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Jen opened the door, enjoying the delicious feel of skin on cloth beneath the trench coat. Oh, sure, it was tropey as hell. But tropes existed for a reason, right? She closed it quietly behind her, the snick of the bolt a bright sound in the dark house. He was probably waiting upstairs, perhaps reading a book or some other mundane, domestic thing. She’d told Landon this was one of her fantasies, criminal-turned-lover, and he’d agreed after the last time to play it like that.

She snuck up the stairs, the carpeted steps silent beneath her bare feet. Robbers didn’t go unshod, but what the heck else was she supposed to wear? Heels made zero sense—again, because robber—and she’d feel downright silly being naked in a trench coat with a sensible pair of Doc Martens and black Dickies sticking out of them. The bedroom door was third on the right. Empty. Sitting room? she wondered to herself as she walked back downstairs, maybe just a little uneasy and not knowing why.

She walked through the darkened living room toward the back of the house. The plan was to go through the kitchen to the covered porch they used as a sitting room, but she didn’t make it past the kitchen because that’s where she found him. With a hole in his head.

Jen ran out of the house, across the driveway, and into her own kitchen. She couldn’t call the police dressed like this. With thoughts racing and plans whirling, she ascended her own staircase, into her own bedroom. She dressed quickly. Jeans. T-shirt. Too casual. She swapped the top for a green V-neck blouse, tied her hair back, and slipped on flats.

Looking herself over in the mirror, she walked back across the driveway and opened the front door to set the scene. She sat on the front porch and started shaking. Pulled out her phone and called 9-1-1.

“My neighbor has a hole in his head.” She gave the address and hung up. The cold of the cement porch seeped through her jeans and the damp November air took a tour through her blouse. She dialed, stopped, and stared at the juniper bushes lining the front yard. Took a deep breath and willed calm. Finished dialing.

✦

Parker grabbed her phone off the nightstand and answered. “Hey, Jen! What are you up to? I was just about—”

“You need to come home, Parker.”

“I can’t right now. I’m a little busy. Do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?”

“Now Parker. Right now.”

“Jen, what is going on? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s…It’s Landon.”

The way she said it told Parker everything. Logic, normal life, and expectations for the world be damned. Her husband was dead.

“I’m on my way.” Parker looked over at him. “I have to go.” He gave her an accusing look, but she couldn’t care right now.

She got off the bed and slipped her shoes on, glad they hadn’t had time for any further clothing removal. With her purse thrown over her shoulder, she walked out of the hotel room just as his phone rang.

✦

“Hi, honey.”

“Mikey! You need to come home. Right now!”

“Are you OK?”

“No. Landon is dead. Please come home.”

“What? What do you mean, he’s dead?”

“I didn’t suppose that a statement requiring explanation, Michael.” He could hear the disapproval in her voice.

“No, I guess not. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Where are you?”

He hung up and ran down to the parking garage.

✦

The strobe of the red and blue lights washed over everything, a tableau of despair and death. Parker slammed her car to a stop and jumped out, running for her front door. “Where is he!?” One of the many policemen on the scene stepped in front of her to slow her down and held his hands up.

“Ma’am, you can’t go in there.”

“That’s my house!”

“May I have your name, please?”

“Parker Card. What is happening?”

Jen walked across the lawn and grabbed Parker by the shoulders. “Parker, sweetie…he’s gone. Landon is dead.”

Parker started laughing. “Oh, I get it. Where are the hidden cameras? How much did they pay you, Jen? Who hired all these cops? When—” and she fell, Jen helping her to the ground.

Michael pulled up a moment later, doing a repeat of the Parker run, though he stopped without police assistance. “Is it true?” he asked the cop. “My best friend is dead?”

“If your best friend was Landon Card, then yes, sir. I’m very sorry for your loss.” Michael and Jen looked to the left at a man in his mid-thirties, gun, gold badge, and coffee announcing “detective.”

The paramedics arrived just as Parker regained consciousness, and she waved them away with an annoyed hand. Michael and Jen nodded at each other. “If it’s alright with you, Detective…” Jen started

“Swanson.”

“Detective Swanson, we’d like to take our friend over to our house and get her some water, take care of her.” Jen pointed to their house. “The door is open whenever you want to talk with us.” Swanson nodded his assent.

