Free Last Lie by Stephen White Page A

were eating lunch. "Close the door," she said. There had been phases in our marriage when a magical moment might have ensued. We weren't enjoying one of those phases.
    She sat on the edge of the bed up near her pillow. She sighed.
    I said, "Gracie still loves dance. She may stick with it this time. She even likes the girly parts. Something is changing for her, you know."
    "I can tell," Lauren said. "She talks about it all the time." She smiled. Then she stopped smiling. "Sam was here this morning along with a sheriff's investigator."
    That was news. I sat down on the upholstered chair across from the bed. I figured the cops had stopped by for something to do with Lauren's work. It was not an unheard-of occurrence. My wife was a deputy DA for Boulder County. I surmised that she was going to have to go to the office, which meant that I was going to have to get Grace to the birthday party.
    God, I hope we have a present already. And that it's wrapped. I asked, "Do you have something that's breaking at work?" Sam was the Boulder PD detective who had stood me up at breakfast. His jurisdiction was the City of Boulder. Boulder County, which included the rural enclave where we lived, was the law enforcement purview of the Boulder sheriff. That representatives of both departments had been out our way together was an anomaly; the agencies rarely rolled together.
    Lauren said, "They weren't here to see me. They were across the lane for something. Neither of them would tell me why.
    "The sheriff's investigator was Courtney Rea. She recognized me from court. She asked me if I knew where our neighbors were, or when they'd be back. I said I didn't."
    "That's it?"
    "Pretty much. Do you know Courtney?"
    I shook my head. I'd met many of Sam's police colleagues over the years but wasn't well acquainted with the sheriff's department staff. Through the DA's office, Lauren got to know all the investigative players for both departments.
    "She asked me how well I knew our neighbors. I told her they had just moved in--I don't think she'd known that; she wrote it down--that I'd met them once, casually. She asked if I was aware of a gathering at their house last night. I said I saw a lot of cars over there before I went to bed and that some catering people had arrived earlier in the day. Sam stepped over and whispered something to Courtney. Courtney said that was it. She didn't have any more questions."
    I said, "Gracie and I saw a limo coming in the lane this morning when we were on our way to dance class. Mattin and Mimi must have had a car taking them someplace."
    "I missed all that. I didn't get out of bed until late."
    That was her way of letting me know it had been another difficult night for her. She looked like she could use a smile. I told her about Gracie's reaction to the limo and her theory about someone being voted off our mountain.
    The story earned the smile. Lauren added, "I find it odd that Sam never offered a hint to me why he was out here. He played it cool, professional. I don't think Courtney could have guessed that Sam knew me in any way other than through work. After she got in her car and took off, Sam backed up, leaned out the window, and said, 'Leave this alone. The less you know, the better.'
    "I saw nothing to indicate that anything special was going on. Their house has been quiet all day. No emergency response on the lane. No fire, no rescue. Just Sam and Courtney."
    "Why a cop and a deputy?" I asked. "That part makes no sense."
    Lauren didn't know that either.
    I hadn't had a chance to tell Lauren about my run-in with the catering truck the night before. I filled her in.
    "Idiots," she said. "But it didn't actually crash, right? You didn't call it in?"
    "I didn't."
    She shook her head. "None of it makes sense."
    I asked, "Who was catching this morning at your office? They would know what's going on." A deputy district attorney was always on call to respond to the police department or the sheriff's office regarding