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He hands me a silk scarf from the rack by the door. His favorite. “You are,” he says. “And then you’re going to drive her car out to that spot I showed you. The one where we stopped to pick lemons on our honeymoon.”
“That was a day trip, hardly what I’d call ahoneymoon.”
“Strange. I recall you being rather pleased.”
I start to argue, but he says, “That’s the thing about women. You can never make them happy.”
The phone rings. It’s Mona. I take the call in the living room and keep it short, but Joel knows I’m talking about him, because when I come back I see his eye on the ax he keeps by the door. “Let’s try to minimize distractions. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
He can say what he wants. This is not the time to disagree. “Great. While I’m playing dress up, what areyougoing to do?”
“I’m going to take care of the body.”
The way he says it—so nonchalantly, like we’re having a discussion about what’s for dinner, or the fence that needs mending. It might have gone on like that for a long time, but then we hear tires on gravel. “Expecting someone?”
A knot forms in my throat. I shake my head.
I hear him sigh, and I feel the remaining air being sucked out of the room, out of the town, out of the universe, before I understand the reason. His jaw tightens. “What have you done?”
I’d speak if I could. Instead, I follow his gaze out the window. I watch as the police cruiser comes barreling toward the house, and I wonder if this could finally be the end.
