—
Apel left the house and drove downtown to Trudy’s Hi-Life Consignment and went inside, where the owner was sitting in a high-backed, broken-down chair, looking at her laptop screen.
She jumped when he came in—not many people came in—he having banged the door open in his haste. She said, “Davy,” and he said, “Trudy.” He walked over to her, put his hands on the back of the chair, imprisoning her, put his face six inches from hers, and said, “I’m going to ask you an important question and you better tell me the truth or, honest to God, I’ll stomp a major mudhole in your ass. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Davy...” She shrank back in the chair.
“Was Ann fuckin’ Glen Andorra?”
“Davy, I’m-a... I’m-a... I’m-a...”
“Stop the ‘I’m-a’ shit. Was she fuckin’ Glen?”
She tried to shrink back even farther, which was impossible,and he leaned even farther into her, and she finally muttered, “Maybe...”
“Maybe? Maybe? WAS SHE FUCKIN’ GLEN?”
She stared at him, and then said, “I don’t want...”
“WAS SHE?”
Trudy was pale as a winter sky now, and she said, in a voice that was barely audible, “I think so...”
“THINK?”
“Yes... Yes, she was... For a while... I’m so sorry, Davy. I didn’t know your marriage was so troubled. When she told me that you were going to divorce, I could hardly believe it...”
“I can hardly believe it myself,” Apel said, “since this is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“That’s impossible,” Trudy said. “She said you haven’t been sleeping together for a year.”
Apel twisted away from her, rubbed his forehead. “Oh, horseshit, we’re still doing it all the time.”
“That’s not what she...”
Apel: “Okay, not all the time. But a couple of times a month anyway.”
“She said... Never mind.”
“WHAT?”
“Oh, God, please don’t tell her you talked to me. She’s my best friend—ever,” Trudy said. “She said thank God you weren’t doing it anymore because she didn’t think she could keep two men happy.”
Apel turned away. “Then itwasGlen. For sure.”
“I think so... You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”
He turned back, his forehead wrinkled. “Hurt you? Of course not. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve known you since we were in kindergarten.”
“She told me that she thought you might have found out about Glen, and she thought that maybe... you know...”
He didn’t catch on for a moment, then said, “She thought I killed him?”
“That’s what she hinted at.”
“That witch,” Apel said. He walked a couple of circles around the shop, picked up a well-worn sweater, looked at all the fuzzballs put it back, said, “Listen, you can’t call her and tell her anything about me coming here, okay? No matter how good a friend you are. You know why?”
“Maybe.”
