Page 39 of Little Last Words

“I’m a private investigator. I specialize in homicide cases.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking me up and down as if trying to decide whether I was telling the truth. “Are you for real?”

“I am. I can grab one of my business cards out of my bag and give it to you if you like.”

“I don’t like. Don’t move. You just stay where you are. How many, ahh … how many cases have you solved?”

“All of them,” I said. “Every single one.”

There was some chatter in the room, whispers about the revelation I’d just made. I ignored it, my sole focus on getting Dean to back down before it was too late.

“I’ve already been looking into what happened to her,” I said. “And I have no problem telling you what I know so far. I mean it. Put the gun down, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Do you mean it? You can find out who killed my wife?”

I nodded. “You have my word, and maybe that doesn’t mean much to you because we just met. If you give me a chance, I can help you get what you want.”

He scanned the crowd, his attention shifting from one person to another. When his eyes fell back on me, he said, “I just, I still need to talk to Penelope, one last time, and I don’t want any of these idiots trying to stop me."

“So talk to her,” I said. “But do it without the gun.”

“The gun is the only reason they’re letting me stay.”

I faced the crowd, keeping an eye on Dean as I said, “If Dean promises to hand over the gun, I need you all to promise you’ll get up and go outside, give him the time he needs to say goodbye to his wife.”

In unison, everyone nodded.

Everyone except Angelica.

She took her time, huffing and squirming around before offering a slight nod.

“All of you just made a promise, and I expect you to keep it,” I said. “Starting with the last row, I want you to file out. Do not attempt to walk toward Dean or toward me. If you do, I will stop you.”

With all the haste of a group of people fleeing a herd of charging bulls, everyone began making their way out of the chapel.

And then there were two.

Dean.

And me.

Dean dropped to his knees, the tears flowing as he said, “It’s all I ever wanted, you know … for her family to treat me with an ounce of respect.”

“Hand over the gun,” I said. “And I’ll stand with you. I’ll make sure you get the time you’ve been promised.”

With great reluctance, Dean lowered the gun and offered it to me, saying, “It’s not even loaded. I never … I wouldn’t have shot anyone.”

I pulled back on the slide, peeking inside the chamber.

He was right.

It wasn’t loaded.

Outside, I heard the whine of a police siren.

Inside, a grieving Dean spoke to his wife.

I stood in silence taking it all in, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over.