The garden of dead thoughts

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  Margo waited for Tristan to speak, but didn’t rush him.

  When his hands finally stopped shaking, she decided it was time to move on.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked.

  Tristan shook his head, took another sip of whiskey, and jiggled half-melted ice cubes in the glass.

  “I can’t believe I did it, to be honest. Don’t think that I’m a murderer, I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

  Margo almost laughed and she covered the small giggle that escaped her mouth with a cough.

  “Believe me, Tristan, there are many more dangerous people in the world than you.”

  “She was my grandmother. She was annoying as hell and crazy, but I remember her from my childhood. I remember her giving me cookies and milk when I visited her.”

  Margo crouched next to Tristan on the couch, put her arm around his shoulders.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  He laid his head on her shoulder and Margo rolled her eyes. It was just what she needed. She hoped he wouldn’t cry. It would be too much for her psyche.

  “I couldn’t find the fucking money anywhere and then she came back home. She didn’t recognize me, started yelling. She hadn’t seen me for a long time. All those dogs she took outside began to bark like crazy. There were six of them there: five small and one big. I demanded money, but she threatened me with the police. Then she suddenly stopped and said, ‘is that you, Tristan?’”

  Margo patted the poor boy on his back when he fell silent and gasped for air.

  “I couldn’t stand it and I hit her. Then again.”

  He fell silent again and Margo patted him once again.

  “How did you find money?” Margo asked and thought she was probably pushing it. On the other hand, there was no point in passing the buck.

  “Everything was in her closet, inside the ottoman, in a box. I grabbed the box, some jewelry, handbags, and darted out. I think they’ll find me.”

  “No one will find you here. Everything will be fine.”

  Margo returned to her chair, where she could see the entrance to the cabin.

  “If she was normal and not greedy, and shared with her family, nothing would have happened, right?” Tristan asked, finishing his whiskey.

  “Of course. It’s her own fault,” Margo said.

  “Why did she even need the money? We needed help and not those dogs.”

  “I understand.”

  “Can I have some more?” Tristan picked up the empty glass.

  “Yes, darling. Everything is fine. The happy ending.”

  “I wish it was,” Tristan whispered.

  These were just words for him, but for Margo these were the words she had to say. The happy ending. Tristan sat with his back to the doors of the cabin and couldn’t see Frank coming in with the gun in his hand.

  “Everything will be fine, Tristan,” Margo said again. “No one will find you where you are going.”

  “Where am I going?” he asked.

  “To the bottom of the ocean,” Margo said with a smile.

  Tristan frowned, pondering the answer before the empty glass flew from his hand to the carpet, and he himself jerked forward, and then fell to the floor. The blood absorbed into the blanket, which Frank spread precociously, so as not to mess up the leather of the couch.

  Margo got up and left the salon.

  “Where are you going?” Frank yelled after her.

  “It was your idea, you take care of it,” Margo said.

  She sat on the leather sofa on the deck and looked up at the sky, trying not to think about anything. She didn’t feel sorry for Tristan. He deserved what he received. He was a pitiful human being who didn’t bring anything productive to society. What she didn’t like was the look of death. She didn’t like blood, didn’t like closed eyes and immobile bodies. All of this was too unaesthetic.

  Frank developed the whole plan with the boat and Margo offered him the weapon, although he originally thought of just hitting the kid with something. The blow could be unreliable. If it didn’t get him down, he would start thrashing around, they would start to fight. Of course the gun in Frank’s hands wasn’t a toy, but Margo didn’t believe he would kill her. Not now, anyway. She thought about the fact that she didn’t really want to share money. They were alike, that was why he could also have such thoughts in his head. There was at least one more thing ahead of them however, and they needed each other, even though they were legally husband and wife and if one of them disappeared, it would cause suspicion.

  Margo saw Frank coming down from the boat and ripping off the plate from Tristan’s car. Then he looked inside the car and got everything that could identify the owner. He was wearing gloves.

  A few minutes after his return, the boat moved out to sea. Half an hour later, Frank stepped onto the deck and handed Margo a disassembled phone.

  “Just throw it into the water,” she said. “I’m glad I bought myself a disposable. It can’t be traced back to me.”

  “Everything can be traced,” Frank said.

  “Everything has to have a reason,” Margo shrugged.

  “That’s true,” Frank said.

  The phone flew into the water.

  “Have you ever had sex on a yacht in the open sea when no one was around?”

  Margo shook her head.

  CHAPTER 5

  FRANK

  If he could, he would throw her into the ocean along with her lover. It was too risky for many, many reasons. Among other things, she was important to him for the next event and they now were having great sex. He could always find sex, unlike money, and money depended on quantity. In other words, he couldn’t give her a death sentence. At least for now. He wondered if she had such thoughts. It seemed that now she was sincere in her feelings and had begun to trust him. For example, she even gave him the gun. Or maybe she just knew he couldn’t do anything because she was well insured.

  Everything went well with Tristan and even better than he had imagined. The news reported the murder of a wealthy widow, but there were no hints of who had committed the crime. Of course, in the future, relatives would start looking for Tristan, maybe they would even count two plus two and decide he ran away with the money. Frank didn’t think anyone could tie this crime to Margo. They could, but it was a long stretch and then again, as always, they needed proof.

