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"Yesterday morning. A police officer woke me up."

"Oh God. Do the police have any suspects or leads?"

I looked into Cynthia's eyes with a jaded scowl. "I think those fuckers suspect me."

"No."

"These two detectives were giving me shit yesterday. Since there was no forced entry or torture or rape."

"So that automatically means you did it?"

"That's what they seem to think. I don't know. They may've just been feeling me out."

Cynthia leaned back against the sofa and straightened her black suit, brushing particles of lent and strands of hair off her pants. "I tried to get a hold of you last week," she said. "I wanted to ask if you'd started anything. You go out of town?" I caught an edge of distrusting curiosity in her voice.

"I was in Barbuda. Didn't know I'd be coming back to this."

She placed her hand gently on my shoulder. "You'll get through it," she said. "You need anything, just call." She hugged me again and rose to her feet.

"Taking off?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm beat."

"You're welcome to stay at my place," I said. "It's just an hour from here."

"I appreciate that," she said, "but I'm staying at the Radison a few blocks away. I got an early flight out of Greensboro tomorrow morning. Gotta get back to New York."

I glanced past Cynthia and saw Beth Lancing making her way through the crowd towards me. She held the hand of her four-year-old son, John David. I couldn't face her.

"Take care, Andy," Cynthia said, taking my hands into hers. "Call me sometime this week, will you? Just to let me know how you're doing."

Beth now stood several feet away, waiting for me to finish. I stood and embraced Cynthia once more. Kissing her on the cheek, I said, "Thanks for coming. I'll call you soon."

As Cynthia walked away, blending into the pool of dark suits and dresses, I sat back down on the sofa. Before anyone else could get to me, Beth stepped forward with her son, and hesitantly, I looked up into her eyes. A stunning woman, tonight she wore a brown dress that dropped to her small ankles. Curly, blond hair bounced above her shoulders. As I looked into her face, I saw misery. The makeup couldn't hide the deep bags beneath her eyes. They were bloodshot, too, as if she hadn't slept in days. Weakly, I smiled at her and winked at John David, dressed like a man in his little, black suit. I stood and hugged Walter's wife, and she broke apart in my arms, her tears streaking the wool of my suit.

"Sit down, Beth," I said after a moment, and we both sat on the sofa as John David knelt on the floor and began crawling around on the dark red carpet.

"I'm sorry about your mother," she said, wiping tears from her eyes with a tissue.

"Thank you for coming," I said, but I knew why she'd really come. When I returned from Vermont, there were ten messages on my answering machine from her, wanting to know if I'd heard from Walter. "Anything from the police?" I asked, my voice soft and conciliatory. I touched her hand which rested on her knee.

"No, nothing." She shook her head. "They won't do anything, Andy. He'll have been gone a week tomorrow morning." Tears filled her eyes again. "The detectives think he left me. They won't come out and say it, but they keep asking if we had a good marriage. If he had ever cheated on me. But it makes me wonder after awhile, you know?"

John David jumped onto the sofa and snuggled up between me and Beth. His mother ran her fingers through his short, blond hair and he leaned back into her. "He asks about him constantly," she whispered, motioning to her son, and I felt tears coming from the iceberg of guilt that floated behind my eyes. "Jenna's a lot worse, though. She knows things aren't right."

"How are you?" I asked though I didn't want to know.

"If I didn't have to be strong for my kids, I might be dead. It's the nights that are especially hard." She looked down at her son, needing him in a way his innocent psyche could never comprehend. Kissing the top of his head, she smiled at him when