Page 25 of Rest In Peace

Then his eyes darkened. "Once…."

"Go on." I leaned in closer.

"Sarah came in, wild-eyed, on a tear about something Steven did—or didn't—do." He paused, setting a clean glass on the shelf with a soft thud. "She threw her ring at me and screamed so loud we heard it over the music. Said he could choke on it for all she cared."

"Her wedding ring?" I asked, picturing the scene.

"Yep," he confirmed.

"Did she take it back?"

"Didn't touch it. I picked it up and put it behind the bar, just in case." Frank gestured vaguely to the shelves lined with bottles, an unspoken history among them.

"Passion, hate, or desperation?" I murmured.

"Maybe all three," Frank replied, his voice a low rumble of brewing storms yet to come. A woman entered and sat at the bar. Frank poured her a drink. She didn’t even have to ask. He knew what she wanted, and I guessed she, too, was a regular.

“Here you go, Lisa,” he said, handing her the drink.

I edged my way through dim lighting, the murmur of hushed conversations acting as a backdrop to my purposeful strides.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, pulling out the stool beside her without waiting for an answer.

She glanced up, her gaze sharp, then softened. "Free country," she said, though her voice was flat.

"Were you friends with Sarah?"

"Friends," Lisa echoed, swirling her drink. "Yeah, you could say that. We talked from time to time. Heard she got locked up, though. For killing Steven."

"Seems like she had a rough go."

"Rough," she scoffed, lips twisting wryly. "That's one word for it."

"Frank mentioned they fought."

"Ha!" The sound was bitter. "She was mad at the bastard. I can tell you that much. Drove her to the verge of insanity."

"Infidelity will do that." I watched her carefully, gauging her reaction.

Lisa's hand stopped mid-swirl, and she looked at me with new interest. "You know about all that?"

"Bits and pieces," I admitted. I was just guessing, but it worked. "Sounds complicated."

"Complicated doesn't even begin to cover it." Her tone suggested a labyrinth of secrets I was only beginning to uncover.

"Remember the night the glass shattered?" Frank asked, leaning closer to Lisa.

She paused, a distant look clouding her eyes as she drifted into the memory. "Loud and clear," she murmured, almost to herself. "Sarah was a storm that night. Threw the glass in anger, and it shattered behind him against the wall."

The clink of glasses and low hum of conversation faded as I pictured it: Sarah, wild-eyed and seething, her voice a serrated knife cutting through the bar's buzz.

"Did he ever…?" I didn't finish the sentence, but my hand mimicked a striking motion.

"Hit her? No." Lisa's gaze snapped back to the present. "Not that I know of, at least. But there was a rage. He drove her to the bottle, the poor thing. "

"Rage can be a motive," I muttered, thinking aloud.

"Sure can," she agreed, then leaned in. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sarah told me once about Steven's affair—said finding out about it nearly drove her mad."

---