Henry

He couldn’t stop staring at Steve. It had been years since he had had the chance to look at his face this close up. It looked like an old softball mitt. He was older. Good. There was a frailness that even his bravado couldn’t mask. Also good. His jealousy didn’t surprise him, but the tiny splash of compassion for his old competition did. Sometimes he couldn’t blame him for falling for Claudine. She was irresistible, especially then. She was just like Aspen: beautiful on the surface but dangerous underneath. Steve felt his stare and he quickly looked away. The compassion didn’t last long, replaced by a sick feeling in his stomach.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he’d never brought Claudine up to see the property in the first place. If they would have built their first house on the bend of a river. Or in the middle of a meadow. A lesser plot. Everything about their lives could have been different. Would he have stopped drinking? He’d never thought about it like that. Would there have been another incident that made him stop? The drinks were coming so fast and frequent then, it’s hard to imagine that he’d come to the conclusion it had to end on his own.

Natalie chose a large rectangle-shaped gift. It seemed a little plainer than the rest. No bow. She walked slowly with it, it had some heft. A theme of the night, she too was having a tough time opening it. The professional wrap jobs meant they were harder to open: way more tape. Henry was about to help her so Claudine wouldn’t snap at him again, but Bobby was closer and offered his Leatherman. She gratefully accepted. Slicing through the cardboard, she hit a wall of Styrofoam. It made a sharp, high squeak as the blade cut into it. Natalie got the top open and gave the Styrofoam a tug. It scraped the sides of the box as she pulled it out, bits of Styrofoam littering the floor. She split open the covering and, using both hands, lifted out a statue. Deep bronze in color, it stood around ten inches tall. A cowboy on a horse, a rifle raised to eye level, his face fiercely concentrating on the target.

“The Lone Ranger?” Rashida joked.

A small sound escaped Claudine, one Henry had never heard before. The glass of red wine slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor, and quickly started spreading toward the white shag rug.

Henry

Part Four

THE MURDERS

Claudine