“Easy. I wouldn’t go that far. But yeah, there’s some truth in that. Something smelled off. I thought she was after your dad’s money.”

“She is.”

“But it’s not just that, is it?” Gary said. “If it was, she would’ve done this a long time ago. She wouldn’t have waited a year.”

“She said she had everything she needed after a couple of months, but it was too… what was it? Captivating, interesting. How messed up is that?”

“She sounds like a psychopath.”

“She probably is,” Scott whispered, his eyes getting glassy. A shiver moved over his ribs, making them feel fragile, like they could crack any moment. He imagined Casey’s heel; but surely it wouldn’t go there. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“All right, that’s enough. Neck that and then we’ll get another drink and figure out what we’re going to do.”

Scott drank the rest of his beer and slammed the glass down. When he made to stand, Gary shook his head and stood. “It’s my round,” Scott said.

“I reckon these are special circumstances.”

Gary walked across the bar, limping a little on his left side. It had been years, but Scott still felt like hitting somebody when he thought about what had happened. Mostly, he wanted to hit himself now; punch himself so hard he jolted back into the person he’d been.

Leaning against the bar, Gary was probably taking weight off his aching leg. He’d been in the rugby team once; he’d talked often about running marathons. In the winter, if his leg was feeling particularly bad, he used a walking stick.

Scott waited, then Gary returned, placing the beers down. “So we can assume this is personal in some way. It’s not just for the money.”

“I think that’s a fair assumption.”

“The question is why, then. Why is she doing this?”

“She wouldn’t tell me.”

“What a surprise.” Gary tapped his fingernails against the table. “We need to find out as much about Casey as we can. If she’s doing this now, I’d wager she’s done stuff like this before.”

Scott sighed. “You a policeman now?”

“Don’t huff at me. Aissa’s addicted to crime docs. She even falls asleep to them. I’ve picked up a thing or two. And accountants have to be investigators from time to time, believe me. Where can we start?”

“I don’t know. The truth is – and I know, I’m an idiot, I’m a moron, you were right – but the truth is I don’t know a single thing about my wife. I’ve never met her parents. She’s told me hardly anything about her childhood. I don’t know any of her friends. I just, I don’t know, I accepted her for what she is, was, was pretending to be.”

Scott had held her when she cried one evening, whispering into his chest that she wanted to start fresh; he wanted this Casey, the perfect woman he loved, to be the only one he ever thought of. He’d inferred it was something bad with her parents, but there was nothing else; he’d accepted everything she’d done for him like the reflex of breathing after emerging from water.