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“I suppose you might know a thing or two about that.”
“I thought Davis told you.” She smiles. “We’re waiting until marriage.”
I consider locking her down here. I wonder how long it would be before anyone checked. Then I notice the clipboard in her hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cataloging our selection of wines.”
“They’re not yours,” I say. “Nothing around here is yours.”
She flashes another smile. “Yet.”
I glance at the clipboard. “Let me guess. Another one of your internet projects?”
“I just thought it would help. This way guests can order bottles straight to their rooms or buy some to take home. Plus, the party is tomorrow. And I just want to know where we stand.”
“The wine down here is not for your engagement party.”
“Right. That’s why I’m cataloging it.”
“I see.” I glance over her shoulder at the list. “Well, I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been invested in a little internet project of my own.”
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “You’re always so busy, Ruth.”
“Does the name Chris ring a bell?”
Her eyes shift in the way that I can tell it does, and then she looks up. “Chris is a very common name.”
“I guess.”
“But maybe you’ve stolen from more than one. How would I know?”
“It’s not what you think.” She sighs heavily as she jots something down on her clipboard. When she’s finished, she meets my gaze. “If you must know, I have a stalker.”
“And here I thought you were a storyteller. I hope that’s not the best you can do.”
“You know how men can be,” she says nonchalantly. “You slight them, in the tiniest way—you make them feel rejected—and they’re capable of anything.”
“He didn’t sound crazy. But then looking at you, I guess anything is possible.”
“Ruth—”
I take several steps forward and put my hand on the clipboard. “How much would it take for you to leave? What ten—twenty grand?”
She seems to try to gauge whether I’m serious, so I help her out. “I’m dead serious.”
Her head cocks like she’s offended. She isn’t, and if she is, it’s only by the dollar amount. “I love Davis. We’re going to be married.”
“Do you know how many men there are on the planet? You could have any one of them.”
“You know,” she says, with a tsk-ing sound. “Everyone says that. But when you narrow it down to age and desirable locations, it’s actually a pretty small number. And that doesn’t take looks—or the prosperity factor into consideration. Any smart woman knows the importance of being taken care of.”
I wait for her to say more. But she only sighs wistfully. “So, thank you, Ruth. You’ve really given me a lot to think about.”
“I bet I have.”
Her bottom lip juts out. “Just one thing to think about—maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
I imagine myself taking a wine bottle, cracking it over her skull and then using the broken bits to slit her pretty little throat.
