Page 57 of Mail Order Bride

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said. After my “affair.”

No matter how many times I’ve tried to explain the situation with Yvette, a hundred and one different ways, Gina refuses to believe me. And of course, I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not when she’s on the verge of walking out the door. I would be stupid to give her that kind of leverage. That kind of information could get me put away for life, and I’m not about to cut off my nose to spite my face.

Sometimes she says strange things, like she has “visions” of me killing her. But how can I complain? I didn’t marry her because she was sane. I married her because she’s like me.

The way she’s watching me now, it makes me nervous, and nothing makes me nervous. This pretty much sums up the state I’ve been in since I first spotted her at that dance, but more on that later.

Believe me, it’s a lot to digest.

My plate is more than a little full at present.

“You look amazing,” I tell her, which is the truth.A good man can see his wife. But a truly great man can hold up a mirror so she can see herself.“Remind me—how did I get so lucky?”

She shrugs and gives a pathetic attempt at a smile.

I guess we’re back to the silent treatment. It’s my least favorite game in her repertoire, and she knows it. “You’re killing me,” she said to me last night during our big blow out fight. “Literally killing me.”

“You look fine to me.”

She gave me a dead stare and said, “Why don’t you just finish me off?”

And then it was back to the silent treatment, which does make me think about killing her just about every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Fortunately, the feeling never lasts.

I suppose there’s too much chemistry for it to hang around too long. It’s so damn hot, literally and figuratively. Gina says the heat makes people do crazy things, and I believe her.

I know Yvette didn’t up and disappear on her own. I know because I told Gina about Layla, about how I’d helped her, or tried at least. I told her about how Layla was the one to write those letters, the ones she had fallen so hopelessly in love with. She just looked at me and said, “Is everything about you a lie?”

I responded by asking her outright if she’d had anything to do with Yvette’s disappearance, anything to do with the death of the senator’s son, or her former boss’s wife, the town librarian, or the banker who’d called to tell me about her visit not long before his death. “The only thing these people had in common,” I said, “other than the fact that they are dead, is you.”

“You’re crazy,” was all she said. But I could see the wheels turning.

Then I found her diary. Such a vast array of information. She’d written all about her problems, not just with me, but with each of the dead folks.

I’m starting to think that maybe I should be worried about my own safety. Am I next? I planned to confront her about the diary this afternoon, but then Mary Baker showed up.

Maybe she’ll kill us both. I wouldn’t put anything past her.

She could wait until Mary leaves, but knowing my wife, she’d do it just to prove a point.He should have known better.

She’s right. I should have.

I didn’t.

That’s how I ended up here, with this knife in my back. Everything with Gina is some sort of game, only she never lets you in on what it is you’re playing.

Oh, and rules? There’s no such thing, and even if there were, she’d just change them to suit her whim.

This gives her the advantage, not that she needs it.

My wife is a fine actress.

I know that.

If only Mary did.

She doesn’t, and Gina makes a terrible hostess, forcing my hand. I offer Mary the tea and shortbread Gina pretends to have slaved over. “That’s for the Forresters, remember dear?” she tells me with a pretty smile.

This is a lie. The Forresters are our closest neighbors, about a mile away. Gina hates them. Everyone in this town hates them. I think she just wants to punish me by denying me a cookie; little does she know her cooking is punishment enough. Hopefully, she’s better at baking. “I’m sure they won’t mind if there’s a little missing.” I take a cookie and stuff it in my mouth. “How can I resist?”

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