I could hear the sound of windshield wipers slashing against glass in the background.

“He took the car,” Juliette sobbed, her voice cracking. “He left me on the shoulder of the county road.”

I looked down at my free hand, noting the faint smudge of dust on my knuckles from the old hallway table.

“Where is Mark?” I asked.

“He went back toward the city to find his mother’s accountant,” she said, gasping for breath. “He has the offshore papers in his briefcase.”

I gripped the cord of the telephone, twisting the black coils around my index finger.

“That is none of my concern anymore,” I said.

“Claire, please,” she whimpered. “It’s freezing out here. I don’t have my purse. He threw it out the window.”

I listened to the steady beat of the rain against the kitchen window pane.

“You should call the police, Juliette,” I said.

“They will arrest me too,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “They will.”

I lowered the receiver back onto its heavy black cradle.

The metal bell inside the phone gave a short, dull quiet chime as the connection severed.