“It was the only choice we had,” she said as she followed him in. She’d thought this through. Most keepers of secrets cave to someone. The urge to confess is too strong, the truth too much to handle even for the coldest heart. In order for the secret to survive, it needs tending to, needs care, or the keeper will inadvertently find ways of elevating the pressure that naturally builds, eventually giving themselves and their secret away without even realizing.

She told him this wouldn’t be them. They were built differently and knew better. Think of it like an insect in a jar, Claudine explained to Henry. If there are no holes for air, inevitably the insect will thrash around, desperate to get out, to breathe. Now imagine the difference if a small hole is punched. The insect can be still; it has air. We will be each other’s air.

What she didn’t tell him was she was sure this could actually be good for Calhoun + Calhoun. No one wanted a property attached to such a hideous crime, and Mr. Miller didn’t have any heirs. If she played it right, they could get it for pennies on the dollar at auction. They could use Kevin’s and Jerry’s contacts in the city to help smooth the way. It would take Henry more than a year to build the house, anyway—especially if they couldn’t pour the foundation before the weather got too cold. By then the stigma associated with the lot would have sufficiently faded away.

During the immediate days after, the bond that existed between them was stronger than it had ever been. There was an urgency to their marriage. They needed each other. They now shared a secret. And their sex life was better than ever—even better than their first months of dating. Henry brought a primal dominance to the bedroom, something he’d never tapped into. It helped that he had stopped drinking—that no doubt had an impact on his sex drive—although Claudine guessed it was also a Bonnie and Clyde kind of thing: the savagery of the crime and the fact that they were able to get away with it serving as a potent aphrodisiac.

For the first few days the stories in the Aspen Tribune were on the front page. Claudine followed it closely with a practical eye. Henry could barely look at the paper. The sight of it brought on paralyzing moments of fear and anxiety that any second the police would knock on the door.