“Which flapdoodle is that, Deac?”
“That he was accidentally killed while hunting.”
“Sounds plausible to me. I know the guy was a real gun enthusiast.”
“What I don’t understand is how come you didn’t end up in the sack with the widow.”
Smith grinned thinly. “Because I’m a decent, law-abiding fellow.” He hung up.
He went back to his chair.
It seemed likely that Jennifer would get in touch with him. He’d been right about her husband, about what had been going on. She ought to realize that by now. He didn’t expect an apology, but at least a thank you, a goodbye.
He sat in the room the rest of the day, watching the sea go dark.
But she never called.
Ron Goulart
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