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“Looking at properties.”
“You know about that.”
Milo smiled. “Checking goes two ways.”
Doug March thought about that. “Okay, I’ll buy that. Yes, that’s what I do. Size up opportunities and exploit the best ones. Large, well-run residential projects in areas primed for growth. I put my own money in for part of the purchase, finance the rest by taking on limited partners. I also handle management and charge for that. Ideally, I hold on to the properties no longer than three years and, having improved them, sell at a profit.”
Long speech in his native language. It calmed him.
Milo said, “How often are you gone?”
“Once again,” said March, “I’d have to check but my best guess would be two hundred and forty-four days out of the year. That’s two-thirds of three sixty-five.”
“Did Meagin ever travel with you?”
“I made several trips to Florida. Meagin wanted to go so she came along on…two of them. She brought her bikini and enjoyed the sun. One time she came to Austin when I examined possibilities on Lake Travis. That’s it.”
“The two of you were apart quite a bit.”
Doug March’s eyes slitted. “Are you saying I should have expected her to cheat?”
“No, sir—”
“Meagin never indicated she felt neglected. Just the opposite, between her exercise and her art and her friends, she kept busy. So why would I have expected anything?”
“No reason,” said Milo.
“You’re saying absencedoesn’tmake the heart grow fonder?” said Doug March.
“Sorry if this seems intrusive but we’re just trying to collect info—”
“Obviously you’re right. Aboutourabsences. But how was I to know? Every time I came home she was happy to see me. Made thatclear.”
Pink blotches rose on March’s waxy skin. “Our physical life was excellent. I don’t understand any of this.”
We said nothing.
“She was happy to see me every single time,” he said. “Sixty-one days ago, as well. The only difference was she wasn’t there to greet me.”
He shook his head. Hair swung and settled over both eyes. He brushed it away furiously. “I’m anidiot.”
Milo looked at me.
I ran a finger across my lips.
We sat there as Doug March squinted and grimaced and finished his beer. Lifting the bottle high over his head, he flung it at the fireplace. Stiff, clumsy throw. It bounced, rolled, and came to a stop near a five-foot andiron.
“Can’t even do that,” he said. “Can’t even do fuckingthat.”
CHAPTER
10
We waited for Doug March to compose himself. That didn’t happen; instead he sank into inertia and stared at his lap.
Milo said, “You’re going through incredible stress, Doug.”
A muffled, “So what?”
