Page 28 of Skeletons in the Closet

Kitty spent three afternoons a week semi-working. Mostly, she showed up, tidied unnecessarily, gossiped, and did her puzzles. Her refusal to fully retire was likely more to do with loneliness than anything. Kitty liked a social atmosphere and could initiate a conversation with anyone who happened to stop by. She knew every person in the building by name, and enough about their personal life, anyone would think she was part of their family. I enjoyed the company. Records clerk would be a dreary job without her presence. She was a wealth of information, and her endless stories gave me life.

Plus, I was convinced she was a witch.

“Artistic gymnastics event.” I hummed, clucking my tongue. “Umm…”

I paused the hunt I’d been doing on the two editions of theToronto StarBeth had linked to Olivia. When Diem had shuffled me out of his office two days ago, I knew he didn’t plan to involve me in the case anymore, but I was invested. I wasn’t giving up, so I’d paid for my own subscription to the newspaper—which put a painful dent in my grocery budget—and proceeded to investigate what the two editions had in common. I would find answers if it killed me, and when I did, I would present them to Diem.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Kitty exclaimed. “Uneven bars.”

She penciled the answer in the correct spot. Kitty rarely needed my help. She was far better at the puzzles, but I appreciated her attempt to include me.

“Oh, here’s one for you. You should know this with all the time you spend at that gas station place. Eleven letters. A cocktail with peach schnapps and orange juice.”

I snorted. “It’s called Gasoline. It’s a nightclub, not a gas station.”

“I know what it is. They serve drinks, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the answer?”

Kitty must have thought I spent all my time off doing nothing more than dancing and partying at gay nightclubs. I considered the clue and jotted a few drink ideas on the notepaper I’d been using. I counted the letters and eliminated a few. “It might be fuzzy navels, except that one’s plural, so maybe not. Try screwdriver.”

“Are those drinks?”

“Some of the best. I’ve had many a hangover from peach schnapps. Trust me.”

Admonishingly shaking her head, Kitty penciled a word in the book. “Let’s go with screwdriver.”

Before she could toss me another clue, I interjected. “Hey, Kitty Kat. What can you tell me about Diem Krause?”

Kitty had wheeled her office chair into the front room of the records department. She glanced to where I leaned against the counter, fiddling on the computer, acting as though it was the most flippant question and wasn’t of any importance. In truth, the burly man made me curious. He was six and a half feet of misery, mystery, and muscle.

I hated to admit it, but I liked it when he paid me attention. I liked it when he couldn’t take his eyes off me and tripped on his words. He was brooding and prickly, but when we’d been forced to hide in Olivia’s office closet at the gala, I saw beneath the surface and realized Diem’s struggles were no joke. The man had not been okay. He’d had a visceral reaction to the tight space and physical contact. I’d always assumed he had issues, but I got the sense Diem was far more damaged than I realized.

And that awareness made me feel bad for judging him on our one frigid fuck.

“Krause?” Kitty set her puzzle book on her lap and peered through her stylish cat-eye glasses. I couldn’t tell the color of the frames—they appeared as a dull grayish blue in my visual spectrum—but I had a feeling they were outside of the realm of something so neutral. Regardless, their style paired fittingly with the patterned muumuu and intricate swan-shaped barrette holding back Kitty’s wild white curls. “Now, why are you asking after Mr. Krause?”

“No reason. He came in a few weeks back looking for you. It was your day off. We got to chatting, and I was curious who he was.” Okay, not weeks, more like months, but whatever. She didn’t need to know specifics.

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “Youchattedwith Diem Krause?”

I laughed. “Well,Ichatted, and he grunted and snarled. When he found out you weren’t here, he left.”

It was a load of shit, and Kitty knew it. Yes, I’d met Diem when he’d come looking for Kitty at the end of last year. In fact, our first meeting was an embarrassing debacle that included me falling off the counter while trying to change a light bulb and landing in Diem’s arms with my dick pressed against his face. Not one of my finer moments. A hell of an icebreaker though.

But again, Kitty didn’t need those details.

About how I’d wound up bullying my way into his case.

Or how I’d caved and let him fuck me.

Kitty was a great friend, but she wasn’t Memphis. He got all the juicy details. Kitty could have the PG version if and when it was necessary.

“Diem was a patrol officer for District 14 for a while. He had a few issues with his partner and superiors, so they took him off the streets and moved him here. Gave him a desk job for a while. It didn’t go over well. No one should try to contain Diem. Anyhoo, there was a kerfuffle one day, and Diem had a few choice words, did some property damage, left, and never came back.

“Don’t get me wrong. He’s a sweetheart. I call him my cuddle bear even though his hugs are like squeezing a corpse still in rigor. That’s not his fault either.” Kittytsked. “The poor man has been through hell and back, but no one around here empathized with his struggles or recognized his steps to better himself. Losing him was a shame if you ask me.

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