by JL Wilson
Good Lord, where did that idea come from? My ears got hot as I tried to get my zigzagging hormones under control. I took a left turn at the bottom of the steps and went into the laundry room, a cheerful yellow space with black and white linoleum tile on the floor and ground-level windows which let in a glimpse of the outside world. The small storage nook was under the steps and access to it was next to the clothes dryer.
I glanced behind me as I opened the door. Dan was only a few feet away, standing near the table I used for folding clothes. I turned back to the closet. The white box should be in the back corner where I stuffed it, two years earlier. My Christmas boxes would be in front of it. I anticipated a major overhaul of the tiny closet in order to free the box.
I flipped the switch and the single light bulb shone feebly into the space. The white box sat about two feet inside the room, in front of the Christmas boxes. The lid was slightly askew on the top, the packing tape hanging off one side. I took a step back in surprise, stepping immediately into Dan's arms, once again. I turned, ready to run in case John appeared.
"What is it?" Dan peered past me over my shoulder, his face inches from mine. "A mouse? He'll handle it." His head moved, his slightly whiskery face brushing my cheek. I turned my head to see what he saw. Suddenly Dan and I were staring deeply into each others' eyes.
"What?" I whispered, not daring to move. If I moved, I'd be taken away from that sensual, inviting, speculative expression that was drowning me.
"Hmm?" His arms tightened slowly around me.
His eyes were hypnotic. "What did you see?" I whispered.
"Where?" His face was slightly closer.
"A mouse?" I asked, my brain fogged and stupid.
He blinked. "Oh, yeah. Did you see a mouse?" He released me, leaning back.
I blinked, too, like Cinderella awakened from a trance. "No. It's--" I shook my head. "Nothing. The box isn't where I thought I left it."
He looked past me into the closet. "Is it okay if your cat is in there?"
I took a deep breath and turned. This was stupid. Every time I got close to Dan Steele, my hormones went into orbit. Just because the box wasn't where I thought it should be, that didn't mean anything, did it? I probably moved the box when I tucked away the Christmas decorations last year. Or maybe I shuffled boxes around when I put away the suitcase I stored in the nook after my trip to Vegas to visit Jimmy in February. Maybe the tape came loose. After all, tape could lose its stickiness, couldn't it?
Grumble was rooting around in the darkness at the back of the closet, his fluffy tail flicking back and forth. "Grumble, get out of there. Now." I doubt if he even heard me. I saw his furry dark gray butt disappearing behind the suitcases as I entered the tiny room. I decided to leave him to his explorations rather than try to haul him out. The worst he'd get would be whiskers full of dust bunnies.
I hefted the box, which was bulky but not too heavy. "Let's go into the family room," I said as I angled the box through the narrow door.
"Want any help?"
"I've got it." I hurried through the laundry room and into the family room on the other side of the steps, dropping the box on the floor near the fireplace. Dan followed me, taking a seat on the sagging couch and leaning over to watch as I slipped the lid off the box and let it slide to the floor.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw what was inside. I wasn't sure if John's fire gear would be given to me on his death, but it wasn't here. All that was inside was a copy of the local newspaper that had the story about the fire resting on top of John's black nylon duffel that he carried to and from work plus a few magazines and a few clothes.
I set the newspaper aside on the floor. I had a copy like it in the file upstairs. "His fire gear isn't here. Why not?"
"It was evidence," Dan said quietly. "Unless you request it, they'll keep it along with any other evidence from the fire. Some of it they'll probably always keep."
"Really? Isn't there a statute of limitations?"
"Not on murder. Don't forget, Diane was murdered. That means your husband's death is related to an open crime case. Murder evidence is kept until the murder is solved. And after that it's kept until everybody in the case dies." His voice was level but his hands, dangling between his knees, clenched and unclenched.
