"Did your husband drink manhattans?"
She laughed. "Lord, no. I don't think he's ever tasted one! They just sounded incredibly romantic-our fantasy." The smile disappeared. "Phil Riley said the Norfolk police suggested Jeff was drunk. They didn't come out and say it-but that was Phil's inference. He wasn't drunk-I'm sure. Jeff was a careful drinker. We'd have a little wine when we had something to celebrate and once in a while a beer in the summer." "Out of town gets boring and lonely," Dean suggested, but she just shook her head. Dean changed the subject. "Was your husband a swimmer?" he asked cautiously.
There was no pause before she answered. "Jeff liked the water and especially loved the ocean. He was a reasonably good swimmer. He always took a bathing suit along on his trips but more times than not he was too busy to use them."
"Were you surprised to hear he'd gone swimming-out to the beach alone at midnight?"
She took her time considering this question. "Jeff does silly things sometimes-it wouldn't be totally out of character for him to do something on a whim. But this? I just don't know. He's usually very predictable but he surprises everyone once in a while with something totally off the wall." She looked up at Dean. "But little things, not important things-not dangerous things." Dean sensed part of her was upset by her husband's irresponsible actions.
Before he could respond, Mrs. Riley entered carrying a tray with coffee, two mugs and a plate of homemade doughnuts. She apologized for disturbing them, and set the tray on the wicker table, explaining they were fresh and had just been delivered by a neighbor.
"They're delicious," she added self-consciously as she turned and left.
Dean poured the coffee while Cynthia Byrne rubbed her hands on her skirt as if to smooth out the nervous quiver she couldn't seem to shake. Both drank their coffee black and although both took a doughnut, Mrs. Byrne simply picked at hers, lifting the tiniest of crumbs with dampened fingertips.
Dean tried to phrase the next question as delicately as possible, repeating it in his mind before releasing the words. "Is there any reason you can think of for your husband...to just leave?"
"No." She answered without pause and then spent long seconds looking down at her coffee, as if searching for words to clarify her statement. "Emphatically no. Definitely no. Positively no. It simply wouldn't be Jeff."
"Why?" Dean asked cautiously.
She paused before answering. "You'd have to know him. Jeff is too simple. I don't mean stupid-simple, I mean...uncomplicated. We both are. We don't owe millions, or have lovers, or rare diseases, or tons of life insurance, or work for the CIA, or do drugs or any of that. The three of us live in a five-room ranch with a fat mortgage and less than a thousand dollars in the bank. We've been married 20 years and..." She turned, wiping away a tear with her sleeve, "we love each other."