Page 36

The Elephant in the Room

“Wake up. Wake up.”

Pam let herself in the door and called to Nancy and Shalisa, still asleep in Shalisa’s living room, on her way to the kitchen to put the coffee on.

“Get in here and bring your wits with you. We have to figure out what we’re gonna do.” Her dog trotted behind her. “I brought Elmer with me; hope you don’t mind.”

He wandered over and nuzzled Shalisa, as if he knew who he had to butter up.

Shalisa gave his ears a rub.

Moments later Pam set mugs of coffee and plates of toast slathered with peanut butter on the table.

Shalisa dragged herself in, her cheek lined with creases from the sofa cushions.

After digesting the news about the canceled insurance policies and downing three bottles of wine, Pam had Ubered home.

Nancy and Shalisa had urged her to stay, but she had wanted to see Elmer and put her head on her own pillow.

She had left her friends passed out in Shalisa’s living room—despondent over having returned to their familiar financial status of being poor.

At least if anyone dropped by, they’d assume the widows were in the throes of grief.

And they wouldn’t be wrong, but they weren’t just grieving the loss of their husbands—even if Shalisa was seemingly fast-tracking through the stages of grief; now they were also grieving the loss of their million-dollar insurance payouts.

Why on earth had those shitheads screwed them over again? First, when they frittered away their life savings, and now this.

Why would they pull that insurance money rug out from under them? Granted, they didn’t know their wives were standing on said rug, but still, why? Of all the timing in the world, why cancel their life insurance the day they died?

There wasn’t even a full email chain to review, as it seemed to have been deleted.

All that remained was the insurer’s reply that had arrived in Hank’s email while they were on the boat scattering Dave’s ashes.

Pam had to scroll down the thread to see the original message Hank had sent earlier in the week:

Re: Policies # 865442 / #865443 / #865444 for Montgomery, Murphy, Clooney

Please accept this as notice to cancel these policies effective immediately.

If payment is in place to cover insurance until the end of the month, please prorate that premium and issue refunds.

Please advise asap if there are any challenges completing this request.

I’d appreciate it if you could phone me asap to confirm receipt, and then you can directly speak to Larry Clooney and Andre Murphy for their authorization and to verify what is needed from them to execute these instructions.

Sincerely,

Hank Montgomery,

On behalf of Larry Clooney and Andre Murphy

The insurance agent’s response indicated they had spoken on the phone, and all three policies were canceled. Pam’s only consolation was that Nancy had stopped crying. Much like when Marlene was told Dave was killed by his own stupid garage door, Nancy’s demeanor had taken an about-face. After the shock of discovering a million dollars wouldn’t be landing in their bank accounts later that week, Pam and Nancy placed hurried calls to the Human Resources department at the bank and casino. Pam’s fear was realized when a sympathetic voice told her, “Hank recently canceled the coverage and cashed out, saying he no longer believed in life insurance due to his new religious beliefs.”

What the fuck? What religion didn’t believe in life insurance?

Nancy heard a similar line from Larry’s bank’s HR. But on the bright side, they both learned they’d still receive their husbands’ pensions. For Shalisa, as Andre worked independently, there was no HR rep to call. She was fucked.

Even with the pensions, about two and a half bottles in, Nancy acknowledged that Larry, and the other husbands, had left them up the proverbial shit creek without a paddle, and it was as though a steel curtain came down on Nancy’s grief. Cutting it off. Reinforced by rebar.

But it was a new day and now sober, Pam planned to take a fresh look at the situation and see if they had any recourse with the insurance company—perhaps there was some loophole that hadn’t closed, or maybe they could build a case of temporary insanity. Shouldn’t there have been a decision-making cooling-off period? She didn’t know, but she was determined to find something. She’d brought Hank’s laptop and stopped by Nancy’s house to pick up Larry’s and some papers Nancy wanted.

“Remind me to never day-drink again.”

Shalisa sank into a kitchen chair and rested her head on the table.

Pam patted her on the shoulder and went back to the sink. “Honestly, we’ve been through so much shit lately, we’re allowed to do whatever it takes to get us through the day. And if it takes drinking three bottles of wine in the middle of the afternoon, then so be it.”

Pam looked at Shalisa’s kitchen counter. “Okay. If it takes drinking eight bottles of wine, half a pint of tequila, three beers, and some schnapps in the middle of the afternoon and into the evening, then so be it.” She opened the cupboard beside Shalisa’s fridge and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol and put it on the table. She filled three glasses from the kitchen tap and brought them over.

