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“Of course I’m sure. And it totally freaked me out!”
I was stunned into silence. Matt had never brought his gun along on any family vacation. Tanya continued, her voice lowering to a whisper.
“Natalie, I think he’s going to kill you!”
In a single breath, the benefits of my relaxing massage dissipated. A wave of nausea rolled through me as I thought about the blowout we’d had before coming up here. Matt had thrown things all around the kitchen, and when I’d told him I wanted him out of the house by February first, he’d picked up a knife and threatened, “I swear I’d kill you right here and now if I could get away with it,” before stabbing the ten-inch blade into the butcher block. Except for the fight we’d had before Anabel’s tragic fall down the stairs, which I’d initiated, I’d never seen him so violent. I was frightened to death and now I wondered: Had he really meant what he said?
Tanya broke into my turbulent thoughts. Terror swam in the depths of her eyes. “What if he’s planning the perfect murder right now as we speak? He’s totally deranged!”
My heart raced; my mind spun. What if he had figured out how to get away with it? Maybe he was planning to shoot me tonight in my sleep and bury me six feet under the snow. Because I was so thin, he’d have no problem disposing of me. Maybe he’d throw my body into the icy lake. Make it look like a suicide. I had a history of psychotic depression. The possibilities were frightening and endless.
Her lips quivering, Tanya reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Oh, Natalie, I’d die if he did anything terrible to you!”
I knocked back my champagne. Then guzzled the rest of the bottle. An icy cold chill passed through me.
“He won’t,” I bit out. I took care of the check and rushed out of the restaurant.
I had to find Matt’s gun.
FIFTY-THREE
NATALIE
My head pounding and my heart racing, I searched frantically for the gun. I tore through every drawer, checked the safe, and even under his mattress. By the time I was done, I’d searched every square inch of our room. I’d even checked the snow-covered terrace, digging through the frigid white powder until my fingers were numb.
Nada. It was nowhere to be found.
Which meant he had it with him.
Shit.
In a state of panic, I staggered to the mini bar and whipped out a nip of Johnny Walker Black. Scotch was Matt’s choice of drink, never mine, but right now in my strung-out condition it was just what I needed. I twisted the cap off and drank it straight from the pint-size bottle. The bitter liquid burned a path from my throat to my gut, but it did little to calm my nerves.
As I was about to grab another, a large white envelope slid under the door. I went over to retrieve it. Only our room number in black marker was printed on it. My already rapid pulse went into overdrive. The envelope shaking in my hand, I debated whether to open it. I did and instantly regretted it.
Awaiting me was a single sheet of paper with the words boldly printed:
YOU’RE DEAD TO ME.
Again, they were in all red caps. Madly, I tore the note apart, then ran to the bathroom and flushed the pieces down the toilet. Then, I speed-dialed Jason, who I should have called right after learning about the gun. Stupid me. To my utter despair, my call went straight to his voicemail. Without leaving a message, I flung the phone on the night table.
It had to be Matt. But why was he mentally torturing me? Wasn’t it enough he was going to kill me? By tomorrow, I could be dinner for a wild pack of coyotes. Or a bunch of hungry bears.
I tried Jason one more time. But again, no answer.
I cursed out loud. Every curse in the book.
What should I do? I couldn’t exactly call hotel security or 911 and tell them my husband was going to shoot me. I had no proof. I didn’t even have the weapon. They’d think I was a nutjob. Delusional and paranoid.
Chugging another Scotch, I paced the room like the madwoman I was, searching for answers. It was futile. Half drunk, half wound up, I couldn’t think straight.
The only thing I could think about was having another drink. And I did.
I collapsed onto the bed.
Popped a Xanax.
And passed out.
