Conversation · Working Class Woman

She's crying, too heartbroken to notice you standing next to her.

What are you still doing here?! She needs time to be alone now.

She looks up, too anxious to say anything.

"You live here with Victor, your husband, right?"

"It's me, Victor, and the kids here," she nods. "We have two daughters, Jennie and Jolie."

"How old are your daughters?"

"Jolie is sixteen and Jennie is turning eighteen next month."

(Look around.) "And where is everybody? I don't see anyone home."

"The girls are staying at their friend's place tonight, and Victor is... out."

She swallows visibly.

"Out where?"

"As I already told you, he has a problem with drinking. And so he... disappears every now and then."

"He's probably in the Pox, drinking with his friends. I sent him to the library a few days ago, but I guess something came up..." She smiles sourly.

"There's something else I have to tell you..."

She folds her hands across her chest.

Here it comes.

"To your knowledge, did he make it to the library?"

"No. I guess I'll find out when he decides to come back home." She looks at the front door.

"It shouldn't be long from now. He's never gone for more than a few days."

"Do you remember what he was wearing when you last saw him?"

"His old leather jacket."

"Can you describe it?"

"Um, it's just your average brown leather jacket. But he bought it as a teenager, so..."

It reminded him of his teenage years.

"No distinctive features?"

"No, well..." She stops. "The lining is hand-sewn. It's blue; I tried to make the thing more weatherproof since he's running around with it in the middle of winter."

"What about the inner lining?"

"Yes..." She stops. "The lining is hand-sewn. It's blue; I tried to make the thing more weatherproof since he's running around with it in the middle of winter."

"What was he supposed to do in the library?"

"Just to return a book of mine, why?" She looks at you quizzically. "Why all those questions, detective? Did he..."

Do something? Break something? It's a fool's hope.

"What was the name of the book?"

"I think it was Thibault's 'The Glinting Curve'." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was pretty good..."

"Was it 'The Glinting Curve' by M. Thibault?"

"Yes." She becomes unsettled as she says that, her forehead scrunching up into a worried expression.

"What was the name of the library?"

"Oh, it's in Jamrock. The one at Meroe street. I don't know the official name."

"Central Jamrock Public Library?"

"I think, yes. If that's the one on Meroe."

It is.

"Central Jamrock Public Library?"

"He... has a problem with drinking. And so he... disappears every now and then."

"He still hasn't come home?"

"No." She stops.

"Why, do you have any news?"

"Yes, I remember, you mentioned them at the bookstand."

"Mhmh, they came home later. They're good girls."

[Leave.]

"So... how have you been?"

"How have I been?" she shakes her head. "You're not here to discuss me -- what is this about, officer?"

Can't write a scene without knowing the actors. Ask more, get comfortable around her.

"I noticed you were cooking something."

"People gotta eat." She rubs her hands together, anxious. "What is this about? Why are you suddenly asking me about my cooking?"

She's afraid -- and so are you. Man up and cut to the point.

Tell her about the dead body.

You've done this before. Just keep your focus.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry to say, but your husband, Victor Méjean, was found dead on the Martinaise boardwalk."

She blinks. "What-did-you-say?"

A great and terrible spike. The blood freezes in her veins.

"Your husband, Victor Méjean, is dead. I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am."