“And have you called him with an update yet?” Smith asked.

“Not yet.”

“Can you give me a valid reason why you don’t call him right now so that we can all speak with him?”

“I have a reason, but you probably won’t like it,” Derek said.

“Try me.”

“I believe in client confidentiality. What my clients say to me is for my ears only.”

“That may be a good policy, but didn’t I just hear Chief Fox hire you as an officer for the Town of Arietta Police force?”

Derek knew enough about how police departments work to know that withholding case information wasn’t widely approved of.

“I am afraid that I may have to resign my position with the town,” Derek said to Ralph who just smiled back.

“Then I may have to arrest you for obstruction of justice,” Smith said, clearly tired of the game Ralph and Derek were playing. “There’s a damn good reason I need you to call Ken O’Connell and a damn good reason why I need to hear exactly what you say to him and what he says to you.”

“And that reason is?” Derek asked, knowing that he would have to make the call and violate his own code of confidentiality.

 “Janet O’Connell was the only O’Connell who got on that plane to Nassau.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Her hair needed to be colored again, or at least she thought so. Her husband would say that she looked beautiful no matter how successful those pesky gray hairs were in their mission to take over as much territory as possible. But she wanted always to look her best for him. Especially now. Especially with everything that he was dealing with. She knew she wouldn’t be able to visit the resort’s fitness center but could balance things out during their stay at the resort by eating a little less. He deserved her looking her best.

She was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom just off from the bedroom of their two-room suite. Standing there, separating strands of hair to more closely inspect her roots.

“Darn gray roots,” she whispered, careful not to disturb her resting husband.

He was sleeping, still tired from the impromptu car ride the other day. She knew that him feeling tired was all part of his disease, and she knew that more horrible side effects would soon become an even larger part of his everyday life.

The lethargy was okay. Easy to put up with. A few naps each day handled those well. The pain in his abdomen, though mild now, would soon be presenting a different level of interruption. He would have to take more oxy to keep it under control which meant more cloudy thinking and even more naps.

As she quietly completed the root inspection, she finished getting dressed then walked into the darkened bedroom, listening to hear the slight snoring sounds he was still making.

“Good,” she thought. “He needs more rest.”

Silently, she walked out of the bedroom and into the living room of their suite. From there, she poured herself a vodka tonic (heavy on the vodka), and walked outside and onto the small balcony that overlooked the Saint Lawrence River.

She sat, checked her cell phone and, once seeing that she had missed another call, placed it back on the small glass table beside her after removing the battery.

“Not now,” she said. “I’m not ready just yet.”

It was only then, only after knowing that her husband was sleeping comfortably, that Michelle Mix allowed herself to cry.

She had married Stanley Mix nineteen years ago and had what many friends and family considered to be the perfect marriage. Though she was unable to get pregnant, the volunteer work she had time for thanks to Stanley’s income filled the need that not having her own children created.

She met Stanley when she was working with William Straus in that “awful place” that she never liked to talk about. It wasn’t long after meeting him that she reluctantly began to allow herself to fully heal after losing her first husband.

Stanley was wonderful. He was patient and understanding. He never pushed her to do, say, or feel anything that she wasn’t ready to do, say, or feel. Michelle often told people that falling in love with Stanley was something about which she had no decision.

He loved her more than she thought possible, and she grew to love him back with an equal intensity. She felt her fears and resistance to falling in love again melting away with each passing day. She tried her best to ward off the feelings but was unable to maintain her defenses for very long. And when Stanley told her that she didn’t have to work another second longer at Hilburn, her defenses collapsed.

It was almost exactly two years after they had met that day at Hilburn that they were married. A small ceremony, with only a handful of friends, Stanley’s mother, and a Catholic Priest were there to witness the marriage. But everyone that they met after being married was witness to the love they shared.

Stanley’s skills as a surgeon afforded them a lifestyle that many might envy. A beautiful home overlooking Lake Ontario. Cars, never older than two years, in their garage. Yearly three-week vacations to their condo outside of Lahaina on Maui.

All that was nice. Wonderful, in fact. But both Michelle and Stanley would have given it all up if doing so would allow them to stay together for a few more years. Everything; the house, Mercedes, the condo, the expensive art hanging on their living room walls, the forty-foot Sea Ray; all of it would have been gone in a second if there was trade offered.

“Everything you have in exchange for the cancer being gone. Deal or no deal?” she wished someone offered.

But no one ever made the offer. No one ever could. All that was offered was a grim prognosis.

“I’m sorry. We’ll treat the cancer as aggressively as your body can tolerate, but we can’t cure it. All we can do is to extend the time you have left.”

Though they tried to figure out what caused his stomach cancer to explode into existence, having no history of cancer or digestive diseases in his family’s history, Michelle always knew the cause. She knew that her husband was one of the “good guys.” The type that would never intentionally harm anyone, and someone who would always go out of his way to lend a hand.