Free The Other Widow by Susan Crawford Page B

salad and glances back at Edward. He looks a little vintage in the suit he’s wearing, like a character from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. His eyes skip here and there around the room before settling on Karen. Gatsby, she decides. She takes a sip of water.
    â€œI don’t know quite how to put this.” Edward looks away. His eyes follow the waiter as he moves with expertise among the tables. “Delicately.”
    â€œWhat?” Karen says, and Edward clears his throat again. He looks outside the window. The sky is so light blue, it’s nearly white. “Did Joe ever mention anything to you about money?”
    â€œWe were married , Edward. What kind of question is—?”
    â€œAbout the company, the downturn of the—”
    â€œWell,” she says. “He told me Home Runs had a dip in the road. Hardly an anomaly these days with the economy the way it is.” She chews on a radish. The restaurant is filling up. People puff in from outside. The door opens and closes, letting in the cold; banter lingers in the air. At the next table, someone laughs too loudly, falls into a fit of coughing.
    â€œIt’s a lot more than that, Karen.” Edward sounds uncomfortable. Desperate, maybe. “A lot more than a dip in the road.”
    She leans away from the table, watches as Edward takes a small bite of trout.
    â€œDid Joe ever tell you he’d withdrawn some money from the company?” He doesn’t look straight at her. He watches the waiter and chews.
    â€œI think that’s called embezzling, Edward, and no. Of course not. This is Joe, the ex– altar boy. This is maddeningly honest Joe , who once drove all the way across town to return a five-dollar bill to a kid at a convenience store when he got too much change.” Of course, she sees him a little differently now. It can’t be helped. There is the girlfriend. Not so much integrity in that.
    Edward nods. He finishes his drink and wipes his mouth, tosses the napkin on the table. “I loved Joe like a brother. You know that. Still do. Always.”
    Karen glares at him over her glasses. “You used to rave about Joe’s honesty,” she says. “Have you forgotten? Honest as the day is long, you used to say. If something’s wrong, you’d better take a look at your accountant. Or Francine, or whoever’s handling the finances these days, because you and I both know Joe was no thief! I think I need a drink,” she says, and she looks around for the waiter.
    Edward squints at her. His skin is dull and faintly gray in the light from the windows. “I should have kept a better eye on things. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty and all that. Meanwhile, these discrepancies—fairly well hidden, but there, nonetheless. I just wondered if Joe—if he said anything to you that might help me figure—”
    â€œWell.” Karen drums her fingernails against her water glass. “There you go. If things were well hidden, that proves it wasn’t Joe. He wasn’t good enough with money to hide whatever you’re accusing him of. Brilliant, but mathematically . . . a little challenged.”
    â€œKaren,” Edward says. “I’m not accusing Joe of anything. I’ve only mentioned this in case it comes out. If this Maggie Brennan digs around as much as I think she’s going to, it probably will. And if it looks as if Home Runs is floundering, it could mean a delay in your settlement. That’s all.”
    â€œHow so? You’ve lost me.”
    He lowers his voice. He covers Karen’s hand with his. His eyes are puffy, his pupils pinpoints in the brightness of the sunshine flooding in. “I know Joe would never take his own life. He loved you. He loved Robbie and Jon. Hell, he loved the company ! But people do, Karen. They jump out of windows, lock themselves in garages with their cars running. People do all kinds of crazy things when they think