Gilt

by JL Wilson

  "He was a good friend to both of us. When his wife died, I called him. He told me what happened to you, how Mark and that other boy were used to ruin your career. How you were transferred and demoted. That wasn't fair, Jack."

  "None of it was fair," Jack said, his voice almost as hushed as hers. "I got caught between two gang leaders. They used me to set up Nesbitt's son and Mark got tangled up in it, too. I didn't want to hurt him. If I could have, I would have--"

  "No more Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Please." Amy smiled tremulously as a tear inched along her cheek. "It happened, Jack. I wish it hadn't, and you wish it hadn't, but it did. I want to move on. I want to put the guilt behind me."

  Her harsh, woebegone voice made me wince because it so precisely echoed what I had been feeling for so long.

  "You have no reason to feel guilty," Jack said softly, taking her hand in his. "I fired the shot that killed him."

  "But I raised him. I didn't put my foot down when he went with those friends of his, those wild kids who got him hooked up with drugs way back in high school. He was so upset about his father dying that I let him go. I didn't realize until it was too late." Amy drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Mark needed a way to handle the pain and he turned to drugs. He should have turned to me."

  "Amy." Jack sighed her name and enfolded her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his him.

  I inched backward, into the drive, and Dan followed. We didn't speak until we reached the steps leading into the kitchen, at the side of the house. "I don't understand," I said. "What did she mean about two boys dying that night? What was that about Jack being used?"

  Dan paused, his hand on the black metal stair rail. "Jack's bullet killed Mark and he also wounded another man, who later died. It was Solomon Nesbitt's youngest son. Remember Nesbitt? That's the man who Jack mentioned, the one who runs the Wickeds. The FBI found out that Nesbitt was fighting with another leader in the Wickeds for control of the gang. Jack figures he was used to kill the son in order to hurt Nesbitt as well as to derail his own career. It almost worked. Jack redeemed himself last year in Kansas when he killed Nesbitt's oldest son, but it almost got him killed, too." He started up the steps then he turned to regard me. "I'm sorry. You don't owe me anything. If you want to keep secrets, it's your business, not mine."

  "You've kept secrets, too, haven't you?" I asked.

  He tilted his head. "What's that mean?"

  "You knew your wife was sleeping with Michael. Why did you tell me you didn't know where she worked?"

  His hand tightened on the metal knob. "I had my reasons."

  All of my renewed good humor vanished. "I'm sure you did. It's a pity one of them was because you didn't trust me." I took the steps two at a time and jerked open the door to the kitchen. It slammed against the siding of the house.

  "Genny."

  "What?"

  He started to speak but instead shook his head. "You're right. I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

  "Do you trust me now?"

  He didn't answer. "That's what I thought." I pushed past him and went inside, not sure if I was angry or sad or an odd combination of both. By the time I got to my guest room upstairs, I also felt relieved.

  "No sex tonight," I muttered as I leaned on the low dresser, my heart pounding so hard I felt nauseous. "Oh, well. I don't need it. I'm happy the way things are. I don't want that complication. It's all okay." I raised my head and looked into the mirror attached to the dresser.

  John stood behind me.

  Chapter 15

  I whirled, my face getting hot. "Amy's here," I said. "Downstairs. She and Jack Tinsley are going to make up, I think." I blurted anything I could think of to cover my embarrassment.

  "I'm glad Jack is here. I liked him. I think he truly loved Amy. I was sorry when they broke up. She deserves happiness in her life." John stood near the window, the white curtain stirring in the breeze, a breeze that brought a faint aroma of charred smoke to me where I stood near the dresser.

  "Did you hear about Paul's daughter? Someone took her. He's going crazy with fear." I sank onto the double bed, which sagged beneath my weight. I grimaced. A sore back was probably going to be in my future.

  "Why did someone take his daughter? That makes no sense."

  "That's what Dan said, too."

  John smiled wryly. "Great minds think alike. We have that in common, too."

  "What do you mean?" I paced to the dresser and back, not anxious to sit and watch him watch me.

  "He loves you. I love you."

