The Second Wife by Brenda Chapman Page B

your second.”
    â€œMaybe, it’s the start of the slide.” Cal shifted and a stack of papers fell over. He tried to straighten them, but a second pile landed on the floor.
    â€œForget it,” I said. “Touch one more thing and I’ll have to handcuff you to the wall.”
    Cal smiled an apology before his mouth turned down at the corners. “You see, Gwen, a woman’s body matching the size of Marjory White was just found in the woods off Interstate 35. Too bad it’s been such a hot summer. There’s not much left of her. We’re making an id through dental records as I speak.”
    My heart felt like a can of pop that had been shaken and then opened. “It won’t be her,” I said. “There’s no way that’s Marjory.”
    â€œWe’ll have our answer soon enough.” Cal grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sorry about all this, Gwenny. I know you and Brian were happy once.”
    â€œYeah. Once upon a time, but I’ve moved on.”
    â€œThat’s good. Because it’s not looking like there’s much of that happily-ever-after shit for any woman stupid enough to marry him.”

CHAPTER THREE
    T wo days later, Marjory White’s body was id’d, and the day after that Brian was charged with first-degree murder. Cal arrested him at home and put him in the city jail. His bail hearing was set for the following week.
    As usual, the bad news traveled through the station like a head cold. When it finally reached me, I was sitting at my desk eating a ham and cheese sandwich. The shock hit me hard. I had to bend over and put my head between my legs, or I would have passed out. Jan Hill from hr brought me a cup of tea and two stale cookies from a bag she kept in her desk drawer. She patted me on the back and said she was there if I wanted to talk. The detectives and patrol officers tip-toed around me all afternoon as if I was about to crack. Cal Rodgers wisely stayed in his office.
    I spent the next two days going through the motions. Each morning I got up and put on the same clothes as the day before. Then I went to work and sat at my desk, staring into space. In the evenings I sat in front of the television and changed channels with the remote. I couldn’t believe that a man I lived with for twenty-two years was a killer. I couldn’t accept knowing that Marjory had come to me for help and I’d turned her away. The guilt weighed heavily.
    By Thursday morning I’d had enough of grieving for the man I’d never really known and the woman who stole him from me. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and shook my head. There were dark circles under my eyes. My face was pale and my hair was a mess. It was time for a shower and a day off. I had to pull myself together. “He’s not worth it,” I said to my reflection.
    I stood in the shower and let hot water rain down on me for twenty minutes. Then I dressed in clean sweat pants and a yellow T-shirt. I walked into the kitchen and plugged in the coffee pot. Two cups and the fog began to lift.
    I got the newspaper from the mailbox and settled at the kitchen table. I skimmed the pages, not letting my eyes rest too long on any disturbing articles about politicians or pretty actresses in rehab. I flipped to the personals section and kept skimming. My eyes doubled back. I’d almost missed the notice of Marjory’s funeral above the real-estate ads. She was to be buried that afternoon in Forest Hill Cemetery. First, there was to be a private service in a downtown chapel.
    I raised my head and looked out the kitchen window at the line of lilac trees at the end of our property. Brian and I had planted them the second year we lived in this house. He’d told me they’d keep growing long after we’d moved into an old-age home together. I’d believed everything he’d told me back then. It had taken me a long time to accept that he