Everyone Here Is Lying

They walk past the Wooler house at the top of the street, with its heavy police presence, the crime-scene tape, the curtains drawn—and she thinks of him in there, with his wife, their world collapsing around them. She feels a strange numbness setting in. “Any idea where he might have been?” the detective asks. But no one admits to being the anonymous witness, and none of them seems to be lying, as far as she can tell. But finally, when she’d searched everywhere and found nothing, when she was certain that the police would find nothing, she sat down, wrote out her grocery list, and went shopping.