  “Ready?”

  Frank was sitting on the terrace in spite of the heat, waiting for Margo to get dressed. When she looked out of the house to call him, he whistled.

  “The old man won’t need Viagra,” he said.

  “Gosh, calm down,” Margo waved her hand. “Where’s the gun?”

  “In the bedroom inside the nightstand, as always. I didn’t take it out yet.”

  “I’ll put it in my purse.”

  “You don’t trust me?” Frank closed the door to the terrace and checked to be sure it was really closed. Lately, he checked and rechecked everything. He thought someone could break into the house, that someone watched him. He didn’t really understand why this was happening, because he hadn’t noticed such paranoia before. Didn’t he trust his wife? He had asked himself this question already and the answer was apparently that he didn’t.

  Frank checked to be sure the stove was off, although no one had turned it on and he had never checked it before, and then he came back three times to check the front door.

  “What did you do?” Margo asked when he finally got behind the wheel of the van they had rented. They needed a vehicle to carry all the stuff they were going to collect.

  “I thought I forgot something,” Frank said.

  He directed the van to the road and Margo flipped open the mirror to check her makeup and put red lipstick on her lips. Every time she colored her lips red, Frank was a little afraid of her. Why? He couldn’t give an answer to that question either.

  They got stuck in traffic and Margo acted like a nervous psychopath. Frank wondered why she was so stressed. Maybe she didn’t w
ant to take a risk again or maybe she was worried there was no money in the house. Either way it was strange because she was cool all the time.

  “I’m sure there are no problems, no accidents,” she said. “These idiots just slowed down to look at something that’s already gone. I’m sure of it. I hate rubbernecks. We’re going to be late because of them. Idiots!”

  “I don’t think Mason will be upset,” Frank said.

  “What’s the difference? Just don’t eat like you escaped from a land of famine.”

  “Enough already. You know what happened.”

  “I don’t care. Why did they stop? Go already, assholes!”

  Margo leaned toward Frank and pressed the horn several times. Frank wanted to say that she was too impatient, but decided it would cost him dearly. Especially since the gun was in her purse.

  They arrived two minutes late. It took a few more minutes for Margo to adjust her skirt and hair, and ask about her makeup.

  “You’ve gone too far with the lipstick,” Frank said.

  “Fuck off.”

  Margo wasn’t the one whom he could hurt.

  Mason opened the door for them. He was dressed up like the first time, but more down to earth. Probably he decided to fit in with his guests. He wasn’t as sophisticated as Margo, but not as casual as Frank. If that was his goal, he’d succeeded. Frank thought about this with envy, because he was behind the old man in terms of clothes. Margo watched what he wore the last week as if she cared about him, and he found himself even more attractive in the mirror than before.

  “Come on in, my dear guests!” Mason greeted. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Margo embraced the old man just like the first time because she didn’t want to change the tradition, but Frank didn’t enjoy watching it. He didn’t feel anger like before, but something else. Jealousy? Was he jealous? Did he have feelings for her? What was it? No, he liked her, of course, but to be in love with her, that was unlikely.

  Frank chuckled at this ridiculousness.

  “Is something wrong, Michael?” Mason asked.

  Frank instantly jumped off the train of his thoughts and looked at Mason and his wife, who didn’t seem to understand what he chuckled about.

  “No, everything’s okay,” he answered. “We talked about your stories in the car. We’ve missed them.”

  “Yes!” Margo supported. “We want to hear more!”

  “Oh, certainly! I’ll tell you so many stories you’ll get tired of me. Come on in, guys.”

  Frank and Margo walked along the tiled floor ahead of Mason in the already familiar direction of the living room. They stopped in the same room in which they started the first time, but Frank hoped they would stay here. Margo certainly did. She didn’t want to remember what had happened the first time in the dining room. Frank wanted to ask about the carpet, but Margo promised to kill him if he did.

  Three wine glasses, decanter, and a bottle of wine stood on the table, as well as cheese and slices of bread. Mason picked up the bottle and Frank looked around the room, trying to figure out what they could take, while Mason did his manipulations with the wine, telling its history. Frank regarded paintings, figurines, utensils, books, decorations that probably cost hundreds of dollars. They could collect all of this and sell it through the Internet. Nobody would ever call these things stolen, because no one would ever know they were stolen. The cleaning lady couldn’t describe the objects in detail and no one would know where they were sold or to whom.

  “My recent acquisition,” Mason said, pouring wine in the glasses. “I purchased it two weeks ago, to be precise. Gaja Barbaresco. It’s not the most exclusive or expensive wine, not cheap though, but I was eager to try it. I’m just as eager to share this experience with my dear guests. Please, enjoy.”

  Frank took the glass and exchanged glances with Margo, who brought her glass to her nose and shook her head. While Mason was raising his glass, she nodded toward the statuette. Frank nodded back.