A toilet flushed, followed by running water. A few minutes later Nancy appeared, wiping her glasses with a tissue. They spent the next two hours googling insurance law, policy cancellation, and lawyers, repeatedly asking themselves the same question—why had their husbands canceled those policies?

“There’s nothing in Larry’s search history,”

Nancy said. “He didn’t even watch porn. I thought he did, to tell you the truth. Especially after we stopped fooling around. But nothing shows up.”

Shalisa slouched, leaning on the table. “He probably cleared it.”

“Oh, he did. But that cybersecurity course I took at the library tells you how you can check.”

Nancy held up the dog-eared booklet of stapled pages she’d had Pam pick up along with Larry’s laptop. “Maybe he used his computer at the bank.” Nancy looked at Shalisa. “What about you? Any luck with Andre’s password?”

Shalisa nudged Andre’s laptop away and shook her head. “I can’t believe you guys have this open access. I never shared my passwords with Andre, and he never shared with me.”

Pam answered, “For us, at our age, and with our lifestyle, we had nothing to hide.”

“Or so you thought.”

Shalisa nodded toward Hank’s laptop. “Anything at all there, aside from the policy-fuck-over?”

Pam said, “The last email Hank read is the policy-fuck-over. Earlier than that, he deleted everything.”

Pam cleared away their coffee mugs and wiped up the toast crumbs around the three laptops on the table. She stepped over Elmer, who lay stretched out beside the air-conditioning vent, and opened the fridge door. She rummaged through the shelves, peeking under the tinfoil lids covering the remaining funeral casserole dishes provided by the neighborhood, finally deciding on the one that bore the masking tape label: Mary’s Macaroni and Cheese heat on high for 5 minutes.

She popped their lunch in the microwave.

Nancy said, “I think they mostly texted. There’s nothing in Larry’s inbox. He has a bunch of unread emails he’s received since he died.”

Nancy glanced up. “That’s interesting, isn’t it? That you die but you still receive emails. I guess it’s either spam or people who haven’t heard the news. Hmm. But there’s nothing from Hank or Andre.”

Pam reread the email from the insurance company that blew up their dreams. “Nancy, Larry’s personal email was cc’d on the policy-fuck-over. It was sent when we were already on the boat. Are you sure it isn’t in Larry’s inbox?”

Nancy clicked away. “No. It’s not here. And the trash folder is empty.”

“Would Larry have checked his email and deleted the insurance one? And his trash? While he was on the boat, just before he died.”

Nancy shrugged. “Possibly. On his iPhone. What’s in Hank’s trash folder?”

Pam clicked. “It’s empty.”

Shalisa yawned. “I wouldn’t think they were the type to regularly empty their trash folders.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment, over their laptops. Shalisa sat up.

Nancy said, “What’s in Hank’s sent folder?”

She began clicking.

Pam said, “Here’s something to Larry and Andre. From about ten days ago.”

A click. “It’s a YouTube link. Oh, it’s a TV-show trailer. He must have recommended it. You don’t see it in Larry’s email?” She pushed herself away from the table to check on the macaroni and cheese.

Nancy shook her head. “No. Larry must have deleted it.”

Shalisa said, “What’s the show?”

Pam returned, put her readers back on, and bent down to look at the screen. “Doesn’t say.”

She opened the drawer and pulled out two potholders.

Shalisa moved into Pam’s chair. She copied the link and put it in the browser. A YouTube box appeared. Shalisa hit the triangle to play.

Pam opened the microwave door and the comforting aroma of pasta and melted cheese washed over her. She carefully placed potholders on the sides of the bubbling dish, pulled it out, and turned to take it to the table. A few notes of instrumental music played from the laptop and filled the quiet kitchen. Then a man with a British accent enunciated the words, “I’m going to fake my death . . .”

Splashes of hot cheddar stung Pam’s bare shins as their lunch crashed to the floor.

* * *

The cold casserole sat in a congealed lump, shards of the white porcelain dish still scattered around it. Elmer had sniffed it, then flopped back down by the vent.

There was nothing besides the YouTube link in Hank’s email. No salutation, no sign-off, no context for why it was sent. Just the link. Sent a few days before the guys had died.

