“But all his money was tied up, and he didn’t want to cash in a CD because of the penalties,” I said. “So maybe you could lend him the down payment and you’d get it back with interest when the house was sold.”

“That’s almost exactly right,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I said. “You ever see the house?”

“Yes, we spent several weekends there.”

“And your husband?”

“He thought I was with my girlfriends,” Abigail said. “You know. He used to call it a sisterhood retreat.”

“Your husband doesn’t know,” I said.

“God, no, that’s the big reason we hired you.”

“No suspicions? Then or now?”

“None. He’s very busy and very important. Tell you the truth,” she said, “I don’t think it occurs to him that it could happen.”

“You are intimate?”

“Sure. John’s not in the very best shape, and he gets tired at night, and, you know, he’s sixty-eight.”

“So your intimacy is not as frequent as it might be,” I said.

“Or as long-lasting, or as… ah, enthusiastic.”

“So Gary Eisenhower was an appealing alternative.”

“Very,” she said. “I think I would have let him get away with the money.”

“The ride was worth the money,” I said.

“Yes. But the blackmail. I can’t live that way, none of us can. My husband can’t know.”

“You have a picture of Gary?” I said.

“No, I threw them out as soon as I found out what he was,” she said.

“Too bad.”

“I didn’t want my husband finding them, either.”

“You love your husband?”

“Love?” She shrugged. “I care about him, certainly. Why do you ask?”