“My name is Lisbeth Sharp. We haven’t met before, but I recently came aboard the project that your husband is working on. I’ve been a chemist for forty years, so I was hoping to lend my expertise.” “Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry . . . he hasn’t mentioned you.” She laughs and waves a hand. “Maybe not, but he talks about you all the time. He’s always so anxious to get out of the lab to get home to you. I recognized you right away from the photo he keeps tacked in his workspace.” As the woman babbles on about their project, I become aware of something that is making my stomach sink. She reeks of the
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