HOUND

xliii

"Hello?" Jack's wife speaks into the phone, her voice unintentionally cracking. It was the kind of voice crack you get from silence, and Jack's wife was usually silent around her home. What else could she do? Jack wasn't ever in the mood for a chat—if he was even home.

The voice on the other line starts to preach the professional sermon, the speech prepared and in monotone, as if the speaker had said it a thousand times. Of course, he probably had said it a thousand times. The voice on the other line belonged to Morgan J. Herman, attorney. He had called about the estate of Nina Alameda, recently deceased. He spoke very proper—formal and clipped and concise. It didn't matter how his tone came across, each word hit Jack's wife like a bullet. But for some reason, these bullets didn't leave her bleeding. It was the shock of each hit that caused her to nearly drop her phone into her cup of coffee.

Nina had told Jack's wife about most of her life. Her adventures, her travels, her affairs—both romantic and terrible—Nina told Jack's wife the most wonderful stories. She spoke very little of her late husband, mostly because she had married late and he had died early. From what Jack's wife saw, Nina had been passionate for her husband and was quietly devastated by his death. Quiet devastation, Jack's wife had thought, was probably the worst kind of devastation. Certainly the most tragic, at least. Perhaps Jack's wife sympathized the most with this, because she empathized as well. Jack's wife was all too familiar with silent sadness.

Jack's wife knew, in the back of her mind, that Nina must have been relatively wealthy. All the adventures, the fancy dresses—even the small mansion that Nina resided in until her last days...all of these were indicators of either of woman with expensive tastes and great debt, or a woman with a rather fat pocketbook.

But Nina's money was never the focus of Jack's wife's love for her. She rarely thought of it, her focus was always on the richness of Nina's personality and kindness of her heart.

And the last thing Jack's wife expected was Nina to leave her anything, much less everything. For that was the purpose of Morgan J. Herman's call: to inform Jack's wife that Nina Alameda had left her an estate worth around four point one million dollars.

Herman scheduled an appointment with Jack's wife, to discuss more details.

After the call, Jack's wife sat on the edge of her lumpy mattress in shock. She still clutched the phone in her hand. She had woken up for the call, so her hair was messy and her face unwashed. Her eyes had sleep-crust in the corners, her teeth were unbrushed and her breath smelled like stale coffee. But there was a new youth in her face, even though the cold cup of coffee she held in her right hand had been slowly pouring into her lap—staining her pajamas, her sheets, and finally her carpet. Not that she cared, she always hated the carpet because it was the wrong color and texture and reminded her of rotten eggs.

Jack's wife was a different person now. Because she was a millionaire, which meant she finally had that ticket to be free.

This both scared and excited. She was afraid of the possibilities, because she was afraid of the outcomes. But, oh, was she elated.

Her phone rang again. She broke from her trance and jerked her now-empty coffee cup upright, grunting about the mess she'd have to clean up. She glanced at the screen and saw Jack's name.

Without a second's hesitation: she tapped the red phone symbol, hanging up.