If they had died.

It took Pam, Nancy, and Shalisa five hours of binge watching to see all four episodes of The Thief, His Wife and the Canoe, simultaneously googling and fact-checking; confirming this ordinary English man had disappeared on the water and led everyone to believe he was dead. He got away with it until he decided to fake amnesia and return. He and his wife ended up in jail because they’d claimed, and spent, his life insurance money.

As the light faded outside, the three friends sat side by side on Shalisa’s family room sectional.

“That’s why they canceled the insurance,”

Shalisa said.

“No one would look as closely if there wasn’t a three-million-dollar payout,”

Nancy said.

“That dick in the show came back to be with his wife. Our dicks just fucked off and left us broke,”

Shalisa said.

The women sat on the sofa. Unable to move.

As it sank in that their husbands may have faked their deaths, the next two hours played out in a pattern of an observation voiced to the room followed by a lengthy silence until the next observation was made.

“Why?”

they each asked at one point.

“That’s why Larry left the note for Paul. It really was a goodbye note,”

Nancy said.

Silence.

“I think Andre was sorry about not cutting down the tree, but sorrier for ditching me,”

Shalisa said. “If he really was sorry at all.”

Silence.

“I think he said goodbye,” Pam said.

“What?”

Nancy and Shalisa both asked, their eyes still ahead on the dark television screen.

“On the dock. After we scattered Dave’s ashes. As I was walking away, I thought Hank said something, but I didn’t quite catch it. I didn’t bother to look back. I barely heard him, but when I think about it, as I was walking down the dock, he said, ‘Goodbye, Pam.’”

“Oh.”

“I need wine.”

Shalisa forced herself up from the sofa and padded to the fridge. Elmer lifted his paw as an invitation for a quick belly rub as she passed, and she paused to comply.

Nancy and Pam followed her into the dim kitchen and plunked themselves down at the table to wait. Nancy toyed with Larry’s laptop, flipping the top up and down, finally leaving it open. She hit a key, and the screen illuminated her face. “I wish I knew if Hector really killed them in that explosion, or if somehow, the fuckers faked it.”

Pam sighed. “I’d like to think they’re smarter than that guy in England, and he did it. So, I think it’s possible. I wish we could know for sure.”

Nancy gasped. She pushed her chair back, jarring the table, and covered her mouth. Her eyes were huge. She looked from Pam to Shalisa. Was she choking and did she need the Heimlich maneuver? But she hadn’t eaten anything.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Shalisa rushed over and grabbed Nancy by the shoulders. “What is it? What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” She stooped and held Nancy’s jaw lightly in her hands.

Nancy, her mouth hanging open, pointed a trembling finger at Larry’s laptop.

Pam was confused. She looked from the screen and up to Nancy. “What? What is it? It’s just Larry’s email.”

Nancy croaked out the words. “He . . . he . . . read . . . his emails.”

“What?”

Pam and Shalisa both stared at their friend. What in the world was she blabbering about?

Nancy jabbed at the screen. “They were unread. Before . . . we watched that TV show, his emails were all bolded, and unread. Look at them now. You can tell. They’ve been read!”

Pam put her readers on and peered at the screen. There was a list of about fifteen emails, from different people, some from as recently as that morning, all unbolded and obviously read.

“Maybe you read them . . . and you just forgot,”

Pam suggested.

Nancy shook her head, hard.

They looked back at the screen, confused.

Then Nancy jumped up, knocking her chair over. Shalisa screamed and lunged for Nancy. And Pam clung to them both.

The three women stood frozen, their faces buried in each other’s collars. Then, still clutching each other, they slowly inched back toward the laptop and lifted their heads. Bending closer. The three stooped shoulder to shoulder, their eyes riveted to the screen. Pam felt a jolt and jumped back. Then bent forward again as she watched one of Larry’s emails change from unbolded to bold. They held their breath and squeezed each other tighter. And then the next email bolded. And the next one. All the way to the top. One at a time. Until all the emails were returned to unread status.

A wave of terror ripped through Pam as though she were witnessing a haunting ghost in action. As adrenaline surged, the wives jumped up and down, screaming and hugging each other. Pam was unsure if she was jumping for joy, or in horror. Finally, they jumped to a stop, drained and still clinging to each other.

Pam realized then: they were tears of joy running down her cheeks. Hank was alive! She hadn’t killed him. Her Hank was still alive. He was alive!

