FORTY

FORTY

CAMILLE TOSSES HERSELF OVER on the bed, unable to sleep. The afternoon sun beams through the blinds in stripes. She looks at the clock. Almost 3:00 p.m. She needs to get up anyway.

She's beyond exhausted and nauseated but on edge, too. It wasn't hard to tell what happened last night, watching David and Marcie through her telescope while they stood outside their home. They went from squaring off and accusatory to embracing, lovey-dovey, walking arm in arm back into the house. David somehow deceived Marcie into thinking everything was okay.

What on earth is he waiting for? He's making it more difficult for everyone involved by not breaking the news to Marcie sooner rather than later.

She hears a knock at her door. She pops up in bed, instantly alert. Who the hell would be knocking on her door?

She moves to the door slowly, staying off to the side. "Who is it?"

"Police, ma'am," comes the reply.

She checks through the peephole. Sure enough. A man on the younger side, handsome and well built, wearing the police coat with furry collar. A local.

She opens the door but leaves the chain on.

"Camille Striker? I'm Sergeant Kyle Janowski, Hemingway Grove PD," he says. "Mind if I come in a second?"

"I do mind, actually."

That seems to surprise the sergeant, who blinks hard. "You won't let me come in?"

"Do you have a warrant, Officer?"

He's not an officer. He called himself a sergeant. But she's in a pissy mood.

"No, I do not have a warrant."

"Then no, you can't come in."

He takes a breath, trying to be civil. "We're going to have a conversation with you behind that door chain and me out in the hallway?"

"Looks that way," she says. "You can start by telling me what this is about."

"I think you know what this is about, Ms. Striker."

She gives him a chilly smile. She's pregnant, nauseated, tired, and grumpy. Not a good combination. But she has to be careful, too. No sense in aggravating the local cops.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, the sergeant clears his throat. "The reason I'm here," he says, "is that I want to know what you were doing outside the Bowers home at three thirty in the morning."