Page 3 of Mail Order Bride

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.

Chapter One

Joel

Seven months earlier

Here lies a weak man. The world is full of them. But now is not the time to bite off more than I can chew. Like they say, you have to bloom where you’re planted and, well, that’s exactly what this fella is going to do from this day forward.

First, though, I have to make him dead. All is well. I have a plan. I always have a plan. Not surprisingly, he’s not making my plan easy.

Asphyxiation is a lot harder than it sounds, and though it’s a crisp, early winter’s day, I’ve already broken a sweat.

The easiest thing to do would have been to bring him to his final resting place already dead, but the best laid plans often go awry.

“Please,” he begs. “I have a family.”

“Treasures gained by wickedness do not profit, but righteousness delivers from death. That’s—”

“Proverbs,” the man says. “I know.”

I make a tsking sound. “Seems there’s a disconnect between knowledge and application somewhere.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t know what to say, like he can’t believe his bad luck. Like,who is this guy?

I raise the shovel. This isn’t the way I wanted to go about his death. The truth is, it’s messy, but I’m not exactly looking for a wrestling match either. I’ve already tried to suffocate him twice, and somehow he’s breathing easier than I am.

“Please.”

I start toward him, the shovel overhead, ready to strike.

“Please!” he cries. “Just shoot me.”

I hate it when they beg. It just delays the inevitable, and quite frankly, it puts a foul taste in my mouth. Why does everyone have to be so weak?

“Fine,” I say, pulling the .38 from my belt. I aim for the spot just between his eyes. His pupils dilate. I change my mind and take aim at his chest. The hammer falls. “Not a problem.”

One shot, center mass. He drops, and he bleeds out into the dirt. Blood has sprayed upon the surface of the hole I dug and the surrounding trees; it’s crimson paint against nature's canvas. Less mess than my usual work, but messy still.

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