by Lisa King
IN THE evening Jean and Zeppo curled up on the red sofa and ate leftover rice and beans while they watched a movie on television—Out of the Past, a favorite of Jean’s.
After a commercial there was a news break, and Zeppo turned up the sound when they saw Hugh Rivenbark’s photo.
“This morning, Rivenbark’s nurse discovered his body at the bottom of a cliff behind his Mendocino County home, the same cliff where his wife fell to her death thirty years ago,” the announcer said. “A spokesman for the sheriff’s office said there is no evidence of foul play and that investigators have not ruled out suicide. More at eleven.” Zeppo turned off the sound and they looked at each other, eyes wide open.
“It was Edward,” she said. “Had to be.”
“It’s just as likely that he jumped. Think about what was going to happen to him—disgrace, a trial, prison. His life was pretty much over.”
“I hope that’s what the sheriff decides. I’d hate to see Edward suffer any more whether he killed Hugh or not.” She took Zeppo’s hand. “It really is over now, and we’re the last ones standing. It’s hard to believe that a couple of nobodies like us could make so much trouble.”
“Hey, who’s a nobody?” Zeppo said indignantly. “I just have to say the word and I can be on any daytime talk show in the country.”
“Now that’s something to aspire to.”
“Shacking up is making you nervous, isn’t it?” he said.
“Just a little.”
“Look at it this way: The place will be a lot cleaner with me here. Plus you now have your own personal one-armed sex slave.”
They settled in to watch the end of the movie, and Jean felt the familiar warm, rosy anticipation for the night ahead. Maybe, just maybe, she could stand this.