for the Fourth of July holiday." I grinned at the idea of having Amy by my side as I faced down Jack Tinsley, my nemesis. Wait a minute. "Are you sure, Amy? What if you have to talk to Tinsley again? I don't want to bring up bad memories or, you know, make you uncomfortable or, you know." I stumbled to a halt.

"It's been four years," she said so quietly I barely heard. "I still have questions. Maybe this is my chance to see Jack and get answers." Then her voice became brisk and up-beat again. "I'll call you back and tell you what I find out about schedules."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to have to face Tinsley because of me."

"I'm sure. John was my brother, Gen. I want to make sure he's allowed to rest in peace."