“Oh crazy,” Aria said evenly, as if this was the first she was hearing of it.
Meredith appeared in the kitchen doorway and glanced at the screen. “Uch, Mike, turn that off. It’s terrible.”
“Are you kidding?” Mike moved even closer to the TV. “This is the craziest thing I’ve seen in a long time! Apparently one found its way into a strip club.” He smiled lustily. “I could have saved those strippers.”
A breaking news starburst popped up on the screen. The camera cut away from the reporter and focused on a blond guy in handcuffs. When the cameraman zoomed in on his face, Aria almost screamed. It was Hallbjorn. His eyes were wild, he was thrashing back and forth, and he was bellowing something over the sounds of the police sirens and the reporters. “Those panthers deserve to be free! They were being tormented in those cages! Support panther rights!”
Meredith crept closer to the television. “Is that the guy who did it?”
“He looks like a psycho,” Mike said.
Byron squinted at the screen. “Is it me, or does he look familiar?”
Aria pressed her lips together, afraid she was going to throw up. The cops pushed Hallbjorn into a police car. The reporter’s voice cut in. “The police apprehended the self-proclaimed eco-terrorist today, after he tried to flee on a bike,” she explained. “I’m getting word that he thought the panthers were ‘oppressed’ and ‘not able to live out a pantherly existence.’”
“Pantherly existence.” Mike snickered.
“I swear I’ve seen him somewhere.” Byron squinted at the screen. Hallbjorn’s head was hanging out the car window. “Panthers have souls, too!” he bellowed, waving his arms around. His name scrolled across the bottom of the picture. Hallbjorn Gunterson, Eco-Terrorist, it said in big yellow letters.
Byron rubbed his chin. “That’s an Icelandic name.”
The reporter appeared on the camera. “We’re just getting details about Mr. Gunterson. He only arrived in this country a few days ago, fleeing from police custody in Iceland. He’s wanted there because he tried to blow up an office at the demolition company that was hired to tear down an Icelandic puffin sanctuary.”
“What?” Aria exclaimed out loud. Everyone turned to look at her, and she shrugged sheepishly to cover her reaction. Hallbjorn had certainly glossed over those details. Suddenly, all of her regret and nostalgia disappeared. Hallbjorn truly was a lunatic.
Mike placed a hand to his chin. “Actually, didn’t you date someone in Iceland named Hallbjorn, Aria?”
“Uh, yeah.” Aria wound a piece of hair around her finger. “But it’s a pretty common name.”
“It is?” Mike looked skeptical.
“Of course it is.” Aria tossed her hair over her shoulder and sauntered out of the room. There was no way she could watch another minute of the newscast without giving her secret away. And that, she had decided, was absolutely out of the question. It was like the question of the tree falling in the forest: If no one knew Aria got married, if no one saw, then it had never happened. She’d gotten the marriage annulled before it was logged into any permanent records. No one would be able to trace Hallbjorn to her.
The only real proof Aria had left that a marriage had taken place was the snake ring. She felt for it in her pocket as she climbed the stairs. Some pawnshop would buy it. She’d steal into Philly next week, go to a neighborhood where she definitely wouldn’t be recognized, and get rid of it once and for all. And as for the money she’d get, maybe she’d give it to the poor kid who’d gotten trapped by one of the panthers under the boardwalk. Or to the strippers who’d had to run out of the club half-naked because a panther had gotten loose inside. Or maybe she’d use it to take a real vacation over spring break.
But no matter what, this was something she never had to think about again. No one knew, after all—and she was planning to keep it that way forever.
A Very Married Christmas
Lions and tigers and silver panthers, oh my! Biedermeister and Bitschi’s pet cats weren’t the only dangerous things running around Atlantic City. Aria thinks the sole witnesses to her marriage and annulment were some celebrity look-alikes and a grumpy court official, but I had front row seats for the whole affair. And unlike the state of New Jersey, I’m not going to pretend it never happened—especially when I learned sooooo much from the unhappy couple.