N Is for Noose

snow. There were times when I thought he was going to snap, but that might have been my imagination. He really never said a word."
    "Sounds like he was under some kind of strain."
    "Exactly. That was my thought. Tom was clearly stressed, but I don't know why and it's driving me nuts." She picked up her cigarette and took a deep drag and then tapped the ash off in a ceramic ashtray shaped like a hand. "Anyway, that's why I called Dietz. I feel I'm entitled to know."
    "I don't want to sound rude, but does it really make any difference? Whatever it was, it's too late to change, isn't it?"
    She glanced away from me briefly. "I've thought of that myself. Sometimes I think I never really knew him at all. We got along well enough and he always provided, but he wasn't the kind of man who felt he should account for himself. His last couple of weeks, he'd be gone sometimes for hours and come back without a word. I didn't ask where he went. I could have, I guess, but there was something about him… he would bristle if I pressed him, so I learned to back off. I don't think I should have to wonder for the rest of my life. I don't even know where he was going that night. He told me he was staying home, but something must have come up.
    "He didn't leave you a note?"
    "Nothing." She placed her cigarette on the ashtray and reached for a compact concealed under her pillow. She opened the lid and checked her face in the mirror. She touched at her front teeth as though to remove a fleck. "I look dreadful," she said.
    "Don't worry about it. You look fine."
    Her smile was tentative. "I guess there's no point in being vain. With Tom gone, nobody cares, including me if you want to know the truth."
    "Can I ask you a question?"
    "Please."
    "I don't mean to pry, but were you happily married?"
    A little burble of embarrassed laughter escaped as she closed the compact and tucked it back in its hiding place. "I certainly was. I don't know about him. He wasn't one to complain. He more or less took life as it came. I was married before… to someone physically abusive. I have a boy from that marriage. His name is Brant."
    "Ah. And how old is he?"
    "Twenty-five. Brant was ten when I met Tom, so essentially Tom raised him."
    "And where is he?"
    "Here in Nota Lake. He works for the fire department as a paramedic. He's been staying with me since the funeral though he has a place of his own in town," she said. "I told him I was thinking about hiring someone. It's pointless in his opinion, but I'm sure he'll do whatever he can to help." Her nose reddened briefly, but she seemed to gain control of herself.
    "You and Tom were married for, what, fourteen years?"
    "Coming up on twelve. After my divorce, I didn't want to rush into anything. We were fine for most of it, but recently things began to change for the worse. I mean, he did what he was supposed to, but his heart wasn't in it. Lately, I felt he was secretive. I don't know, so… tight-lipped or something. Why was he out on the highway that night? I mean, what was he doing? What was so precious that he couldn't tell me?"
    "Could it have been a case he was working on?"
    "It could have been, I suppose." She thought about the possibility while she stubbed out her cigarette. "I mean, it might have been job-related. Tom seldom said a word about work. Other men-some of the deputies would swap stories in social situations, but not him. He took his Job very seriously, almost to a fault."
    "Someone in the department must have taken over his workload. Have you talked to them?"
    "You say 'department' like it was some kind of big-city place. Nota Lake 's the county seat, but that still isn't saying much. There were only two investigators, Tom and his partner, Rafer. I did talk to him-not that I got anything to speak of. He was nice. Rafer's always nice enough on the surface," she said, "but for all of the chit-chat, he managed to say very little."
    I studied her for a moment, running the conversation through my bullshit meter to see what would register. Nothing struck me as off but I was having trouble understanding what she wanted. "Do you think there's something suspicious about Tom's death?"
    She seemed startled by the question. "Not at all," she said, "but he was brooding about something and I want to know what it was. I know it sounds vague, but it upsets me to think he was withholding something when it clearly bothered him so much. I was a good wife to him and I won't be kept in the dark now he's