But as Mr. Mancuso and William Shakespeare said, all’s well that ends well. Even if we all lost some years that didn’t need to be lost.

And standing there – with this e-mail in my hand, and the shotgun still not found, and with Felix Mancuso’s words of concern on my mind, and the past casting a long shadow over my and Susan’s bright future – I suddenly had this thought that I needed to kill Anthony Bellarosa.

CHAPTER FORTY

Susan always returned from her estate runs through the rose garden, so I sat on the patio with a bottle of cold water and a towel, waiting for her. She’d been gone over an hour, and though I wasn’t concerned, I wasn’t entirely unconcerned. It occurred to me that we could not live like this for any length of time.

I had one of her cordless phones with me, so I dialed her cell phone. It went into voice mail, and I left a message and decided to go look for her.

I took the cordless phone with me, which has a limited range but was better than nothing, and I went to the front of the house and got into my Taurus.

The cordless phone rang, and I answered, “John Sutter.”

I was relieved to hear Susan’s voice say, “I’m here…” She was out of breath and panted, “On the patio.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I returned to the patio, and Susan was standing on the path in the rose garden, bent forward with her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths. Also, except for her running shoes, she was stark naked.

I thought I should inquire, “Where are your clothes?”

She drew in a long breath and replied, “Oh… my sweats are in the laundry, and you said not to wear shorts, so this is all I had left.” She added, “Good run.”

I wasn’t totally buying this, but to play along, I said, “Good thinking. Where did you keep your phone?”

She replied, “Don’t ask.”

I wondered if it was on vibrate.

She came onto the patio, put her cell phone on the table, then wiped her sweaty face and body with the towel. She took a long swig from the bottled water, then said, “I saw Nasim, and he doubled his offer.”

I smiled and replied, “If it were me, I’d pay you to stay.”

She put her towel and her bare butt on the wicker chair, then put her feet on the table. She asked me to take off her running shoes, which I did along with her socks. She wiggled her toes, meaning I should rub her feet, which I also did as she poured water over her head, then took a long drink. She threw her head back, drew another breath, and asked, “What have you been doing?”

“Pilates.”

She smiled, then said, “It’s cocktail time, and it’s your turn to make them.” She ordered, “Grey Goose and cranberry juice.”

I inquired, “Can I get you some clothes while I’m inside?”

“No. I really like being naked.”

No argument there. I went into the kitchen and made her drink and made a Dewar’s and soda for myself. I also emptied a jar of peanuts into a bowl to give the illusion that it wasn’t all about the cocktails.

A word about that – this was, and I’m sure still is, a hard-drinking crowd in our perfect Garden of Eden. Most of it is social drinking, not fall-off-the-barstool drinking, though I’m sure there’s a good deal of closet drinking at home. In any case, Susan and I had probably been at the low end of the local weekly alcohol consumption, but by the standards of, say, a dry county in the Midwest, we’d be court-ordered into AA and denounced from the pulpit. More to the point, since our local alert level had just risen to Condition Red, we’d be well advised to limit our alcohol intake.

I carried everything outside on a tray, and noticed that Susan had retrieved her workout clothes from somewhere and thrown them on a chair, which she also used to elevate her legs. The towel was draped around her shoulders and hung over her breasts for modesty.

I gave her her drink, we clinked glasses, and I said, “To summer.”

I sat, and we both sipped our drinks and ate peanuts, enjoying the quiet, and the soft breeze that moved through the towering trees beyond the rose garden.

I let her know, “I was a little concerned.”

She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “You worry too much.”

I knew that was coming, so I replied, “There is actually something to worry about.”

“I know, but… what else can we do?”

There were a number of things we could do, but she didn’t want to do them. I said to her, “I looked in the basement for the shotgun, but I couldn’t find it.”

“Maybe it’s somewhere else.”

“If we can’t find it by tomorrow, I’m going to buy one, or buy a rifle.”

She reminded me, “I’m good with a shotgun.”

Not too bad with a pistol, either, but that was a sore subject. I informed her, “While you were out, I spoke to Felix Mancuso.”

She nodded, and I continued, “He wants to arrange a meeting with us, maybe tomorrow, and I gave him your cell phone number.”

“I think it’s time you got your own cell phone.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You’re running up my bill.”

“Susan… I really want you to get your head out of the sand and start helping me.”

She replied, “All right. I will do whatever you tell me to do.”

That, of course, is wife-talk for, “You are a bully, and a complete shithead, and I am the unwilling victim of your domineering personality, but I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, darling.”

She asked, “Didn’t I follow your instructions about running on the property, and taking my cell phone, and not wearing shorts?” She added, “Look at me. I had to run around the estate naked because of you.”

It’s difficult to get angry at a beautiful naked woman, but I suggested, “When following my instructions, don’t be too literal-minded.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, then said, more seriously, “No one likes the bearer of bad news. You are only the messenger, and I get the message.”

“I know you do.”

“And I love you for being worried about me.”

I wanted to tell her that Felix Mancuso shared my concern, but that would be better coming from him.

We went upstairs to our bedroom, and Susan informed me, “Running naked makes me hot.”

So we took care of that, then showered together. As we were getting dressed for dinner at The Creek, Susan’s cell phone rang, and she looked at the display and said, “I think this is your call.”

I took the phone and Felix Mancuso said, “How about ten A.M. tomorrow?”

“Fine. You know where we are.”

“I do.”

In fact, he’d been here twice on business – once to drive me home from Manhattan after the Bellarosa rubout attempt, and once to tell me that my wife had just murdered Frank Bellarosa next door. I said, “See you then,” and hung up. I said to her, “Tomorrow, ten A.M.” I added, “I want you to be available.”

“Of course, darling.”

I drove Susan’s Lexus down the long drive and past the gatehouse, which now looked dark and forlorn. In a day or so, Nasim might have his own people in there, unless, of course, he decided that no one was really trying to assassinate him. My concerns were more verifiable, so I really didn’t mind if I had to go through Checkpoint Nasim to get to my house. Every bit of security helped, though I reminded myself that Anthony Bellarosa’s hit men could strike anywhere.

Of more immediate concern was my reentry into The Creek Country Club. On the positive side, no one had ever been whacked there at dinner, though I’d thought about it myself when my dinner companions were boring me to death. I said to Susan, “For the record, I’m not thrilled about going to The Creek.”

She replied, “It will be fine. You’re with me.”

“Right.” I still couldn’t understand why Susan got a pass on murder, and I was blackballed for bringing a Mafia don to The Creek for dinner. Well, I did understand – she’d only broken the law; I had broken the unwritten club rules. Plus, she was a Stanhope. Regarding her affair with the Don Who Came to Dinner, as I said, that was just too juicy to get her blackballed. In fact, they should give her a year of free membership.