“You… and the baby are the most important… You’re everything.”

His face was inches from hers and she expected his response to be a smile. But he wasn’t smiling. Or talking. Tears ran down his cheeks, tiny rivulets that hung from his chin for a moment before dropping onto the bedcover.

“Greg?” she questioned, now afraid.

“Nem, there’s something I have to tell you.”

But she already knew.

38

The police hadn’t contacted William yet. He’d run the scenario of what he’d say if they knocked on his door countless times, so much so he felt it had happened. Each time he thought about it his heart pounded and the urge to visit the bathroom came over him.

A week later he remained free but continually on guard, but his anxiety grew less as each day passed. He hadn’t left his house in days, except to grab necessities: milk, bread, eggs, and the big need, bottles of wine. The latter certainly helped.

News of Morris’ demise appeared in the papers after four days. As the agent to one of the current biggest best sellers, he was far more newsworthy in death than in life, after such a grisly end. His body washed up on a bank, three miles from where William last saw him. Though discovered within a day, identification took longer because something had gotten to him and taken a leg and savaged his face.

Nobody reported him missing, proving him less indispensable than he imagined. His secretary had been quoted as saying she believed he was away on a trip.

“He travels all the time,” she said. “So I wasn’t worried. When the police contacted me, I was shocked. I thought they had the wrong person.”

Of course Orelia made it into the news. “Devastated,” was her word. She must have repeated it in five different articles and three TV stories. Apparently, the promotion for her latest book was about to begin and they were preparing to embark on a country-wide tour. William noted she managed to include the name of the new novel and the previous one enough times in shameless self-promotion.

He felt satisfaction in knowing Morris’ passing disrupted her promotional plans. Then he reminded himself the man’s death might disrupt his own life. According to the reporter, the police were contacting his known associates to assist the coroner.

He presumed they’d get to him at some point. That they hadn’t already, showed how much water had flowed under the bridge between the two (excuse the pun). After the time he’d spent with the man, he felt insulted his name didn’t factor near the top of the list. Most likely, his file lay shoved at the back of a cabinet, where Morris must have hidden it away and hoped it would stay.

After suffering through Orelia’s appearances in the news, he got to thinking how bizarre to find himself in this position. He’d blamed her for everything, then decided she couldn’t be responsible. Now as he watched her performance, he returned to his first belief. Something wasn’t right with her.