Mean Streak

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“Double-checking,” Grange said, remaining unflappable. “It’s unlikely, but Maryjo could have missed one.”

Knight said, “My wife walks every morning with a group of women in the neighborhood. No power wal

k, you understand. More like a stroll that gives them time to gossip about anybody who isn’t walking.” Looking at Jeff, he asked, “You’re sure Emory doesn’t have a running buddy?”

“I’m sure. I don’t know of anyone she would have been meeting. Besides, the reason she came up here on Friday was to be alone.”

“Why did she want to be alone?” Knight asked.

“So she could focus. Running is like therapy to her. She uses it to sort things out, get her head on straight. It’s like…like church to her. It gives her a spiritual high.”

“I’ve heard of that.” Knight looked over at Grange and nodded sagely.

“Still, she must be awfully committed to drive over a hundred miles to train alone on a mountain trail.”

“She challenges herself,” Jeff said. “She sets tough personal goals.”

“Overachiever?”

“And then some. She’s a perfectionist. If she commits to something, it’s forged in steel.”

“Including marriage?”

Grange’s out-of-left-field remarks were beginning to grate on him, and he let it show. “Pardon me?”

Knight, in the tone of a wise grandfather or a priest, asked softly, “Is she faithful to you, Jeff?”

He saw red and shot each of them a glare. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”

“What do you think we’re thinking?”

“That Emory rendezvoused with a man up here. That I’m a chump, the last to know that my wife is cheating.”

“Not possible?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“All right,” Knight said. “I warned you that we’d have to ask some tough questions. If you say everything is rosy on the home front, then…” He extended his hands at his sides, letting the gesture speak for itself.

“I didn’t say it was rosy.” Jeff lowered his gaze to the floor, and when he raised his head, both deputies were looking at him expectantly. “Emory and I had a quarrel on Thursday night.”

“The night before she came up here?”

“Yes.”

“Over what?”

“It started out small. I didn’t want her to come up here. I thought the trip was absurdly unnecessary. Why couldn’t she do a distance run closer to home, someplace that didn’t require an overnight stay and which was, frankly, less dangerous? One thing led to another, the argument escalated. Both of us vented some spleen.

“We went to bed angry. Friday afternoon when I saw her off, there were still bad feelings on both sides. Neither of us apologized or took back anything we’d said the night before.”

Knight grimaced. Grange didn’t even blink.

After several moments of weighty silence, Knight asked, “During that argument, what did you vent about?”

“Generally, the time she spends running. Specifically, this upcoming marathon. She’s spent over a year organizing it. Big charity event. She’s pledged a bundle if she finishes. This will be the first one she’s run since injuring her foot. The training has been rigorous. More than I believe is healthy or wise.