I tapped my fingers against my steering wheel.
“Kidnap her in the middle of the night and shoot her execution style,” he said, calmly as ever. “Place her body in the trunk of an old car no one will miss and lower it into that lake no one knows about. Or, my favorite specialty from you, indirect. Kill her in her sleep with carbon monoxide or something she’s allergic to. Have I explained this clearly enough?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The quicker you finish her off, the quicker we can move on to the Penelope job. I’ve got your new passport with me. It’s under Tyler Mason.”
“Noted.”
“Can you guarantee to finish this Thatchwood thing within the next few weeks, or do I need to contract it out?”
“No need to get anyone else involved.” I realized that Meredith was now calling me on my other phone. “I’ll do it.”
Michael
Before
“Hey Mer! It’s me, Gillian.” A soft voice came over the condo’s messaging system several days later. “Jake & I just landed in Paris and I’m just returning your call. I can’t believe that you’re actually dating someone! An older man! Maybe that’s what you’ve always needed, huh? How many flowers has he sent you again? Oh, and can you please stop sending me detailed text messages about all the amazing sex you’re having and stick to emails? Little Jake just asked me what the phrase ‘tongued me down until I came on his face’ meant, so…Yeah. Call me back!”
Beep!
I tugged on a pair of gloves and walked over to the frames that covered Meredith’s living room wall. There were pictures of her playing around inside private planes with her best friend, pictures of her playing alongside her mother when she was younger, and countless photos of her posing inside of various fashion offices. Her cursive handwriting marred the edge of each photo, capturing the essence of the moment with short phrases like, “I’ll always love this woman like a sister,” “I miss you every day, mom,” and “Flying high with the best friend a girl could ever have.”
I was about to move on and look around the next room, but I saw a familiar image in the lowest frame. A photo of me. Me in bed, holding her against my chest after another round of sex.
What the…
I lifted the frame off the wall and stared at it. She was smiling with her eyes shut, her naked body flush against mine as I foolishly slept. Squinting, I read her cursive inscription: “This man said he’d ‘ruin’ me. Little does he know, he’s saving me…”
FUCK.
I returned the frame to its rightful place, and turned around.
The flowers I’d sent this morning were sitting on the glass table in her entryway. The ones from yesterday and the day before were holding guard in her reading nook.
I need to get this the hell over with…
I made my way to her kitchen and did a double take. This one room was twice the size of an entire basic condo in the building. Everything was immaculate and white—the appliances all designer grade, the countertops and shelves all grey granite. Even though she was a former heiress and was born into a wealthy family, this was the type of kitchen that belonged in a multi-billionaire’s condo. The type of kitchen that would never work for the type of scene I needed to create.
Then again, it was worth a try.
I walked over to her refrigerator and pulled out the tray of yogurt jars on her top shelf. She insisted on eating three of these a day, even though we’d once argued that she didn’t need to.
Pulling out the small red packet from my pocket, I double checked to make sure I had enough to fill each of her jars. The packet was full of dried and flavorless peanuts—the flavor so faint, she’d never see it coming.
She’d make it at least four scoops in before choking, and since I’d already filled her epi-pen with water the last time I saw her, her attempts to self-medicate would be futile. Just in case she tried to reach the paramedics, her cell phone wouldn’t be able to reach 9-1-1; I’d programmed her phone to reach mine if she ever dialed it.
Housekeeping would find her in the morning, the job would be done, then. I’d be on to the next.
I unscrewed the first row of jars and opened the packet. I held it over the yogurt, and then I stalled. I counted to thirty seconds and vowed to pour the packet in forty-five.
But sixty seconds passed. Then another sixty.
By the time I looked at my watch again, an entire half hour had passed and all I’d thought about was that picture on her wall. That and the feel of her against me from last night.
This man said he’d ‘ruin’ me. Little does he know, he’s saving me…”