  His words stopped me in my tracks. "He doesn't love me. He barely knows me."

  "Let's say he would love you if you give him a chance." John glided toward me, his sweat-streaked face glimmering in the fading afternoon sunlight. I'm not sure if it was a trick of the light or the fact he was a ghost, but the effect was to make him blink in and out as he moved. He stopped in front of me. "I know you loved me as much as you were able. If you love someone else now, that's okay."

  I stifled a groan. Trust John to be magnanimous. Here I was, wallowing in guilt because I feared I caused his death and there he was, forgiving me for having lustful thoughts about another man. "I didn't deserve you, John."

  He grinned and his arms went around me. For an instant, I was cold as the slick-soot touch of his turnout coat pressed against my face. There was no sensation of pressure, only a brief touch of that cool, rubbery fabric. "Deserve has nothing to do with it, Gem."

  I closed my eyes, once again swamped by that feeling of what would have happened If. What would have happened if I didn't argue with him? Would he have died that night? I raised my head to ask him.

  He was gone. "Damn it, John. Don't do that." I wiped at my tears.

  "I feel him, too."

  I whirled, almost overbalancing as I banged my hip against the wooden newel of the bed's footboard. Amy stood in my doorway, her eyes on the spot where John had been a minute earlier. "You do?" I asked.

  She nodded, coming into the room. "I feel like he's here, with us. I think he would be glad to know that Jack and I are talking again."

  I pulled her into a hug. "I know he'd feel that way. He would want you to be happy. And he always thought Jack was a good man, someone who would be good for you."

  Amy nodded, her face rubbing against my hair. "I needed to talk to Jack. I hate that John gave me the chance, but I'm glad he did." She pulled away from me, her dark gray eyes, so like John's, searching my face. "What about you?"

  "What about me?" I released her and manhandled my small roller bag up on the cedar chest that sat at the foot of the bed.

  "I saw the way Dan Steele looks at you. There's romance in your future."

  "Maybe, maybe not." I flipped open my suitcase and rummaged inside, pulling out my cosmetic bag. "Time will tell, I guess."

  She started to speak, stopped then said in a rush, "Don't wait, Genny. Time is a precious commodity. Don't put off love because it might not be convenient."

  "Love? Please, I barely know the guy." I went to the dresser and dumped my makeup tubes and jars onto the surface. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Let's go the dance, okay?" I glanced in the mirror and saw her exasperated expression. "Okay?"

  She sighed. "Sure. Let me freshen up. Jack was going to town to the talk to the police chief, so I'll ride with you and your guy."

  "Not my guy," I said, but I spoke to empty air. Amy was gone. I heard her in the hall, opening the door to her bedroom. "Why is everyone so anxious to get me paired up?" I grumbled as I dabbed on green eye shadow to match my pale green polo shirt.

  Thankfully, neither ghost nor human answered.

  *****

  "I feel guilty that I didn't get to the hospital today to see Portia," Amy commented from the front seat next to me as I drove us into town. She had changed into a lightweight dark denim skirt and white sandals that showed off her long, tanned legs. Dan sat in the back of my SUV, staring thoughtfully through the window at the farm fields and cattle who stared back at us
from behind fences on the highway that led into Tangle Butte.

  "From what Genny's mother said, your aunt will probably be released tomorrow and coming home." Dan's face flickered in and out of shadows cast from the trees lining the road.

  "What did your buddy J.T. McCord have to say about it?" I peered in the rear view mirror. I caught Amy's questioning glance. "McCord is the new police chief."

  "McCord? Didn't he date Molly Lawford back in high school?"

  "They're married now," I said, driving over the bridge and slowing as we entered the city limits. Sawhorses blocked the street at the side of the courthouse, forcing traffic to take a left turn and drive past the Law Enforcement Center.

  "That's a surprise. He jilted her, didn't he?" Amy asked. "He married what's-her-name, that girl whose father ran the construction company. It was the talk of the town when he married her. They must have gotten divorced."

