The garden of dead thoughts

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  “Kofman and Dodger, good afternoon. How can I help you?”

  “Hello!” Margo said in a happy voice, as if calling her old girlfriend whom she hadn’t seen in a hundred years. “How are you? This is …” Margo paused.

  “Hello?” the girl asked on the other end of the line.

  “This is Margaret Douglas ... I …”

  “Mrs. Douglas!” the girl on the other end of the wire interrupted. “I’m so glad to hear from you! Is everything all right?”

  Margo pressed the button, turning off the phone. She couldn’t speak. It felt like a metal ring squeezed her throat, blocking oxygen, causing the room to spin before her eyes. It took Margo at least a minute to start breathing again and find the ability to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the girl on the other end of the line a minute later. “I accidentally pressed the end button.”

  “Sure! No problem! How are you? You didn’t feel very well when you came here. I hope you are better.”

  “Yes, thank you for asking. I feel great.”

  Better than ever, you son of a bitch, Margo thought. Better than you and nothing is going to change.

  “Vitamins and all that,” she said aloud.

  “Vitamins can do wonders! I’m so glad you are well.”

  Margo wanted to slap the girl and lower the level of her excitement by a few decibels. All kinds of thoughts spun like a whirlwind in her head, knocking against each other. She had a million questions.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” the enthusiastic girl asked.

  “Ah ... I’m just calling to see if everything’s all right. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Give me a second, please, I’ll check.”

  “Of course.”

  The girl returned to the phone about ten seconds later.

  “Everything is fine. Both of you just need to schedule the date for your tests and that’s it. Are you ready to do it now?”

  “What test?”

  “Blood test.”

  “Oh, yes, right. Maybe I don’t feel as well as I thought,” Margo giggled.

  “Oh,” the girl moaned sympathetically and Margo wanted not only to slap her, but to kill her. “Do you want to wait?”

  “Yes. I’ll call you later to do that. Or my husband will. Michael.”

  “Sounds great! Just call us any time you are ready. I understand, it’s not an easy decision. You are so young.”

  “Yeah. Well, thank you.”

  The girl began to say goodbye, but Margo turned off the phone without letting her finish. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Perhaps she could ask the girl for more details and find out what Michael’s young wife looked like, but she couldn’t think and couldn’t speak. She had never before felt the way she felt now in her life. She felt like she was stabbed in the back and the knife was twisted to deliver as much pain and suffering as possible. She even moaned, as if feeling a physical pain. The pain was not from a knife or some kind of wound, the pain engulfed her entire body. Margo couldn't understand this pain, couldn't understand what she was feeling, considering she usually didn't feel much of anything at all. Her main emotions were anger, frustration, and love of herself. The only thing she could compare to what she was feeling was the time one of her mother's boyfriends harassed her and when she told her mother, she slapped her faced and accused her of lying. Yes, she felt something like this back then. What was it? Pain of betrayal?

  “He used me,” she moaned. “He wants to kill me. He wants to make money from me.” She remembered that the girl mentioned tests for both of them. So Michael wanted to apply for two insurances. One in his own name as a distraction, so no one would suspect anything weird when his young wife bought life insurance in case of her untimely death. Her death before her husband, who was obviously older than her.

  Margo didn’t know how long she had been in a state of half-quiescence before a phone call brought her back to life. It was Tristan’s phone, which she turned on just in case, instead of throwing it away. For now. She wanted to get rid of him, but even more she was curious to know what had happened so far. She pulled the phone out of her bag.

  “What do you want?” she asked, although she knew that she shouldn’t talk to him for her own safety.

  “I just wanted to say that the police are still questioning me about Daisy.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “One of my buddies called and told me he saw her coming out of a store with some old dude. According to his description, it was your husband or someone who looked like him.”

  “Is Michael so unique that he can be identified so easily?”

  “I’m sure it was your husband.”

  “He and Daisy went to the grocery store twice. I sent them, myself. I don’t think the police would get excited about that information. Don’t call me anymore.”

  Margo turned off the phone and drew her lungs full of air. She needed to come to her senses. Now. She wasn’t used to being in such a state and didn’t enjoy it. Margo closed her eyes, slowly counted to twenty without thinking about anything, and concentrated only on important thoughts after opening her eyes.

  “They really went to stores together,” she said. Her brain, which a minute ago was in a deep outage, woke up and started to work like a spinning wheel.

  Margo threw the phone aside, jumped from the couch, and rushed into the garage. Of course Michael’s car wasn’t there, he took it. What did she expect? Margo checked all the lockers and boxes in the garage, in case Michael hid something from her. He knew that she didn’t even look around when she was here. Now she did look, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. There were some golf clubs and tools that were left from Charles, along with some Christmas and other holiday decorations.

  She had to check his car. She couldn’t wait, but she had no choice. She had to wait for him to come back home and fall asleep. She had to act as if nothing had happened. As if she didn’t know anything.

  Margo left the garage and went outside, squinting from the bright sunlight flooding the street. She waved to the neighbor across the road, who was getting into a car, and the neighbor waved back. They had never talked.

