Chapter 40

“So we can grieve together,” he said, pulling me against him.

“And how do we go about that, Beckley?”

“Sex,” he confessed. “And lots of it. Together. Just you and me. Then we will heal.”

I laughed.

He laughed.

Then we set our drinks aside, became completely naked, and did exactly what he had suggested. 48: More Questions

September 15, 20—

7:47 A.M.

287 Willow Street

Beckley Roarke was squashing me with his two-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds of athletic muscle. I squirmed out from under his snoring and limp body because my cellphone was buzzing. The squirming was next to impossible, but I managed.

Once I fetched the cellphone from the dresser, which sat on the opposite side of my bedroom, I picked it up, pressed a familiar button to speak, and said, “Hello.”

“Do you honest to God think I murdered Tad Dossner and Jamie Bodice with a Viper helmet?” It was Rod Peterson calling, asking me the question with outrage in his tone and an unpleasant demeanor.