Violet had arrayed her late mother-in-law’s silver all over the dining room table to polish. She despised every piece and wondered why anyone would choose to own so much troublesome metal. She was halfway through some unknown variety of fork when the doorbell rang. Two uniformed officers stood there, hats in hand.

“Mrs. Thompson?”

“Yes?” Violet wished they would sell her their fundraiser tickets and move on. She had two hours until Tolly came home and tried to resist the twin temptations of bourbon and wife beating. She sighed and pushed a lock of hair into place.

“Mrs. Thompson, may we come inside for a moment to talk with you?”

“Yes, officer, of course.” Violet swung the door wide and wondered what she could offer them to eat and drink. She led them to an informal den and sat on the sofa, indicating the chairs opposite her.

“Ma’am, there’s been an accident and I’m afraid your husband’s been injured,” the older one said. She noticed he had a tiny smear of mustard in his white mustache. “Mrs. Thompson?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Well, is he all right? Is he in the hospital? I don’t understand.”

“He’s at the hospital, ma’am.” The policeman turned his gaze to his partner, who cleared his throat and added, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson, but we have to tell you he’s deceased.” Both men looked so uncomfortable Violet felt sorry for them.

“There must be some mistake,” she said. “My husband works in that hospital. They would have called me right away. I believe you have the wrong Mrs. Thompson.” She smiled sweetly and waited for them to comprehend.

“Yes, ma’am, we know Dr. Thompson works there.” White Mustache took over. “Dr. Thompson was coming down the stairs from the roof, ma’am. People at the hospital told us he liked to go up there for a cigarette sometimes.”

Violet felt ice forming in her veins. Suddenly she knew what they were going to say next, and she couldn’t let them. She tried to stand, but the younger policeman gently eased her back down.

White Mustache glanced at his partner before continuing. “It appears Dr. Thompson was drinking, ma’am. He fell down a flight of concrete stairs. There was nothing they could do to help him.”

“He fell?” That was all she could say.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital, Mrs. Thompson, all right?”

“Yes, let me get my purse.” Violet’s head swam. It was hard to see or hear anything. The younger officer took her arm and helped her up.

“Mrs. Thompson? Can you tell us if you’ve been home all day?”

“Yes, I haven’t left the house.”

“Did anyone visit you?”

“No, I’ve been alone. Wait, you don’t...”