Broadway Butterfly

by Sara DiVello

But then again, investigations were like races: sometimes the dark horse surprised you.

The only thing worse than being married to a publicly named adulterer was being married to a publicly named murderer. How had her perfect life come to this? She wished for the oblivion of sleep, to stay in bed until she died. She would not return to Philadelphia. She would not receive visitors. She would walk into the sea and let herself sink.

The sun bore down on Park Place, and New Yorkers, the fastest walkers in the world in the fastest city in the world, learned what folks down south always knew: it was best to move a little slower in the summer—there was no besting the heat.