Free PENITENCE: An Andi Comstock Supernatural Mystery, Book 2 (95,893 words) by Ann Simas Page A

actions and a could’a-should’a-would’a reminder wouldn’t do a darned bit of good now. “I need to know about the questionnaire you completed on the hitman website.”
    So, you checked it out.
    “Had to. It’s all part of the helping-you package.” Andi pulled the form she’d printed out from the manila folder. “You’ve already given me the dates and times you designated, but what about the method you wanted him to use? You said before that he would shoot her.”
    I didn’t want Denise to suffer. No matter how badly she’d deceived me, I didn’t want her to experience pain.
    Andi thought that rather hypocritical and oxymoronic, but didn’t say so. She forgot that he seemed to be privy to her thoughts.
    I know it doesn’t make sense to you, Andi, but I still love my wife, even though I thought she’d cheated on me. I never understood that old saying before, that you have to love someone to be able to hate them, but I do now. Hate makes you crazy. It makes you do things you wouldn’t do ordinarily. It makes you say things you can’t take back.
    Andi got off track for a moment. “Does that mean you said something to Denise that you regret?”
    The day I died, I told her I knew what she’d been doing and I was going to make her sorry.
    “Did you mention outright that you thought she was having an affair?”
    No. She had this shocked look on her face, like I’d betrayed her somehow, and then she started crying. My wife is a strong woman, Andi. I don’t think I saw her cry more than once or twice in all the years we were married. It nearly destroyed me. In fact, if I hadn’t been filled with such a hateful rage toward her, I might have done something bad to myself for hurting her.
    “Easy to say now,” Andi said, uncaring that she had no sympathy for how his actions had affected him.
    You’re right. I’m a bastard and I admit it. Denise didn’t deserve any of what I said to her or how I treated her those last few months, or what I planned for her.
    “Let’s get back to the questionnaire. You didn’t want her to suffer. Did you think shooting her was the best way to have her killed?”
    Gunshot seemed the surest way. I preferred up close, with no chance for a miss, so I chose that as number one. Secondarily, I opted for a sniper shot. When I finally communicated with The Liquidator, he assured me he wouldn’t miss, either way, and that she would be dead, with one shot, before she hit the ground. The only question that remained was the circumstance. Did he make it look like a home invasion, a sexual assault gone awry, or a random shooting.
    “Which did you choose?”
    I couldn’t. I told him to use his discretion.
    “Did you state a preference for the actual date?”
    Yes. February third. I thought it would be appropriate for her to die on my birthday. He paused. Ironic, isn’t it, that all this started because she wanted to give me a special gift for my birthday?
    Ironic didn’t quite cover it. “Backing up now. You said you met with The Liquidator. How did it happen and can you give me a description of him?
    You’ll find this even more ironic, considering your friendship with Father Riley.
    “How do you know I’m friends with Father Riley?”
    I can read your thoughts, remember. I’ve heard you thinking about him a couple of times. He made a grunting sound. The Liquidator set up a meet at St. Gemma’s, in the confessional. He was in the priestly compartment, I was in the sinner booth. No one came into the church the entire time we were there the first time. The second time, someone came in to pray and we had to suspend our conversation for half an hour.
    “You met with him twice? Did you get the impression that he lives nearby?”
    Hunh…I guess I did. Each time, I was instructed to wait ten minutes after he left before I exited the church, so I never saw what he was driving, if he even got into a car at all, or which direction he headed.
    “Did you ever communicate via