”“What?” he fired back. “Don’t fuck around, Bill, this is serious.”“I’m sorry, Dave, but it’s true. Her body was found a couple of hours ago.”“That’s not possible! She went to Girl’s Night Out with Jude and the girls from yoga.” He jumped up and grabbed his cellphone. “I’ll call her. You’ll see. She’s fine.”“Dave, she was positively ID’d. She had her bag with her, her driver’s license, plus,” I hesitated to tell him, but I pushed forward, “I saw her. It was Melissa.”“There must be a mistake,” he said, dropping back into the chair. I got up and poured him a glass of bourbon. He took it with trembling hands, stared at it, then downed it in one gulp.“You’re sure it was her?” he asked as I refilled his glass.“Yes.”“I can’t believe it. How?” Dave asked, “How did it happen? Was it an accident? Had she been drinking?”I poured myself a glass and swallowed it, feeling the warmth of its familiar burn. “No,” I said, “We believe she was murdered.”“Murdered? What the fuck are you talking about?. Soft skin would be showing signs of wrinkles. Her eyes would still sparkle like the stars, though. Her laughter would still lift his soul. Her lips would still taste like ambrosia. The kiss was unexpected. A sudden lunge, her hands pulling at his shirt, rising on her toes to match his height, her lips crashing into his. The scent of her had filled his nostrils, hints of sandalwood and hairspray and the menthol cigarettes her husband smoked. She pulled away, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, watching him fearfully. Afraid of the fire she had ignited. Wanting it to burn them both to ashes. Had it been real? Or fantasy? Could his imagination create the taste of her? The salty flavor of sweat on her chest, the fragrant powder on her nipples, the musky tang from between her legs... those had to be real. Through the mists of awakening he could see it as if he had been an observer outside his own body. She sat on the desk of the office they had invaded for privacy. Her dress was rumpled and.
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