And then the other shoe dropped.

Her Hank had left her. Ditched her. Left her broke, and alone.

She grabbed on to the back of a chair, steadying herself while the others wiped away their own tears.

Nancy said, “Fucking Larry.”

“Fucking Larry?”

Shalisa said. “Fucking Andre.”

Pam joined in. “Fucking Hank.”

* * *

Two scotches and a glass of wine each later, the three friends sat in Shalisa’s dark kitchen, with only the laptop screen casting light into the room.

Pam said, “I’m so fucking relieved, and I’m so fucking mad. I don’t know how I feel. My skin feels like it’s crawling off my body. I can’t think of anyone, at any time in the world, who has experienced this. I honestly don’t know how to feel. Is there more wine?”

“The questions I have are why and how. Why would they do this?”

Nancy said.

Shalisa drained her glass. “Okay. To acknowledge the elephant in the room, we did hire a hitman to kill them. I think it’s fair to say none of them had a happy marriage either.”

Pam stood up. “But what did we do to them? They’re the ones who lost our money and torpedoed our lives!”

She pointed at her chest, then at Nancy and Shalisa. “We’re the ones who get to be mad. Not them.”

The women thought about that while Pam went to the fridge, and then Shalisa said, “Well, if it takes two to tango, I guess it takes two to be unhappy in a marriage. If we weren’t happy, how could they be?”

Nancy offered, “I never thought about them.”

Pam set another bottle on the table and plunked down. “Me neither.”

Nancy unscrewed the top and filled Shalisa’s glass. “But then why not just leave us? Why go through all this? Why fake your death if there’s no insurance money? They could have just divorced us.”

Shalisa picked up her glass. “That would have taken a lot of energy, and no one ever voted our husbands most likely to do . . . anything.”

“But this took energy.”

Pam circled a finger at the laptop and Larry’s emails. She held her empty glass toward Nancy. “Maybe it wasn’t about us. Maybe it had something to do with Dave’s death? Do you think?” Pam set her glass down with a thud. “Dave is dead, right? Someone saw his body. Other than our husbands?” She looked from Shalisa to Nancy.

They thought a moment, then Nancy said, “Sure, the police did. And Marlene got his wedding ring back. She saw him at the funeral home. Not his head. They didn’t want her to see that, but she and her daughters held his hands. She would have known if it wasn’t Dave’s hand. So yes. Dave is dead.”

Nancy filled Pam’s glass and set the bottle in the middle of the table. “But beyond the why, how? How could they ever pull it off?”

“It must have taken some planning. They must have been shitting themselves,”

Shalisa said. “That last week. Wondering if they could get it all together.”

Pam looked up. “That’s why they didn’t want us to go out on the boat that night. To scatter Dave’s ashes. They had it all planned, and we were messing it up. Remember how tense they seemed? They could hardly wait for us to get off so they could go back out.”

“Larry seemed edgier all week. More irritable. I woke up one night and he was sitting in the bedroom chair, I think, watching me sleep. To be honest, my first thought was, he’s gonna kill me. But it was Larry. So, I rolled over.”

“Andre left me a cupcake. When you dropped me off after the boat ride, there was a red velvet cupcake sitting on the kitchen counter. For years he’s been on me about eating healthy and keeping my weight down. I was shocked that he left me a treat. He must have rushed home to cut down that juniper before we scattered Dave’s ashes and left the cupcake for me. The frosting was so beautiful. The blushest of pink. It looked like a peony perched on top of that cupcake. I love peonies. And I love red velvet.”

“Hank got his hair cut something like three times that week. It wasn’t even scraggly. And his neck was already shaved. But it seemed like every time I saw him those last days, he smelled like he’d just been to the barber.”

Silence.

Pam rose and switched on the overhead light. Nancy and Shalisa squinted in the brightness.

“Hector,” Pam said.

“Hector. Fuck, yeah,”

Nancy said. “They hired fucking Hector to fake their deaths.”

After a moment, Shalisa said, “Wait. We hired Hector to kill them. And you’re saying they hired him to fake their deaths?”

“Hector did a fucking double dip,” Pam said.

“If they’re not dead, we’re not paying him that hundred grand. And he owes us our deposit back,”

Nancy said.

Pam and Shalisa locked eyes.

Then Shalisa said, “I nominate Nancy to tell him.”