Free Dead Down East by Carl Schmidt Page A

things created on my stove have
always been uncertain and tentative, even the boiling of water.
    The uncertainty principle doesn’t in any way suggest
that a pot won’t boil; it just indicates that there is no absolute
assurance when or if it will. Quirky and inexplicable things happen
in the quantum world. While the macro world is less subject to
these spasmodic idiosyncrasies, technically speaking, there is no
specific point where the quantum world ends and the rest of the
world begins. It’s all a quantum world. Hence there remains a
relentless uncertainty in every little thing and, by extension, in
big things as well. Statistics be damned for the moment, if I may
be so bold.
    Notwithstanding the confidence I had in my scientific
thought processes, the pot indeed did boil, even while I watched
it. With two cups of piping hot tea in hand, I tabled my internal
dialogue and made my way to the living room. It was high time for
the real dialogue to begin.
    When Cynthia saw me, she moved toward the couch and
said, “Let’s sit down. I’ll tell you what happened.”
    Cynthia sat on the couch, and I settled into my
bark-a-lounger—the hideous, though comfortable, consequence of the
confluence of a Discover Card, several beers, a boring evening and
cable TV. The chair provided a kind of “Sam Spade’s been to
WalMart” ambiance, not entirely reassuring for clients, to be sure,
but after all, this was not LA. Mainers are not so concerned about haute couture and living room furniture. In her current
state of mind, I’m certain it didn’t matter to Cynthia one
iota.
    “How to begin?” she pondered.
    “Just start at the beginning and feel your way along.
We have all night, and I need to know exactly what happened.
Please, be open and frank. I’m your friend, and I’m here to help.
Every detail is important. We’ll sort it out as we go.”
    “You heard my conversation with Richard on the phone,
so I’m sure you realize that I was having an affair with William.
He and Rebecca hadn’t slept together for the past five years. For
all intents and purposes, they were separated. On paper they were
married, but in real life, no. They simply shared a proximity to
one another.
    “William and I began seeing each other almost a year
ago. Richard Merrill and William were friends and associates. They
had known one another since high school and maintained a close
relationship for the past thirty years. Richard appreciated how
difficult it was for William to live with Rebecca and still have a
‘normal’ life. William felt he had to keep up appearances in order
to prevail in his first run for governor. As you know, he just
barely won. A divorce would have ended his chances before he got
started.
    “But William is a man, and a dashing one at that. Was .”
    Cynthia sighed, took a deep breath and waded
ahead.
    “Richard would arrange our dates. At times we would
shuffle cars around to give us a chance to be alone. William often
drove his car to Richard’s house and then would drive Richard’s car
to my home for the weekend. That left his car, which could easily
be recognized, at a friend’s house, not a lover’s.
    “This weekend we tried something different. If we
could only undo those plans…”
    Cynthia teared up noticeably, so I went to the
bathroom to fetch some tissues.
    She thanked me, dried her eyes and continued.
    “On Friday after we had both finished work, William
and I converged at Richard’s home. Richard was getting ready to
leave on a business trip to Massachusetts, so we couldn’t use his
car. We had worked out an alternative plan. We had decided to go to
William’s summer home on Sebascodegan Island and spend the weekend
there alone. William alerted his security team that he would be
going there by himself. Ostensibly, he would be completing the
acceptance speech for his nomination for a second term. As you
know, he was running unopposed in his own party. He had given
strict orders not to be disturbed for