"So you now have a suicide to handle," Dean said.
"We don't handle suicides, asshole," Fitzgerald snarled. "We leave them for the locals. Even when some scumbag drives the victim to it. We figure it's her choice if she wants to take the big trip. Even if it's over some total jerk like you."
Corday gave Dean a chilling stare. "Unless it wasn't her choice. Maybe you snuck up here and helped hustle along your sweetie on her trip to never-never land."
"And wrote her note for her?" Jake Weller asked, with raised eyebrow. He held a paper in his hand. It had been on the nightstand, partially hidden by the base of a lamp.
They all looked over his shoulder at the penned missive. It was on plain white notepaper, lined and firmly creased, written somewhat shakily with an ink pen, in the dainty script of a woman. Weller read it aloud.
I'm going to hell for what I did. It's where I belong. Please, don't
tell Donnie the truth about how I died. Donnie, Donnie, I love you
so. I'm not fit to be a mother. Daddy will take care of you now.
Mommy.
Corday looked at Dean. "Too bad. She didn't even say good bye to her lover."
Fitzgerald gave a scowl. "Who says she wrote it?" He gestured to Dean. "Maybe he did."
It was Jake Weller who spoke up. "Don't be a shit head, Fitzgerald. Check her purse for something she wrote and compare it. Check the register downstairs. It's a suicide note she wrote 'cause she killed herself. Stop playing prime time TV. It's a damn shame she's dead but so are a lot of things in life."
Dean began to move away. Corday started to grab his arm, then thought better of it. "Not so fast. I'm not through with you. When did you and Mrs. Shipton last talk?"
Dean turned, and glared at Corday. "My feet are cold. I'm going down and get dressed. I've got an inn to run. This is a suicide and you guys don't handle suicides, remember? Unless you're going to charge me with something, get the hell out of Bird Song and leave me alone." He turned and went down the stairs. No one made a move to stop him.
Dean had a fleeting sense of relief that Corday hadn't pressed him for Cynthia's address. The last thing he wanted now was for the police to interview his wife so soon after she'd hung up on him as he lay in bed with the now-dead Edith Shipton. God, how he wanted to put things right with the woman he loved.