Page 28 of Fluffed and Folded

Tristan studied him a few more beats and finally relented. “Fine, but this doesn’t leave this room.”

“Would now be a good time to tell you I’m wearing a wire and broadcasting live to my true crime support group?” Eli queried.

Tristan gave him another quelling glare.

“That one means he’s grown tired of your humor and wants to rip your ears off,” Josie inserted.

“Who am I going to tell?” Eli demanded, giving his food a sullen poke. “Sadly, you guys are pretty much the sum total of my social group now.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Josie said, patting his forearm. “You’ve dated a shocking number of insane females lately.”

“You’re right, I do feel better,” Eli agreed.

“Strangely, so do I,” Tristan said. “What do you want to know?”

“Start with Darby. Did you find out about the husband?”

This time when Josie did a spit take, she was too late with the napkin and had to use it to sop her wet chin instead. “A little warning before we blurt earth shattering information, please.”

“His name was Ham,” Eli added, and she spit again.

“Hamish, actually,” Tristan said, handing Josie more napkins. They must have been provided by her because he hadn’t owned napkins since…it was possible he had never owned napkins. If he spilled something, he used a towel.

“Hamish, that’s cute. He should have stuck with that. Who would choose to be Ham over Hamish?” Josie mused, squinting as she tried to imagine.

“A guy who owns a pig farm and is known for his quality hams,” Eli suggested.

“This is devolving,” Tristan deadpanned. “Do you want this information or not?”

“Proceed,” Eli said. He focused on finishing his food while Tristan talked.

“Darby Welsh was eighteen when she married Hamish Sullivan, twenty three when he dropped dead. In the intervening five years, it appears she’s kept to herself and barely left the apartment. She has no priors, not even a speeding ticket, and a clean credit record. As for the husband, he had a couple of arrests for drunk and disorderly in his youth, charges were pled down to a ticket. At some point he either grew up or got sober because he stopped getting into trouble, minus a few speeding tickets. His credit was spotty, too, but he cleaned that up nicely in the decade before he died. He owned this property outright, no debt, as well as the car she still drives. The only significant thing I found on him was that Darby was his second marriage. His first resulted in divorce and yielded two children, both of whom are older than Darby.”

Eli’s mind flashed at that. Did those kids have anything to do with Darby? Did she even know they existed? Likely, but she hadn’t mentioned them. “What about Asher?”

“Asher Noble was thirty four, mid-level management for a company that makes snowblowers.”

“Snowblowers? In DC?” Josie said, nose wrinkled cutely.

Tristan shrugged.

“Mid-level management doesn’t explain how he was able to afford the car he had,” Eli mused.

“No, it doesn’t. Nothing came up in my initial search, but Elyse is digging deeper on the dark web and other nefarious sources,” Tristan said.

“Elyse is so cool,” Josie said, somewhat worshipfully.

“You’re cool,” Tristan assured her, giving her pumpkin-themed cardigan a little tug.

“Have you had a chance to interview anyone else in the apartments yet?” Eli asked.

“Not yet,” Tristan said. “I wanted to run all of their names first, do some background so I’ll know how to play them.”

Eli’s phone chirped with a text.

“Is that one of your crazy girls?” Josie asked.

“You make it sound like I have a harem of them,” Eli said.

---