Chapter 3

"Disposing of a body is exactly like cooking." I tipped the heavy bottle. Dark Pinot Noir splashed into my glass. "It requires patience. And technique."

Richard pressed his palm flat against his abdomen. He kept his eyes locked on mine.

"Arthur fell asleep on our broken couch," I continued. "He was snoring. Dead drunk. I took a solid aluminum baseball bat from the hall closet. I swung it like I was aiming for the bleachers."

The impact shattered the back of his skull. Blood sprayed the peeling wallpaper. He never made a sound.

Richard let out a harsh breath through his nose. His knuckles, gripping the plush armrest of his chair, turned stark white.

"No body, no crime," I offered him a polite, tight smile. "We lived in a massive dump in rural Texas. The backyard was weeds and dirt. There was a huge, rusted steel smoker sitting out there. Arthur never pawned it because it weighed three hundred pounds."

Richard’s jaw went slack. He pushed his hand harder into his stomach. A low groan escaped him. "You... you cooked him?"

"Specifically, low and slow Texas brisket." I took a sip of the wine. "I dragged him out back four hours before dawn. Butchery is a craft, Richard. You have to cut strictly with the grain. I used a ten-inch boning knife to separate the joints."

"Shut up, Eve." A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. It rolled down his temple.

I ignored him. "If the fire is too hot, the meat dries out. The bark burns into ash. If it’s too low, the smoke doesn't penetrate the tissue."

I kept my tone light. A cooking show host giving a masterclass.

"I used a heavy dry rub. Black pepper, garlic powder, coarse sea salt, and a very dark brown sugar. The spices add extreme flavor. They also perfectly mask the metallic stench of iron in the blood. And the sweet, distinct smell of rendering human fat."

Richard's skin took on a sickly, ashen hue. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

"Twenty-four hours." I held up a single finger. "Applewood smoke choked the entire yard. The neighbors probably thought I threw a massive barbecue. It smelled incredible. Even the enforcers couldn't resist."

Richard stared at me. His breathing turned shallow and erratic. "The... the debt collectors?"

"Three of them knocked on the door looking for Arthur. I told them he took off to the city to hustle up some cash." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Then I handed them paper plates."

Richard's breath hitched. A sickening realization dawned on his face. "Did they...?"

"Oh, absolutely." I smiled wide. "Sliced thin, stacked high on toasted brioche buns. The bark was perfectly crisp. The meat was impossibly juicy. They devoured it. Dripped grease all over their chins."

Richard clamped a hand over his mouth.

He lurched out of the armchair. He stumbled past the foot of the bed, slamming his shoulder hard into the doorframe. He collapsed into the en suite bathroom.

Violent retching echoed against the porcelain tiles.

I stayed on the sofa. I crossed my legs, swirling the wine in my glass. The deep red liquid coated the crystal. My smile widened with every wet, agonizing heave coming from the bathroom.

Two minutes passed. The toilet flushed.

Richard dragged himself back into the bedroom. He gripped the doorframe with both hands just to stay upright. His expensive tailored shirt stuck to his chest with cold sweat. He looked utterly drained. Yet, a furious, desperate anger burned in his eyes.

"You psycho," he hissed, his voice raspy. He wiped a smear of saliva from his chin with the back of his hand. "You made up that vile garbage just to make me sick."

"Made it up?"

I set my glass down. I reached into the silk pocket of my robe. My fingertips brushed against cold, hard metal. I pulled it out and placed it gently on the center of the marble table.

The object hit the stone with a sharp clink.

"I found something interesting while I was separating the ribs from the spine," I said.

Richard staggered forward. He stopped at the edge of the table. He stared at the object.

"It was lodged deep in his stomach lining. He must have swallowed it during the struggle on the yacht. Ripped it right off the cuff of the man who held him down."

Richard’s eyes locked onto the small metal piece.

All the remaining color drained from his face. His pupils dilated to the size of pinpricks.

It was a solid gold cufflink. Engraved deep into the polished metal was a falcon with its wings spread wide.

The Richard family crest.

The exact cufflink he lost fifteen years ago on the deck of a private yacht in international waters.

The silence in the room shifted. It became lethal.

"Hubby," I tilted my head, savoring the terror in his eyes. "You can't seriously have believed that ridiculous BBQ story?"