I turned back to the box, my hands trembling. I kept forgetting his wife was a victim, too. I had to remember that. No matter what he said, Dan still had feelings for his wife. Any of my imagined romantic notions vanished with the air conditioning as it kicked on, sending a draft of cold air down my back.
I dragged John's duffel from the box and set it on the floor before unzipping it. On top was his small leather bag with his razor, shampoo, and toothbrush. I set that aside and pulled the sides of the nylon bag to open it wider.
"Don't you want to know what your mother and I talked about?"
I tipped back on my heels to regard Dan and ended up sitting on my butt when I lost my balance. "I forgot all about that," I confessed.
"That phone call really upset you." Dan raised an eyebrow slightly as though inviting me to confide in him.
"It didn't upset me. It surprised me. It was an old friend I didn't expect to hear from." Not a lie, I reasoned. I sure didn't expect a phone call from my dead husband.
"You said your sister-in-law was coming for a visit?"
I pulled a spiral notebook from the duffel. Was that the notebook John mentioned? I peered into the duffel. "I talked to her last night and told her about the investigation. She's going to join me in Tangle Butte." I handed Dan the notebook, which appeared to be full of doodles, sketches, and a few articles cut from a newspaper and glued in.
"Join us in Tangle Butte," he corrected. "Your mother sounded excited about having company. She mentioned a Fourth of July celebration and a picnic and other activities going on. It sounds like fun."
I regarded him quizzically. "Where do you plan to stay? There's only one motel and it's a bit..." I sought for a word to describe the Tangle Butte Inn, an ancient motel on the outskirts of town that overlooked a farm field.
"Your mother volunteered your brother's room."
I considered that proposition. I suppose Dan could sleep in Sam's or Jimmy's room, each down the hall from mine on the second floor of the family house. "We should probably get our stories straight," I said. "What did you tell her?"
"That I contacted you a few months ago to thank you for what your husband did and we started dating, off and on. Nothing serious." He looked up from his study of John's notebook. "Can I borrow this?"
"I haven't had a chance to go through it. John thought it--" My mouth closed so fast my teeth clicked.
"He thought what?" Dan regarded me, his head tilted to one side.
"I meant that John must have thought it was important. He carried it in his duffel. Maybe I should read through it first."
"Your cat's in the bag," Dan said, leaning forward.
I turned back to see Grumble disappearing into John's duffel, burrowing inside and burying his head in John's blue T-shirt folded on top. "Come on, Grumble, get out of there." Of course the beast ignored me and proceeded to wedge himself into the bag, purring loudly as he kneaded the clothing with his paws. "You little idiot."
"The clothes probably still smell like your husband." Dan's head was still lowered over the notebook but he looked at me from under his lashes, his gaze going from me to Grumble.
"Probably. We got Grumble as a kitten. He and John were buddies. Grumble used to love to sit on John's lap." I dug into the bag and Grumble tipped over, unwilling to relax his hold on John's T-shirt. I felt around the bottom of the bag. As I touched something smooth, Grumble leaped out, his claws sticking to the T-shirt. He stumbled, dragging the shirt with him. By the time I got the cat unstuck, most of the contents of the bag were scattered on the floor. At the bottom, easily seen now that the bag was mostly empty, was a large white envelope with my name written on the front in John's scrawling handwriting. I pulled it out and I turn
ed it over.
"What is it?" Dan asked.
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure if my voice would even work. I eyed Grumble, who now sat on top of John's T-shirt, cleaning his face. "Did you do that on purpose?" I whispered. He glanced over his shoulder at me, tongue protruding. I could almost hear his "say what?" as he blinked sleepily.
I blinked back, suddenly feeling stupid. What was going on with me? I was seeing ghosts, I was hypnotized by a stranger, and I was investing my cat with supernatural powers. For heaven's sake. "It's from John," I managed to say as I pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope.
I know you are unhappy, but I don't think it really has to do with me, does it, Gen? Isn't it something that you need to figure out for yourself? Another person isn't really responsible for your happiness. It's something you have to find for yourself, isn't it? Please take your time and think about this before you leave. I think we can be happy together. Give us a chance.
