The Widower Murders

Chapter 13 - Journal Entry #1 - June 29, 1995

Something horrible happened tonight, and because I'm afraid of what the authorities might do, I’ve decided to first write down my thoughts about it.  This way I can determine whether it sounds like I acted in self-defense or had every intention to kill him, him being the man I've loved and admired despite repeated rejection.  From the very first time I saw his face in the paper, all I could think about was the two of us being together.  The fact his wife had died some three years ago made things seem even more meant to be.  Articles about how he had been on the Board of Directors for Park Davis, how he had a doctorate degree in biochemistry, how, just as he was running for city council, his only son was about to graduate from the University of Michigan told me so much about the kind of person he was.  I myself am a widow so it was easy for me to relate to how lonely he came across.  The look in those eyes, those big, blue eyes of his.  An affectionate for eye contact, whenever we spoke he always gave me his undivided attention.  Never did I suspect him of being anything but genuine.  A number of times, when it seemed we were getting overly serious, I sensed him backing off a bit.  Despite his being twice my senior, with good reason I wanted to marry.  Often he’d say he wanted to take care of me, for me to not have to work another day in my life.  In turn, companionship.  If I could give him the companionship he'd once had with his first wife it would make him the happiest man ever. But that was the type of foundation I didn't want my new life with someone to be built upon.  What beautiful, vivacious, outgoing woman would?  To expect me to be Betty Homemaker I felt was too demanding.  And I told him so.  Numerous times.  Tonight, however, things just got out of hand.  Who would've ever thought he wouldn't be as in love with me as are the newspaper cut-outs I made of him.