CLAUDIA
I had it all planned out perfectly yesterday.
I had a two o’clock massage client. And as soon as I finished with her, I was going to head over to Quinn’s monstrosity of a house.
Except I wasn’t going there to see my sister.
Yes, it’s true. I’ve been sleeping with my sister’s husband for the last six months. I should probably use the past tense, since Derek will not be sleeping with me anymore—never again—given that he’s lying on a slab in the morgue. After she murdered him.
I can’t even think about it. The sight of his dead body lying on the kitchen floor will be burned in my eyes forever.
That bitch.
Derek is superb in bed. Quinn never even mentioned that to me—she didn’t even appreciate it. I started sleeping with him because… Well, long story short, I hate my sister.
Surprise, surprise.
I didn’t always hate my sister. When our parents were alive and life was easy, we were close enough. But then they died—not just that, but they died on their way to Quinn’s stupid play. And they left us with nothing.
I was at the end of my freshman year of college. I had plans. Of course I did. And none of those plans involved babysitting my sister for the next four years. I wanted to finish college and go on to law school. That was my dream since I was a kid. But after our parents died, Quinn had nobody. Our closest relative was a third cousin out in the Midwest. I figured she could go there and stay with her for a few years. Then our cousin called me and started making
me feel guilty. She said she and her husband didn’t have enough money and why couldn’t I take care of her? You are eighteen, after all. She’s your own sister, for goodness sake.
So I did it. I became Quinn’s guardian. Naturally, I had to drop out of college. Get a minimum wage job and borrow money to keep from losing the house. All the while, Quinn went to high school, and then she went on to college. Meanwhile, I never found my way back to college. After four years out of the game, it felt like another world. So I got my degree in massage therapy instead. Married Rob.
It wasn’t what I dreamed of. But it was good enough.
But then I saw Quinn living the good life. She finished college and got a good job at the bank. She met this obscenely gorgeous man, and he fell helplessly in love with her, because she’s always been prettier than me. I used to be the smart one, but a fat lot of good it did me without an education to back it up.
Whenever I would see Quinn with Derek, I would think of the guy I got stuck with—the balding plumber—and feel a surge of jealousy. Why did her life have to work out so well and mine so badly?
Then she married Derek. They built this obscenely large house and spent a fortune furnishing the place. And all she did was complain about him. Because Derek was mean to her. Well guess what? Rob is mean to me too, and I don’t get to live in a palace.
She just didn’t get it. She didn’t appreciate everything I gave up for her. She never even thanked me.
Last year, the roof of our house collapsed during a storm. Our attic filled with water, which then leaked down into our bedrooms. I remember standing outside the house with Quinn, showing her the damage.
“How awful!” she remarked.
“It’s eating right through all the wood,” I told her. She frowned at me. “But you can fix it, right?” “Yes, but it’ll cost a bundle.”
I stood there, waiting for her to offer to help. Derek was rolling in money, and even Quinn earned four or five times as much as I did from my massage clients. “Well, at least you can fix it,” she said.
That was it. No offer to help the sister that had sacrificed so much for her. And it wasn’t the first time either. She always expected me to be there for her, but she was never there for me. When Rob got laid off a few years back, she took some trip off to Bermuda with her boyfriend. She never cared about me. It was always the Quinn Show.
Can you blame me for hating her? Wouldn’t anyone?
You might wonder how I ended up sleeping with Derek. Like I said, Quinn is the pretty one. Why would Derek want to be with me when he already had the prettier, younger sister?
It happened when Quinn was away on a business trip. I had the key to her house, and she asked me to water her plants, because she knew Derek wouldn’t do it. Of course, she could’ve hired somebody to water her goddamn plants instead of me making the trek all the way over and do it for her, but Quinn never thought about it like that. What better thing did I have to do than take care of her stupid overpriced plants?
While I was at her house, I helped myself to her wardrobe closet. Quinn had more clothes than she knew what to do with, and even though I was a couple sizes bigger, some of her stuff still fit me, like her jackets. And even if it didn’t fit me, I might get a good price for it on eBay. She would never even know it was gone.
I was in the middle of trying on one of her Bottega Veneta jackets and admiring myself in the mirror, when I saw a reflection that made me nearly jump out of my skin. Derek was standing in the doorway, watching me.
“Oh, hi!” I quickly shrugged off the jacket and reached for a hanger. “I was just… you know…”
But there was no judgment on Derek’s face. He smiled at me, and he looked so handsome at that moment, it made my knees weak. “It looks better on you.”
