And I’ve never lost.
“He’s not filing until the day before your anniversary,” I say. “November the second. That’s, what, a week from tomorrow?”
Vicky nods, chewing on a nail.
“So the question is: What we do now?”
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” she says. “I’d like to break his neck.”
“And what if that happened?” I ask.
Vicky blinks, her expression changing.
“You said you care about him,” I say. “How much do you care about him?”
Vicky walks to the window, looks out over the alley. My guess is she’s spent the last forty-five minutes asking herself that very question.
“If he dies before our tenth anniversary,” she says, “the money stays in the trust. I don’t get a cent. It won’t be marital property.”
Interesting answer. Interesting because she didn’t say,I could never do something like that, I could never hurt Simon.She’s just saying that it wouldn’t work. That means she’s keeping an open mind.
“Lauren’s married,” I say. “Someone named Conrad?”
She flips a hand. “Apparently.”
“How about we tell him about the affair?”
“He probably already knows,” says Vicky, turning to me. “And if he doesn’t, so what? Sounds like their marriage is in the dumper, too.”
I sit down at the table. I’m not coming up with many answers here.
“He’s been different,” she says.
“Simon has?”
She nods. “He’s been more distant the last few days. I didn’t—didn’t think much of it. He gets that way a lot, lost in his thoughts. I didn’t think anything of it.”
I blow out a breath. “What if— What if Simon were injured but not killed?”
“C’mon.”
“What do you mean, ‘c’mon’? I’m serious.”
Vicky takes a moment with that. “Like, injure him enough that he’s out of commission but not kill him, just to buy us a week until November third comes and goes?”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Exactly? And howexactlydoes that happen? Hit him with a car hardenough to hospitalize him but not enough to kill him? Shoot him but miss all vital organs? Hit him over the head hard enough to put him into a coma but not enough to end all brain activity?”
“Okay, okay.”
She touches my arm. “Believe me, if I could pull that off— But it’s not feasible.”
“Well. Then maybe, Vicky Lanier, maybe it’s time you started being really, really nice to your husband?”
She takes a moment to catch my meaning, then rolls her eyes. “That won’t work.”
“You can be charming.”