  Margo pondered what to do next. This son of a bitch thought he had her wrapped around his little finger. He did con her, that was for sure. If she hadn’t found this paper, who knows how many years or days she would live. It meant her time hadn’t come. She had to find that paper and figure out everything.

  Margo walked to the front door, looking at the neatly trimmed bushes along the path. The gardener came every week to take care of them. That was one more expense she probably would have to cut. Regardless, she had a beautiful and neat house and no one would take it away from her. Certainly not this loser.

  Margo, her back wet from the heat, returned home through the garage with a plan that was more or less ready. She took a shower, adding the finishing touches to her idea. She would have to see this man tonight, look into his eyes and smile, hoping that his plan for her murder wasn’t scheduled for today. It didn’t matter.

  Leaving the shower, Margo called Mason and canceled their meeting. Judging by his voice, he was disappointed, so was she. Then she opened Charles’ safe box in her office (her safe box now) and took out the gun. Fortunately, her first husband had enough time to teach her how to use it for self-defense. Then Margo exchanged her clothes for something more comfortable and sent a message to Michael.

  How are you, sweetheart? What’s going on? I miss you.

  He answered almost immediately.

  I think only about u. Let’s celebrate when I come back tonight.

  Oh, celebration was a must.

  I don’t feel well. I think I’m getting sick! Not a good time.

  His answer didn’t keep her waiting.

  Sorry, dear. What a pity. Well, maybe tomorrow you’ll feel better.

  For sure.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said aloud.

  I’m waiting 4 u,
my dear.

  CHAPTER 24

  By the time Michael came back it was already dark outside. It got dark early in Florida all the time, despite the season. He entered the room and stopped in front of the couch, staring at Margo. She was wearing a plush robe, her hair was loose, there was a cup of tea in her hand, and a teapot with steam coming from the spout was on the table. Before Michael came in, Margo rubbed her nose to make it red so she could at least resemble an ill person. She put the gun in the pocket of her robe and hoped she wouldn’t have to use it now.

  “Honey, I hope you’ll feel better after you hear my news.”

  Michael walked around the coffee table and leaned over to Margo to kiss her. She would rather allow her finger to be cut off than to let this man touch her. She stopped him with a sharp gesture.

  Michael straightened, said nothing, but looked surprised.

  “It may be contagious,” Margo said and smiled, although it was challenging to do so. She wanted to yell at the bastard and put the gun to his head, not smile at him. She looked calm, but everything inside her was shaking with rage. She hoped that this emotion wouldn’t reflect on her face.

  Michael sat in the chair across from her and Margo continued to drink her tea.

  “How did it go?” she asked. “Tell me everything.”

  “It couldn’t be better,” Michael answered. “The client signed the contract. We are rich.”

  “That was why you worked so hard.”

  “Of course.”

  Michael continued to talk, but Margo couldn’t listen to him or see him any longer. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she knew everything. He made a fool out of her and she wanted him to suffer physically and mentally. Only those things would make her feel better.

  “I feel so horrible,” she said in the middle of Michael’s long story. “I think I’ll go to bed. My head hurts more and more.”

  “Sure, dear,” Michael said. He sounded worried and Margo wanted to kill him now. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “I’ll make some more tea for myself and for you, just in case. You need to strengthen your immune system.”

  “I think it’s pretty strong,” he said. “I don’t need tea.”

  “That was what I thought, but look at me now. I’ll make tea and you’ll drink it. Don’t be a baby.”

  Michael winced, but said nothing. He was afraid to run into an argument, she was sure of it. Margo knew that he hated herbal tea, couldn’t even stand the smell of it. That meant he didn’t know the taste.

  “I think I’ll sleep in the guest room,” Margo said, heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t know where I got this infection, but I don’t want you to get sick as well. What if you have to see your clients and you have a snotty nose.”

  “All right,” she heard him reply.

  Margo made tea for herself and for her husband just as she said. She treated his drink with particular care. Two pills would dissolve in hot water and add bitterness to it, so Margo stirred in some honey and stevia.

  Michael winced again when the cup was placed in his hand, and grimaced with every sip.

  “You’re not a child,” Margo said. “Stop it. This is good for you.”

  She turned on the television to distract his thoughts and the blue screen immediately mesmerized him. The news channel had such incredible power and influence.

  Margo also looked at the screen, but watched Michael with her peripheral vision. Ten minutes after he put the empty cup on the table, she saw that his eyes were closing and his body was falling to one side. He squirmed, coughed, rubbed his eyes, but it happened again.

  “I’ll go to bed now,” Margo said. “I think you’re tired too.”

  “What?” Michael asked sleepily.

  “You’re tired,” Margo said. “You had a long day. Go to bed.”

  “Ah, yes, yes.”

  Michael jumped up, but almost fell back down and grabbed on to the sofa to stay on his feet.

  “Are you okay?” Margo asked.

  “Tired.” Michael smiled.

  He went to the bedroom in front of her, swaying.

  “Are you ... sherbet ... guess broom?” he asked as he entered the bedroom. His tongue twisted.