  I took a left turn and headed for the municipal parking lot. "I'm sure my mother knows the entire story. Ask her." I jockeyed the car through the crowded lot, finally nabbing a spot in the fifth and last row at the far end.

  "I meant to ask you about Aunt Portia's finances," Amy said to Dan as we crossed the street and headed toward the courthouse square, two blocks away. "Did you find anything unusual? Is there anything to show why someone would harm her?"

  Good heavens, was I going completely crazy or what? I had forgotten all about that and Paul Denton's problems and about everything else as I focused on my love life, or lack thereof. "Yeah," I said. "What about the financial stuff and Paul? What did he say?"

  "His daughter was taken on her way home from work last night. He got a call telling him that if he called the police, she would disappear completely." Dan moved so he was next to me, on the outer edge of the sidewalk nearest the street. I noticed how his eyes kept darting here and there as though assessing the people ambling toward the sound of the music blaring from town. Did he really think there was danger here or was that simply a habit?

  "That's sort of open-ended," Amy said. "Don't kidnappers usually give a deadline?"

  "Yeah." Dan paused to let a small child run past us, careful to keep his cane out of the way. "The kidnappers told Jack that they would get in touch with him here. He thinks this week is critical to whatever they're planning and I tend to agree with him. The whole timing of the investigation, Bennington coming here, your aunt's illness...everything seems to be coming together right here, right now."

  "That may be true, but exactly what is coming together here and now?" I had to shout to be heard over the music blaring from the amplified speakers sitting on the front lawn of the courthouse. Now that we had rounded the corner, we received a full blast of sound in our faces.

  Dan shook his head. "Later," he shouted in return.

  Amy touched my arm and pointed through the crowd. Jack Tinsley stood opposite us across the intersection next to a tall man with white hair dressed in a dark blue police uniform shirt tucked into faded jeans. Jack saw us and raised a hand. Amy took off, wiggling through the crowds of people who watched dancers in the street gyrating to the Beatles' Paperback Writer.

  Dan put an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the wooden food booths that lined the sidewalk. "How about some 'que?" he shouted.

  I nodded eagerly. We checked all four booths and finally shopped at one for beer and another for over-stuffed pulled pork sandwiches. A spot opened at a picnic table and we nabbed it, probably because people saw Dan's cane and made way for us. I didn't care. I was shameless when it came to comfort, and if sympathy got us a good spot to sit, I'd take it.

  We sank down and dug into the food while the D.J. spun Beach Boys songs, keeping a sizeable portion of the crowd on its feet, either dancing or swaying to the music. It was a perfect night for an outdoor dance with a gentle breeze blowing, sending smells of green and growing plants our way to mingle with the potent odor of barbeque and beer. The setting sun lent a golden halo to the whole scene with the long expanse of lawn in front of the four-story limestone courthouse, the small-town storefronts across the street, and the old-fashioned streetlamps, now flickering into life as dusk settled in.

  "Lots of people here," Dan said during a lull in the music.

  I wiped a dribble of sauce off my chin. "The summer dances are big events in the county. They get a lot of folks from surrounding towns. I think on Saturday it's mostly square-dancing." I caught a glimpse of Amy, her arm linked through Jack Tinsley's, but the crowd moved and they were lost to view again. I craned my neck, trying to glimpse anyone else I might recognize. "I thought Michael might be here, but I suppose this is too small-town and informal for him."

  "That's McCord talking to Jack," Dan said, following my gaze as I watched Tinsley talking to the white-haired man again. "I wonder if he got any information from the tox reports on your aunt."

  I washed down the last of my sandwich with a swallow of beer. "I don't understand any of this," I confessed. "I still don't see what my aunt has to do with a bunch of gangsters who kidnapped Paul's kid. Why did they involve Jack Tinsley in this? What does Michael have to do with it all?" And why is my husband's ghost haunting me? I thought. And I don't know if I can trust you and I don't know how Michael caused John's death. Oh, hell. There were so many things that I didn't know, it made my head spin.