I blushed like a teenager. I didn’t think it was true, but his face looked sincere. “Thanks.”
He came across the room, and my heart sped up. He reached out and straightened the collar of my shirt. His fingers lingered there, making a tingle go down my entire body. I held my breath, not sure what to make of this turn of events. Sometimes when I was visiting, Derek would flirt with me a bit or maybe wink suggestively. Truth be told, I had a crush on him. It was hard not to.
“You’re a masseuse, right?” he said.
“Yes,” I managed. Men rarely left me breathless, but there was something about Derek.
He rubbed at his shoulder. “You know, I have this terrible crick in my neck. I was wondering if you might take a look.”
“I could do that.” My body tingled at the thought of getting Derek on my massage table. “When do you have in mind?”
“How about right now?”
“I don’t have my massage table.”
His lips quirk up. “Couldn’t we use the bed?”
I felt suddenly breathless, but I managed to nod. “Yes.
We could.”
I watched Derek strip down in front of me to his underwear. I’ve never seen my sister’s husband naked before, and I have to say, he was spectacular. Like a sculpture. He lay down on the bed, face down. Waiting for me.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them. I didn’t have any of my oils or lotions, so I ran my bare fingers along his broad shoulders. I started working the palms of my hands into his trapezius, kneading his taut muscles. He moaned at my touch.
“You’re good at this,” he commented.
“It’s my special skill.”
“Do you have any other special skills?”
Before I could answer, he rolled over. His eyes met mine, and my body melted. He sat up and pressed his lips against mine. I have never been kissed like that. Rob wasn’t capable of it. Neither were any of the other men I had kissed in my life. Derek was different. I knew it right away.
That was the first time we ever had sex. In my sister’s master bedroom, while she was away on a business trip.
At first, I was sleeping with Derek because I was wildly attracted to him, and also to get back at my sister for all the sacrifices she never appreciated. But I got to really like him. After a session together, I didn’t just throw my clothes back on and run out. We would lie together in bed, talking, for as long as we dared. He would run his fingers through my hair, staring into my eyes.
“I think I chose the wrong sister,” he told me last week. I whispered back, “It isn’t too late, you know.”
“If I left Quinn, would you leave Rob?”
I answered without hesitation: “I would.”
I don’t know if he meant it. I guess I’ll never know. But at the time, I believed he did.
All afternoon yesterday, I was tingling with anticipation at the thought of seeing him, but then right after I sent my two o’clock packing, my boss came out and told me Heather had to go home sick. Any chance I could take Heather’s three o’clock client?
As much as I wanted to see Derek, I couldn’t say no. I needed the money too badly. It wasn’t like my sister would lend me money if I needed it.
I sent Derek a regretful text message from the burner phone I bought so the two of us could communicate, letting him know I would be an hour late, maybe longer. Of course, if I came over there too late, I risked running into Quinn.
Although part of me wanted her to walk in on us. He told me he would leave her for me—well, that would force the
issue. And I wanted to see the look on her face. She always thought she was better than me. How would she feel when she discovered that her wonderful, perfect husband preferred me to her?
When I finished up with Heather’s client, I grabbed my burner phone. There were no messages from Derek, but I took no news as good news. Derek wasn’t the kind of guy who felt the need to respond to every message. He wasn’t needy.
But Quinn was an issue. I didn’t want her walking in on us, considering it was getting late. So as I got into my car, I called her. The phone rang several times before she picked up.
“Hi, Claudia!” She sounded in a good mood. For a change. Quinn had been such a sad sack lately. I was so sick of hearing her complain incessantly about her perfect life.
“Quinn,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Where are you?
Are you free?”
“Not at the moment. I’m still at work.”
A lie. She was not at work—I know that now. She was already on the run.
But I didn’t know it back then, so I had to weasel her plans out of her. Find out how long Derek and I would have together. “What time do you get off? Do you want to grab dinner?”
“No, I… I have to work late tonight.”
I tutted and made some comment about how hard they worked her, and of course, she agreed. Even though she had a totally cushy desk job. Try massaging somebody’s muscles for six hours straight and see how you feel.
“Tell you what,” I said. “How about if I come over tonight with a bottle of wine?”
“No!” She sounded freaked out about the idea of it, and now I was curious. At the time, I thought she and Derek must’ve had an argument. I was desperate for more details.
