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“Tanya, sweetheart, I need to run to the restroom.” I glanced down at the monstrous purse by my feet. “Would you be a dear and watch my bag? I’ll be right back.”
Her smile widened. “Of course. I’ll guard it with my life.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
NATALIE
When I got back to the room, Matt, to my relief, still wasn’t there. It was going on twelve thirty. My phone fifty percent charged, I called Paige and asked if she could take Tanya to the ski shop to buy some boots.
“Do I have to, Mom? Can’t you?”
“No, I’ve got something important to do.” Like getting rid of your father’s gun once and for all. “It’ll only take an hour and you should go soon before it begins to blizzard.” Standing by the window, I could see that both the sky and lake had darkened, and flurries were already falling.
“Fine.” She stabbed the word at me.
“Use your debit card, and I’ll pay you back later.”
Before ending the call, I asked about Will. “Is he with your father?”
“No, he’s not with our father.” I detected attitude in her voice. “Dad drove up to Big Bear—to Sugarloaf—to get in some skiing. Will’s here in the room, watching a Harry Potter movie.”
“Good.” That meant Matt wouldn’t be back for hours. I told Paige to drive safely and jabbed the red button. Just as the call disconnected, a loud rap sounded at the door. Matt?
I padded over to it.
“Who’s there?” I asked. I couldn’t be too careful.
“Thomas from the front desk. I have an envelope for you.”
Cautiously, I opened the door, and standing before me was a young, uniformed valet, no older than twenty. He handed me the large white envelope that was identical to the one I’d received yesterday with our room number printed on it in black marker.
“Thank you, Thomas.” I took it from him. “Do you by chance know who dropped this envelope off at the front desk?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t. I just started my shift.”
I thanked him again and shut the door, making sure to lock it. Wasting no time, I undid the clasp and removed the single sheet of paper inside. Written on it in red caps were the words:
REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD.
One of Matt’s favorite lines. Originating in the eighteenth-century French classic Les Liaisons Dangereuses, it was made famous by Marlon Brando’s Don Vito Corleone in the movie The Godfather. Whenever Matt said it, he imitated the actor’s raspy mobster accent. In my head, I could hear him. I used to think it was funny; I no longer did.
Crumpling the note, I tossed it into the wastepaper basket and returned to the window. The lacy flakes were now bigger, coming down faster. There was already a fresh coat of snow on the ground. Within an hour, the benign snowfall would morph into a blustery blizzard. I was worried about Paige and Tanya, and hoped they’d make it back to the hotel before the roads became hazardous.
Despite my concern, the snowfall was mesmerizing. An exquisite dance of nature. By tomorrow, there would be over a foot of fluffy fresh white powder on the ground with drifts rising to six feet and more. I loved going outdoors on the morning following a big snowfall. Sinking into the soft glistening white carpet, the sun blazing, making the frosted trees sparkle like Swarovski chandeliers.
The vision of a winter wonderland filled my head and suddenly, like magic, a vivid fantasy began to play out in my imagination.
Tomorrow, I’d convince Matt to go back up to Big Bear. To go snowshoeing with me in the silent, snow-covered forest. Something we enjoyed doing together. And talk “things” over. The hope of a reconciliation, the cincher.
As always, we’d forge our own path, far away from others. I’d let him lead the way, me right behind him. When he wasn’t looking, I’d take out the gun and shoot him in the head at close range. He’d never hear me pull the trigger as the crunch of our snowshoes would drown out the sound. Bang!
No one would hear me, and even if they did hear the shot, they’d likely think it was coming from someone hunting, which was allowed in these parts. Then, as he staggered to the ground, not knowing what had hit him, I’d shoot him again, just for good measure. Wearing my ski mittens, I’d pile a ton of snow over him so he wasn’t visible. Leave him behind. Then wait till the sun was almost down and run to the authorities and tell them in a panic my husband and I had gotten separated in the dark, snowy forest, and I was worried about him. Tell them I looked and looked and kept calling out his name. Maybe a bear had attacked him, I’d tell them all teary-eyed.
There was one thing I was for sure: an excellent actress. I’d been acting my entire adult life. Pretending to be someone I was not. This was just a new role for me: the poor concerned wife, soon to become the poor grieving widow. By the time they’d find his body, which could take a couple of days, especially since more snow was predicted, he’d be a frozen corpse. And probably look a lot like frightening Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
The police would discover he’d been shot, but they’d never prove it was me. With no footprints thanks to the fresh layer of snow, no fingerprints thanks to my snow mitts, or any trace of my hair thanks to my ski hat, there’d be no evidence. Plus, Matt’s gun would long be gone. Before I headed back to the hotel, I planned to throw it into Big Bear Lake. They’d never find it.
Plus, it was no secret weirdos hung out around here. Men and women who’d retreated from society for whatever reason and lived reclusive lives in log cabins with rifles beside them. Some were reportedly murderers.
