“Well, sort of. Take a look at this.”

Jane takes the paper, a PDF copy of an old police report, with Andy Tate reading over her shoulder.

“Holy shit,” Jane mumbles.

“This could have legs,” says Andy. “But this is from so long ago. Who knows if this guy even still lives around here?”

“He does,” says Jane. “Last I saw him, at least.”

“Last you— You know this guy, Janey?”

Jane looks up at the ceiling. “Personally, not that well. Class of ’03, Grace Consolidated. He was the valedictorian of our class. Quiet, shy, kept to himself. I do remember he was a really good runner, too—really good. I saw him at the fifteenth reunion a few years back, but I don’t think we said more than two words to each other.”

Andy takes the report from Jane and reads it again. “Well, Sergeant Burke, looks like you might be having another ‘reunion’ with Simon Dobias very soon.”

BEFORE HALLOWEEN

October

51

Saturday, October 22, 2022

You wanted the weekend to think, Lauren, and I’ve been doing some thinking, too. I’ve decided to show you how important you are to me. I’m going to do as you ask. I’m going to file for divorce now, before November 3. It will cut off Vicky’s marital right to the money.

I can’t wait to tell you. I wish I could do it now. But I know you went up to Wisconsin this weekend, and I know you wouldn’t have brought your pink phone. So I’ll have to wait until Monday. I can’t wait to start a life with you!

Sunday, October 23, 2022

I can’t do it. Whatever I tell myself, I picture telling Vicky, and I picture the look on her face, and I can’t betray her like that. The symbolism alone, that I made a point of getting that divorce petition filed just under the deadline. It sounds so diabolical and spiteful. I can’t do it. I can’t crush Vicky like that.

I know you’ll understand. I hope you’ll understand. You’ll understand. Or you’re not the person I thought you were.

Monday, October 24, 2022

You wanted to meet on neutral ground, the south end of the parking lot at the Grace Country Club, which I took as a bad sign.

I arrived first, early, sweating despite the cool morning air, my heart drumming. But I was hopeful. Deep down, I felt sure you’d understand, even if you didn’t like it. And I know you don’t care about the money itself, but even if I give Vicky half, that’s still ten million dollars! That’s more money than anyone needs.

Your car pulled up and parked next to mine. When you got out, you looked tired. You looked . . . different, couldn’t really put my finger on it.

I had nothing to say. The ball was in your court. You looked like you were about to cry.

“Whatever you have to say, it’s okay,” I said, touching your arm.

You let out a humorless laugh and wiped a tear from your cheek. “Sure about that?” you said.

“I’m sure.” I was sure. Or at least I thought I was.

“I’m pregnant,” you said.

52

Simon