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“The quiet voice. The prim manner. I get the feeling there’s a bit more to you than meets the eye.”
Feeling intimidated, I was speaking softly, even for me. I was wary, maybe even scared. Still I wondered if he could see that I was more than just a pretty face. I blushed. His compliment made me think that there might be something more to him than met my eye. Maybe he was more than just a smelly, fat, poorly dressed gnome.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Greeley.”
“Sure, Mrs. Hastings. Like I’m sure you’d appreciate catching the mister in the act, filing for divorce, getting half his loot, and keeping yourself in nice suits for a long time.”
I sat there, blinking, at a loss for words. What did he care? I felt peeved and thought about leaving. But what were my options?
I smoothed my skirt and sat straighter. “Will you take my case, Mr. Greeley?”
He laughed again. What was so funny? “Okay, Mrs. Hastings. I’ll take your case.”
He took down some information about Ed: his office, his work hours, his close friends and such. We went over the fee agreement. It was a lot of money. But I had to find out if Roz was right. What I would do next, I wasn’t sure.
When I got home, I found Ed. He was in our bed, with my biggest carving knife protruding from his chest.
*****
I opened my mouth to scream. A horrible sound came out—a cross between chalk on a blackboard and a dog undergoing torture.
Things were a blur after that. I think I called the police. Then, I might have called Roz or maybe I called the PI to tell him Ed wouldn’t be cheating on me anymore, if he ever had. I kept making calls because I didn’t want to stop and think about what I’d seen.
I couldn’t reach Roz. I tried again and again and left messages each time, each one less coherent than the previous one. In between, I nipped Ed’s scotch. I don’t normally drink, but the Scotch was out and it seemed like a good time to start. The doorbell rang. I stumbled to the door and checked the peephole. Instead of a policeman, I peered into the rheumy eyes of the PI.
I opened the door. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Your call was forwarded to my cell. I wasn’t far.” He paused and looked me up and down. “You’ve been drinking.”
I could feel myself blush. I knew that odor. When Ed had been drinking I could smell it a mile away. I broke out sobbing. Another guttural cry tore from my lungs.
“I don’t believe it. I just don’t ... ,” I blubbered.
Mr. Greeley raised an eyebrow. “If you’re an actress, you’re a good one.” He placed a sweaty, but comforting arm around my shoulders and led me to the sofa in the living room. He gently pried the bottle from my grasp and set it on the coffee table. He wiped my cheeks with a hankie, staining it with blotches of mascara. He asked where I found the body. I hiccupped “bedroom.” He walked down the hall.
I had begun regaining my composure when Mr. Greeley returned.
“Get up, Sobbing Beauty.” His tone had turned as sour as spoiled milk.
“Wh-what’s wrong?”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “There’s a lot I’ll do for a dame, but I won’t play the sap for ya.”
My jaw dropped. Why would I want Mr. Greeley to pretend to be an idiot?
Without a word, Greeley took my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom. I turned my head to avoid looking at my husband’s bloody corpse.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice snagged between a sob and a screech.
“Mind telling me what all those are about?” He gestured toward the bed.
I forced myself to look.
Next to my husband were several photographs. In shock on discovering him, I guess I’d missed them. I focused on one in which he was kissing—oh, my God! I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Greeley replied. “Your husband was a closet homosexual.”
