“Yeah, but I caught ’em, and they’re doing their time.”
Both men laughed.
“How’s Sal?” Mark asked, picturing his large friend’s petite wife. “Or has she left you yet?”
“You wish. She’s great, and so are the kids. Ralph Junior is nearly ten.”
“No way.”
“It’s true. Last week a girl called the house and wanted to talk to him. I nearly had a heart attack.”
Ralph was a devoted husband and father. Mark had always admired his friend’s ability to keep the job away from his family. When Ralph left the police station every evening, he was a hundred percent with his wife and kids. Mark had spent many happy evenings with the Wayne family.
“So what’s new at the department?” Mark asked.
Ralph hesitated. “Actually, that’s why I called. I’ve got some news.”
Mark stiffened. “Sylvia?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she change her plea again? Wasn’t the last one innocent by reason of insanity? Or is it time for me to come back?”
Mark didn’t want it to be the latter. He knew that Sylvia would do whatever she could to avoid trial for as long as possible, but eventually she would run out of options. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York to testify against her or having their private life played out in such a public forum.
When he’d first come back to Whitehorn, he hadn’t wanted to see her again because he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been about her. Now he didn’t want to see her because she no longer mattered. He’d done his best to put her and her actions behind him. He wanted to move on.
“It’s not about the plea,” Ralph said. “It’s…oh, hell, Mark. I don’t know a good way to say this. She’s dead. She killed herself.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mark heard the words but didn’t believe them.
“Mark?” Ralph asked. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mark didn’t know whathewas. Shocked, maybe. Stunned. His chest hurt, as if he couldn’t catch his breath.
Dead. Sylvia was dead. She’d finally found a way to avoid being punished for what she’d done. He’d known she would go to extremes, but this? Was it possible? Had she simply given up or had this been part of a plan?
“I don’t know what to say,” Ralph admitted. “I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone, but—”
“Don’t sweat it,” Mark told him, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m glad you were the one who called. I gotta go. Give my love to Sal.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“Sure.”
Mark didn’t know if he was lying or not as he hung up the phone. Dead. Sylvia was dead. He tried to figure out what, if anything, he was feeling.
His body felt entirely empty. As if everything that had already gone on before had drained him of all emotion. Unfortunately, the space quickly filled. He closed his eyes to block out what had happened before, but the action didn’t help. Memories swamped him until he was drowning in the past.
He’d met Sylvia about three months after he’d moved into a new apartment. She’d been his next-door neighbor. He still recalled rounding the corner and finding her balancing too many packages while she dug in her purse for her keys that hadn’t been there. She’d been a pure New York woman cliché—tall, thin, dark hair, dressed in black and beautiful. She’d charmed him with a smile and before he knew what had hit him, he’d been ushering her into his place, pouring wine and spilling his guts about his background while they waited for the locksmith.
She’d been smart—she’d made him laugh. He’d adored her big brown eyes, her full mouth, the way she absently touched him when she’d been reading the paper. He’d been so damn sure she was the one.
