The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) by Claire Robyns

“Is there anything else you’d like to share about Lydia Fieldman?”
    Miss Crawley’s eyes lit up. “Well, I’m not sure I should say, but I did hear—”
    “If you’re not sure, then you probably shouldn’t,” I warned her, drawing from my past mistakes.
    And my loose tongue had nothing on Miss Crawley when she got going. She didn’t just repeat rumor, she created it. Look at me. One aborted kiss weeks ago and she’d saddled me with Nate’s twins. She’d have the entire town locked down under Martial Law once Nate was done with her.
    I leant in closer. “Detective Bishop doesn’t do off the record. Everything you say can and will be used.”
    Nate shoved to his feet. “Maddox, could I have a word with you outside?”
    “Right now?” I peered up at him. “We’re in the middle of an interview.”
    “Right now,” he growled and rounded the desk.
    “Is everything alright, dear?” Miss Crawley said.
    “Perfectly fine,” I assured her as I rose from the chair.
    It wasn’t, of course.
    I wasn’t a total idiot.
    But neither was Nate, and he purposely used that smile of his like a lethal weapon. All I’d done was give Miss Crawley fair warning and a moment to carefully reconsider before she spilled deep, dark secrets. She was one of ours, warts and all, and someone had to stick up for the civilians.
    Nate opened the door and waved me through ahead of him. One of those gentlemanly gestures that irked me (my backside was not my most attractive feature), but I didn’t think this was the time to pick a fight over who goes first.
    He remained in the doorway and called out, “Spinner!”
    Jack left his position by the French doors and hurried over.
    “Is Jack joining our interview?” I asked.
    “No.” Nate didn’t look at me, kept his eyes on Jack. “Spinner, new orders. Guard this door. If Maddox tries to enter, you have permission to restrain her.”
    I turned on him. “You can’t do that!”
    Jack slipped neatly between me and the door that slammed in my face. “What the hell did you do?”
    “I offered some sage advice,” I snapped. “Is that a crime now?”
    Jack shrugged. “If Detective Bishop says so.”
    “Unbelievable.” I spun away from him to pace.
    Okay, so Nate was pissed at me. I could see his point of view and I understood. But I also had a point of view, which he might have understood if he’d bothered to discuss it.
    The door popped open again before my rant built up any proper steam.
    Jack stood aside to allow Miss Crawley out.
    “Spinner, please fetch Julie Brown,” Nate said from behind them with immaculate composure. He left the door open and made his way back to the desk.
    Not an invitation, I knew that.
    I watched through the doorway as he sat down, ran a hand through his hair, tapped the notepad with his silver fountain pen.
    His eyes lifted, creased around the edges as he regarded me thoughtfully—probably silently reciting some law official’s version of the Hippocratic Oath to remind himself why he couldn’t strangle me.
    I left him to it and turned to Miss Crawley. “You weren’t in there very long. Did you say anything at all?”
    “I most certainly did,” she said with a stamp of satisfaction. “I told Detective Bishop there’s never a good reason to slam doors inside a house and then I told him I wouldn’t say another word until I’d spoken with my lawyer.”
    “Why would you need a lawyer?” I steered Miss Crawley out of Jack’s hearing and lowered my voice. “Whatever you were about to tell us doesn’t incriminate you, does it?”
    “That juicy bit of hearsay about Lydia Fieldman?” Miss Crawley flicked the very idea away with her fingers. “I don’t need a lawyer, but I’d wager her husband might need one.”
    Uh-oh. I’d wanted to stop an avalanche of dirty secrets, not withhold vital information from the law.
    I settled Miss Crawley on a sofa with a cup of tea and perched beside her. “Are you suggesting Lydia’s husband wanted