The Trouble with Temptation by Shiloh Walker

detective in the dim light of the bullpen and saw the same weariness he felt.
    The past week had been nothing but endless, meandering circles. They’d questioned more than forty people—and those were just people from Shayla’s little blackmail ring.
    Word was getting out, too.
    Earlier that day, Gideon had gone to the diner to grab a burger and Patricia Mouton—and her ever-present, pudgy little pug of a dog—had stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk. This time, Mrs. Mouton hadn’t bent his ear about a ticket she’d received because her sweet little Samwise had been crapping all up and down the sidewalk—no, sir. Mrs. Mouton had been pale and tight-lipped and she’d asked him to take a walk with her and Samwise.
    While Samwise panted and puffed his way up and down Main, Mrs. Mouton had talked about a time when her and Mr. Mouton hadn’t gotten along so well, a time when Mr. Mouton had actually gotten along better with Karen White—the lady who owned Bygone Treasure—you know, the B&B just down the way from the museum?
    She’d danced around the subject while Samwise danced around their feet before she’d finally leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I heard there was a tape .”
    A tape.
    He’d just stared at her blankly.
    “A tape … of Mr. Mouton with Mrs. White .”
    He could have ripped out his hair.
    He’d wasted more than a little time telling her that no such tape had been found. Now he had to worry about maybe one turning up. He sure as hell didn’t want to watch Mr. Mouton and Mrs. White going at it. But now he’d have to talk to them both. All because Patricia Mouton found something else to obsess over besides her dog’s right to shit on the sidewalk.
    The whole thing was a fucking mess. Grumbling under his breath, he tried to clear up the chaos of his brain.
    “Sir?”
    Deatrick cocked a straight brow up, a puzzled look on his thin, aesthetic face. Deatrick looked like he belonged behind a podium, teaching in-depth lectures on chemistry or physics—or maybe in a robe, with a wand in hand. He looked … scholarly, with his narrow face and big dark eyes set under those slashing brows. He was tall and thin and the man had been born a cop.
    Now he was back in McKay’s Treasure and he had the case of a lifetime on his hands.
    It was, Gideon knew, the kind of puzzle that would keep a cop like Deatrick working and working until he’d solved it.
    Gideon understood that because he was the same way.
    But the case was getting more complicated by the minute and they barely had the manpower to take care of the small town as it was. Now they had a murder to solve and the list of suspects was getting longer and longer.
    “It’s a mess,” he said, clarifying his thoughts for Deatrick. “I realize that Shayla didn’t go and get herself murdered to complicate my life, but she went and complicated it nonetheless.”
    A sardonic smile lit Deatrick’s dark face. “I’m sure that will give her soul some pause, chief.”
    Gideon snorted. Then he looked up at the clock. “We’re going to have to call it a night.”
    Deatrick frowned, but nodded. They’d already decided they were going to have to keep this between themselves for as long as they could, although realistically, they were probably at the point now to where they’d be bringing in at least one or two others soon.
    People knew something was going on. Specifics? Nah, they didn’t have those, but while Treasure had its share of idiots, most of the people in town weren’t stupid and they had put two and two together.
    Something wasn’t right.
    That Gideon and Deatrick had kept things quiet as long as they had was saying something.
    But people were getting restless, curious and scared and once that happened, it would be harder—and more dangerous—to hide shit.
    “I heard Hannah Parker’s name go out on the radio.” Deatrick eyed him across the table.
    Gideon grimaced. Reason numero uno why he was calling it quits. He had to check on