The Accident

I had this horrible thought that maybe Sally had been sold ineffective, knockoff prescriptions that could have contributed to her father’s death.

Sally was perplexed. “What? Why would I buy drugs from Sheila or anyone else?”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Before she died, she was thinking about starting up a little business, selling common prescriptions for way less than what they cost at regular drugstores.”

Sally’s eyebrows went up. “Wow. I could have used those.”

“No, you wouldn’t have wanted them. They could have been totally useless.” We sat down opposite each other.

Sally said, “What’s the latest on Doug?”

“All I really know is they’ve charged him.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sally said.

“Me neither.”

“I mean, we’ve worked with him for years. I never would have thought.”

Sally’s definition of “I can’t believe it” was evidently different from mine. She was shocked, but accepting. I really, truly did not believe it.

“I think I know what happened,” Sally said. “I mean, it’s only a theory. But I think once Theo realized Doug had substituted those bad parts, they got into a fight, and maybe Doug was afraid Theo would tell you what he’d done.”

“Maybe,” I said, with little enthusiasm. “But it’s not like him. I don’t see Doug shooting someone in the back.”

“A lot of people have done things lately we didn’t think made much sense,” she said, and I knew she was talking about Sheila.

“Let me get to what I came to ask you about,” I said. Sally looked at me expectantly. “I got a call from Detective Stryker. She said Theo was writing some kind of a note, maybe not long before he got killed.”

“What kind of note? Where did she find it?”

“On the kitchen table in the trailer, I think, under some other papers. Stryker said it looked like he was writing something to me. Making notes, trying to figure out what he was going to say.”

“He did that,” Sally said. “Writing wasn’t something he was all that good at. He’d jot down ideas and bits and pieces of what he wanted to say before he’d write a letter. What were the notes?”

“They were kind of disjointed, didn’t make all that much sense, but there was one thing that stood out. He said something along the lines of ‘Sorry about your wife.’ ”

“Sorry about Sheila?”

I nodded. “What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, it probably means just what it says. He was sorry Sheila passed away.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get that. Theo and I were hardly friends. Especially after that blowup we’d had. And it’s been a few weeks now since Sheila died. Why tell me now?”

Sally shook her head. “It is kind of screwy, isn’t it?”

“It’s why I asked you how well you really knew him. Do you think it’s possible Theo had anything to do with Sheila’s death?”

Sally stood up. “Oh God, Glen, really. I can’t believe you.”

“I’m just asking,” I said.

“I know you didn’t like him, that you thought he did shit work, that those truck nuts hanging off his bumper offended your fine sensibilities, but Jesus, are you kidding me? Thinking Theo killed your wife? Glen, no one killed Sheila. The only one who can be blamed for Sheila’s death is Sheila. Look, I know how much it hurts you for me to say that, but it’s the truth, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move on with your life and stop torturing the rest of us.”

“But Theo sounds like he was feeling guilty about something.”

She shook her head. She was furious, her cheeks flushed.

“This is, like, this is the most unbelievable thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said.

I stood up. I knew we were done here. “I’m sorry, Sally,” I said. “I don’t mean this as an attack on you.”

She was moving toward the front door. “I think you should go, Glen.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And I think I’d like to give my notice.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I can work for you anymore.”

“Sally, please.”

“I’m sorry, but I think I need to move on. With my personal life, with work. Maybe I just need to start all over again. I bet I could get a good price for this house. I could go live someplace else.”

“Sally, I’m really sorry. I think the world of you. We need to let things settle down. We’re all on edge. There’s been so much happening the last month. For me, for you. Take a couple of weeks off. Maybe talk to somebody. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about doing that. Some days, I think I’m going to go out of my head. Just take-”

She had the door open. “Go, Glen. Just go.”

I went.

FIFTY-ONE

Rona Wedmore had gone home with two Big Macs and a large order of fries. No Cokes, no milk shakes. There were drinks in the fridge at home. No sense paying takeout restaurant prices for something you already had at home. And besides, McDonald’s didn’t have beer.

She pulled in to the driveway of her Stratford house and let herself in.

“I’m home,” she called out. “And I’ve got Mickey D’s.”

There was no reply. But Detective Wedmore showed no concern about that. She could hear a TV going. Sounded like an episode of Seinfeld.

Lamont loved to watch Seinfeld. Rona hoped one day he might even laugh during an episode.