“You didn’t!” That explains how he found the rock. But wildfires can move faster than a human can run. “That was monumentally stupid.”
“I had to do it. And it worked. The body’s gone. Apparently, all the residents of the area evacuated, and it’s close enough to our place that the police think it’s her. They’re going to run DNA analysis, but they need samples from her family because there’s not much of her left. These fires can be over 2000 degrees. But I tell you, that was not a fun experience.” I know I should be sympathetic. Bradley just saw the remains of his dead wife. Even though he killed her, it can’t have been easy. But he’s taking risks.
“I didn’t have a fun experience either.”
“I know, darling.” He walks past me to the door. “We don’t have to stay here much longer. The investigation should wrap up soon. They seemed to think it’s open and shut.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He must notice my tone as he turns to give me a pained look. “I was serious about that drink.”
“Bradley, I found the rock.”
“The rock?” He looks confused, as if I could be discussing any number of different rocks in our lives.
“The murder weapon, genius,” I hiss. “I found it in the cottage.”
“Oh no. Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry.” He doesn’t respond immediately. “Bradley! This is where you explain what you were thinking.”
“I thought…” His shoulders slump. “No, I wasn’t thinking. I just knew I couldn’t leave it at the bridge. It was evidence. It seemed safer to bring it home, and because no one was staying in the cottage, I left it there.”
“You must be kidding.”
“I’m not thinking straight. I’m trying to keep up appearances, but I honestly don’t know what I’m doing.”
He droops like a balloon that’s run out of air, and I feel a surge of sympathy. He’s been keeping it together for a week, but inside, he must be tormented with grief and guilt. It’s enough for anyone to make strange decisions. And now he’s seen Grace’s remains—the ash that constitutes her remains, at least—and it’s sent him into shock.
“It’s OK,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. “But we need to deal with it before you can have your drink.”
“Can we do it tomorrow? Please?”
“No.” I take charge. “Get in the car.”
I go into the kitchen and find a black trash bag, then run back to the cottage and use it to pick up the rock. It has my fingerprints on it, but that won’t matter soon. I tell him where to drive, and within an hour, we’re standing on the Memorial Bridge overlooking the river.
“Want to do the honors?” I ask, but he shakes his head softly.
I lift the plastic bag above the railing and am about to drop the rock into the river when Bradley grabs my arm.
“Wait!”
It’s enough for the rock and the bag to slip from my grasp. I pray that the rock slips out of the bag in the air, but they hit the surface of the river as one, and sink together.
“Bradley! What have you done?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping his face. “I just wasn’t sure…”
I look down at the raging river and decide that it doesn’t matter. The current will eventually tear the bag away, wear it down, strip it away from its cargo. Surely. Besides, who would know to look for the rock in the black plastic bag, even if they did know we’d thrown it off the bridge?
As we’re about to drive away, Bradley’s phone rings. He glances at the number, then silences the call.
“Damn.” I see a queue of unread texts on his home screen. “There’s one thing I forgot to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Grace’s family is coming to town. There’s going to be a memorial service.”
