Too Classy for Criminals

This afternoon, I was working on the accounting project from hell.  It took two weeks, but I finally got enough courage up to take it back out of its drawer and look at it a second time.  After working steadily for a couple hours, a took a break and checked my phone. 

There was a missed call from a number I didn't recognize, and a voicemail from Sgt. Somebody calling about a criminal investigation and really needing to talk to me.

Immediately, thousands of awful scenarios were running through my head about what could have happened at the kids' schools, what goofball ex could have said about me this time, which of my friends were more likely to be involved in something requiring a criminal investigation, and of utmost likelihood, who the ex would have owed enough money to that they could gain that kind of clout.

It turned out to be none of those things, but instead, a lesson in how much information a person can scare out of me by allowing me to believe something terrible had happened and then letting me off the hook and telling me I just need to answer some questions.  In the euphoria of relief, I told that sergeant everything about the last eleven years that I could squeeze into a fifteen minute conversation, including names, addresses, phone numbers and a promise to answer anything else he wanted to ask just as soon as he could come up with more questions.

I quickly figured out that he was investigating the ex, but not for anything that had actually happened.  Also, I made a plan to never talk to anyone while I am that scared for the rest of my life, because he honestly could have been anybody and I was ready to hand over my social security number and a kidney or two in exchange for telling me I wasn't the one under investigation. 

Don't tell me any secrets, is my point.  I am not cut out to keep things secret if there is any sort of threat, real or perceived.