extracted one and pocketed it.
"You want to talk to me now?" I knew what my living room looked like. The Sunday newspaper was on the hassock waiting to be recycled and the coffee table was littered with coupons waiting to be clipped and a half-finished crossword puzzle waiting to be completed. I shook my head. What did I care what the FBI thought of my house? "I'm sorry. I'm busy."
"Really?" His tone of voice was neutral but there was a ton of disbelief in that one word.
I sighed and closed the leather holder. "Come in." I handed him the badge and went inside, not checking behind me to see if they were following. Blessed air conditioning surrounded me as I entered, making the humid air clinging to my skin evaporate with one delicious shiver. I sniffed. There was a faint smell of almost-burnt popcorn in the air from last night's dinner. Oh well.
I dropped my purse and the file folder on the bench inside my tiny foyer/mud room then walked through the kitchen and into the living room. I didn't pause until I got to my worn green plaid chair on the far side of the room near the windows that overlooked the back yard, where I turned to regard both men.
Dan looked around the room, eyeing Mr. Grumble who was stretched out on the back of the matching armchair like a gray-and-black striped living afghan. Grumble eyed him in return, yawning and flexing his claws before settling back into dreamland.
"Have a seat," I said, flopping into my favorite recliner.
Tinsley sat on the edge of the couch on my right and after a brief hesitation Dan sat in Grumble's chair on my left, letting his cane slide to the wooden floor near the chair arm. He picked up the Sunday crossword puzzle from the oak coffee table and regarded it curiously.
"I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Mrs. Carlson," Tinsley said.
I leveled a glare at him and Dan. "I didn't have much choice."
"Good job," Dan said, looking up from the newspaper. "Fifty-four down is hoyden ."
I ignored him, which was difficult. I should have known hoyden . How did he figure it out so quickly? "Why is the FBI investigating the fire that killed my husband?"
"And killed my wife," Dan said quietly. Grumble snuffled at his neck. Dan peered over his shoulder, then raised his hand and patted my cat, who settled back into a kitty coma with a satisfied purr. My wariness about Dan Steele began to soften some. I've always felt that anyone who trusts animals is a person to be trusted. And, of course, the opposite was true.
Michael disliked pets and the few times he came to our house, he fastidiously ignored Grumble, choosing Grumble-free chairs and shooing my cat away when Grumble made overtures of curiosity or friendship. That thought flashed into and out of my brain in the time it took to articulate it.
"Why are you investigating?" I asked again. "The fire was thoroughly investigated when it happened. No one found..." My voice faded when I met Tinsley's unflinching stare. The man was like a mechanical human, with fierce blue eyes that made me feel as though lasers were probing, seeking, poking into my mind. He reminded me of a robot toy I had as a child. I would wind it up and it jerked around, small flashes of light emitting from its immobile face mask.
"Before we go any further, I need your assurance that anything said here will be kept in confidence." He pulled a paper from an inner coat pocket and held it toward me.
I took it. "What do you mean, in confidence? If it affects the investigation and I need to talk to Paul or someone then I will." I saw his eyes shift from me to the paper in my hand. I unfolded the page and read.
Any information exchanged between myself and the law enforcement personnel involved in this investigation is considered confidential and will not be shared in any way with any other person, regardless of the position that person may occupy in my personal or professional life. I will not discuss this agreement with anyone nor will I allude to it in any way
"You want to talk to me now?" I knew what my living room looked like. The Sunday newspaper was on the hassock waiting to be recycled and the coffee table was littered with coupons waiting to be clipped and a half-finished crossword puzzle waiting to be completed. I shook my head. What did I care what the FBI thought of my house? "I'm sorry. I'm busy."
"Really?" His tone of voice was neutral but there was a ton of disbelief in that one word.
I sighed and closed the leather holder. "Come in." I handed him the badge and went inside, not checking behind me to see if they were following. Blessed air conditioning surrounded me as I entered, making the humid air clinging to my skin evaporate with one delicious shiver. I sniffed. There was a faint smell of almost-burnt popcorn in the air from last night's dinner. Oh well.
I dropped my purse and the file folder on the bench inside my tiny foyer/mud room then walked through the kitchen and into the living room. I didn't pause until I got to my worn green plaid chair on the far side of the room near the windows that overlooked the back yard, where I turned to regard both men.
Dan looked around the room, eyeing Mr. Grumble who was stretched out on the back of the matching armchair like a gray-and-black striped living afghan. Grumble eyed him in return, yawning and flexing his claws before settling back into dreamland.
"Have a seat," I said, flopping into my favorite recliner.
Tinsley sat on the edge of the couch on my right and after a brief hesitation Dan sat in Grumble's chair on my left, letting his cane slide to the wooden floor near the chair arm. He picked up the Sunday crossword puzzle from the oak coffee table and regarded it curiously.
"I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Mrs. Carlson," Tinsley said.
I leveled a glare at him and Dan. "I didn't have much choice."
"Good job," Dan said, looking up from the newspaper. "Fifty-four down is hoyden ."
I ignored him, which was difficult. I should have known hoyden . How did he figure it out so quickly? "Why is the FBI investigating the fire that killed my husband?"
"And killed my wife," Dan said quietly. Grumble snuffled at his neck. Dan peered over his shoulder, then raised his hand and patted my cat, who settled back into a kitty coma with a satisfied purr. My wariness about Dan Steele began to soften some. I've always felt that anyone who trusts animals is a person to be trusted. And, of course, the opposite was true.
Michael disliked pets and the few times he came to our house, he fastidiously ignored Grumble, choosing Grumble-free chairs and shooing my cat away when Grumble made overtures of curiosity or friendship. That thought flashed into and out of my brain in the time it took to articulate it.
"Why are you investigating?" I asked again. "The fire was thoroughly investigated when it happened. No one found..." My voice faded when I met Tinsley's unflinching stare. The man was like a mechanical human, with fierce blue eyes that made me feel as though lasers were probing, seeking, poking into my mind. He reminded me of a robot toy I had as a child. I would wind it up and it jerked around, small flashes of light emitting from its immobile face mask.
"Before we go any further, I need your assurance that anything said here will be kept in confidence." He pulled a paper from an inner coat pocket and held it toward me.
I took it. "What do you mean, in confidence? If it affects the investigation and I need to talk to Paul or someone then I will." I saw his eyes shift from me to the paper in my hand. I unfolded the page and read.
Any information exchanged between myself and the law enforcement personnel involved in this investigation is considered confidential and will not be shared in any way with any other person, regardless of the position that person may occupy in my personal or professional life. I will not discuss this agreement with anyone nor will I allude to it in any way
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