“Yes I have. I cannot recall a period of time when they got along. It was like a sibling war from the crib. They’re trying to destroy the firm, aren’t they, Diantha? I’ve seen the financials. I know what’s going on. Far too much overhead, far too little in revenue. As you remember, I ran a tight ship and watched every penny. I hired good people and I was generous with them. These two guys don’t have the sense to run a law firm.”
“It’s not quite that grim, Bolton. We have some talented lawyers that I’ve hired over the years and they are developing nicely. I’m still in charge, albeit by default. Since Rusty and Kirk don’t speak, everything crosses my desk and I manage the firm. The business is always up and down.”
“I suppose.”
He gazed wistfully at the ceiling and let some time pass. After a spell, he asked, “What do people say about me around town, Diantha?”
“That’s a funny question, coming from a man who never cared what others said or thought.”
“Don’t we all think about our legacy?”
“Well, to be honest, Bolton, when I’m asked about you it’s always in reference to Tillie’s death and your incarceration. I’m afraid that’s how you’ll be remembered.”
“Fair enough, I guess. Truthfully, I really don’t care.”
“Attaboy.”
“The odd thing, Diantha, is that I have no remorse. I have not missed that woman for a moment. In fact, when I think of her, and I try mightily not to, her death always brings a smile. Yeah, sure, I wish I hadn’t got caught and all that, and I made some dumb mistakes, but knowing that Tillie is in the ground brings me great joy.”
“I can’t argue with that. No one misses her, not even her two sons.”
“She was just awful. Let’s leave it at that.”
“You and I have never talked about her death, have we?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, and we can’t talk about it now. These little rooms are not always secure. There could be leaks.”
She glanced around and said, “Sure. Maybe one day when you get out.”
“Are we going to be friends when I get out, Diantha?”
“Why not, Bolton? Just keep your hands to yourself. That was always your problem.”
He laughed and said, “It was, but now I’m too old for the chase, don’t you think?”
“No, I think you’re incorrigible.”
“No doubt. I’ve already planned my first trip. I’m going to Vegas to rent the penthouse at a tall shiny hotel, play cards all day, bet the games, eat steaks and drink good wines, and enjoy the young ladies. I don’t care how much they cost.”
“So much for rehabilitation.”
（21）
The death of Tilda Malloy had been imagined many times, and not just by her husband, though Bolton for decades had been by far the most active schemer. After ten years of tumultuous marriage, with no peaceful way out, he began to plot her demise.
It began with a sudden interest in trout fishing the rivers of the Ozarks, something he enjoyed but not nearly as much as he let on. Several times a year he and some friends, and later Rusty and Kirk, would drive three hours south from St. Louis into the mountains, rent cabins, and fish and drink like frat boys.
This led to the purchase of a log house retreat on Jack’s Fork River in southern Missouri. Bolton went through an elaborate and prolonged ruse of feigning a newfound love of the outdoors, and, with time, did in fact acquire a certain fondness for quiet weekends, especially when Tillie refused to join him. She had no interest in any activity that could not be undertaken within ten miles of her beloved country club. She thought the hills were full of hicks, fishing was a weird sport for boys only, there were bugs and crickets everywhere, and besides there wasn’t a decent restaurant to be found anywhere.
When she was diagnosed with coronary heart disease at the age of fifty-seven, Bolton was secretly delighted but maintained a passable front of the nurturing caregiver. Much to his dismay, she whipped herself into better shape, pursued a plant-based diet, exercised two hours a day, and claimed to feel better than ever. When one test after another showed better results, it became apparent that she was not dying anytime soon. Bolton went into a funk and resumed his decades-long fascination with her premature death.
Her first heart attack, at the age of sixty-two, had given her family a renewed hope. Though the topic was never discussed, life without Tillie was a constant dream for Bolton and his sons, and especially their wives. Tillie the mother-in-law was a meddling, conniving troublemaker.