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two having problems?”
    â€œWell,” Ronald says, “I guess. Nothing major.”
    â€œAnother guy?”
    Ronald looks down at his shoes. “Not that I know of,” he says, but he is clearly lying. He fidgets with his fingers, folds them in his lap.
    â€œYour wife have any enemies you know of?”
    â€œNo,” Ronald says. “Everybody liked Celia. Her students, the neighbors, everybody.”
    â€œHow about you? You like your wife?”
    â€œOf course. I loved my wife, Detective. Always have.”
    â€œWomen are funny,” Jack says, and he leans over his paperwork like he’s reading it. “Mysteries.”
    â€œI’m not sure what you—”
    â€œWere you aware that Celia—sorry. Were you aware that Mrs. Steinhauser withdrew five thousand dollars from the bank three days before she died?”
    â€œNo. She— We—”
    â€œHad a joint account?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, apparently she had another one. A savings. Her name only. Same bank.”
    â€œI didn’t know,” Ronald says, and Jack believes him.
    â€œWas she planning on going somewhere?”
    â€œNo. Not that I knew of. Not that she told me about.”
    â€œThat kind of cash—maybe she was going on a little vacation? Putting money down on an apartment?”
    Ronald clears his throat. His foot taps against the chair leg, his shiny black shoe.
    â€œAny pressing credit-card debt? Overdue bills, that sort of thing?”
    Ronald squints, screws up his face like he’s pondering this. “We did. Yes. We had a large credit-card balance on one of our cards, on the . . . Anyway, we’d talked—well, mostly Celia talked—at length about paying it off, or paying it down at least.”
    â€œAny particular rush on that, Ronald?”
    â€œNo. Well, yes. We wanted to do some traveling in the fall.”
    â€œThat right?”
    â€œShe was a—you know this already—she was a teacher. A lot of her students were from South America, Central America. She spoke a little Spanish. We thought about going to Guatemala, Costa Rica—someplace like that.”
    â€œSo you wanted to start out with a clean slate.”
    Ronald chuckles. “Well, clean er slate.”
    Jack smiles, leans back in his seat. “So you can rack up the debt all over again.”
    â€œRight. Part of the marriage vows—till debt do us part.”
    Jack laughs. He leans in again over the table and scratches his head with the pencil. “Thing is, Ronald. Wouldn’t she—Mrs. Steinhauser—wouldn’t she just write a check for that?”
    Ronald stops smiling.
    Jack looks at his watch. One of the neighbors is due in three minutes. A Lon Nguyen. He gets up, watching Ronald rise to his feet and stand there in his shiny shoes.
    â€œThanks for coming in, Mr. Steinhauser. Ronald.” He holds out his hand. Ronald shakes it for the second time that morning, but this time his grip is limp and sticky.
    â€œI’m at the St. Giles Hotel, over by— You’ll let me know,” Ronald says, “if anything . . . if you turn up anything.”
    Jack looks at him. “Depends on what it is.” He hands Ronald his card, tells him to call if he thinks of something that might be helpful. “Oh,” he says when Ronald’s stepped into the hall. “You go back inside your house last night, Ronald?”
    â€œNo. Went straight from the hospital to the hotel. Drank myself into a stupor, to be honest.”
    â€œGot somebody to corroborate that?”
    â€œThe bartender. I told him what happened. It was on the TV, the whole sordid— It came on while we were sitting there—”
    â€œWho else has a key to your house?” Jack sticks his hands in his pockets, peers at Ronald over the tops of his reading glasses. “Anybody?”
    â€œNot a soul. Only me. Celia, of course, and the boys, but they’re. . .