I lowered the page, my eyes hot with tears. Did he mean to give this to me? When did he write it? There was no date on the page or on the envelope. I let the paper fall to the floor and I stood up, going to the sliding glass doors that led to our back yard.
Our back yard. I still thought of this as our house, mine and John's. We bought it shortly after we were married. I stared at the small patio, the back yard and the fringe of trees around the lawn that separated our house from the neighbor's.
"I don't understand." Dan's voice was quiet and low behind me. I heard the rustle of paper as he folded the page. "Were you getting divorced, too?"
I continued staring at the yard, my arms crossed and shivering as the air conditioning wrapped cool air around me. "I told John I wanted a separation a week before he died." A tear rolled down my cheek. "We talked and talked about it, with him asking me to explain why and me not able to explain why I was unhappy. I wished he yelled or waved his arms but he never did. We talked, and he went to work for two days. He came home and we talked again then he left for work. He never came back."
"And you blame yourself," Dan said.
I shrugged. "Yes and no. Perhaps our argument distracted him. He and I were talking when the fire call came in. He hung up and went to work. And he died." I heard the couch creak so I wasn't surprised when I felt Dan behind me.
"He was a trained professional. You didn't cause his death."
"I'll never know," I murmured. "And that's what bothers me."
Dan put his hand on my left shoulder and squeezed gently. "I guess we have more in common than we knew." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I don't know why Diane was unhappy. You don't know why you were unhappy. All we can do is find out what happened and why. Maybe that will give all of us peace of mind."
"All of us?" I looked over my shoulder at him.
"You, me, and the ghosts." He moved his hand away, letting it fall to his side.
I kept my face as still as I could. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"I do." He stepped forward to stand next to me and stare at the yard. "I think sometimes I can hear Diane's voice or I can hear her laughing. When we separated, I was almost relieved. We argued so much and I was so sure that she would change her mind and come back. When she didn't, I started to realize how tense our relationship had been. I ignored it for so long but once she was gone, I felt the tension go away." He sighed. "I felt guilty that I was glad she was living somewhere else when she died. Whoever hurt her didn't hurt me or the kids, too. I felt like such a coward for feeling that."
I started to protest but stopped. He had shared something deeply personal with me, something intimate. It deserved something equally personal in return. "I loved John but not the way he loved me. I could have stayed with him but I felt like I was missing something. I was afraid that if I stayed with him I'd get to old age and I would look back and think that I should have done something else. I felt like he was keeping me back." I bit my lip, not sure how to articulate that sense of lack. "But since he died, I haven't done a thing differently. I could have sold everything and traveled around the world, or left town and started over somewhere else. But I've stayed here, stuck in a big rut."
"You quit your job and you're doing something new," Dan pointed out.
I frowned. "How did you know that?"
"I checked. Maybe the way to change your life hasn't come along yet." His weight shifted and suddenly he was very close to me, his bare arm touching my bare arm. He stared into my eyes and his voice softened. "Maybe the right reason to change hasn't come along yet."
I turned slightly and he turned at the same time. He was inches away from me. How did that happen? When did he move and I move? He let his cane drop to the floor and put his arms around me. I shouldn't do this, I thought as I leaned closer.
Our lips touched, hesitantly at first. It had been so long since I kissed a man that I had a brief disconnect, a feeling of What is this...Why am I...How come... He pulled me gently to him, our heads tilted, and passion flared through my body. I went weak, my legs trembling so I was afraid I might drop. Every single part of my body, from my toes to my head, was on fire. I closed my eyes and clung to him, his body fitting to mine like two pieces of a puzzle that had been separated and were now joined.
A small thread of sanity intruded when a papery sound told me that Grumble was playing with either the newspaper or the note John wrote me. I opened my eyes and pulled back slightly, breaking the connection between Dan and me. "Where did that come from?" I whispered, holding on to him for dear life.
