Her husband no longer looks merely joyful. He seems filled with a triumphant glee.
You can never truly know what is inside another person’s heart or head, Marissa thinks wildly.
What was Matthew’s first clue? Maybe the rope; Matthew is highly attuned to details. If Skip left it in this nautical knot and Matthew saw it when he got home from his trip, his mind would have begun to whirl.
She’d buried the empty bottle of Malbec in the recycling bin, but Matthew had been the one to take the bin out to the curb. He’d know she would never drink an entire bottle of wine alone.
And those mixed nuts that Matthew just offered her. Marissa never ate them because they were so salty, and Bennett didn’t like nuts, but Matthew loved them. He often snacked on a handful or two at night. Would he have noticed the tin had been nearly emptied on an evening when he’d been out of town?
Yes, he would have.
Dread fills her. “How long have you known?” she whispers.
“Forever. Skip has always had a piece of your heart.” Matthew’s lip curls. “But in terms of you fucking him? I confirmed it the following night, when you went into the shower and left your cell phone in your purse. You were clever enough to delete any text exchanges between the two of you. But you didn’t think to erase the record of Skip’s incoming call. He phoned you at eight twenty P.M. on the night I was out of town, and you two talked for forty-seven seconds. Not long enough for a proper catch-up with an old friend, but more than enough time to invite one over.”
Matthew suddenly lifts his head, as if a noise has caught his attention. Then he looks back at Marissa and says, in a tone so conversational it’s chilling, “You didn’t think I was really going to take you away for an anniversary celebration, did you? It was so much fun to tell Skip about all my romantic plans for an overnight boat trip, though.”
Marissa begins to tremble. Matthew has been creating fictional scene after fictional scene. And she believed every one of them.
He was never the unaware, wronged husband. That was an illusion; a gifted con artist’s sleight of hand.
Blackness crowds her field of vision and she grows light-headed; she is on the verge of passing out. She fights the sensation with everything she has, grabbing the counter to steady herself.
“If you knew all along, why did you pretend?” she manages to ask.
“I’ve always been good at the long game. Especially when it comes to Skip. He thinks you’re pregnant, by the way. I told him so when I invited him over the other night for a drink. The look on your face when he dropped off all that chicken soup…”
Matthew laughs and takes a deep sip of his wine.
Bile rises in Marissa’s throat. She knew she and her husband had drifted apart. But she never suspected he’d been a stranger to her all along.
Marissa’s eyes dart to the note on the kitchen island. The threat has been staring her in the face, in black and white. But the words belong to Matthew, not Skip. “You wrote this.”
Matthew smiles. “Clever, huh?”
She’s reeling from the layers of deception. Why would Matthew want to make it appear as if Skip wrote that message?
Matthew picks up the note and folds it again before tucking it into his back pocket. “I even made sure to buy a pair of those blue gloves for Ray. I figured you’d see them sooner or later. I also picked up a new pair of gloves for myself.”
He pulls a pair of thin black leather gloves from his jacket pocket and slips them on.
This action makes no sense, yet it fills her with a bone-chilling terror. The kitchen is warm. Why would Matthew need gloves?
Her head is swimming. She struggles to think, to make sense of things. She leans back in her chair, as far away from Matthew as possible. Matthew counters her move, leaning in closer. He seems to be relishing her fear and confusion.
“Can I give you a bit of constructive criticism, babe? You’re a terrible actress. The look on your face when you thought Skip had broken in here and dropped those Life Savers…” Matthew runs a finger down the side of her cheek. The cool leather of his glove against her skin makes her shudder.
“Tell me the truth,” he whispers. “Did you wonder if Skip hired someone to attack me? You did, didn’t you? But anyone can inflict bruises. You can even do it to yourself. All you need is determination and a brick. You can even pretend to pass out to make it seem like your injuries are more serious.”
She can’t breathe.
How easily she’d been fooled by all the fake evidence Matthew had planted. She believed Skip was a threat, but the threat lives inside her home.
An explosive noise erupts from the front of the house; it’s the sound of fists pounding against the front door.
“Marissa!” Skip’s yell is muffled, but it’s unmistakably him. The doorbell rings several times in furious succession, then the pounding resumes.
Skip has come to save her.
She twists her head to look in the direction of the door. Matthew is still penning her in, but if she kicks out, she might be able to get past him. She can run to the door and fling it open.
Matthew reaches for his jacket, fumbling with it for a moment, and when she glances at him again, her heart stutters.
He’s holding a gun.
She tries to scream, but her vocal cords seize up.
There is utter silence for a moment.
Then on the side of the house where Matthew’s office is located, Marissa hears a window shattering.
Matthew cocks his head toward the sound. He looks perplexed.
“Seems like your obsessive lover has resorted to breaking in. Skip must be really panicked to forget I gave him the code to the back door a while ago. Our little reunion was supposed to happen right here, but that’s okay. We can move it to another room.”
What is her husband saying? Before she can try to make sense of it, he makes a movement with his thumb, and she realizes he has taken off the safety. His index finger is curled around the trigger of the shiny black weapon.
They don’t keep a gun in the house. Matthew must have been planning this for some time.
Matthew lifts the pistol a bit higher, so that Marissa is at eye level with the little round tunnel the bullet will fly through. All she can see is that tiny circle; it’s as if the whole world has narrowed to its circumference.
“I could call the police … or I suppose I could try and stop him.” But instead of heading toward the noise, Matthew continues pointing the gun at Marissa. “No one would blame me for shooting the man who killed my wife.”
Marissa’s eyes widen. It’s far too late, but she sees everything clearly now. He’s going to kill her, frame Skip, then murder Skip, claiming it was self-defense.
Her husband is a master illusionist.
Their happy life together has been a mirage.
She has no idea how he lured Skip here, but it doesn’t matter.
Marissa cheated on her husband and thought he forgave her.
But he didn’t.
She only knew half of their story. Matthew has been operating from a different script.
“I need you to stand up, Marissa.” When she doesn’t move, Matthew reaches for her arm and yanks it roughly, pulling her to her feet. She gasps in pain. Her legs are so rubbery she nearly falls to the floor.
“I’ve wanted to hurt you ever since I found out you fucked our friend in my house,” Matthew hisses in her ear.