The threesome made their way to the Suter residence.

✦

Parker sipped her coffee and then collapsed back onto the granite. She found it hard to stay upright, harder still to stay awake, but she was trying. Jen sat next to her, rubbing her back and whispering soothing nothings. Michael was on the other side of the kitchen island, staring at the darkness decorating the windows.

There was a knock on the door—tap, tap, tap—not insistent, not waifish, just a knock. Jen looked up at Michael, told him silently to answer it. He traipsed through the living room to the front door, opened without even peeping, correctly expecting Detective Swanson, incorrectly assuming he would be alone.

“Good evening again, Mr. Suter. You’ll allow me the honor of introducing Detective Furman Stevens, my supervisor and partner. Is now a good time to talk?” Michael didn’t answer, just stepped back and let them in.

As the detectives walked into the kitchen, Stevens spoke to everyone. “I understand this is a difficult time and we’re not here to make it harder. We only want to find the person who killed Mr. Card and bring him to justice. That in mind, are you three willing to talk with us?”

They nodded. Michael dutifully, Parker absently, Jen eagerly.

“Wonderful. Mr. Suter, if you’ll join us in the sitting room.” Stevens led the way to the covered porch as if he owned the place.

Detective Stevens sat on the wicker couch facing the kitchen and asked Michael to close the door. Swanson stood behind the couch, holding his hand out to invite Michael to sit in the La-Z-Boy across from them.

“Now, Mr. Suter, I have to let you know first that this is merely an informal interview, but if you wish to have legal counsel present, that is your right.” Stevens’ eyes bored into Michael, daring him to request a lawyer.

“I have nothing to hide, sir. I’m happy to talk to you.” Michael shifted uncomfortably.

“Very good. First, where were you this evening before you arrived home?”

The interview continued for a few more minutes, Michael answering the questions as he thought he should.

✦

Jen sat down on the recliner, a sour look on her face. “Yes, no lawyer. Let’s get on with it.”

“To confirm, Mrs. Suter, you will talk to us without a lawyer present at this time?” Swanson took the lead now.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Mrs. Suter—”

“Call me Jen.”

“Of course. Jen, please tell us how you came to discover the body of Mr. Card this evening.”

“I was going over to…” she paused. Looked down at her feet.

“Yes? You were going to do what?” Swanson prompted.

“Oh, hell. Is this confidential?” She looked at the sitting room door, verifying it was closed.

“Anything you tell us will be held in the strictest confidence.”

“OK, look. Landon and I were having an affair.”

“I see. Go on.” Swanson was unimpressed.

“Six months it’s been. One night I took a lasagna over for them. Parker was sick. He thanked me but said she was in the hospital. Next thing I knew, we were in bed. Not even sure how it happened.” Which was a lie. They’d been hinting to each other for years.

“And was a tryst on the menu tonight?” Detective Stevens somehow made it sound clinical.

“Yes. It wasn’t our usual night, but Michael had to work late and Parker was volunteering. He wanted me to be a robber.” She said it like it was normal.

“And you went over there tonight, found him calling Parker? Telling you it wasn’t going to work anymore? Insisting he must break it off? How did that make you feel?”

“What? No! When I went there, he was already dead.”

Swanson looked down at his phone. Made a few taps and then read, “‘My neighbor has a hole in his head.’ Such an odd phrasing for someone discovering a shooting victim, don’t you think?”

Jen’s mouth described a hard line. “Lawyer.”

✦

“Mrs. Card, I’m so very sorry for your loss. Anything you can tell us will help, but I can appreciate if you would like to wait until later or have someone present with you.” Stevens put a hand on her shoulder as she sat in the chair.

Parker took a breath. “No. I want to find out who killed him. However I can help.”

“We appreciate that, and we will do everything we can to ensure the killer is brought to justice. To begin, do you know of anyone who would have a reason to hurt your husband?”

“I should think not. If anyone didn’t like Landon, it was because they were blind. He was the epitome of kindness and giving. It’s the thing I love,” she paused, suppressed a sob, “loved most about him.”

“And do you have any reason to believe your husband was involved in anything…illicit?” Stevens stared at her, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were still filled with tears.