  “It’s a legendary kind of wine. This option is from Angelo Gaja’s daughter, Gaia. She’s a stubborn daughter, just like her father. He went against his father and planted French grape varieties on his estate, when at that time the Italians used only Italian grapes. He was right in his decision and became one of the most famous winemakers in Italy and King of Barbaresco. Barbaresco is a village, by the way. Now people buy variations of different years of this wine, as an investment. They invest in the name, knowing that in the future, it will bring a good return.”

  Mason took a sip of the wine and closed his eyes.

  Margo and Frank exchanged glances.

  Mason smacked his lips.

  “Symphony of taste,” he said. “Spices and earth, freshly cut flowers.”

  Frank sipped from his glass, even rinsed it in his mouth before swallowing. It was wine like any wine. Whiskey was a different matter.

  “Tasty,” he said.

  Mason immediately opened his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “What about you, my dear Margaret?”

  “Perfect. I taste the notes of fruit.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mason agreed and took another sip.

  “Tell me about your antiques,” Frank said, picking up a piece of cheese. “For example, this thing.”

  “Oh, this statuette,” Mason said.

  “This beautiful statuette,” Margo confirmed.

  “It’s René Lalique, a French jeweler, a glass master. So delicate and sublime, isn’t it?”

  “Such a fine work,” Margo said. Frank was sure that she understood art as much as he understood wine.

  “Is he dead?” Frank asked.

  “He passed away in nineteen forty-five. Many of his works are kept in the museum, but of course private collectors like me can always find a way to acquire unique pieces. They move from one collector to another.”

  Frank liked the phrase ‘from one to another’. It was time to move this art to younger and appreciative owners.

  “So this thing is expensive,” he said.

  “Michael!” Margo exclaimed. She tried very hard not to call him Frank.

  Mason smiled.

  “Now this sculpture would cost about sixty thousand dollars,” he said.

  Frank whistled and Margo jabbed him under the elbow. Everything was done on purpose. He, like the first time, was a sucker, and she was a cultured woman, who was embarrassed by his behavior.

  “You look different, guys,” Mason said. “Happier. You were happy, but something has changed. Am I mistaken?”

  “We just realized how important we are for each other. Fate brought us together for a reason,” Frank said.

  “Yes, yes,” Mason said, nodding. “Every day we have to tell our spouses how much we appreciate them, as my wife and I did. You never know when your last day will be. Then you’ll regret not saying enough.”

  Mason sighed sadly, took a sip of wine.

  “Sit down,” he said, sinking in the armchair. “Take a load off your feet.”

  Frank and Margo obeyed. She put the purse on her knees, glancing briefly at Frank. He didn’t understand why she wanted to keep the gun this time, but hoped it was not to shoot him.

  “My wife wanted to have children,” Mason said. “We tried for a very long time. I think she couldn’t take it, you know? She wanted to be a mother. She congratulated her friends who became pregnant, gave birth, who sent their kids to school, and asked God, why not me? Outside, in front of other people, she was happy, but I heard her crying at night. She sank into the deepest depression, to the point that I had to put her in a special clinic for a while, so that she could be helped.”

  “That’s so sad!” Margo exclaimed.

  Frank was bored and looked around, figuring out what he could take with him, how much he could get. That was fun.

  “What am I doing?” Mason wiped his eyes with a quick gesture. “I want to make you happy, not sad! Tell me, what have you been doing all this time?”

  “Work, business,” F
rank answered without hesitation, turning his attention to Mason again.

  “Yes, we are busy all the time,” Margo said.

  “That’s wonderful!” Mason answered. “I miss work. Always in motion, no time to think about nonsense, or to reflect.”

  “But now you have a hobby,” Margo recalled.

  “Oh, yes, I have a wonderful hobby,” Mason agreed. “It brightens my days.”

  “What’s your hobby, you didn’t tell us last time,” Frank said.

  He knew that Margo would chastise him for asking the wrong questions, but now it didn’t matter. Another twenty minutes and Mason would stop thinking about the ignorance of his guests or anything else.

  “Forget about the last time,” Mason replied. “I call it a hobby, but in reality I just want to make people happy. I help those in need. Today, I will try my best to make you happy. I just enjoy seeing happy faces. It makes me feel important. At the end of the day, it’s all that matters. Do you enjoy yourself?”

  “Of course! Thank you!” Margo said. “We also would love to see your wine room.”

  “My pride”" Mason said with a smile. “Would you like to see it now? Before dinner?”

  Frank glanced sideways at Margo.

  “Of course. Why not?” she said. “Dinner can always wait.”

  They agreed to say good-bye to Mason in his wine room. The sooner it happened, the better.

  Mason bloomed, oblivious to his fate. For Frank it was the best part of any con.

  “I haven’t shown it to anyone in such a long time.” He rose, leaning on the arms of the chair and groaning. “You feel your age when you try to get up like you are twenty, but your body tells you otherwise. I’ll gift you a bottle of wine. I even know what you would like!”

  “What are you talking about?” Margo said. “You don’t have to!”

  “I insist.” Mason raised his hand. “When I die, what will happen to these wines? No one knows. I like you so much, guys. You make me feel young and happy!”