  Dan stood and picked up his empty paper plate. "Come on. Let's go somewhere and talk." He angled his way through the crowd toward a trash can and I followed, almost knocked over by two teenagers who made a dash for our picnic seats. Dan headed for the wide sidewalk that led to the courthouse steps, avoiding people sitting on the lawn on their blankets or lawn chairs.

  The east side of the courthouse was in dense shade with fewer people scattered here and there. We found a spot on a worn bench that faced the dance intersection and sat, Dan next to me. The dancers were still moving, but the music faded then was louder, alternating with the breeze that wafted sound to us.

  "What is Tinsley supposed to do?" I asked, tugging the legs of my capris to protect my knee-pits from potential splinters. I slipped off my slip-on sneakers to rub my toes into the cool, faintly damp grass under the bench.

  "He was told he'd get a call telling him where to meet the kidnappers and what they wanted." Dan appeared worried, his eyes continually going to the far side of the dance area where we could see Jack and Amy with the tall man in the police uniform. They had been joined by a short woman with dark hair dressed in red sandals, black shorts, and a red-and-black striped top. She spoke to Amy, laughter on her face, as she gestured toward the food booths. "It doesn't make any sense. The kidnappers know Jack is FBI. They can't hope to get away with it."

  "There must be another reason they did it," I reasoned. "Maybe they're assholes and they enjoy terrorizing people."

  Dan immediately shook his head, leaning back on the bench, his shoulder touching mine. I could feel the heat of his body through his blue shirt. "They're business people more than anything. This doesn't add up."

  "Well, they're people, too," I pointed out. "Maybe they're jerks. Speaking of business, what about Portia's stuff? Did you find anything?"

  "When I went through the financial statements in your aunt's portfolio, I found irregularities as we suspected." Dan leaned forward, his shoulder and arm rubbing against me. "That investment club she was involved in made a few very bad choices. Your aunt was able to recover because she didn't sink as much equity into it as others probably did. There's a record of a subsidiary fund being closed and the funds being transferred to another fund, but when I checked that second fund, there wasn't a record of a deposit until several months after the date when it should have occurred."

  "So what does that mean?" My mind blanked when he said Subsidiary Fund, not an unusual occurrence for me whenever anything financial was discussed.

  "It's possible money was removed and replaced later. I'd have to see the transaction records to be sure. But it was more than five years ago, so Portia would have to re
quest a legal audit of her account in order to verify the transaction." He turned slightly to face me. "Do you think she would do that?"

  I considered it and also considered his warm body snuggling against me. "No," I finally said. "She probably wouldn't. As long as no money is missing, I don't think she would want to rock the boat. She's friends with Michael's mother, and if Michael was involved, then, no, she wouldn't." I shrugged, my action pushing me more firmly against him.

  "I'll bet Bennington was counting on that." Dan turned to the right as Lost in Love started to play over the loudspeakers. His head tilted to one side and his hand clenched on his knee.

  I leaned forward to see what held his attention. Jack was leading Amy into the cleared dance intersection. He said something to her and she nodded at him as he pulled her into his arms. He eased them into a small circle, stepping deftly around the other more sedate dancers.

  "Sorry," Dan said softly, his eyes intent on me. "I can't dance."

  I was so surprised I almost tipped over. "I don't care."

  "Yeah, but look at them."

  We both watched Jack lead Amy around the cleared space in dips, swirls, and spins. I had never seen two such attuned dancers in person and it was an enchanting experience. Jack's arm was firmly around Amy's waist, and he kept her left hand high as he guided them around the other dancers. Amy's eyes were pinned on Jack's face as he stared down at her, mesmerizing her and willing her to follow his lead. Each of them was so lost in love that I was surprised they weren't swept away into a big cloud.

  "They're so well matched," I murmured. "They must have danced a lot when they were together before."

  "Jack said they took lessons together." Dan's mouth quirked upward. "I never would have thought Jack Tinsley would learn ballroom dancing, but he told me once that he would have gone through fire for Amy." His eyes followed them as they swirled, a wistful expression on his face. "That's when I knew he was in love."

  I felt a brief stab of jealousy. I had never felt such overwhelming love for anyone. "How long have you known him?"