Dying to Know by T. J. O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

“Nothing on there that
    might get their little brains churning in the wrong direction? You know what I mean?”
    She nodded. “Of course I understand.”
    Understand what?
    Whatever their little secret was, I wasn’t in on it.
    Bear slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll take
    it up with the Captain.”
    “Am I a suspect?” Tears filled her eyes. “Am I?”
    “You have to understand. A spouse is always on the suspect
    list—always.” Bear kissed her cheek. “Forget it for now. You’ve
    had a rough morning. You okay?”
    She nodded. “You do believe me about Ernie’s house, don’t
    you? I mean, I’m not imagining things.”
    “What matters is that you believe it.”
    “And what about this? Do you know who went through my
    things—my computer?”
    53
    He shrugged. “Let it go, Angela. It’s all part of the investiga-
    tion.”
    “That’s not an answer.”
    No, it wasn’t. And when Bear shrugged and headed for the
    stairs, it was all she was going to get.
    The question was “why?”
    54
    ten
    After Bear left for the office, Angel began straightening the
    house. She cleaned fingerprint powder from the stair railings and
    doorways, bits of tape from the floor, and other crime scene rem-
    nants littered everywhere. Captain Sutter’s team tried to
    straighten things up, unlike most crime scenes, but Angel knew
    every out-of-place nuance of the house.
    She went into my den, stood in the middle of the floor, and
    closed her eyes. I thought she was going to cry again, but instead, she inhaled long and deep. She did that several times, then,
    turned around the room in a slow-motion pirouette.
    I stood beside her, watching a smile emerge in the corners of
    her mouth.
    “Angel?”
    “Oh, Tuck,” she said, dropping into my leather recliner beside
    Hercule. “I cannot believe this had to happen.”
    Hercule groaned his disapproval and sank onto the floor.
    55
    “I can still smell you, Tuck. You’re here.”
    She was talking to me, but the question was, did she know I
    was listening?
    “Yeah, babe. I’m right here. Close your eyes. Listen for me.
    I’m right here.”
    She did but her patience didn’t last. “No, dammit. You weren’t
    supposed to die.” She stood and headed for the door.
    “No. Angel, wait.” Frantic, I tried to find a lure. “Wait.”
    Hercule did. He jumped up on the recliner and barked, stand-
    ing like Rin Tin Tin and commanding her attention. He barked
    again and Angel turned around.
    “What, boy? Do you smell him, too?”
    Woof. Wag. Woof. Hercule looked right at me standing in
    front of the bookshelves and moaned. He barked again and
    glanced back and forth between Angel and me. He moaned that
    low, grumbling moan that meant he was frustrated with our fail-
    ure to understand. He saw me. He knew I was right there. He
    didn’t understand why she didn’t, too.
    She looked at him. “Herc?”
    “Angel, listen to me …” Wait, I had it. “Look in the books; be-
    hind the leather law books.”
    Herc barked at me again. Angel took a step toward the book-
    shelf, hesitated, and looked at Hercule. “What is it boy?”
    Hercule pointed his nose at me and moaned.
    “Angel, behind the books. Bear hid a file. Get it for me.
    Please.”
    Woof. Groan. Wag.
    56
    “Herc?” Then Angel startled me—perhaps both of us. She
    came to the bookshelf beside me and ran her fingers across my
    collection of mysteries and old collectables, then reached out and touched one of the leather law journals. Her eyes welled up as
    she slid one of them forward, taking it from the shelf and fanned
    it in a slow, deliberate motion.
    “I gave these to you years ago, Tuck. Did you ever read them?”
    Did she know I was right here, within arm’s reach? Did she
    know I was listening? No, she didn’t.
    She sighed and started to slide the book back into its place.
    She stopped and reached behind it, withdrawing the thick manila
    file Bear hid there. “What’s this, Herc?”
    Holy Agatha