Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining a

candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile

hand, tears running down her face. Her praying roused

him from his slumber. He looked up and his pale lips

began to move slightly.

"Becky my darling," he whispered.

"Hush my love," she said. "Rest, don't talk."

He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice,



"I have something that I must confess.

"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping

Becky,

"everything's all right, go to sleep."

"No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I ... I slept

, your best friend, her best friend


"I know, my sweet one" whispered Becky,

"that's why I poisoned you."