“I’m doing all right for the most part, but it’s been tough.”
“Sure it has.” He shakes his head sadly. “Melanie was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was. I miss her.” I want to tell Vincent how Melanie asked me for a divorce the night before her murder, and how she let Frank Taylor fondle her as she walked away from me for the last time. But I don’t. Saying those things might make him think I’m bitter, or change his memories of Melanie, and I don’t want that. “She was so beautiful too,” is all I say.
He nods several times. “She was a stunner all right. I always said that if you hadn’t married her first, I would have.”
Vincent has told me that many times, but I don’t buy it. I doubt he’ll ever get married. His wavy jet black hair, gray eyes, boyish grin, and football player’s physique allow him to captivate many women with just a lock of the eyes. He uses his looks relentlessly to get women into bed. I noticed him even trying to pick up Melanie’s coworker after the memorial service, the redhead who showed up without an invitation. Vincent’s told me on several occasions that the thrill of the chase is what makes life worth living for him, and I don’t think any woman will ever be able to change that.
“I just want to get the monster who killed her,” I say grimly.
“Right,” Vincent agrees, elbowing aside a small man to make room for me at the bar. “Any progress in the case?”
“Nothing yet.” Detective Dorsey stopped by the house twice last week. He told me that he and his men were following up on several leads and said he was confident they would solve the case. “A guy named Reggie Dorsey is the lead detective, and he seems capable. He’ll figure out what happened.”
“What do you think Melanie was doing in that part of the city so late at night?” Vincent asks, swirling the ice cubes in his glass. “That’s a pretty rough neighborhood.”
“I don’t know.” I take another large swallow of scotch. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Vincent finishes what’s left in his glass and motions to the bartender that we need another round. “Have you been involved in the investigation?”
“No, I’ve stayed out of it and let the police handle everything.”
“That’s probably best.” I can tell Vincent has more questions, probably about how Melanie and I were doing near the end—Melanie’s father subtly asked me the same thing at the funeral home—but Vincent doesn’t push. “They can’t let the trail get cold. You’ve got to stay on them.”
“I intend to,” I say, finishing my scotch as the bartender hands us two more.
“It’s eerie the way you and Melanie took out those insurance policies on each other just a few months ago,” he says out of nowhere. “And now this.”
I look up and Vincent’s eyes dart away, apparently diverted by a tall brunette across the room. I told him about the million-dollar policies when Melanie first mentioned that she wanted them. I wanted to gauge his reaction to see if he found the whole thing as strange as I did. “I never understood why she did that,” I answer.
“I didn’t either,” Vincent agrees, still focused on the brunette. In the midst of the noisy bar there’s an uncomfortable pause between us. “It was all Melanie’s idea. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yeah.”
He picks the lime up off the rim of his fresh glass and squeezes it into the gin and tonic, then runs it around the rim. “So, now that you’ve only got yourself to support, when are you going to take that plunge into day trading you’ve been talking about for so long?”
I know he asked the question just to be polite and expects the same answer he’s always gotten. “As a matter of fact, I took it today.”
Vincent’s eyes flash back to mine. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.” A smile I can’t repress plays across my face. “The firm is on the ninth floor of this building. It’s called Bedford
“Sure it has.” He shakes his head sadly. “Melanie was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was. I miss her.” I want to tell Vincent how Melanie asked me for a divorce the night before her murder, and how she let Frank Taylor fondle her as she walked away from me for the last time. But I don’t. Saying those things might make him think I’m bitter, or change his memories of Melanie, and I don’t want that. “She was so beautiful too,” is all I say.
He nods several times. “She was a stunner all right. I always said that if you hadn’t married her first, I would have.”
Vincent has told me that many times, but I don’t buy it. I doubt he’ll ever get married. His wavy jet black hair, gray eyes, boyish grin, and football player’s physique allow him to captivate many women with just a lock of the eyes. He uses his looks relentlessly to get women into bed. I noticed him even trying to pick up Melanie’s coworker after the memorial service, the redhead who showed up without an invitation. Vincent’s told me on several occasions that the thrill of the chase is what makes life worth living for him, and I don’t think any woman will ever be able to change that.
“I just want to get the monster who killed her,” I say grimly.
“Right,” Vincent agrees, elbowing aside a small man to make room for me at the bar. “Any progress in the case?”
“Nothing yet.” Detective Dorsey stopped by the house twice last week. He told me that he and his men were following up on several leads and said he was confident they would solve the case. “A guy named Reggie Dorsey is the lead detective, and he seems capable. He’ll figure out what happened.”
“What do you think Melanie was doing in that part of the city so late at night?” Vincent asks, swirling the ice cubes in his glass. “That’s a pretty rough neighborhood.”
“I don’t know.” I take another large swallow of scotch. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Vincent finishes what’s left in his glass and motions to the bartender that we need another round. “Have you been involved in the investigation?”
“No, I’ve stayed out of it and let the police handle everything.”
“That’s probably best.” I can tell Vincent has more questions, probably about how Melanie and I were doing near the end—Melanie’s father subtly asked me the same thing at the funeral home—but Vincent doesn’t push. “They can’t let the trail get cold. You’ve got to stay on them.”
“I intend to,” I say, finishing my scotch as the bartender hands us two more.
“It’s eerie the way you and Melanie took out those insurance policies on each other just a few months ago,” he says out of nowhere. “And now this.”
I look up and Vincent’s eyes dart away, apparently diverted by a tall brunette across the room. I told him about the million-dollar policies when Melanie first mentioned that she wanted them. I wanted to gauge his reaction to see if he found the whole thing as strange as I did. “I never understood why she did that,” I answer.
“I didn’t either,” Vincent agrees, still focused on the brunette. In the midst of the noisy bar there’s an uncomfortable pause between us. “It was all Melanie’s idea. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yeah.”
He picks the lime up off the rim of his fresh glass and squeezes it into the gin and tonic, then runs it around the rim. “So, now that you’ve only got yourself to support, when are you going to take that plunge into day trading you’ve been talking about for so long?”
I know he asked the question just to be polite and expects the same answer he’s always gotten. “As a matter of fact, I took it today.”
Vincent’s eyes flash back to mine. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.” A smile I can’t repress plays across my face. “The firm is on the ninth floor of this building. It’s called Bedford
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