4
My laugh sounded more like crying.
With a sigh, I said, “Detective Shaw, if you were in my husband’s place and your lover suddenly died like that, could you sleep? And if you couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t you take a higher dose than usual?”
Detective Shaw was silent for a moment, her gaze intense. Finally, she replied, “Mrs. Langston, with your husband just having passed, I thought you’d be lost in grief. I didn’t expect you to check his account balances so quickly.”
Her words caught me off guard, and she continued, “We found that your husband’s parents are still alive, and they’ve just lost their only son. Have you thought about notifying them?”
“They’re elderly,” I said, with no attempt to mask my annoyance. “I haven’t figured out what to say yet, I’m expecting a child, and I have to think about the future, Detective. You all seem awfully nosy.”
My tone was sharp, surprising her. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected me to have any bite. She forced a slight smile and muttered an apology.
Before leaving, she shared one last detail, saying a security camera across the street had recently been realigned due to wiring issues. It now pointed toward my living room, capturing part of what went on inside. She gave me a knowing smile before she left.
Her words left me sleepless and anxious that night.
As expected, she called the next day, asking me to come down to the police station. They’d uncovered something new in my husband’s death.
Heart pounding, I went in, escorted straight to the interrogation room, where Detective Shaw and Detective Callahan awaited me.
I sat quietly, waiting for them to start. Detective Callahan turned on a screen, playing a video of a woman in a long dress. The footage was
blurry, her face obscured by wild, messy hair. She looked like a ghost as she moved slowly down a staircase, stepped to a window, and pulled the curtain closed. Then the screen went dark.
6:25 PM
<
I squinted at the screen, recognizing my living room, but feeling deeply confused.
“Detective Shaw, Detective Callahan,” I asked, “Who is that woman? And what was she doing in my house?”
The two detectives exchanged a look and smiled. Detective Shaw said, “Mrs. Langston, on the night of your husband’s death, only you and he were at home. Are you saying this wasn’t you?”
“It wasn’t me!” I said, feeling my anger rise.
Detective Callahan replied calmly, “Couldn’t you have painted your face, done some makeup to look like a ghost?”
“I’m pregnant,” I retorted. “There’s no way that was me.”
My response left them momentarily speechless.
Detective Shaw then added decisively, “The woman in the video certainly resembles Melanie Reed, but we don’t believe in ghosts, Mrs. Langston. Would you mind if I checked your stomach?”
Her question made me laugh bitterly. “So, you’re accusing me of faking a pregnancy?”
