“You’re right, you know.”
Startled, she glanced up at him. The dish slipped from her hand and clunked heavily back into the soapy water.
“You were right about the old man. He had been in prison. Thirty years.”
“I knew it,” she said. “He just had that look about him. Nothing wrong or sleazy, but. Did you say thirty years? Shit. That is a long time.”
He reached over her for the dishrag. “Yeah, well. Thirty years for murder. Or, manslaughter. Or something.” He grabbed the dripping plate as she handed it over. “It wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to ask details about.”
“Oh, my God.” She stopped her hands and stared at her husband. “He killed someone? And now he lives next door?” Her gazed wandered across the kitchen. “I don’t know. I don’t think I like that. Who told you?”
“Well, like it or not, he’s our neighbor." He flipped the plate and started drying the other side. "I heard it from Steve. He has a connection at the D.O.C.”
“I don’t know. I need to meet this guy. I need to look him in the eye. Manslaughter is one thing, but murder?” She reached down and unplugged the drain. “I’ll get a feeling from him once I talk to him.”
“Don’t talk long.” He smirked. “You never know when those old murderous tendencies will strike again. Young woman like you. Might be too much for the old geezer.”
“Stop.” She smiled lightly back at him. He laughed as he turned to leave the room. “Jerk,” she added just before he was out of earshot. He laughed again.
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