Page 42 of A Deeper Darkness

She turned away from the sink and jumped.

Susan Donovan was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Better?” Susan asked.

Sam fought back a tart reply. This woman had lost her heart the same way as Sam had, unwillingly, by force. She should have compassion for her, empathy. Instead, Susan grated against her psyche.

“Not really,” Sam finally answered.

“Want a drink?”

An olive branch? Not exactly what she expected. But she was willing to play along.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Susan got to her feet unsteadily, and Sam saw that she’d gotten a head start. She retrieved a crystal-cut lowball from the glass-fronted cabinet next to the stove, then wove back to the table and poured Sam three fingers of scotch. She dumped another splash into her own empty glass, set the bottle down carefully, then raised the drink.

“Sláinte.”

“Cheers,” Sam replied. The Laphroaig was all peat and iodine, curling around Sam’s mouth like smoke from a campfire. She let it dribble down the back of her throat.

“Mmm. That’s so good.”

“So much better, you mean.” Susan set the glass down on the table with care.

“How many of those have you had?”

“Enough.”

“Did something happen? Are your girls with Eleanor?”

“Did something happen?” Susan began to laugh, a harsh, discordant sneer. “Did something happen, she asks. I don’t know, Dr. Owens. What do you think? My husband’s dead. Gone. Forever. Someone decided to end his life, and no one seems to have a clue why.”

“I’m working on that.”

“You’re a doctor, for God’s sake. Not a cop. Not a private investigator. Just a flunky who cuts up bodies for a living. And a wreck of one, too, it appears. How areyougoing to figure it out?”

Sam set her glass back on the table with exaggerated care. She watched Susan, knowing she had an opportunity here.

“Susan, you’re drunk.”

“So the fuck what? Like you didn’t get drunk after your husband died? And your kids?”

Sam felt the anger boiling inside of her, and took a breath. She still hated the venom in her voice.

“You don’t know the first thing about my life, so don’t you dare to presume anything about me.”

Susan focused on her. “Oh, of course not. Perfect Samantha.Dr.Samantha. He never stopped loving you, you know. He kept all your letters. All the pictures of the two of you. He hid them from me. But I knew. I found them.”

Susan got to her feet, and Sam instinctively took a step back.

Susan saw it, saw that she’d scared her perceived rival, and laughed.

“As if I’d bother.” Susan turned to the stairs and shouted, “Come on, girls. We’re going home.”

“Susan, you can’t drive.”

“Get out of my way,Doctor.”