Two Much!

54

On Sunday night, six days after the double murder, Liz said, “Let’s get away for a while.”

“Sure,” I said. The danger period was over, the official investigation having moved on to other concerns and unofficial curiosity having been generally appeased, so a vacation away from the scene of my broken-field-running exploit might be very restful indeed. Also, Liz had become increasingly docile and pleasant the last day or two, with none of that nastiness I had come to expect from her; removing her to a new setting might help turn this happier personality into a permanent improvement. “Where to?” I asked.

“Saint Croix,” she said. “We have a house there.”

Good God. “We do?” And what more wonders lay ahead, yet to be unwrapped?

“We’ll phone them in the morning to open it,” Liz said, “and we’ll fly down tomorrow afternoon.”

So I’d be going to the Caribbean after all; wherever he was, I hoped Volpinex was pleased. “Fine,” I said.