These words have the power to break glass and create havoc once let loose, and I had made no effort to soften the blow.“MURDERED?” Cece squawked–a distressed crow.I was astonished that one word could take up so much space in a kitchen; it hovered blimp-like above our heads. I could also almost hear the echo of smashing glass ringing in the air; dinging over the city. It heralded bad news: murder, danger, daggers falling.“You are telling us it wasn’t a car accident?” Kate looked stunned.Suzanne put down the brush and sat heavily on the floor, bewildered. “Murdered?”I cleared my throat. “It was a car crash. It wasn’t an accident.”Cece wanted clarification. “He might have been murdered.”Facts were moving tidal fast. I needed to cling to the possibility that this was a bad dream and I’d wake up, which is marvellous optimism from someone who never sleeps.Having trumped Cece’s news about expanding the business, it was my turn in the spotlight. No escape. “He might have been murdered.
