Page 68 of Sinful Fantasy

I snort, but I bring my mug up to hide the smirk on my lips. “No. I don’t think she did it. But I want her take on the reality of the situation first. Her family was established. His death is a massive blow for the Wilsons. Thank you, Officer.” I nod toward the uniform guarding Lori’s door and tuck the folder under my arm to free my hand.

Letting myself into the room, I catch instant awareness from a red-faced Mrs. Wilson. A woman scared out of her brains.

“Lori.” I show her a friendly smile and set my things down on the table across from where she sits, while behind me, Fletch wanders in and closes the door to shut us in. “We really appreciate you coming down today.”

“Have you got news?” She wipes a tissue beneath her nose and sniffles. “The medical examiner’s office said they’re not ready to release his body yet.” She sniffs again. “We can’t bury him, Detective, until you say we can.”

“I understand.” I lower into my chair and sit back to study the shaking woman. The purpling beneath her eyes that says she hasn’t slept in days. The chipped nails and red streaks on her fingers from nervous biting. “Detective Fletcher and I are working hard to find answers for you, Lori. But we have questions too. We need help filling out this picture a little more.”

“Wh-what do you need to know?” Her hair, blonde but sprinting toward gray, is disheveled today. Messy and dry, much like her face. “If I can help, I will.”

“Roger’s dealings in Florida.”

“What about them?” She drags the heel of her palm across her cheek to collect fallen tears. “We’ve already talked about that.”

“We have,” I agree, as, on my left, Fletch pulls out a chair and settles in beside me. “But we didn’t discuss Sherry Pickford.”

“Sher—” Confused, Lori frowns. “I don’t know that name.”

“What about Gordon Pickford?” Fletch wonders. “Heard of him?”

“No, I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know that person.”

“Have you heard of Aaron Davies?” I ask.

“No—”

“Benedict McArthur?”

“N—”

“What about Kyle Andrews?”

“Yes!” She sits taller and warms, as though pleased to get a multiple-choice question correct. “Yes, Kyle Andrews was a colleague of Roger’s. I believe he’s from Florida, too, though he’s been to Copeland.”

Fletch narrows his eyes, ever so subtly. “You’ve met Kyle?”

“No. Not me. But Roger has had dinner meetings with him in the past. He’s in our calendar sometimes, because they need to meet for business. I don’t know… I don’t know who those other people are, though.”

“Okay. Before we go…” I stand and head to the door without explanation, and poking my head through the gap I make, I ask the officer on the other side, “Can you get me a piece of paper and a pen real quick? I forgot to bring some in.”

“Yes, sir.” He dashes to the printer just ten feet away and yanks a sheet from the feeder tray. Then he takes a pen from his breast pocket and presents both to me. “Detective.”

“Thanks.” I close the door and turn back to my waiting audience.

“Mrs. Wilson, I already have a lot of this in my reports,” I wander back to the table and set the paper in the middle. “But can you list your children’s names and ages here, please?” I pass her the pen, and show her an easy smile when her eyes slit dangerously thin.

Don’t fuck with a mama bear’s cubs.

“Please,” I repeat softly. “I assure you, they’re safe and not in trouble.”

Fletch watches me from the corner of his eyes, curious, but he doesn’t interrupt as Lori shakily takes the pen and quietly scribblesGrayson, aged seventeen. AndCary, aged fourteen.

Swallowing, she studies what she’s written, like she fears she’s signed their lives away, but she sets the pen down and looks up at me. With fat tears flowing from her eyes, she asks, “What’s wrong, Detectives? What’s happening with my children?”

“Everything is okay.” I pat the top of her hand and take the sheet of paper as I straighten out. “Detective Fletcher and I will be back shortly, okay? If you need coffee or tea or a trip to the bathroom, tell the officer outside the door. He’ll take you wherever you’d like to go. Fletch.” I turn on my heels and fold the paper in half two times to hide what’s written inside. “Let’s go.”

The second we’re out of the room and the door closes, he’s on my heels. “What was that about? What about her kids?”

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