Page 110 of Nash Falls

“I drove her home. She had no idea who I was and she laid it all out for me. And it was unprotected sex, just so you know,” he lied. He knew his father and Burke hadn’t had intercourse. She had simplyservicedhim. But he needed to change Mindy’s perspective on her husband, and the more disgusting Rhett could make him out to be, the faster that perspective would transform. And Rhett didn’t have much time to pull all this together.

Mindy once more looked down at her unconscious husband. “I… I could have caught some disease!”

“So he really didn’t give a shit about you. But if you help me, I’ll help you.”

“How?”

He eyed the French doors again. “That balcony is right over the rear patio. Four stories up.”

“W-what exactly are you getting at?” she said tremulously, her eyes bulging.

“In business parlance this is known as seizing an opportunity. Old man’s terminal, didn’t want to suffer through the agony. Clean up a bit in here. Get him out there. He’ll never feel a thing. All good.”

Mindy said, “Oh my God, are you insane?”

“Okay, then call the ambulance. I claim self-defense, my injuries will back me up, he croaks, and you get financially hosed by a guy who lied and cheated on you. Your call, Min.”

She sat back on her haunches and processed all this. “How… how would you get him out there?”

“Just help me carry him to the balcony. I’m strong enough to get him over the railing. He goes face-first into the pavers, which will coincide with the injuries I caused. I was never here, and you’ll back me up on that when his body is found tomorrow.”

“And the prenup?”

“You challenge it on the grounds of him lying about his ability to procreate and I’ll be your star witness regarding thatandhis infidelity. I imagine the prenup has enough ambiguous language on moral turpitude for your lawyers to use. And I won’t fight it, nor will my sisters.”

“So how much do I get?”

“I know roughly the terms of your prenup. Let’s say ten times.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

She nodded. “Deal. Now, let’s get this done. I think I’m going to be sick.”

A half hour later, a bloody Barton Temple lay dead face down on the stone pavers, and Rhett was whizzing down the road in his Porsche. His adrenaline was running even faster than the car. No need for lines of coke. A simple murder apparently did just fine as a potent narcotic.

Part of him felt liberated. Part of him felt like he was a dead man walking.

He had no idea which feeling, if any, would turn out to be right.

But he needed to take an additional, obvious step. He stopped by the red door marked number twelve and knocked. A sleepy Laurel Burke opened the door dressed only in a T-shirt.

“Do you remember me, Laurel?” he said.

Burke smiled. “I recognize your voice.” She looked him up and down. “And the rest of you ain’t half bad. What do you want?”

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “I think you know.”

“Same rate?”

“Double.”

He closed the door and Burke led him into her bedroom.

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