tire swing stories

There's a detective standing in the doorway of my hat shop. I can spot a cop a mile away. 

"Good evening," I say, as if he's just an Average Joe.

He takes out his badge and slides it along the glass counter. "Mrs. Taylor," he says, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

I look over his credentials, just to show he doesn't faze me. I can feel his eyes lingering on the way my dress hugs my curves, on my smooth brown hair and red lips. He's young after all, and still a man.

"Officer Delaney," I say, "do you mind if I smoke? It's murder for the hats, but when I'm alone in the shop at the end of the day, I can't help myself." 

He lights my cigarette. "Now," I say, drawing the words out, letting them linger on my tongue, "what exactly can I do for you?" 

His questions are the same as the rest. Where was I on the night my husband was killed? Do I know of anyone who might've wanted the old man dead? And I answer them all, nice and easy. 

Delaney is satisfied when he leaves the store, thanking me for my time. He passes me his card. If I think of anything, I should call. Day or night.

I close the door and flip the deadbolt. Behind the counter is a Matryoshka doll. A gift from my husband on one of his business trips. I twist open the first doll and reveal another. I open the second doll, revealing a third. 

A fourth. 

In the heart of the fifth doll is a gold key. The key to my husband's secret safe.

I'm almost in the clear. All I have to do now, is wait.