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In fact I cooked enough for three people and ate it all. Then I spent the afternoon packing up everything of Rita's that was left in house and moved it all into the garage. By early evening I was still feeling ambitious and had started to mow the lawn when a police detective finally arrived to formally question me.

Officially, I was finally notified that my wife and another man were both found dead in a hotel room under extremely odd circumstances, but more than that he wouldn't give me any additional information. Did I wish to make any statements? Sure! I told him everything I thought he needed to know.

"What's so odd about it? Ask anyone who knew my wife, and I'll give you at least a dozen names if you want them, and they would all agree that she was a raving psycho. Well actually, most of her friends have better manners and would just say that she was 'excitable' and had 'numerous eccentricities'. Rita was seriously manic-depressive, just like her mother, and no one could ever get her into a doctor's office to get medicated. Last weekend she was on a manic high telling everyone that she'd have 'good news soon' but by Thursday night she was in a depressed fit about something. She loved to keep secrets and never told me any of them. Between you, me and the lamppost, I think she had plans to run off with her lover, but he might have gotten cold feet on her. She admitted Thursday night that she was having an affair and wanted out, and took some suitcases with her when she left for work Friday morning. I think her affair was with her literary agent but I can't prove it – I've never met the man."

"I see." The detective said, hinting that I should continue.

"Can you tell me how she died? Wait, skip that… I honestly don't really care. Since you're standing here asking me questions I have to assume its something nasty like murder-suicide… and that would fit Rita to a 'T'. I'll even bet you that there isn't even a suicide note! That would require some measure of consideration for others that she didn't have a drop of. Not even an 'I'm sorry for the inconvenience'. My guess is that she snapped when he told her that he wasn't going to run off and play house with her, and she stabbed him something like thirty or forty times before leaping to her own death upon the busiest freeway in town… probably during rush hour traffic. Just to cause the maximum amount of inconvenience for everyone! Did I nail it?"

"Not quite." The detective said with a smile.

"And before you ask, I do not want to go to the morgue to see or identify the body. You can call her mother for that, I'll give you the number. My interest or concern in the affairs of my wife, or rather now late-wife, ended the moment she slammed the front door with suitcases in hand. Good riddance. I don't want to see her, or her body again. I won't be going to the funeral, and I especially don't want her ashes. I'm sorry if this is callous, cold or harsh, but I'm just thanking God right now that she didn't start off her crazy spree by killing me first! All of her stuff is packed in the garage. You can look through anything you want and even take anything you might think is helpful, but unless I'm told otherwise it's all going off to Goodwill later next week."

The detective took a spin around the house and asked a few more questions but nothing pointed or remotely tricksy. He shook my hand, wished me well and drove off. It was the last official time anyone involved in the investigation asked anything of me.

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No, I didn't visit the morgue or attend the funeral. Her mother tried to sign me up for the biggest funeral package the mortuary she selected offered, but a quick phone call to the owner straightened that out. Since I was apparently going to get stuck with the cost, as the legal guardian of her estate (yes we both had wills) I demanded the cheesiest low cost cremation the funeral home offered.

Her mother pitched dozens of varieties of fits but I was used to that sort of juvenile behavior from her daughter&h

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