Page 63 of Skeletons in the Closet

I peered up from my food, curious if Kitty would elaborate. If Hazel was Diem’s grandmother, then her son was likely Diem’s dad, and I had a gut feeling the guy was bad news.

Kitty didn’t add to the conversation and resumed scanning her puzzle book.

I didn’t press. She would tell me everything I wanted to know if I asked, but it felt deceptive and unfair. After spending more time with Diem, I was putting the pieces together on my own. I still wasn’t sure what to think of our encounter at his apartment after our failed stakeout Friday night. The encounterI’dinitiated.

The sex had been… I wasn’t sure how to define it, but God help me, the man had tried. I’d witnessed the struggle behind his eyes through the entire thing. In the end, he had been absolutely incapable of bridging the gap and showing any sort of intimacy. I wanted to be frustrated, but every time I thought about the anguish in Diem’s eyes, all I felt was sad.

All weekend, I flashed back to him telling me he wasn’t a good person. The way he’d said it told me he believed it, too.

More than once, I replayed the incident outside Beth’s house. The way I’d startled him. The way he’d reacted. The man had been a hairsbreadth from decking me. But he hadn’t. And the moment he’d realized what he’d done, he’d looked devastated. I was surprised he hadn’t kicked me out of the Jeep then and there and vanished into the night.

Kitty plugged away at a puzzle while she ate. Every now and again, she spoke a clue out loud. Like always, she came up with the answers on her own. My help was trivial at best. The records department’s computer was in front of me, so I fiddled while I ate, ending up on the Monday edition of theToronto Star.Hell, I’d paid for a freaking subscription. I might as well keep up to date with the local news and get my money’s worth.

I skimmed most articles, breezing past the boring political ones and studying images where they occurred. Scandals, assaults, construction updates, local protests, international affairs, crop concerns, weather. It was a snoozefest. A few pages in, a headline caught my eye.Police Looking Into the Suspicious and Sudden Death of 33-year-old Beth Rowell Early Saturday Morning.

“What the fuck?” I sat upright, blinking at the screen, reading and rereading the words because I was certain I’d made a mistake.

Kittytsked my language. “Now, now. We don’t need words like that around the office, Tallus. You know better.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, blowing up the article and scanning the body of it while scrambling blindly for my phone.

It had to be a mistake. My thoughts spiraled in a hundred different directions as the phone rang.

No answer.

I called again, letting it ring until Diem’s voicemail picked up. Nope, not good enough. I hung up and called again.

Six rings, and the call connected. I earned a typical growl for my efforts. It said everything without saying anything at all.

“Well, don’t ignore my calls. Trust me, Guns. I have far more stamina than you give me credit for. I’m a persistent bitch when I want to be. Are you at the office?”

Uneven breathing came through the line.

“Hello?”

Diem grunted, but I couldn’t tell if he was answering my question or giving me hell for giving him hell.

“I swear to god, if you’re being awkward because of Friday night, stop it right now. If you’re just being you… stop that too. Are you at the office?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet and unusually meek.

“Good. Check out today’s edition of theToronto Star. Page six, halfway down.”

I earned another grunt and rolled my eyes. We really needed to work on communication. I waited, eyeing Kitty who eyed me back with a knowing look. “Mine your business, witch,” I whispered with a smirk.

“Shit.”

I refocused on the phone call when Diem’s exclamation came through the line.

“Right? What the ever-loving…” I glanced at Kitty and cleared my throat. “Fudgesicle.”

“Shut up, I’m reading.”

“I’ll sum it up for you. Our girl is dead. Bye-bye. No more. Gone. Finito. Apparently, her husband found her on the couch Saturday morning. No evident cause of death. No rhyme or reason. Possibly natural causes. It’s bullshit. Why would the police be looking into it if she died of natural causes? Why would they beinvestigating,as the headline so clearly states? D, this is nuts.”

Diem made a collection of noises, none of them words. None of them made sense.

“Diem, I swear to god, if you don’t—”

---