The Gift by Deb Stover

dead. An investigation is standard procedure. That’s all there is to this. Really.”
    His shoulders relaxed, dropping at least two inches as he shook his head. “I—I’m sorry.” His cheeks reddened and he ran his beefy fingers through his long, gray hair. “I just get so all-fired pissed off when somebody speaks ill of Lorilee.”
    Beth took another sip of the flower-and-twigs brew to hide the relief that oozed through her. He didn’t have to know she’d almost peed her pants when he dropped that fork and yelled at her. Detective training or not—Glock or not—she was a woman alone with a giant of a man, a long way from anything remotely resembling backup.
    “I stopped at the library today.” Proceed with caution, Dearborn. “I read some of the nasty things people wrote after she dis—”
    “Lies. All lies.” He seemed more disgusted now than angry.
    “I was surprised by how quickly the townspeople turned on Lorilee.” Beth paused, leaned forward, hoping to encourage him. “Just a few months before her disappearance, an article called her the town’s ‘guardian angel,’ or something like that.”
    “Nothin’ but a bunch of damn hypocrites.”
    “Seems like.” Beth took another bite of stir-fry. Time to change the subject. “I’d love to have this recipe, if you have it written down.” Keep him off guard, mellow, friendly…“I had no idea vegetarian meals could be so tasty, Mr. Heppel.”
    He smiled—really smiled. “Call me Rick. We broke bread together, after all.” He passed her the basket of muffins to punctuate his point. “These are made from flax meal.”
    “All right. I’m Beth.” She took a muffin, broke it open, drizzled molasses over it. She’d already been informed that vegans didn’t eat honey, since it came from bugs. “So, Rick, I know you believe Lorilee’s dead. We’ve established that.” She peered at him from beneath her lowered lashes, noting that he still seemed mellow enough. “What do you think happened to her? Really.” She took a bite of muffin, letting the warm, chewy sweetness fill her mouth and soothe her.
    Rick steepled his fingers on the table in front of him and drew a deep breath. “I honestly believe Lorilee was murdered.”
    Beth stiffened, her homicide-detective antennae on alert. Ty hadn’t actually used that term to describe his wife’s fate. Why? Or maybe, Why not? was the right question. Did he know something he didn’t want Beth to know?
    “Murder is a strong word, Rick.” Beth pushed herempty plate aside and took another sip of tea. “Why do you believe that?”
    “She would never leave her babies.”
    Those words echoed, verbatim, what Ty had said. “Yet…we both know there are others in Brubaker who believe Lorilee abandoned her family.”
    Renewed anger flashed in Rick’s eyes. “I told you, they’re wrong. ” He rose and started clearing the table.
    Beth followed, carrying her empty plate and cup to the sink. “What about that letter from England?”
    Rick didn’t look at her, and his words were barely audible. “Find the bastard who sent that letter, and he’ll lead you to Lorilee’s killer.”
    Ty had said, Whoever wrote that letter knows what happened to my wife. Again, he echoed Ty’s opinion, though the word killer had never left Ty’s lips.
    Why did that omission disturb her?
    Beth shoved the thought aside. Right now she needed facts, not speculation about Ty Malone’s guilt or innocence. Beth had been in this business too damned long not to trust her hunches, and she had a hunch Rick Heppel knew things about Lorilee her husband might not.
    She needed to stay in Heppel’s good graces. Somehow.
    Make nice.
    “Dinner was great, Rick. It was really nice of you to invite me.”
    “It really is about damned time someone found out what happened to Lorilee,” he said. “Past time.”
    His words sounded genuine. Beth nodded. “Let me help wash these dishes.”
    “Nah, it’ll only take me a minute.”