Epilogue
Mrs. Irene Moriarty remembered the listing in the paper that followed news of her wedding the following morning.
A simple message. But an unmistakable one. “I shall never pardon you of your crimes.” It wasn’t signed. But it was obvious who it was from.
Eight years passed quickly. And she would have said they were a happy eight. And, perhaps, she would have liked to think that James would have said so, too. For he certainly said he smiled and laughed more in that time than he ever had before.
And as he held her hand while the poison he had slipped into her dinner put her to a painless and endless sleep, he wept, saying he would never smile or laugh quite like that ever again.
She believed him.
And kissed him one last time as she died.
Fin.*
* No. No! This will NOT stand!