The Poisonous Ten by Tyler Compton

paused, not as if he was trying to think of what to say but rather as if he was getting caught up in past memories. Parks stared at the man’s reaction but didn’t feel he was hiding something, only that he was shocked by the question and knowing he was about to forfeit personal information that he might otherwise not want out.              
    “It was good.” Mr. Tisdale smiled and wiped his face, his tears and nose running together. “But I’m sure everyone says that. We travel. Love to travel. We’re good. We enjoy each other’s company. Hang with friends. Don’t fight. I mean nothing physical. We’ve had little tiffs here and there. But who doesn’t?”
    “Sex?”
    “Excuse me?” Mr. Tisdale shot out, taken aback.
    “You two still sleep together? Same bed? Separate beds? With other people? Open marriage? Into anything . . . diffe rent? I know I’m getting personal here, but we need to explore all avenues. If there might be a third party involved, then—”
    “No,” Mr. Tisdale interrupted impatiently. He had begun fidgeting, and his eyes were no longer leaking. They had clearly touched a sore subject with the man. “No, nothing like that. It’s just the two of us. We still sleep— slept —in the same bed. Only us. No one else. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just plain, good, old-fashioned sex. And yes, we still . . . did it.”
    “No affairs?”
    “I love my wife,” Mr. Tisdale reassured him. “I have never.”
    Parks stared at the man, taking in the wording that had been chosen.
    “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm your wife?” Moore asked, taking over the interrogation. Parks had done his job and now he was viewed as the bad cop. Tisdale wouldn’t trust him anymore. Time for her to step in. “Any enemies? Recent events that might need to be brought to our attention? Anything that might help us.”
    “Nothing that I’m aware of,” Mr. Tisdale said. “She worked. But I don’t know of anything or anyone causing any problems there. You’d have to talk to her people at the o ffice.”
    “We will, Mr. Tisdale.”
    “I know there are people who are pissed to be out of their homes. I mean, the economy’s hurting people right now. Houses get foreclosed on, and Allison picked them up. Turned them around and sold them. Or there were people who hired her to sell their houses and might have thought she sold them too cheap. For less than what they were worth. But I don’t know of any specific instances. Nothing that bothered her enough to tell me about it. Other than that, we mostly keep to ourselves. We do wine tasting. We started taking a few cooking classes at a place at the Grove. Just to try and get out more. During the summer at least. I’m too busy during the school year. But nothing to take note of. No threats. No fights. Nothing bad with the neighbors. Most of the neighbors are . . .”
    “Yes, Mr. Tisdale?”
    “We’ve had no problems with them. No one I could think would do this. We had no problems with anyone. Sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help. So you have no idea who did this to my wife?”
    “Would you like me to get you some water?” Moore said, leaning forward in her seat, glancing from Parks to Mr. Tisdale.
    Mr. Tisdale nodded and remained seated as Moore got up and made her way out of the room. This was a tactic that Parks used to perform with Detective Levinson. It was the first time he had done it with Moore, but she was on top of it. True, she was getting the distraught Mr. Tisdale a glass of water to help him cope, but she was also taking a quick look around the house to see if anything jumped out at her that would tell her something was wrong with the otherwise picturesque image of the Tisdales’s lives.
    Other than the dead wife. 
    “Oh, the kitchen is—”
    “I’m sure she can find it,” Parks interrupted, trying to keep Mr. Tisdale’s focus. “Does Allison have any family in the area? Friends?”
    “No family