Page 61 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

By the time I woke the next morning, I had managed to convince myself that falling asleep in the sheriff’s office and waking beneath Josiah’s jacket hadn’t meant anything. It had been a long day, I’d been tired, and he’d done something kind for someone he cared about. That didn’t mean he wanted to pick up where we’d left off, and it certainly didn’t mean I should start interpreting every thoughtful gesture as evidence that we might find our way back to each other. I repeated that sensible little speech while making coffee, then promptly ruined it by remembering how carefully he’d covered me without waking me. Some mornings, being a mystery writer was a distinct disadvantage. I could construct a dozen explanations for an ordinary act of kindness, and every one of them seemed designed to make my heart ache.

Sylvester was waiting near the kitchen doorway, watching me with the solemn intensity he usually reserved for food preparation. He’d been spending more time at my place lately, although we hadn’t quite reached an agreement about whether he was visiting or moving in. I’d put out a comfortable bed, fresh water, and a bowl of food, but he still came and went as he pleased, as though he were conducting an independent assessment of my suitability as a human. When I set down my mug, he rubbed against my leg and looked up at me.

“Morning to you, too,” I told him, bending to scratch behind his ears. “I hope you slept better than I did.”

He purred, pressed his cheek against my fingers, and then followed me to the table. I’d begun to suspect that he liked having me around as much as I liked having him there, but I wasn’t about to make assumptions. I knew what it was like to have someone decide what was best for you without asking. If Sylvester wanted to make my home his own, he could do it in his own time.

While I ate breakfast, I checked my phone for messages. There was nothing from Josiah, which was probably sensible. We’d spent half the evening working on a murder investigation, and I wasn’t entitled to expect a personal message just because I’d fallen asleep wearing his jacket. I set the phone aside before I could check it again and opened my notebook instead, reviewing the property references we’d discussed. The old waterfront redevelopment still bothered me. The records showed a chain of transactions that had cost Owen Price’s family their marine repair business, but they didn’t explain why Harvey had become involved or what had happened twenty years ago that someone was now so determined to keep buried.

I was halfway through my notes when my phone rang. Ricky’s name appeared on the screen, and I answered with a smile.

“Please tell me you’re calling with something useful,” I said.

“Good morning to you, too. Have you considered that some of us might simply want to talk to our friends?”

“I have. I’ve also considered that you’re incapable of calling before lunch without a reason.”

“That is an outrageous accusation.” He paused. “Tammy heard something yesterday, and I thought you might want to know.”

I straightened in my chair. Josiah’s warning about gossip had been quite specific, and I had promised to pass along anything relevant rather than investigate it myself. “What did she hear?”

“Harvey’s ex-wife has been telling people she wants nothing to do with the investigation. Apparently, someone asked her whether she and Harvey had been in contact recently, and she got upset.”

“That doesn’t sound especially unusual. Her ex-husband was murdered. I imagine she’s had a miserable few days.”

“Of course. But Tammy also heard that the police might want to speak to her again.”

I glanced at the notebook in front of me. “Did Tammy hear that from someone involved in the investigation, or is this another case of somebody’s cousin’s neighbor knowing a deputy?”

“I'm not sure. She didn't say she had anything firsthand about the case. She just heard people talking.”

That was the problem with small-town gossip. It could point toward something important, or it could turn an ordinary conversation into a scandal before the coffee had cooled. I’d made a career out of noticing details other people overlooked, but that didn’t mean every rumor deserved my attention. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll let Josiah know there’s talk about her, but I’m not going to question anyone or try to find out more.”

Ricky sounded surprised. “You're actually going to behave yourself?”

“I can be responsible when the occasion demands it.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“Then you should stop listening to gossip.”

He laughed, and I found myself smiling as we ended the call. It was comforting to have friends who could make me laugh when a murder investigation threatened to take over my thoughts. Still, I couldn’t ignore the possibility that Harvey’s ex-wife might know something useful. If the police were already considering her, I needed to tell Josiah what Ricky had heard and let him decide what to do with it.

Before I could call, however, another message appeared on my phone. It was from Josiah.

Are you available to come by the office this afternoon? I have a few questions about the property records, and I'd like to discuss what you told me yesterday.

I read it twice, trying not to attach significance to the fact that he’d contacted me first. It was a practical message about the investigation, nothing more. I reminded myself of that while typing a reply.

I can be there in an hour. I also heard something from Ricky this morning that might be relevant. I'll tell you when I get there.

His response came a minute later.

Good. And Max? Don't go looking into it yourself.

I couldn't help smiling. Apparently, a night of working together and lending me his jacket hadn't convinced him that I was suddenly going to become obedient.

I'll be good.