I studied Stuart. I wasn't sure what to think about him. My sixth sense didn't know what to make of him either. He seemed sane enough, although terribly grief-stricken. The grief-stricken part was what worried me. Grief-stricken always trumped sane.
With the elderly couple nearby, Stuart and I automatically lowered our voices and moved a little closer.
I asked, "Why do you think she was murdered?"
"She had received multiple death threats prior to the plane crash, she and everyone else on board."
Okay, sanity was gaining. But I had questions. Serious questions.
"Why would someone threaten your wife's life, and the others on board?"
"They were going to testify in court. She, and five or six other witnesses."
Stuart unconsciously reached for something that wasn't there. As it was, his fingers closed on empty air. I suspected I knew what they were reaching for: something alcoholic and strong. Unfortunately, we were at a Starbucks, and as far as I knew, they didn't serve any whiskeyaccinos. At least not yet.
"At the time of the crash, she was with the other witnesses?"
"Yes," he said. "They were being flown to a safe house at the Marine base in Camp Pendleton. At the time, of course, I hadn't known where the government was flying her to. I do now."
"Who was she going to testify against?"
Stuart looked at me hesitantly. I sensed I knew the source of his hesitancy. He was about to involve me in something extremely dangerous. He wasn't sure if he should. Here I was, a cute gal wearing an urban sombrero, and no doubt he didn't want to put me in harm's way.
"You can tell me," I said. "I'm a helluva secret keeper."
He shook his head.
"Maybe I should just let this go," he said.