Page 104 of Say Yes to the Death

- Get Aaron’s final choice on caterer

“We’re going to crush that dried up, one-dimensional sycophant,” Mindy said as she crossed the threshold of Claire’s apartment and flung her overnight bag into the living room. The blonde wig from earlier poked out through the zipper.

“Kyle sounded pretty confident,” Claire conceded. They had called him on the way back from the stakeout. She threw a pile of mail onto the bar and let Rosie off her leash. Kara, her downstairs neighbor, had agreed to doggysit during the stakeout. Not that she knew about the stakeout.

Rosie sprinted for her latest favorite chew toy, a fish taco.

“I can’t believe the mediation meeting is on Monday.” Claire rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.

“Everything will be fine,” Mindy said. “Kyle is going to threaten to counter-sue for intentional affliction of emotional distress, and if that doesn’t work, you’ll drop the bomb about her sleeping with the councilmen and threaten to go public with it.”

“I do feel a little bit bad for Jason. Should I tell him?”

“Don’t,” Mindy said, pulling two wine glasses from Claire’s cabinet. “He deserved it. He cheated on you, then he stalked you for almost a year while living with Wendy. He’s the textbook definition of trash.”

Claire groaned and pulled a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge. She dumped some into their glasses and retreated to the living room. “I’m so ready for things to go back to normal.”

Mindy snorted. “Are you kidding me? With Wendy? It’ll be months ‘til this thing is sorted out. But at least we can look forward to drinks tomorrow night.”

Claire frowned. Right. Mindy’s blow-off-some-steam night. She would be surrounded by couples and fifth-wheeling it with Sawyer in tow. “Right. Want to go over some finishing touches for Aaron’s proposal?”

“Definitely. I have some thoughts about the lighting.”

An hour later, every detail was hammered out for the gallery proposal. It was going to be magical. Claire carried their wine glasses to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. She picked up her stack of mail and flicked through it. Bill, bill, spam.

Oh, hell. A plain white envelope with no return address was nestled between a bridal magazine and her water bill.

Her hands shook, and it fell to the floor. She bent to get it, and her elbow slammed off a cabinet door. She stared up at the ceiling. Why was she being punished?

Mindy’s head popped up from the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“Pretty sure my friends sent me another note.” Claire opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves. She slid them on and ripped open the envelope. For once, she wasn’t full of dread. She was sick of this childish game of notes and empty threats. If they wanted her, why hadn’t they come to claim her?

Mindy stood and wandered into the kitchen. Her face was grim. “Want me to call Officer Shiccitano?”

Claire skimmed the contents and rolled her eyes. She tossed it onto the bar. “I’ll give it to him tomorrow. It’s just the usual, we’re watching you and we’re going to cut out your liver and make cookies with your spine, etcetera. Get in line, bitches. They’ll have to get past Wendy first.”

Mindy bent over the note and read it. She didn’t laugh. “Claire, this is serious. We should tell the police.”

“It’s just another stupid message saying the same thing as always. Trust me, this can wait until the morning.” And if the delay irritated her father, even better. “For a supposed organization of female-hating serial killers, their threats are incredibly underwhelming. Let’s go to bed.”

“If you say so,” Mindy said, but she was still looking at the note. “Have you told Luke about all this? The cult and everything?”

“Nope.” Claire pulled a sandwich bag out of her drawer and deposited the note and envelope inside.

“You don’t think he’d want to know?”

“Of course he’d want to know. That’s exactly why I’m not telling him. I’m not going to write his next documentary for him.” She flung the bag into her purse.

“He’ll find out eventually, though. I’m sure Nicole told Kyle.”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t care if it makes him angry.”

“You know what? You’re right. Fuck him.”

Finally, they agreed on something.

Claire whistled for Rosie, and the three of them collapsed onto Claire’s bed. The note intruded into Claire’s thoughts as she settled down to sleep, but she pushed it away. Every minute of this week was already accounted for, and “worrying about notes from murderous idiots” was not on the agenda.

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