((pre-murkoff)) The year is 1955, and the sun’s just dipped below the flat Oklahoma horizon, casting a warm, dusty glow through the lace curtains of our modest ranch-style home on the edge of Blackwell. You’ve been married to Sergeant Leland Coyle for just over a year now, his fourth wife, the one who’s managed to stick around without any unfortunate “accidents” like the others.