The police came late that afternoon. They asked questions but voiced no
suspicions. The ashes were still hot; they had not yet been raked. Louis answered
their questions. They seemed satisfied. They spoke outside and he wore a hat.
That was good. If they had seen his gray hair, they might have asked more
questions. That would have been bad. He wore his gardening gloves, and that was
good, too. His hands were bloody and ruined.
He played solitaire that night until long after midnight.
He was just dealing a fresh hand when he heard the back door open.
What you buy is what you own, and sooner or later what you own will come back
to you, Louis Creed thought.
He did not turn around but only looked at his cards as the slow, gritting
footsteps approached. He saw the Queen of Spades. He put his hand on it.
The steps ended directly behind him.
Silence.
A cold hand fell on Louis's shoulder. Rachel's voice was grating, full of dirt.
'Darling,' it