Page 115 - Herzlia HS Magazine 2021

There was no investigation. How could there be? With half his face

battered to a pulp by the sheer force of impact. Still, that didn’t stop
Officer Meghan Jacobson from being a looming shadow in my
presence for the next month.

Clearly, my all star crocodile-tear performance when she delivered

the news of Joey's passing, meant she felt some sort of responsibility
towards me. She thought we were friends. Which was why she sat at

my kitchen island, two weeks after Joey’s death, sipping a glass of red
wine from my cellar. Somewhere in the middle of our trivial

conversation, I shed a spontaneous tear about Joey. It felt like the
appropriate reaction. “Grieving” widow and all. And before I knew it,
Meghan moved around the kitchen island and engulfed me in her

embrace. That was new. Usually physical affection was limited to the
squeeze of a hand or a pat on the back. And it was rather

unprofessional; she was investigating my dead husband’s case
afterall. But clearly my case seemed to be affecting her too- she

seemed to crave the hug more than I did.

But that’s when it hit me. That pungent, poisonous citrus scent. And
it clicked. She sure did need that hug more than I did, because it
turned out Ms Meghan was grieving too. Trapped in her embrace, I

realised that Meghan Jacobson was wearing ‘Hugo Boss Orange
Sunset’ perfume. Meghan Jacobson was my husband’s mistress.

I could feel the rage almost bursting from my chest. But I schooled
my face into a neutral expression. I needed to think. She eventually

released me and returned to her spot at the kitchen island. That’s
when I noticed it. The small circle of plastic that rested beside her

wine glass stem. A contact lens. “Oh! Meghan your contact,” I stated
nonchalantly.

“Oh my word. I didn’t even notice,” she chuckled- rosey cheeks on
display- I bet Joey loved those.