“I mean… I’ve got a headache and I… it’s not a good night. I don’t feel like socializing.”
I tried to get her to tell me, but she was resistant. “Fine,” I said. “But you owe me dinner out. Tomorrow night, Rob and I are going out… how about Sunday?”
“How about Monday?”
“Deal. Let’s meet at Donatello’s at seven. Don’t be late!”
Of course, she had no intention of meeting me on Monday. She expected to be long gone by then. She nixed the idea of doing Sunday because she didn’t want me to walk in and discover her husband’s body. She had no idea I was on my way to her house right then.
When I got to Quinn and Derek’s house, my body was almost buzzing with anticipation the way it always was when I was about to see Derek. I had a key to the house, so I let myself in. Usually Derek met me at the door—I loved the sexy smile that would spread across his face when I walked in.
But this time, I didn’t see him. “Derek?” I called out. No answer.
I checked my phone, to make sure he hadn’t texted me and told me not to come. But there was nothing.
“Derek?” I stepped into the living room, looking around. “Are you here?”
He didn’t answer, so I went into the kitchen and…
I fell to my knees in front of his dead body. Yes, he was definitely dead. I didn’t have any medical knowledge, but I could tell that much. He was lying in a pool of drying blood, his beautiful face chalky, his lips parted, his eyes cracked open. I thought of this man as being so full of life, and here he was, totally and utterly dead.
I picked up his hand, which already felt stiff. Vaguely, I knew that I shouldn’t be touching things around what was clearly a crime scene. But I couldn’t help myself. I loved this man.
And now he was dead. Just like my parents. “Who did this to you?” I whispered.
Unsurprisingly, he did not answer.
I got to my feet. I scanned the first floor of the house. “Quinn!” I shrieked.
I went running from room to room, screaming Quinn’s name. I wanted to smash everything in their beautiful house, but even through my haze of grief, I knew that would be stupid. Anyway, she was long gone by then.
I thought there was a tiny possibility that somebody had killed Derek and taken Quinn hostage. But I knew how Quinn felt about him. I knew they fought constantly. Really, there was never any doubt in my mind that she was the one who stabbed him to death.
I also knew she would get away with it. Okay, she was stupid to run—that would hurt her case. But she would use some sort of defense about how he abused her, and she’d get off scot free. He wasn’t abusive to her. I know how Quinn can be. Sometimes I wanted to smack her upside the head myself.
I had to find Quinn. And then I promised myself I would make her pay for what she had done to the man I loved.
I triple dipper promised with a cherry on top.
It was lucky I found her phone before the police did. It helped that Deputy Scotty Dwyer was such an idiot. I attempted to throw them off her trail, but it didn’t work. Quinn was too careless and managed to get herself pulled over. She couldn’t even do that part right. Even our hopelessly incompetent police force would find her at this rate.
So I went after her. To the Baxter Motel.
When I parked in the lot, the motel looked almost deserted. The lights were off in all the rooms. It looked like nobody had stayed there in years. For a moment, I thought I had made a mistake. Maybe Quinn hadn’t come here after all.
But then I saw her bursting from the front door. She was dragging her luggage behind her, and there were tears in her eyes. She was making a quick getaway, that’s for sure. If I had shown up one minute later, I would have missed her entirely. The timing could not have been better.
I dug around in my purse until I found Rob’s pocket knife. I left my purse behind and got out of the car, gripping the knife in my right hand.
“Hi, Quinn!” I called out.
She looked up at me in surprise. She never expected to see me again. But she didn’t look upset. Of course not. I’m her big sister. The one who always bails her out of trouble. She probably thought I was here to help.
Ha.
“Thank God, Claudia!” she sobbed.
She started towards me and tried to embrace me, but I took a step back. She blinked, surprised by my rebuff.
“Claudia?” she said.
“How could you?” I choked out. “How could you do that?”
“He…” Her hands flew to her neck. “He was trying to choke me. I… I had to…”
“Liar!” I hissed at her. “You couldn’t stand it that he liked me better.”
“Claudia, what are you talking about?” “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
And then her eyes widened as she saw the knife in my right hand. She finally got it. She knew Derek was fooling around on her, but she never knew it was with me. But now, moments before her death, she knew. I wanted her to know.
And then I plunged the knife into her abdomen and dug it in, the same way she did to him. Poetic justice.
