Hailing a cab in the chilly weather was not easy. My hands were stiff inside the gloves, and the exposed part of the face was frozen. I couldn’t recall what it meant to be hale and hearty. Two cabbies just floated past me without stopping. Maybe, I looked like a snowman.
I needed to reach Chili Pepper, the restaurant in JW Marriott, where Henry was waiting for me, to hand over the will he had made in my favour. I walked as fast as I could manage. I stopped to ask for directions, but nobody paid heed to me.
I was in the restaurant, sitting opposite Henry, but he would not look at me. He was busy talking to someone on the phone,
“I just heard that Marianne has been driven over by a truck on the highway. I suspect foul play. Call the detectives.”
Marianne…. but that’s me.