Anne Doss plopped on the sofa. Confession is good for the soul, they say. Why not just blurt it out? Well, for the same reason she couldn’t confess to Cherry, she didn’t have the courage to say the words.

She said, “I must pay for what I did. I’m responsible.”

The young cop took an envelope from his breast pocket, opened it and took out a sheet of plain lined paper that might have come from a school notebook.

“You might not know about this, Ms. Doss. Cherry left a note.” He handed her the paper, on which had been scrawled the words, “Fucking love.”

He said, “Plus, we found her husband, JoJo Compton, who left her. The medical examiner thinks she was suffering from separation anxiety, also known as love sickness. He thinks she died of despair.”

Anne Doss nodded, closed her eyes. Only a few more steps and they’d see the truth.

Anne said, “Did you ask JoJo why he left her?”

“He thought he wasn’t good enough for her. Said he was a male slut and always would be.”

Anne piped up. “He told you he was seeing another woman?”

Tim said, “He said there were several.”

Anne Doss cringed. Her body stiffened. The eyes were no longer calm.

She said, “What?”

Tim said, “Three or four.”

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