“No. He smoked some weed when we were in college, but who didn’t? I can’t imagine him doing anything that would lead to someone murd—” Parker broke down completely, her wails so loud that Michael and Jen came in and hugged her.

Jen looked at the detectives. “I think this interview is over. I invite you to leave, gentlemen.” It sounded like “assholes.”

Stevens stood, followed by Swanson. Cards were handed over, “call us if” suggestions provided. They walked through the sitting room to the kitchen door, when Stevens turned suddenly, looking at Jen. “Please be sure to give us the contact information for your lawyer, Mrs. Suter.”

Michael and Jen helped Parker back to the kitchen, poured her some more coffee. She sat on the stool and looked at Jen. “You asked for a lawyer? Why would you do that?” She looked ready to attack.

“Easy, Parker,” Michael said. “You’re very hurt, very broken, and you want to lash out. I understand. But Jen is not your enemy.”

“Oh? Then how about you? You only spent ten minutes with them. How come? Pleaded the fifth and clammed up?”

“Parker, honey. We’re on your side.” Jen put her hand on Parker’s and was immediately rebuffed.

“Then stop acting like murderers,” Parker said, standing and walking tearfully into the night.

✦

He’s looking at me expectantly. “General Tso’s Chicken, large. Pork fried rice. Four egg rolls.” It’s not our usual order. He raises his eyebrows as I give the credit card info. Hopefully, he won’t mind that I used it. “Your order will be ready in thirty minutes,” the voice trills through the speakerphone.

The phone slaps down on the marble as I look across the island at him.

“What should we do while we wait?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and looking at my chest.

“Die?” I asked.

His brow was still furrowed in confusion when my bullets went through it.

I wonder if the cops will know that he was confused at the point of death.

I walk through the side door. No streetlights—thank you, cul-de-sac board—no people. I open the door and deposit the gun in the map pocket. Now I need to go get the food. Curbside pickup, of course. COVID wasn’t good for much, but it was good for hiding faces from cameras.

I parked in the garage and hefted the two bags as I stepped out and looked at my watch. 7:55. Perfect. I knew she’d done her job, because her son was dead if she hadn’t, and weren’t bratty kids just wonderful motivators?

Oh, you probably think me a heartless monster now. Who threatens to kill a nine-year-old boy for leverage?

I do.

✦

“It’s got to be Jen. Found out he wasn’t going to leave his wife and killed him. Why else would she be there? We already know they were involved.”

“I’m not sure,” Swanson said. “I’d like to think it was Parker. She learns of the affair and it pisses her off.”

“Great,” Steven replied. “How did she find out?”

Swanson threw up his hands as Detective Adam Ruiz walked in, having just eaten the canary. “You boys are going to want to see this.” He set his laptop on the conference room table, connected it to the big screen. “I ran the credit cards. Mr. Suter ordered Chinese. Oh, and he was at a hotel. Is that important?” Adam’s eyes shone like the sun.

They stared at him, waiting for the punchline. “Here’s the footage.” He looked up as the screen displayed the motion-stop-motion-stop video that low-end systems were famous for. Adam walked to the front of the room. “There’s Mr. Suter.” He pointed.

“Drumroll, please!?” he asked a non-existent drummer.

“And here, in the same hotel, at the same time, on the same date…is Mrs. Card.”

Ruiz smiled in gotcha as Parker appeared on the screen, stopping briefly at the front desk and then walking to the elevator. They kept watching on fast forward as Parker left ten minutes later and reappeared ten minutes after that, carrying a bag in each hand labeled “Mike Wang’s Chinese.”

“Well,” Detective Stevens said, “looks like we have three suspects now.”

Ruiz jumped in. “Actually sir, we don’t. ME reported the time of death as 7:45pm. This video shows Michael walking in to the hotel at 7:40, Parker at 7:45. Zero chance they were at both murder scene and hotel.”

“Oh!” Swanson now. “Then I guess we get a warrant for Jen.”

