Chapter 3

3: 3

Tomorrow Horace would go get the fake diagnosis from the doctor.

When he left, he would take the suitcase with him.

I knew his whole plan now. He wouldn't get another chance to touch me.

But what was I supposed to do? Divorce him?

The sound of a body slamming into the ground kept echoing in my ears, splitting my head open.

Why should I.

I would never let them off that easy.

Horace must have worn himself out, because before long a window-rattling snore filled the room.

I checked the time. Four in the morning.

He'd set the meeting with the doctor for seven-thirty. He'd said the doctor warned him he absolutely couldn't be late, because once the crowd came in there'd be no way to forge the diagnosis for him.

I slipped out of bed and pulled the bedroom door shut behind me.

I dragged the clothes and shoes out of the walk-in closet and piled them across the living room, then threw the sofa covers and cushions onto the floor too.

Scraps and trash from the kitchen, the seasonings, the rice and flour, the fruit and vegetables from the fridge, I hauled all of it over.

Last, I went to the study, ignored the suitcase completely, and started carrying the books straight off the shelves.

I looked at the stuffed-full living room, then went downstairs to the dumpster and dug out a few bags of garbage.

I opened them and dumped everything on the floor.

A sharp stench drifted through the living room.

Once I had it all just right, I put on a mask and sat down in the middle of the pile of garbage.

At six-thirty, the bedroom door opened.

Horace stumbled out half-asleep, saw the trash all over the floor, and his eyes shot wide.

"Lucy! What are you doing!"

"God, why does it reek like this? Did you go take a bath in a dumpster?"

I wiped the sweat off my forehead.

"I woke up early and couldn't fall back asleep, so I figured I'd give the place a deep clean."

"I was going to bring the trash can over and dump everything in it, but I spilled it all over the floor by accident. Honey, garbage really goes bad fast in the summer, doesn't it…"

Horace's brow knotted. He glanced toward the path from the study to the front door.

It was completely blocked now.

To get the suitcase out, he'd have to lift it up and carry it.

But the garbage was piled high, and in some spots he'd have to hoist it a good foot off the floor to clear it.

A hundred-plus pounds. There was no way he could carry that.

Horace lost his temper.

"You've turned the place into this, and now I can't even get my suitcase out!"

I blinked at him, all innocence. "You're taking the suitcase out today? I had no idea."

"Honey, why don't you help me clean up? We can definitely have it done before noon."

Horace looked at his watch and waved a furious hand.

"I don't have time. I have to be out the door by seven, and I've got ten minutes left!"

I nodded. "Then you go on ahead. I'll have it cleaned up by the time you're back."

"Or, why don't you call a garbage truck for me? It'll go faster if the workers help handle it."

Horace nodded, his face dark, and pulled out his phone.

"Hi, Brookside Gardens, Building 10, unit 1002. I've got a big pile of garbage that needs emergency pickup. Please come as soon as you can!"

I tilted my head at him. "Why don't you take a look and see if there's anything you want to keep?"

Horace snapped, impatient. "It stinks. Let the workers haul all of it away. Don't keep a single thing!"

I smiled softly.

That was exactly the line I'd been waiting for.