"Martha hasn't made up her mind about flying out to the funeral but if she goes, she'll take Claire as well," my wife said, with a note of sadness in her voice. We were having a drink before dinner. "There goes our chance to play mother." She smiled at Molly who had just finished relating the highlights of her first day at her new school.
I hadn't a chance to fill Betsy in on my conversation Frank Vasapolli and was anxious to do so. We were hesitant to speak candidly in front of Molly. While she was aware of Howie's gift, as she called it, she failed to comprehend the seriousness of the subject and we didn't want to add tinder to the fire. Bumpus was our savior. Whenever we needed a few moments alone, a dog walk was suggested and eagerly accepted. As soon as girl and pooch were out the door, Betsy had news, preempting my announcement.
"Do you remember Gladys Gillespie of Sow Creek, Idaho?" she asked.
"That's the old lady who claims she's the psychic tipster but has seen God and now quit. What's she up to?" I asked.
"She's dead; murdered, and I feel terrible about it." My jaw dropped as she continued. "They caught her killer; a pedophile named Randolph Massey. Howie located him back in February. There's been so many, you probably don't remember, but I looked him up." She bit her lip. "It's like we're responsible for her death. Massey was out on parole and was so incensed at his capture ruining his life he hunted her down."
"He actually believed her? He thought she was really the psychic tipster and was responsible for his arrest?"
"Yes. He tried to commit suicide after he killed her; he left a note but he didn't cut his wrists deeply enough to be fatal. I read the whole account online. It just happened yesterday." I started to speak but she shushed me. "Don't dare to say it was her fault to pretend to be someone she wasn't. The poor old woman may have believed it herself."
"I wasn't going to say that," I fibbed. "I'm sorry for her. She didn't deserve to die, regardless of her intent." My wife was seriously distressed. I took her hand. She pulled away.
"These people we point out to the authorities . . . they must hate us beyond all reason. Think of it. Think how many Howie has accused. Each and every one of them wants to kill us!" She shivered. "Maybe do to us what they did to those victims. I'm frightened, Ben, really frightened."
"Betsy, do you want to . . . "