Chapter 3 - The Voice on the Balcony
The night before my flight home, I bought a key lime pie from the bakery on Main Street and walked over to his place without calling first.
His door stood open a few inches. I raised my hand to knock — and then I heard his voice, coming from the balcony.
"No," he said. "She can't know the truth. She doesn't know we're connected. If she finds out what David made me do, it'll destroy her."
The pie box slipped out of my hands and hit the floor.
Walter stopped talking.
So did I.
David.
My husband's name. A name I had gone out of my way not to say around Walter all month.
I shoved the door the rest of the way open. Walter turned from the railing, phone still up by his ear, and every bit of color drained out of his face.
"How do you know my husband's name?"
He lowered the phone and ended the call. His eyes were shining.
"Margaret. Please. Sit down."
"Answer the question first."
His hand was shaking as he pulled out a chair. "You have no idea what I've been hiding from you this whole month."
"Then stop hiding it. Right now."
He swallowed hard. "David asked me to do something. Before he died."
May you like
My knees went soft under me.
"What did he ask you to do?"
