It took a while, and we had to accompany them to the local State Police barracks to give our statements. We never mentioned the book, which Sabrina had retrieved and put in her pocketbook, but we did talk about the mystery to some degree and referred them to Sabrina's detective in Boston. Our attacker wasn't talking. In fact, he didn't say a word. When they found out who Sabrina was, they were fawning all over her. I was invisible, once again. By the time we got out of there, several Boston news stations had their trucks parked outside the police barracks. After all, a murder in Vermont was big news. A murder in Vermont by a famous mystery author was even bigger news. Sabrina talked to the press for a few moments, and even though she did well, considering the situation, and charmed them to no end, I could see that she was uncomfortable almost to the point of shutting down. After a few minutes, I hustled her away.

We decided to head back to Boston and the privacy of her hotel room. Sabrina hadn't said a word since getting in the car, and once I was away from the circus we had just left, I pulled over in the first rest area we came to.

We hugged, and that's when she let it out. The tears came and she shook in my arms. Oddly enough, I had already done my shaking and was able to be a support to her without breaking down myself. I just let her cry. I didn't know if it was memories of killing her husband coming through, or memories of prison. It was probably a combination of both of them—and maybe other things as well. After all, she had just killed someone, and her name was going to be plastered all over the news. I wisely refrained from telling her that it would help her book sales.

Things were better after the cry and we talked a bit while I drove. Then Sabrina fell asleep. I let her sleep and drove in silence, thinking about all that had happened. We arrived at the hotel around daybreak. A few minutes later, we were both sound asleep in the safety of her room.

Chapter 25

We only slept a few hours. Between the leftover adrenaline and cell phones vibrating all over the table—shutting them off would have been the smart thing to do, but we were zombies when we got to the hotel and clear thinking eluded us—we were up by eleven.

I called my mother in England. She heard the news and had left six messages. I also called Mo, who had left three, and Seymour, who had been asleep and hadn't heard the news yet. I wasn't sure if he would have called me even if he had heard.

Sabrina had concerned calls from her editor and agent, and another from her publicist. Thirty seconds into the third call she slammed down the phone.