Page 67 of Not a Word

Brent stood, paced the deck. “I’ll be throwing everything away.”

“You’ll reinvent yourself. You’re a salesman, and a good one. Sell something else. Consult. Invent something. I don’t care if I end up bagging groceries. I can’t do this any longer.”

Brent stopped, stood a little straighter, nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t.”

They both turned. It was Catherine, on the other side of the screen. She slid it open slowly with one hand, her other hanging down at her side, out of view.

She stepped outside. “You can’t do that, Brent.”

“Honey, hey. You remember Evelyn, from the party at—”

“I remember.”

Evelyn stood, nodded respectfully. “Hello, Catherine. Don’t know how much you heard but what I’m asking of Brent—what I am asking of you—is to do the right thing.”

“The right thing.”

She nodded. “For your consciences, for yourselves, for your boys, and—”

“Don’t talk about my boys. Don’t talk to me about the right thing. What do you stand to lose? A job?” She scoffed. “How about a husband? Children? A family. A wonderful life. You want us to throw that away? Because you have some little pangs of conscience?”

“Catherine, just—”

She cut off her husband. “He won’t help you.”

Catherine showed what she’d been hiding in her other hand. A gun. She pointed it at Evelyn Corby, who froze, a stunned look on her face.

Brent said, “Christ, Catherine, where the hell did you get—”

“I told you,” she said. “I tried so hard to tell you but you wouldn’t listen. I haven’t felt safe. And I’ve never felt more threatened than right now.”

“Put that down,” her husband said. “Catherine, we can work this out.”

Evelyn’s eyes were darting from side to side, looking for an escape. Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “Read those papers. They’ve done terrible things. Evil things. Your husband isn’t an evil person, and I know you’re not. The evidence is right there. It’s overwhelming. All I’m asking is—”

Catherine raised her arm, trained the gun more squarely on her target.

Evelyn bolted.

She couldn’t head back into the house. Catherine was in her path. She jumped the two steps that led down to the yard from the deck and started running in the direction of the pond, legs and arms pumping.

Catherine went after her, rushing past Brent in pursuit.

Raised her weapon and fired.

A few feet short of the pond’s edge, Evelyn went down, her arms stretched out ahead of her. Her head touched the muddy ground where the pond met the yard.

“No!” Brent cried, racing after his wife, now kneeling next to Evelyn’s lifeless form.

“You stupid bitch!” Brent shouted. “You goddamn stupid fucking bitch!”

Catherine was fixated on the red blossoming stain on the back of Evelyn’s jacket. When Brent tried to wrestle the gun from her hand, Catherine resisted.

“Give me that! Give it to me!” he said.

Catherine broke free long enough to bring her arm back and throw the gun into the air. It sailed over the pond and landed with a splash.