Cut to the Quick by Dianne Emley

cancer.
    She quickly took a cool shower and put on a light cotton nightgown. She pulled back all the bedcovers except the top sheet.
    The pearl necklace was still atop the dresser.
    Without questioning why, she put it on, only the second time she’d ever worn it. The pearls gave a cool jolt to her feverish skin. T. B. Mann was, after all, the most important man in her life. He had jealously edged out anyone else. She’d tried many ways to manage him in her life, from blind obsession and overt challenges toattempts to put him behind her to living with the slow-burning rage in her belly, that crystalline bullet lodged within her, leaching its poison. Nothing worked.
    She had no explanation for what she was doing now. She was working on instinct. Something was happening. Something had changed. She’d become aware of it at the murder house that morning. She and T. B. Mann were inexorably tied. He’d tugged on the invisible skein of spider’s silk and she’d felt it, as if he were a fly caught in her web. Or perhaps she was caught in his.
    She wore the necklace to bed, risking it penetrating her dreams, in a gesture to say, “I hear you.”
    She closed her eyes and quickly dropped off to sleep, faster than she would have thought possible given the day’s events. Right before she did, she swore she heard the wind chimes tinkling as if an invisible hand had brushed across them.

EIGHT
    H appy Labor Day from Hello L.A . We’re glad you’re spending this lovely Monday morning with us. Hopefully later, you’ll be headed to the beach, the park, a movie, shopping, or someplace else fun and cool. By cool, I’m not just talking about making a fashion statement. It’s gonna be a hot one today. Remember to drink plenty of fluids. Right now, we’re gonna work on keeping you happy right here on Hello L.A . To help do that, I’m delighted to introduce a very special guest.”
    Dena Hale was bright and polished, decked out in a peach skirt suit with a scoop-neck white top that showed off her tan, gams, and famous cleavage. She had pulled herself together in spite of the grueling events of the previous day and night. The media had descended on the murders like white on rice. News vans had lined up outside the gates of their home by the time she’d returned from the Pasadena police station.
    The detectives had downplayed the tense interview as simply seeking information, but she knew they considered her husband and possibly even her suspects in a murder-for-hire scenario. She didn’t give their questions a second thought, knowing they were grasping at straws, but Mark had been in a state last night, convinced he was going to be arrested for the murders.
    Dena had called Leland Declues, the attorney they used for business and personal affairs, and he had been kind enough to stop by. He tried to calm Mark, reminding him that the police needed evidence in order to arrest him, evidence stronger than him having bitter arguments with his business partner. Big deal. Still, when Declues suggested the name of a good criminal defense attorney, Mark’s anxiety skyrocketed.
    Dena understood her husband’s concern—she was concerned too—but found his distress disproportionate to the circumstances. But then, he’d been on a downward spiral before the murders. The negotiations with Drive By Media had really rattled him, making Dena wonder what was actually going on. She feared where this new development would lead.
    Declues and Mark had polished off a bottle of pinot noir, with Mark drinking most of it. After the attorney had left, Mark started in on the vodka while Dena handled the phone calls that came in from concerned friends and family—and the voracious media.
    She hated it when Mark drank like that and especially hated her kids seeing it. Her sobriety and his drinking had been a big problem between them ever since the old man, Mark’s father, had died. She and Mark had both taken the pledge after she’d crashed her car that night