Meanwhile, she would pretend to have had second thoughts about ending the affair, convince Clayton she still cared for him and would consent to his wishes. Sleep with him, make plans for a future with him, string him along until she could be rid of him once and for all.
Clayton had told her to expect him at seven o’clock, but he didn’t arrive until almost eight. He wore the same clothing as at L’Aubergine, but the attire was no longer faultless; his suit coat was rumpled, his shirt front spot-stained, his tie slightly askew. He’d been drinking — even at a distance Jenna could smell the liquor on his breath. She’d never seen him drunk, and he seemed steady enough, but the glaze on his eyes told her he was far from sober.
She’d put on one of the sexy peignoirs he liked, pale blue and virtually transparent, but he seemed not to notice. He made no effort to kiss or embrace her. Just as well, for now. It would be difficult enough feigning passion in bed later if he insisted on spending the night. She led him into the living room. He’d never been here before, of course, but contrary to what he’d said in the bistro, he showed no interest in the décor or the furnishings. He looked nowhere but at her.
She considered offering him a drink, decided he’d had more than enough alcohol, and went to sit on the love seat in front of the white marble fireplace.
He followed her, but he didn’t sit next to her. Just stood stiffly looking down at her, unsmiling.
“Well?” he said.
“I’ve thought it all out, Clay. I won’t leave you, not even for a little while.”
“Because of what I told you earlier, the threat I made.”
“Yes, partly, but—”
“It was all a lie, you know. I didn’t kill your husband.”
She couldn’t help blinking her surprise. “Then why did you say you did?”
“I was desperate after you blindsided me, I couldn’t think of any other way to keep us together.”
“Suppose I had gone to the police. Would you have carried out your threat?”
“I don’t know. I might have.”
“Then why are you telling the truth now?”
“I did a lot of thinking today too. Reached a decision. I can’t hold onto you with lies. I love you too much.”
Careful now, Jenna. Careful! “I had no idea your feelings ran so deep. No one has ever loved me that much before.”
“But you don’t love me at all.”
“But I do. Oh, darling, I was wrong to think of leaving you... I know that now. I know we belong together.”
“So you’ll marry me.”
“Yes. Not right away, of course — it wouldn’t look right, it’s too soon after Adam’s death. A few months. Meanwhile, we’ll see each other as often as we can—”
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.
“... What?”
“No more lies, Jenna.”
“I’m not lying—”
“Yes, you are. No — more — lies.”
She got quickly to her feet, letting the bodice of the peignoir gape open, and reached out to touch him. He backed away from her. Damn! This was not going at all as she’d planned. She’d misjudged him again; he was no longer the naive boy-man she could wrap around her little finger. A stranger... a halfdrunk, none too stable stranger.
“You think I’m a fool, but I’m not,” he said. “I know you’re just pretending now, trying to placate me until you’re ready to go away, alone or with some other man.”
“There’s no one but you. I swear there isn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. If there isn’t one now, there would be soon enough. I won’t let another man have you, Jenna. Now or ever.”
He’d slipped his hand into his coat pocket; he took it out as he spoke. Lamplight glinted off the metal object that came with it.
A gun, oh God, a gun!
And he pointed it straight at her heart.
Shocked disbelief held her rooted in place. “Clay, what’re you doing—”
“What you wanted all along. End the affair. The right way, the only way for both of us.”
“No!”
“Together, always,” he said, and fired.
Small Chances
by Charlaine Harris
New York Times best-selling author Charlaine Harris writes in several fields, from mystery to urban fantasy and horror. Since 2008 her work has been under nearly continuous adaptation for TV, starting with the series True Blood, based on her Sookie Stackhouse novels, and continuing in 2015 and 2016 with four two-hour TV movies for the Hallmark Channel based on her Aurora Teagarden series. Fans can look forward, later in 2016, to NBC’s adaptation of her Midnight, Texas books. Meanwhile here is a new case for a Harris character who has appeared only in EQMM!
The campaign against Anne DeWitt began on a spring morning. Anne was used to surprises of the unpleasant variety: She hadn’t been a high-school principal forever. The people of Colleton County would have been aghast if they could have seen Anne in her previous incarnation.
But she looked eminently respectable that day, in some very expensive knit pants and a tank under a light sweater. Her fingernails were perfect ovals and her hair was well cut and colored. She was ready to smile at her secretary, who was usually in place by this time.
But Christy Strunk was not at her desk. She was somewhere in the school building; her coffeepot was perking, and the usual pile of messages was centered on Anne’s desk. Anne did not like chatty messages. When Christy had become Anne’s secretary following the death of the previous principal, she’d been prone to give some color commentary. Anne had quickly retrained her.
The top message in the little stack was dated late the previous day, just before Christy left the office. It read, “Your first husband called. Tom Wilson. He says he will come by tomorrow, 10 A.M.”
Anne found this curious, since she had never been married.
Anne was not prone to panic. She took a deep breath and considered various scenarios. While she thought, she spun in her chair to look at the framed pictures on the credenza behind her. The central photograph showed a younger Anne (with a different hairstyle and wearing blue jeans) and a pleasant-looking man with thick dark hair. Anne and “Clark” were standing in the woods. He was holding the leash of a golden retriever. The young couple were holding hands and beaming at the camera. Even Waffle, the dog, looked happy.
Tragically, Anne’s husband Clark had been killed in a skiing accident before Anne had come to take the job of assistant principal at Travis High. After two years of learning the business, she’d been promoted to principal following the (also tragic) suicide of Delia Snyder.
Along with the “happy family” picture, there were three others: one of Anne’s younger sister Teresa, who lived in San Diego, and two photographs of their (now deceased) parents: one a studio picture in their Sunday clothes, and another taken at Anne’s mother’s birthday party, with many candles on the cake.
Anne had never met any of the people in the photos — or, in fact, her actual biological parents. For all Anne knew, they might be the handsome couple in the picture. Though she seriously doubted it.
Anne had invented her husband Clark. Now, her created background had acquired a new layer.