“It’s all right,” he says, brushing her hair, rocking her gently back and forth. “It’s all right.” It’s spooky, the way Graham becomes someone else for other people. He never does it for me. I get to see the real him. I don’t always think that’s a privilege.
He is soft with her. His voice is gentle. His tone is soothing. I just told him that she’s a plant. I just spelled out that it is her or me. Why is he touching her? Why is he acting like he’s on her side?
Even worse is her reaction. She looks comforted. She looks soothed. She sinks into him incrementally, like Elvira did, always tuned to him. He is so manipulative, it’s scary. Even I still believe he’s a good person deep down. Way deep.
“It’s Margo’s dog.” I cross under the overhead light. “It’s dead.”
“She can see that,” Graham scolds me, parting her hair carefully. It passes as a kind gesture but I know he can’t stand a crooked part.
“Well, we’re not telling Margo just yet,” I say. He shoots me a look like I shouldn’t be saying this. He’s probably right, but it’s too late. “She’ll be devastated.”
Graham turns to Demi solicitously. “Do you want me to walk you down?”
“I’m fine,” she says. “It’s just shock.”
“We both love animals,” Graham says as if they’ve talked about it before. As if I hate animals.
“Bean was the best dog,” I volunteer. “Margo didn’t deserve her,” I can’t help adding, which doesn’t score points with Graham.
Graham collects her scattered purchases: necklaces and bags and dresses. Her alibi. How convenient that she showed up with them right after we appeared. She is out to get me; everything is a part of her plan. The whole world is conspiring against me.
Graham shepherds his wounded bird to the stairs. She clings to the railing like a delicate flower, not a dangerous plant.
Everyone is playing a game all the time. It only matters when you’re losing.
* * *
ONCE SHE IS gone, Graham lifts up Bean’s body, carries it into the shed. He’s gentle with her, too.
I follow him to the shed. “It had to be her. Who else could it be?” There are only Demi, Margo, Graham and me. The rest of the world doesn’t exist, is too far away to matter. “It was on our doorstep.”
He lays the dog down on the floor. “Bean wasn’t killed here. We saw her at the house, remember? She ran off barking. It was an inside job.”
“I still think it was her.” I can’t explain to Graham the way Demi looks at me sometimes, like I am the trap.
“Perhaps we should tell Margo.” I know he will tell her eventually. It’s only a matter of time. He tilts his head at Bean’s deflated body, considering.
“No.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “What about the van? Should we open it?”
“The cops said we shouldn’t,” I say before realizing how stupid that will sound to him.
He steps over Bean’s body and stands before a wall of expensive tools we never use. He selects a stone mallet, cocks it on his shoulder. I follow him and the mallet into the courtyard.
“What are you doing?” I say, just a little thrilled.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He bounces up the steps, weapon ready. He comes to an abrupt stop. “It’s gone.”
“What?” I climb up behind him, peer around him. The van is gone. It was here when we were talking to the police, but now it’s gone.
“Maybe there was someone in there,” I say. “Maybe they heard us talking.”
“This situation is getting out of control,” he says, casually flinging the mallet into the shrubbery. “Shall we open a bottle of Mo?t? All this excitement is making me thirsty.”
LYLA
Graham tosses and turns in bed that night, like he is the one thinking torturous thoughts. Something has changed. Margo is out to get me. It’s only a matter of time before she does. Graham’s bored. He’ll stop protecting me. Maybe he has already. The dog and the gate and the van and the arrest. Why does every bad thing happen to me? Why me?
What does it all mean? There has to be a connection, something that makes sense. Demi and Margo and Graham and me, and maybe God pulling the strings. Maybe God is punishing me, but that’s silly. God never punishes people with money.
Graham rolls over in our bed. I stay perfectly still.
There has to be a way out of this mess, a way to sway Graham back in my favor. The birthday party will help, but will it be enough? Fake murder with fake ammunition. Blasting your friends with gold dust. I think of Elvira’s real dead body. That’s where the game changed. That’s when everything changed.
That’s the only way to change it back. I know that. Margo spelled it out: It’s her or me. And the van and the gate and the dog. It has to be Demi. Nothing like this ever happened until she moved in downstairs. It has to be her fault. She is trying to unbalance me. She is throwing me off.
Demi is willing to kill. And even worse than killing a human, she killed a dog. Or had it killed. It had to be her. She wants what I have.
But even if it wasn’t her. Even if it was a coyote, an accident, an act of God: It’s her or me. The game has changed. There is only one way to end it now.
I’ll invite Demi to the party. I’ll make sure she comes. I know her weakness, and it turns out it was my weakness all along: Graham. I think of the way she leaned in when he held her. She trusted him, with awestruck eyes, when she won’t let me anywhere near her. I will tempt her with Graham, the most delectable of us all. I’ll dangle my husband from a string and get her to come. Get her to play.
We’ll start the game. I will wait. I’ll find someplace to hide to make sure I don’t get killed too early. I’ll cheat. I’ll hide someplace out-of-bounds: Margo’s wing, which I’m sure she’ll make off-limits. I’ll wait until the game is past the point of fun, when it’s dead serious. When everyone is tired and hazy. I’ll find a way to separate Demi from the pack, tempt her out to the garden maybe, tell her Graham is looking for her, waiting for her, wants her.
I won’t use Simunition. I’ll load my gun with a real bullet. I can google how to “shoot to kill.” There’ll be so many guns, so much chaos. No one will see. No one will know. Until the cleanup crew arrives the next morning.
Margo will cover it up. She’ll have to. It’s her party, her house. But they’ll know it was me. They’ll know I won. I consider, for a moment, that Margo could try to pin it on me—the murder I commit—but that’s not how Margo works. She’ll be appeased. Graham will be entertained. They’ll congratulate me on a plan well executed, emphasis on “executed.”
Could I kill another person? It’s a question worth considering. I could if I had to. If it is down to her or me. I’m not killing her; I’m saving myself. I think of Elvira, like Ophelia in the fountain. She killed. She killed the most important person in her life: herself.
All I need to do is tell myself it’s not real, convince myself that it’s all part of the game. That it’s her or me. I can do it. I can win. I know I can. It’s just a game, Graham’s birthday game.
The guests will arrive.
We’ll eat cake, sip champagne. Then I’ll give him his present.
LYLA
Step one, make sure Demi comes to the party.
I wake up the next morning stinking with resolve. The mechanical shutters have been programmed to rise at exactly 6:05, and I watch as the house reveals itself in pieces, as the sunrise turns our modern furniture yolk yellow.
Graham flings off his covers. “I couldn’t sleep all night,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “thinking about that damn dog.”
I remember. “It’s still in the shed. We can’t leave it there.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He swings his legs over his side of the bed. The shutter rises, caressing him with light. “I’d like to mount it on a stake as a warning to whoever fucked with my mother’s dog.”