“I’ve made two copies. We’ll each sign one. Here are the terms.” I point to the numbers and know they look larger than anything Tish has ever seen in writing, bigger than anything she will ever see again.
She smiles and asks, “And what will you agree to?”
“Nothing. I don’t owe you anything.”
Tish signs on the bottom line, and I sign the contract, too. We each have an executed copy. I slip my copy back into my purse.
Tish leans back on the couch. “He shouldn’t have messed around on me. I don’t care what you say. Even if it wasn’t really an affair, he was going to leave me. That’s not OK,” she says.
“Oh really?” I say. “That’s ironic coming from you.”
“Where I come from, we have a way to handle people who aren’t true. It’s simple, really. Would you like a cherry?” Her tone has shifted. I hear a hint of a southern accent.
She points to a bowl of cherries on the table.
I swallow and try to keep my face expressionless. What is she saying? “No, no thank you.”
“John seemed to like them. I always had them around. Even in Telluride on our last trip. The fruit is delicious, you just have to watch out for the seeds,” she says with the same creepy southern voice. She takes a cherry and pops it into her mouth.
“I understand what it feels like to be betrayed,” I admit. “But killing someone? Your husband? That’s diabolical.”
“Our relationship was the pits at the end,” she says. “You really didn’t want him back? You were just messing with him, us?”
“That’s what I said.” I stare at the bowl of cherries on the coffee table. Did she kill John with cherry pits? Is that even possible? “The coroner ruled it a heart attack. Are you saying something different?”
“I’m not saying anything. John’s autopsy didn’t find anything. The story is over,” Tish says. She pops another cherry in her mouth and smiles. “I made a batch of margaritas. Are you thirsty?”
I fight the urge to run out the front door as a chill runs down my spine. “No, I’m not. You know I shouldn’t give you a dime. I’m convinced you really did kill John, and you could have killed Ashlyn.”
“I’m not stupid. Ashlyn just needed a little warning.” Tish shrugs.
“You will never contact her again.”
She hands me a piece of paper. A deposit slip. “Works for me. Oh, and I need you to make a deposit into this account tonight, before my flight departs at 10:00 p.m.”
I take the slip of paper. “It will be done.”
Tish smiles and stands up. “Great. So, I need help with my bags. Can you do that or are you too old and feeble? I’m kidding, joking around for old times’ sake. Aren’t you glad I’ll be out of your hair soon?”
Beyond glad, a mixture of emotions but mostly joy. I don’t tell her that, of course. I follow Tish up the stairs, the stairs she and John used to climb together up to their bedroom. It’s fine. I can handle it. At least this is the end.
“I’m stronger than I look,” I assure her. “Did you enjoy the screen saver on John’s desktop today?”
She stops at the top of the stairs, and I join her on the landing. She looks momentarily surprised. “No way. That was you? And the threatening note?”
I nod.
“Good job.” She nods her head with a smile, appreciating my handiwork, I suppose.
“Thanks, I guess.” It’s surreal, standing here accepting compliments from her. But this is what my life’s become because of her. And because of John.
At the top of the stairs, Tish sticks out her hand and we shake. She says, “Thanks for coming up with a mutually beneficial deal. I’ll hold up my end. Promise.”
I follow her down the long hall to the bedroom.
She stops at the doorway. “I can’t wait for you to see our bedroom. It was so cozy. We had so many good times here.”
Her little dig won’t work. I feel nothing. I follow her into the room with a lightness I haven’t felt in years. I see two huge suitcases, almost like trunks. She is prepared to leave. This is all working out.
Tish seems almost giddy, like we’re girlfriends and this is the start of a vacation together. “Thank you so much for helping me. We can roll the suitcases down the hall, but we’ll probably need to carry them down the stairs together.”
I start rolling one of the suitcases down the hall. Tish follows with the matching trunk. It’s so heavy I have to push it from behind. I’m not sure if we can handle carrying these. We reach the top of the stairs and both stop to reassess.
“I’m not sure about this,” I tell her. “I think we could slide them down, maybe, one at a time?”
“They’ll crash into the glass table at the bottom of the stairs,” Tish says. “No, we have to carry them.”
Tish is bent down, next to the suitcase she’s rolled to the edge of the stairs. These trunks are likely worth thousands of dollars with big gold latches and the telltale Louis Vuitton monogram. Each one must weigh over one hundred pounds empty.
I look down the hall, past Tish, and blink. It’s Ashlyn. She’s running toward us.
“I’ll take this one.” Tish starts down the stairs, the heavy trunk behind her, and as I watch, Ashlyn shoves her from behind. I see Tish’s necklace wrap around the wheel. It’s all in slow motion. I hear a guttural scream. I watch in horror as Tish’s body flies over the trunk, and they fall together in a terrible tangle to the bottom of the stairs, crashing to a stop under the glass table that shatters and falls on top of the trunk.
We stand together at the top of