Quinn’s body crumbled to the ground. My sister had always been petite, and in recent years she’s become downright skeletal—whereas my arms are taut and muscular from my work as a masseuse—so I easily heaved
her limp body into my arms and lowered it into the open trunk of my car.
It was only after slamming the trunk closed that I saw the light go on in the second floor of the motel.
A witness.
My stomach clenched at the idea that someone might have seen what I had just done. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I should have invited her into my car, taken her somewhere else, and done it there.
That was always my problem. I acted without thinking.
So I went into the motel to get a room. There was no way there were more than one or two people staying there. I had to tie up the loose ends. And I needed to kill a little time anyway, since the police were still circling the area. I would take care of what I needed to take care of here, then by the time I left with Quinn’s body in the trunk, the police would have moved on.
Except then Greta made me aware of one other witness I hadn’t thought about. The woman on the second floor of that broken down old house. Rosalie.
She’s the last loose end.
As soon as I take care of her, I can go.
I don’t know if Rosalie called the police already. Maybe she did and it’s too late. But based on the fact that Rob couldn’t hear a word I was saying when he called me, I’m betting she wasn’t able to call anyone. Maybe she’s waiting for the cell reception to return. It will be too late for her by then.
I read about her in one of the articles. Rosalie Baxter. According to the article, she is “confined to a wheelchair.” Much like Greta, she’ll go down easy.
Nick Baxter—he won’t go down as easy. But he’s busy in Room 201, repairing that leak. He won’t see a thing. Best of all, after that mess two years ago, if another person is murdered under his watch, he’ll definitely get nailed for it.
Everyone already thinks he’s a killer. It won’t be much of a stretch. Nick Baxter will take the fall for everything I’ve done.
It’s all too perfect.
As I walk up the steps to the bedroom overlooking the hotel, the knife feels heavy in my hand. I never would have thought I could do something like this, but somehow it gets easier each time. I wonder if it was easy for Quinn too. When she put that knife in Derek’s belly.
My heart aches when I think about it. I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t believe he’ll never hold me again.
And then I’m there—in the master bedroom. I put my hand on the doorknob. I thought I might be shaky, but I’m not. I don’t know what Rosalie Baxter has in store for me behind the door. Yes, she might be in a wheelchair, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a gun. I could open the door and she could shoot me right in the face.
Somehow, I don’t think she will. And strangely enough, I’m not scared.
I throw open the door, and there she is, sitting in her wheelchair. I was right to have not been scared. As ominous as she looked when she was a shadow in the window, Rosalie Baxter is absolutely non-threatening up close. She’s tiny—not much taller than five feet if she could stand, and bone thin, almost like a corpse. Her brown eyes are enormous on her skinny face as she stares up at me.
I hardly even need a knife. I could snap her in half with my bare hands. Hell, it looks like a strong breeze might do her in.
I’ll be doing her a favor. This woman must have a miserable life. Stuck up here all alone all day, unable to move. Having to live with that crabby husband of hers, who’s probably been sleeping with every pretty girl who walks through the door. I’ll end it quick for her.
But she looks terrified. She holds up her hands, which are shaking. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “Whatever you think I
did, I’m sorry.”
Her eyes dart to the side, and I realize what’s on the bed. It’s a pair of binoculars. She’s been watching me through binoculars. How pathetic. And sneaky. All my sympathy for this wretched creature has vanished—maybe I won’t make it quick.
Good thing I came here.
“You know what happened to my sister,” I snap at her. She blinks her giant brown eyes. “Your… sister?”
I take a step towards her and she flinches. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” “Liar…”
“Please…” Now she’s sobbing. “I didn’t do anything to your sister. I swear.”
“I never said you did.” My shoulders tense with aggravation. Why is she pretending? Does she think I’m that stupid? “But I know what you saw.”
Her delicate jaw trembles. “Saw?”
“You and your binoculars…” I sneer at her. “You’re pathetic.”
She flinches, her face turning pink. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry…”
“It’s too late.”
“No. No. Please…. You can’t…” She looks down at her phone, a pathetically hopeful expression on her face. “Nick will come. You won’t get away with it…”
“No,” I say, “he won’t come.” Then I drop the bombshell on her. I reach into my purse with my free hand and pull out the phone I swiped from the front desk. “Because I have his phone.”
What little color she still had in her face drains away. She knows she’s screwed. I’ve got the knife and her husband’s phone and she’s got nothing. Nobody is coming for her.
It’s all over for Rosalie Baxter.