✦

It was the first time I’d ever been hired three weeks ahead of time. It was the second time a client had threatened my son, though this one came with a picture of him in his bedroom. I scrolled to look at the text on my phone. This had to be perfect. Desk. Elevator on the left. Room 318. 10 minutes. Leave. It was the most bizarre setup I’d ever had, which was saying something for a call girl of eighteen years. With Matty’s life in the balance, however, I wasn’t going to question anything.

I finished dressing as instructed, helpless against the feeling of being a pawn. Blond hair in a bob. Five inches. Red leather jacket. Loose black ankle dress, brown pumps. My John certainly wasn’t into fashion. I stopped at the desk and asked for the key to 318. Walked to the elevator and pushed “up.” The right elevator opened first. I couldn’t see how the left or right mattered, but I leaned in and pushed fifteen just in case, sending it as far as possible. When the left car arrived, I stepped on, pressed three.

I moved right off the elevator, found 318. Held my breath as I swiped my key, braced for a surprise behind the door, but it was empty. I sat on the bed and pulled out my phone. The ten-minute alarm I asked Siri for went off before I knew it, and I exited the room, wiping the doorknob on both sides, though I wasn’t sure why. Instinct?

I stepped off the left elevator, walked through the lobby, and turned right on the sidewalk.

I texted the number back. “Done.”

Now I just had to hope my Matty was OK. I crossed my fingers and said a prayer into the void. Maybe I’d light a candle, too.

✦

Jen sipped her wine and looked at Mikey across the table. Her dear, sweet Mikey. She was going to miss him if it all came crashing down. She poured him a Scotch. Neat, of course. He lifted it in a half-toast, half-accusation.

“I know how much you like Johnny Walker.” Jen said.

Michael agreed with his sipping, disagreed with his eyes. Looked up at the wane sunlight filtering through the dining room skylight. “How was work today?”

“I almost closed the Diamonds,” she said, excited to talk about not that.

“No kidding! I knew you could land that one!” More sipping.

“Is something wrong, babe?” Jen knew the answer, but she couldn’t stand to continue the feigned domestic banality.

Michael took another sip. Looked at her pitifully and tried to decide if now was the time for this fight. He couldn’t really think of a better time to have it.

“I know you were sleeping with him.” He might have been discussing a refinance option.

“That’s…I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She knew it was weak, but she wasn’t prepared.

“I can forgive you for that. Especially now. Just…” He couldn’t say it.

“What, Michael? Just what?”

“I want to know if you killed him.”

She stood up, genuinely shocked or enacting a good approximation of it.

“You think I’d kill him? What about you? Maybe you were tired of him banging your wife and handled it. Are you glad he’s dead, Michael? Does that fit your plan? Go fuck yourself, Mikey, cause you’re sure as hell not fucking me anymore.” She spat it out, already walking toward the door.

“Go on, then. Run. Just what a murderer would do.”

The bang of the door slamming made him jump. He pulled out his phone and typed. Stopped. Typed again. Can we talk?

✦

They came around shortly after. Asked where she was. He said he didn’t know. They didn’t believe him. Paperwork was shown; lawyers were called. The search of the house was detailed; four hours. The search of the car was not. Four minutes before they found the gun. An arrest warrant was issued.

They picked Jen up, driving south toward Mexico in a rental car. She didn’t resist. When they got her into the box, it was all over but the shouting. “We searched your home, Jen,” Stevens said. She was unimpressed.

“We also searched your car.”

“I just rented it yesterday.”

“Not the rental. Your car.”

“Impossible. I asked for a lawyer and I sure as hell didn’t give you permission.”

“Ah, but there’s the beauty,” Swanson said, a satisfied smile on his face, “you didn’t have to. The car is in your husband’s name, and he did give us permission.”

She stopped talking then. They told her about the gun they found, how it matched the striations perfectly, and was undoubtedly Landon’s murder weapon. She sat quietly while they outlined the consequences she could expect to face. Death, mostly, because it was Missouri. She just laughed. “Whatever you say. I don’t do guns.”

Michael confirmed it, reluctantly. “I tried to tell her I was going to keep a gun in the safe for home defense and she lost her mind. Even the idea of a firearm made her nauseous.”

It didn’t matter. Motive, means, opportunity. A body and a murder weapon for good measure.

The jury was unanimous. Guilty. First-degree murder. Jen smiled at the verdict, glad to release her death-grip on hope.