"I don't know but I'm glad it showed up." Dan leaned closer, his dark eyes searching my face. "Aren't you?"
Grumble meowed from the couch on our left. The prosaic sound snapped me back into reality. I moved away from Dan, my hands sliding off his arms (those muscled, taut, firm arms, warm and tight and strong) "This is sort of fast," I stammered.
"I felt it, though. Didn't you? Didn't you feel an immediate connection?" When I started to speak, Dan put a finger on my lips. "Be honest, Genny."
It was the first time he said my name. My stomach flip-flopped at the way his low, husky voice seemed to caress the syllables. What was I feeling? I stared deeply into Dan's eyes. I saw a glimmer of love, passion, curiosity. "Maybe," I whispered.
He smiled slowly, the dimples at the edges of his lips deepening. "Good. Think about it." Then I was closer and I sank into his kiss.
The next thing I was aware of was an insistent ringing noise. Were my ears clanging? Was I losing consciousness? I mean, good Lord, the man could kiss, but could a person pass out from kissing? I pulled my lips reluctantly away. It was my landline phone, ringing from its spot on the rickety end table near the couch.
I took a step away from him and grabbed the phone. "Saved by the bell," I said shakily. I put the receiver to my ear. "It's Genny."
"Genny, it's Amy. I'm glad I caught you. I'm on my way."
I stared at the wall, my brain stupid with lust and the memory of a kiss that turned my legs to water. "On your way where?"
"To Minnesota. Remember? We talked about it? I'm getting on the Capitol now." Her hushed voice, always hard to hear, was almost inaudible against clanging noises in the background and a whooshing, rhythmic noise.
"Capitol what?"
"Geez, what's wrong with you? Did the news upset you that much? The Capitol Limited. The train, remember?"
I sank onto the couch. Nothing made sense. I shook my head, hoping my brain would settle back into place. "What news?"
"The news about Aunt Portia, of course. Didn't your mother call you?"
"She called earlier. She didn't mention anything about Portia. I don't think she did, at least." I looked at Dan, who had retrieved his cane and watched me from near the emptied box that once held John's clothes.
Good heavens. John.
I was kissing Dan and John's things were there, scattered all around. What did John's ghost think about that?
"What is it?" Dan asked softly.
I didn't want to think about John eav
esdropping on me as I kissed another man. The thought was too creepy for words. "Did my mother say anything about Aunt Portia when you talked to her?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
"I thought you'd be on the road by now," Amy said. "They're calling the train. I have to get on. Call your mother."
"About what? What's so urgent?"
"It's Aunt Portia. They think she was poisoned."
Chapter 8
"Poisoned?" I almost dropped the phone. "What do you mean?"
"I have to board the train. Call your mom, she'll fill you in. I'll call you later tonight if I can, but cell phone service might be iffy. I get in to Chicago late. I'll call tomorrow if I don't call tonight. 'Bye." Her voice cut off abruptly.
I replaced the phone on the base. "That was my sister-in-law, Amy. She said Aunt Portia was poisoned."
"Poisoned?" Dan frowned, his face tightening. In a sort of slow-motion transformation, the gentle, passionate lover vanished and a hardened cop took his place. His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned, making him look older and harder. It was like watching one of those puppets that had two faces: turn it one way and a clown grinned at you. Turn it the other way, and a villain leered at you. Was it so easy for him to switch his emotions on and off? "When did that happen?"
"I don't know. It must have been just now because otherwise Mom would have said something when she called. I'm surprised Mom hasn't called back." Then I realized: Dan was there. Mom knew Dan was there. Was that why she wasn't calling?
"If she was poisoned, things are accelerating. We need to get there faster than I thought." Dan grabbed the notebook sitting on the couch and moved toward the door. "Check with your office and see if you can take more time off. I'll call you. Let's try to leave tonight if we can. Tomorrow at the latest."