Gilt Read Free

sadness and anger that I recognized. For an instant, he sounded like John. "I'm so sorry," I murmured. "It would be hard to lose your wife and your home like that just when you were looking forward to retirement. It must have been terrible."
    One corner of his mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I wasn't living there. Diane and I were separated at the time of the fire."
    My mouth opened and closed in a soundless 'oh.' Before I could say anything, a drop of rain splattered on the gravestone.
    Dan Steele didn't seem to notice my confusion. "I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you about the investigation. Do you have time?"
    "You know about it?"
    He nodded. "I still have friends in the police department. A friend called me and told me the department was reopening the case. It's typical for the police to lead the investigation. But in this case, the FBI is being called in. That means--" He looked skyward as another drop joined the first one followed quickly by another. "I'd like to talk with you about what they're doing."
    "I was going to the library this afternoon to meet someone about it." I glanced around and saw there was no car nearby. "Is somebody picking you up? Or can I give you a ride?"
    "Thanks. My car is over there." He gestured with the cane to another part of the cemetery, near the junction of two roads. "My parents are buried in that section. I stopped there before I came here. I parked near their graves."
    I led the way to my car, Steele keeping pace next me with a limping gait. We reached the car as a regular staccato of rain drops splattered the grass and pavement. I opened the passenger door and leaned into the car to move the accordion folder on the passenger seat. Lightning tore through the sky and thunder boomed nearby, making me jerk upward in surprise, bumping backward into Steele.
    He put his left arm around my shoulders to steady me then in one fluid movement he released me, took the file, twisted to drop into the passenger seat, and sat down. He swung his left leg into the car, pulled his cane inside, grasped his right leg with his right hand and dragged it inside, too. The entire action took only a few seconds to execute.
    I stared at him, amazed at such a graceful maneuver for a handicapped man. Another splat of rain on my face woke me from my trance. I raced around the back of the car and slipped into my seat as the heavens opened, buckets of rain drenching the car in an avalanche of sound and moisture. I grabbed the door and got it closed, my head and shoulders getting a thorough soaking in the process. I cowered in the driver's seat when lightning and thunder crashed overhead, flinching every time a jagged streak tore through the sky.
    Conversation was impossible given the din of the pounding rain and I decided not to try driving since I could barely see a foot in front of us. Steele said something to me but his voice was drowned by the noise. I shook my head to show I couldn't understand and he leaned over. I tilted toward him. "It will probably pass in a minute," he said, his voice loud in my ear and his breath warm on my neck. "These summer storms never last long."
    I shivered and straightened, nodding. He gestured with the file folder and said something else but I shook my head again. Steele sat back and adjusted his cane so it was tucked beside him on the floor near the car door, then he waited with the folder on his lap, watching the rain as it pounded on our now foggy windshield. His left hand tapped a gentle beat on the folder, not impatiently but almost as though he heard a melody in his head and was playing along with it. The man appeared totally placid in the middle of the chaos. I envied him his calm. Storms always jangled my nerves and I usually found a good reason to go to the basement during storms at home.
    I had no such refuge now. I hunched my shoulders and gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to grip the steering wheel. A minute or so later the downpour lessened enough so we