Page 82 of Mail Order Bride: A Psychological Thriller

“You don’t have to say it,” she says, cutting me off. “I made a promise, and I’m not looking for any kind of bad karma.”

“Neither am I.”

She scoffs. “And for all I know, Joel might not even be dead. It’d be just like him to fake his own death. I wouldn’t put anything past that man.”

“I—He’s—”

“Don’t take this as a threat or anything,” she tells me with that same wicked smile. “But the less you say, the better.”

“You said that already.”

“Right. Well, if I were you… I’d keep my mouth shut,” she says. “Especially with the cops. It seems like you’ve said enough.”

Margo takes a long breath in and lets it out slowly. “Joel told me to tell you that you'll find your letters under the bed on his side. But maybe you've already found them?”

I nod. I hadn't.

Margo leans toward me and extends her hand. I let it hang in the air. “Well, good luck,” she says. “I really hope I never see you again. Because if I do—”

“I got it.”

She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “God, let’s hope,” she says. And then she's gone.

Later, at home, I go in search of the letters Margo says Joel had hidden under his side of the bed. Part of me thinks it’s a trap, some sort of game. It surprises me that he would have kept them. Joel was not, from what I knew, a sentimental man.

I don’t find them right away. There’s nothing under the bed, at least not on his side. I consider maybe I’m right. Maybe Margo is toying with me. But why?

I sit outside on the porch swing with Annie and Blue nestled at my feet, thinking how this all could have been different; thinking that Joel should be here, he should be beside me. I think about the letters, about how this all started, and about everything Margo said. It hits me just after supper. Joel was a grave digger by trade, at least part of the time. If the letters were where she said they would be, they’d be buried.

The sun has already set by the time I go out to the barn to grab the tools I need to pry up the hardwood floor. The dogs follow at my heels, trotting happily along and wagging their tails almost as if they know something interesting is about to happen. They sit and wait expectantly as I work on the floor.

I’m somewhat relieved that sure enough, under the floorboards, I find the letters. Every single one. But that’s not all. In the box along with them, there’s cash. Not a lot, but probably enough to get me where I’m going.