“Right. I got that, Counselor.” He added, “Let’s see what he says when I talk to him.”

“All right. So, what’s next?”

Detective Nastasi hit the print button and said, “You read this and sign it.” As the pages printed out, he further informed us, “This will be part of the case report. We take threats seriously, and we will follow up with the party named. Meanwhile, I advise you both to avoid all contact with this man.”

“Goes without saying.”

“Right. But I have to say it.” He added, “I’d advise you also to take some normal precautions, but I’ll leave that to you to decide what kind of precautions.” He looked at us and said, “After I speak to him, I’ll get back to you and advise you further.”

I asked, “When will you speak to him?”

“Very soon.”

My statement was hot out of the printer, and Detective Nastasi handed it to me and said, “Look it over, then if everything is in order, I’d like you to sign it.”

I scanned the pages, then took my pen and signed where my name was printed.

Detective Nastasi gave each of us his card and said, “Call me if you think of anything else, or if you see him around, or if you see anything that arouses your suspicion.” He added, “Or call 9-1- 1.”

I nodded and asked him, “Do you intend to put him under surveillance?”

He replied, “I’ll take that up with my supervisors after we speak to Bellarosa.”

That seemed to be about it for now, so Detective Nastasi walked us back through the squad room and up the stairs and into the big reception room. I said to him, “Thank you for your time and your attention to this matter.”

He didn’t reply to that, but said to us, “If you intend to leave the area for any reason, please let us know.” Then he assured us, “You did the right thing by coming in.”

We shook hands, and Susan and I left the station house and walked toward the car. I said to her, “We did do the right thing, and this is going to be all right.”

She asked me, “Can we change the subject now?”

“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything.”

We got in the car and I headed home. We drove in silence awhile, then Susan said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you care about me, or my money?”

“Your money.”

She pointed out, “But you were worried about me even before you proposed to me.”

Did I propose? Anyway, I replied, “I’ve always cared about you, Susan, even when I wanted to break your neck.”

“That’s very sweet.” She thought a moment, then said, “This is all my fault.”

I assured her, “It is. But it’s our problem.”

She thought about that, then said, “I didn’t know he threatened you.”

I didn’t respond.

She asked me, “What did you say to him that made him say that to you?”

I told him that his father was going to abandon his whole family for Susan Sutter, and it felt good saying it.

“John? What did you say to him?”

“I just turned down his job offer without showing the proper respect.”

“That hardly warrants the kind of threat he made.”

I changed the subject and said, “I think we should take a vacation right after Ethel’s funeral.”

“I’ll think about it.” She said, “Meanwhile, it’s a beautiful day, and I need a break, so why don’t we drive out to the Hamptons for the day?”

If she meant a mental health break, we’d be gone a few months, but I replied, “Good idea. We’ll stop and get our bathing suits.”

“There’s that beach in Southampton where we don’t need bathing suits.”

“Okay.” I made a course correction, and within ten minutes we were on the Long Island Expressway heading east to the Hamptons for a skinny-dip in the ocean.

I had once owned a summer house in East Hampton, and so had my parents, and the Sutter family would spend as much of the summer as possible out east. When my children were young, and when I was still on speaking terms with my parents, those had been magical, barefoot summers, filled with awe and wonder for the kids, and with peace and love for Susan and me.

I had sold the house because of my tax problems, and I hadn’t been back to the Hamptons in the last decade, so I was looking forward to spending the day out east, and not thinking about this morning, or tomorrow.

Susan said, “This will be like old times.”

“Even better.”

“And the best is yet to come.”

“It is.”

There are no officially sanctioned nude beaches in the Hamptons, but we found the secluded ocean beach in Southampton that was unofficially clothes-optional.

I parked the car in the small windswept lot and we got out. The beach was nearly deserted on this Monday in early June, but there were two couples in the water, and when the surf ran out, we confirmed that they were skinny-dippers.

Susan and I ran down to the wide, white-sand beach, shucked our clothes, and dove in the chilly water. Susan exclaimed, “Holy shit.”

It was a bit cool, but we stayed in for about half an hour, and before hypothermia set in, we ran back to the beach. As we pulled on our clothes over our wet bodies, Susan said, “I remember the first time we did this together, when we were dating.” She reminded me, “I’d never done this before, and I thought you were crazy.”

“Crazy in love.” In fact, there were a lot of things that Susan Stanhope hadn’t done before she met me, and maybe I was attracted to that sheltered rich girl who was gamely going along with my silly antics. I was trying to impress her, of course, and she was trying to show me she was just like everyone else. Eventually we both started being ourselves, and it was a relief to discover that we still liked each other.

We jogged back to the car and drove into the formerly quaint, now boutiquified village of Southampton, and had a late lunch at one of our old haunts, a pub called the Drivers Seat. At Susan’s strong suggestion, I ordered a grilled chicken salad and sparkling water, but when I got up to go to the men’s room, I changed it to a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a beer. Susan apparently remembered this trick, and when she went to the ladies’ room, she reinstated the original order. A good friend once said to me, “Never date or remarry your ex-wife.” Now I get it.

After our salads, we took a walk along Job’s Lane, which, according to a marker, was laid out in 1664, and was now filled with trendy shops, restaurants, and adventurous settlers from Manhattan Island.

Susan said, “Let’s buy you some clothes.”

“I have some clothes.”

“Come on, John. Just a few shirts.”

So we stopped in a few shops and bought a few dress shirts, and a few sports shirts, a few ties, and a few jeans, and a few other things I didn’t know I needed. She bought a few things for herself as well.

We decided to stay overnight, so we also bought workout clothes and bathing suits, and Susan called Gurney’s Inn, out near Montauk Point, which has spa facilities, and she booked a room with an ocean view. We then drove east, through the remaining villages of the Hamptons, including East Hampton, where we’d once had our summer house, and I asked her, “Do you want to drive past our old house?”

She shook her head and replied, “Too sad.” She reminded me, “The children really loved that house, and loved being here.” Then she brightened and said, “Let’s buy it back.”

I replied, “You can’t buy back all your old houses.”

“Why not?”

“Well, money, for one thing.”

She informed me, “I don’t want to sound crass, John, but someday I’ll inherit my share of a hundred million dollars.”

That was the first time I’d ever heard what the Stanhopes were actually worth, and I almost drove off the road. I mean, the Stanhope fortune, when it was mentioned at all, was always preceded by the adjectives “diminished” or “dwindling,” which made me feel sorry for William and Charlotte. Not really, but I always pegged their net worth at about ten or maybe twenty million, so this number came as a surprise. Now I was really in love. Just kidding.