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depressed; he would never take his own life and he didn’t have an enemy in the world.
    The way people speculated about him after his death made me sick, but I tried to ignore it. I’d cut myself off from almost everyone in the town so most of the gossip never reached my ears.
    I sensed that Mr. Devereaux wanted me to ask him to explain what he was talking about, but I refused to take the bait. I was curious, but it wasn’t important. I didn’t say a word. I simply walked around to the other side of my car and got behind the wheel.
    As I was closing the door, Mr. Devereaux called: “My wife might be a handful, but she’s nothing compared to you. Lord help me, I do love a challenge.”
    I slammed the door shut and drove away.

7
     
     
     
     
     
    Cold bit at my face as ice pellets rained down from above. I slipped, falling hard on my right side. I braced for impact a second too late. My knee absorbed most of the blow. Sharp pain shot through my leg. I clutched it and opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
    I shook violently from the cold. Icy water soaked my nightgown. My hands were numb and my skin burned from the sting of sleet. A strong wind threw the ice pellets against me. I felt like I was being pelted with rocks.
    I opened my eyes and looked around. It was dark, pitch black.
    Where was I? Was I dreaming? The pain in my knee argued against a dream. It was far too real. There was a flash of lightning. For a brief moment, I could make out my surroundings. I was sitting on a road at the foot of a bridge. Not just any bridge, the bridge my husband’s body had been found floating under.
    I started to tremble with fear. How had I gotten here? It was the middle of the night. There was another flash of lightning. A dark figure loomed ahead. I gasped. I wasn’t alone.
    I tried to stand. I couldn’t put any weight on my right leg. The wind whipped my hair into my face. The sleet had turned to heavy rain. My body trembled, not from the cold, but from fear.
    I felt along the road, dragging myself to the stone wall that surrounded the bridge. I used it to pull myself up. Two lightning flashes in quick succession showed that the figure had moved closer. He was wearing a raincoat with the hood pulled down low over his face.
    Thunder boomed around me; rain mixed with hail pounded the street. The night was loud with chaos. I managed to take a few steps away from the bridge towards the main road. I lived about a mile away. I would have to walk. It wasn’t going to be easy.
    I turned to look behind me. The glow of a flashlight lit up the bridge. The shadowy figure was getting closer. In my panic, I walked off the road and slipped in the mud. I slid down a steep hill, coming to a rest on the edge of the lake.
    I could hear the water rushing past me in the dark. It churned loudly, as if it was a living breathing creature.
    I clawed at the muddy hill behind me and tried to stand. It was impossible. I’d crawl a foot then slide back down. I slid down the embankment on my hands and knees. My right knee screamed with every inch. I wasn’t going to make it far at this rate.
    It had been a long time since I’d been down here, but I remembered a covered picnic area at the bend in the lake. If I could make it that far I could hide from the man in the hood and I’d be sheltered from the storm until morning.
    I had no idea what time it was, but I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
    I crawled another foot. Mud squished between my fingers and toes. I was filthy. Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder. I screamed, but my voice was lost on the wind. I twisted and fought against the stranger.
    A mad thought entered my mind: what if my husband had been murdered? What if this man was responsible? I kicked with both legs, sending a shock of pain through my right side. I hit my attacker’s lower leg. He stumbled back.
    “What the hell are you doing?” a woman asked.
    I stopped, frozen in my tracks. I tried to rub