To the Grave by Carlene Thompson Page A

the fire. When Marissa finally exhausted her movie-star stories, Catherine looked in amazement at her empty dinnerware. “Well, how about that? I could have sworn I wasn’t hungry.”
    â€œYou didn’t eat lunch and only had toast for breakfast. You needed food. A piece of cake now?”
    â€œI think I’ve finally reached my limit. Thank you for dinner.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure,” Marissa said as she began gathering dishes onto the serving tray.
    Catherine could have sworn Lindsay looked crestfallen at the empty plates, and smiled. “Marissa, you have to give the poor thing something special. She’s breaking my heart.”
    â€œDon’t kid yourself. She’s practiced that heartbreaking look, but she’ll get at least one dog biscuit and maybe another bacon treat.”
    As Marissa disappeared into the kitchen, Catherine glanced at the frisky, friendly dog she’d come to love. “I know it’s only nine thirty, but I’m exhausted,” she said. Lindsay tilted her head as if she could understand her while Catherine lay down, pulled the afghan over her, and reached for the phone. “Let’s give James a call while I can still hold my eyes open.”
    2
    James Eastman stood in the front yard of the little cottage. Under a sweeping panorama of glittering stars, the place looked even smaller and more forlorn than it did in the daytime. Crime-scene tape still stretched around the area of the porch and the cistern and sealed the front door.
    â€œWhat did you say, sweetheart?” James asked into his cell phone. “Sorry, my attention wandered for a minute.”
    â€œI asked what you’re doing,” Catherine repeated. “You don’t seem to be listening to me.”
    â€œI’m just sitting in my apartment reading,” James said, and could have shot a whip-poor-will that decided to emit a loud call. “Got a nature show on television, but I can’t concentrate on the reading or the TV. I am listening to you. I’m just tired and you sound the same way. I think we should both go to sleep.”
    â€œIn different beds.”
    â€œIt happens about five nights a week anyway and it’s best for tonight. You can toss and kick and mumble all you want.”
    â€œYou’re the one who tosses and kicks and mumbles,” Catherine said.
    â€œThat’s not true. Tell you what. If when I see you tomorrow you tell me you haven’t slept, I’ll take you on a five-mile run.”
    â€œThen I promise I’ll sleep.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought. Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”
    James Eastman clicked off his cell phone, wishing he could talk to Catherine longer but knowing he couldn’t without getting onto the subject of Renée.
    Renée who was dead. James knew many people in town thought she’d died at his hand years ago. He’d endured the innuendoes and rumors, pretending they didn’t faze him, but they’d embarrassed, infuriated, and deeply hurt him, which he’d been certain that Renée had hoped would happen. When he’d finally decided she wasn’t coming home on her own to get a divorce, he’d begun the formal search for her, legally necessary in order to acquire a quiet divorce on the grounds of desertion. To his relief, when she had not been found within a year the divorce proceedings began and ended quietly. He didn’t have to think about her anymore. He could begin a new life.
    Except that now, after what Catherine had found, he couldn’t begin fresh as the memory of Renée Eastman faded from everyone’s minds. When she was alive, most people who knew her had disliked or even hated her. But people’s sympathy could change overnight. James knew many people would suddenly feel sorry for Renée when they knew she’d ended up dead. Worse than just dead. She’d been shot in the head and stuffed in a cistern to rot.
    James