It was 3:30a.m. at the tail end of a sultry New Orleans July, but I got cold chills when I looked over the banister and saw what was lying on the floor below. Once before I had caught Dan with another woman. That's why he was my ex-husband. But the first woman had been very much alive, whereas this one was not. And that night, he hadn't been wearing a bloodstained suit, like now. In fact, he hadn't been wearing anything at all. In one moment of time, the past fourteen months seemed to flash by like a film rerun at warp speed, a steamy melodrama starring yours truly and the man now crouched by a dead woman's body.