✦

The sun was enough to enchant me. The sparkling sand, the blue water that stretched to forever, and the private beach were icing. I sat on the deck of the beach house, drink in hand. What a beautiful Belizean day. I saw the news, of course. Jen looked guilty as hell, and the latest news was the search for Michael. He’d given interviews every day of the trial until the last, when he was just gone.

You should know it wasn’t about the affair. I didn’t even know about that until the news story broke. Anyway, who murders her husband for an affair when she’s having one, too? That would be crazy. It was all about cash. One point two five million dollars, to be exact, and it was the easiest money I ever made.

I could live down here, free of extradition and guilt, for decades to come.

Not that they’d ever figure it out. Jen was in jail for the murder I committed, largely thanks to the gun and lack of alibi. My double had worn the clothes I’d ordered, and her son had lived to see another day. Joy in Mudville, all around.

Since “I” was in the hotel and couldn’t possibly have murdered my husband, the life insurance was quick about paying out. They’d even sent a nice letter with the check, blathering about their condolences. Everyone always thinks it’s about love, betrayal, emotion. They never think about the massive amounts of money.

The funny thing? I did love Landon. Just not $1.25 million dollars’ worth.

I stood and poured my new husband another drink as I brushed a kiss across his cheek. “I love you,” I said.

Michael smiled like he understood.

Atlas walked into the pharmacy, head down, steps hurried. The fluorescent buzz of ancient ballasts lit the towel around most of his lower left arm, held in place by his upper right hand. The drips were visible until they hit the gray carpet, where they disappeared among the STDs, shoe gum, and hooker vomit.

It was 2:37 in the morning, and he needed a gun. But first, painkillers.

He walked up to the pharmacist, whose brown hair, youth, and graduation-fresh Ohio University lab coat told him he’d be fighting an uphill battle. Young brunettes with a doctorate didn’t engage with skeevy meth heads missing four teeth, and they certainly didn’t “accidentally” leave Oxy on the front counter while they came around to pick up the cash he would “accidentally” leave on the floor.

“Hi,” he said. Made it sound friendly. The gray walls undermined his intended vibe.

“Good evening… er, morning, to you, sir. Are you picking up?” Her voice trembled slightly, like she knew all about the fight, the blood, and where Janice was.

“Good evening.” He squinted at the plastic on her left breast pocket, “Can-dice.” He’d never heard it before and pronounced it like it indicated capability for rolling six-sided cubes and not a name. “I had a little accident, and I was hoping to obtain some… assistance from you.” He tried to make a convincing wink.

Much to his surprise, Candice leaned in. “The cameras are on all the time, but if you meet me out back with cash, I can swipe a few Oxys.”

He just stared, certain he’d imagined the exchange. Then he looked around for cops but saw no one other than the cashier behind the front counter, barely awake in his third-shift smock.

“Come on,” Candice said. “I’ve always wanted to be involved in the ‘seedy underworld.’ Growing up in a five-bedroom house doesn’t expose you to any fun at all. I mean, you’re not going to murder me, right?” She laughed out loud, not because she knew his answer, but because she knew hers.

He smiled, lips closed. “Of course not. I just need to kill the pain a little before I—” He paused, considering what to tell a suburbanite whose only exposure to his world was TruTV and third-hand stories. “—before I have to go cap a brother.” Enunciated “-er” because he’d never actually used that line.

She bounced excitedly and clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to tell my mother about this. Give me five minutes.”

Atlas walked back out of the front door, the humid air a welcome relief from the institutional air conditioning. He scurried around the building to the rear pharmacy entrance and pulled out his knife, balancing it between holding hand and bleeding arm.

Candice opened the door slowly. She looked left, looked right, finally spotted Atlas, and walked over. “Twenty,” she said, giggling like she was just an inciting incident in Law & Order.

Atlas showed her the knife. “Zero instead.”

Candice put a frightened look on her face, then, quick as you please, snatched the knife and sliced open his other arm, right through the brachial artery. The blood loss was so fast that he sat down in seconds and started blinking like it would keep him alive.

“That’s for Janice,” Candice said, wiping the handle on his dime-store chinos and walking back into the store for lunch.