Black Diaries

71. The Beauty without a Beast

It was his own fault. Really, it was. I mean, if he had just told me the truth, nothing would have happened. It's always like this with marriages! Men don't tell their wives important things, and—wham!—the next thing you know, a wallet full of cash accidentally ends up in the washer, or the phone bill doesn't get paid in time, or the wife shoots her husband in the head.

Now, some people might say that a bullet in the head is a bit of a harsh punishment for lying to one's spouse. But I just think that people like that simply do not appreciate the trusting bond, the soul-deep commitment, the eternal union that should exist between husband and wife.

Will you promise to love her, care for and comfort her, to always be truthful...

He had said yes. He had promised.

And he had broken that promise.

"You really shouldn't have done that, you know?" I murmured, poking the sack slung over the back of the horse. "Lying to me like that, I mean!"

The corpse inside the sack didn't choose to reply.

"Not to speak of going after those poor little foxes! I'd like to strangle you!"

Silence.

"If you weren't already dead, I mean."

More silence. Loud, throbbing, earth-shattering silence.

"It's no use giving me the silent treatment! You're not going to make me cry! I'm a strong, independent woman! I don't need any men, and certainly not you, and I... I..."

I started crying. Quickly, I fished a handkerchief out of my pocket and blew my nose, loud as a trumpet fanfare.

"There! Now do you see what you've done? You've made me cry! You unfeeling beast! Dammit! I should be tougher than that! I'm a black widow with considerable experience, you know! Don't flatter yourself into thinking that you're the first man I've killed! This is all...pretty...much...routine...for meheheeee..."

My wail subsided into sniffles, and I had to blow my nose again.

Now, if you've got the suspicious mind of a serial killer, you might at this point ask: why was I marching through the woods with a body on the back of a horse? Why hadn't I simply left him there? It would have been easy to make the whole thing look like an accident.

Well, there was a simple explanation. For a moment or two back at the scene, I had just stood there, staring down at him. Then I heard the others coming, and do you know what I did?

I panicked. Very thoroughly and professionally.

I admit it, all right? Not a very smart move for an experienced killer such as myself to make. But even killers are only human. So I grabbed my husband's corpse, somehow managed to haul it over his horse and dragged him away from the approaching hunters.

I was already half-way back to the manor when I realized this was the worst thing I could have done.

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Where did I leave my head today?"

"Meow?"

"No, it's not under the living room table, thank you!"

How could I have been so stupid? I couldn't take the body with me! Not if I wanted his death to seem like some kind of hunting accident. I had to leave him where plenty of guns were going off.

Changing course, I started to circle around, taking care always to stay out of sight of the hunters. I had a pretty good idea who they were, and if Mac, Dan and their friends caught me with my husband's freshly murdered body slung over a horse, that might create a slightly awkward moment.