  “Yes. Good night, dear.”

  Michael nodded and closed the door. Margo heard rumbling, cursing, again rumbling. She hoped he wouldn’t break anything valuable. When she opened the door to the bedroom ten minutes later, she heard a loud snore.

  Margo changed into comfortable clothes and pulled her hair back, listening to his snoring. He shouldn’t wake up, but who knew? What if the sleeping pills didn’t work for him and he just pretended? What if they stopped working too soon?

  She put the gun in the waistband of her sport pants and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Grabbing the keys from the kitchen counter, Margo hurried to the garage. She didn’t need the keys though because Michael’s car was unlocked. Margo rummaged in the glove compartment, but found only a bottle of water, the registration, and proof of insurance there. She checked all the seats and under the seats. Lastly, she opened the trunk. There was nothing, but a couple of ropes, gloves and a spare tire. Margo was about to shut the trunk when she saw a small piece of paper sticking out from under the bottom of the tire. She pulled a corner and tore it off. Without thinking long, groaning and cursing, Margo dragged the spare tire out of the trunk. It fell to the ground, almost smashing her feet.

  “Shit,” Margo said, shaking mud off her hands. Of course the dirt didn’t go anywhere and Margo had to accept it for now, despite her repulsion.

  She opened a niche, which in theory should contain the spare tire. Instead, there were papers in plastic bags, a few envelopes, and boxes.

  “What is that?”

  Margo opened the first package and found two wills, one with Michael’s name on it and the other with hers.

  “Son of a bitch. You’ll pay for this.”

  Next was a marriage certificate in the names of some Tiffany and Frank Pins. She also found powers of attorney for cars, bank accounts with modest amounts of money, and other documents. All of them carried the name of Frank Pins on them.

  To her surprise, Margo discovered boxes containing jewelry. She loved jewelry and could easily identify which ones were of value and which could be thrown away, that was why she immediately realized she was holding some expensive crap in her hands. If she took all of these to a jeweler now, he would confirm her speculation. She had real gold, diamonds, sapphires, and other precious stones in her hands. Margo found photos in the last envelope. First, she saw herself with Michael in front of the hotel where they stayed in Las Vegas. Michael took this picture himself with his phone. It was printed out on some home printer, judging by the quality. In other photos, Michael posed with other smiling women; most of them looked older than him. Margo found names and dates on the reverse side of the photos. She found a passport and driver’s license in the name of Frank Pins in the last envelope. Michael smiled at her from these documents. The one who called himself Michael.

  Margo dropped the bag and sat on the edge of the open trunk to catch her breath.

  Did one shooter hit the other shooter?

  “I should have noticed,” Margo said. “I should have.”

  But she didn’t. She was too focused on her own plans.

  After a couple of minutes, Margo turned back to the trunk and looked at the pictures again.

  “Who are all these women? What happened to them?”

  Margo went through the photos, documents, jewelry again and confirmed that she wasn’t dreaming. All of this was real. She recollected her relationship with Michael from the very first day: their meeting in the store and all that followed, his burned house and cats, his crazy lover and long work hours. He conned her and she didn’t suspect a thing. Not a single thing.

  CHAPTER 25

  Margo didn’t sleep all night and drank cup after cup of coffee to stay awake and be energetic. She tried, but energy ran aw
ay from her on a freight train. She’d always slept for eight or nine hours and she was never as nervous as she was now. Not just nervous, she was sort of afraid and she rarely experienced a sense of fear. Who was this man? What was he capable of? Who were those women in his photos?

  She could kill Michael and use self-defense as an excuse. There was no doubt after the police saw what she had found in his car, it would justify everything. Margo could kill him, shoot him in the head while he was sleeping, but she wanted to know. Margo wanted to show this, whoever he was, who was really the queen of the game. Not him, that was for sure.

  It was still dark outside, but Margo was already waiting at the slightly open door to the bedroom, where her still breathing husband was sleeping. Now she was dressed in a black negligée and had handcuffs and the gun in her hands. She couldn’t wait for him to wake up. When it finally happened as the sun came up, she waited a little longer for the precious sound of the bathroom door closing and then quietly entered the room. During the night she managed to calm herself. She knew now, whom she was dealing with and knew what her next steps would be. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized she knew everything.

  Michael left the bathroom looking down and stopped as if stunned when he lifted his head and saw her.

  “What is it?” he said, adjusting his underwear.

  “What do you think it is? Margo asked.

  “Darling?”

  Margo drew one hand from behind her back and shook handcuffs in the air. She plugged the gun into her belt under the garment. He didn’t suspect anything and she needed both hands.

  “What kind of virus did you get?” Michael asked, staring at the handcuffs, bewildered.

  Margo answered his question with a laugh.

  “You’re funny,” she said. “I feel better after drinking tea and taking vitamins. I want to celebrate your successful deal.”

  Michael adjusted his undergarments again.

  “Wow,” he hesitated. “Not too much?”

  “You’ll tell me later,” Margo said mysteriously and licked her lips. She liked this game like none of the previous. She was a predator luring her naive prey.