Page 194 of It Happened on the Lake

“As far as I know.” And with that he was out the door.

1960

Chapter 48

Anna Reed thought of all the ways she could kill her husband. Fingers gripped around the steering wheel, she considered her options.

There was poison, of course, but where would she get it?

Nope.

So, maybe an accident. But how? A gun? Her father kept all kinds of guns in the garage and the manor. Rifles, shotguns, pistols. A bullet through Bruce’s adulterous heart would do the job.

But could she do it? Actually pull the trigger?

She thought so. But maybe that was just the alcohol talking. She’d had three—or had it been four?—martinis at the cocktail lounge in Portland where she’d been stood up by her husband. Oh, he’d called the maître d’ at the expensive restaurant and told the man to search out his wife, to pass on the message that Bruce couldn’t make it. After all their plans. He’d gotten hung up. Harper was sick or something. Harper couldn’t go trick or treating with Beth. Excuses, excuses, excuses!

She didn’t believe it for a second.

There had been too many other times when she’d been left waiting in a restaurant, nursing a drink, knowing deep in her soul that her husband wasn’t going to show. Tonight, she’d sensed, was no exception.

Well, Anna wasn’t about to have dinner alone, so she’d ordered one last drink, nursed it, feeding her anger, then left the restaurant.

This wasn’t the first time that son of a bitch had stood her up, but it would damn well be his last.

Maybe he wasn’t out with another woman. Maybe he was home taking care of their sick child as the maître d’ had confided to her. But she wasn’t buying it. Yet.

Blinking back angry tears, she pushed the speed limit on the two-lane highway that followed the course of the river and connected South Portland to Almsville.

She drove recklessly, her concentration shot, the misting rain dampening her windshield and the tears forming in her eyes not helping her vision. She sniffed as the tires of her Thunderbird sang on the pavement and tried like hell to keep them from straying over the center line.

From the radio, Roy Orbison’s voice crooning “Only the Lonely.”

“Oh, shut up!” She snapped off the radio.

It’s a miserable night, perfect for Halloween, she thought, trying to concentrate, to keep her mind on driving as the Thunderbird sailed into Almsville. Perfect for a murder. What could be more fitting?

Almost unseeing, absorbed in her own heartache, she passed groups of kids in rubber masks and overcoats, sacks of candy swinging from their arms as they splashed through puddles on the sidewalks.

You’re not a murderer.

You cringed when you saw your father shoot a squirrel or a crow.

Do you really think you could point a gun at Bruce, then pull the trigger? The father of your children? The man you swore you’d stay with forever? Remember, “’Til death do us part”? Do you really think those vows meant, “’Til I kill you”? Get real.

Angry, she nearly missed the stop sign and almost plowed into a group of pre-teens racing across the street. They were shouting and laughing, calling to one another and not yet realizing the pain of being an adult.

“Jesus.” She had to be more careful! With the car idling, she reached into her handbag, pulled out an engraved handkerchief and a bottle of pills. Barbiturates. Her doctor had prescribed them for her anxiety and insomnia. Boy, could she use them tonight. She unscrewed the cap, tossed a few into her palm, then threw them into her mouth and wished she had another martini to wash them down.

Not that she really needed another drink.

As it was, the world seemed a little off-kilter. Driving a challenge.

Through the downtown of Almsville, she stayed within the speed limit. She drove past storefronts festooned with Halloween decorations in their windows.

Once outside the city core she saw houses with leering jack-o’-lanterns, their crooked smiles glowing on porch steps, while hay bales and dried cornstalks leaned against doorways. Outdoor lights were glowing, inviting trick-or-treaters to knock.

All the little perfect houses with perfect families and perfect husbands, she thought, wrinkling her nose. “Phoneys. All phoneys.” Knowing she was way past tipsy and now that some of her rage had cooled, she reminded herself to drive as carefully as possible. Tons of kids were out roaming the streets.

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