That state of being was temporary. A moment later the strange euphoria vanished. Now, in the soft light of the Aspen morning, still a little too drunk to be hungover, he was back to being himself, and that person took responsibility for their actions.

He picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?” Claudine asked.

“The police,” Henry said.

“No!” Claudine yelled, and yanked the phone from his hand.

“What do you mean, ‘No’? We have to tell them what happened. They’ll understand. Like you said, I was just defending us.”

“But you went into his house, Henry. They could say you initiated it. They could say he was the one trying to defend himself. Same for the other guy.”

“Yeah, but he hit you, Claudine! He beat the shit out of you! The cops will understand that the minute they see your face.”

“Maybe,” Claudine said. “But there’s more to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were wasted. Having a hard time walking. I put you in the car and went back in. To fix it. Your footprints and fingerprints were all over the place. The police would need a narrative. Something that made sense. Most murderers know the victims, so it would be a natural conclusion. They killed each other. Taking a stranger into your house is dangerous. A bad gamble on an employee that turned deadly.”

What was she saying?

“I thought of everything. Where they would have been standing. Where they would have fallen. What would have been disrupted by the struggle before. The only conclusion will be that an argument broke out and the hired help went to kill the old man with the cowboy statue. And succeeded. But the old man got off a lucky shot before he died. Which was all it took to end his life. Both dead; no one to blame but each other.”

What was she saying?

“I used my Hermès scarf—you know, the red one with the carousel horses, my prize find from the Aspen Thrift Shop—to wipe off doorknobs, countertops, anything we potentially touched. By the time I was done, there wasn’t a trace of us. I burned our clothes in the fireplace as soon as we got back. This will just be our secret.”

What was she saying?

“You saved me, Henry. So I saved you. Now we’re both guilty. And if anyone ever finds out, we’ll both have to pay for it. Don’t you see? We couldn’t have this be the end—not when it’s so clearly the beginning.”

Claudine

Recounting every detail was important. The fact that his last memory was the drive up would haunt him. She knew that. The more she could help fill in, the better.

Henry ran to the bathroom, barely making it before he got sick.