“I know,” she says. “She told me.”
I sip my Mo?t. “Were you friends?”
She swallows. “Sisters.” Her sister. Of course. I spoke to her on the phone. I try to remember her, but all I remember is her question: “You want to know why.”
She nods once. Then her hand darts out to steady herself on the front table. The gun clatters in the silver tray. We both see it.
I sigh. “I can’t tell you. There’s no reason.” My husband was bored. Bored and maybe more. Maybe he didn’t like that Elvira was my friend. Maybe it bothered him that I loved her and she loved me back. Maybe he is incapable of love, like Margo said. Maybe it’s not boredom but a wide, wild void. “Were you living in the van?” I say. “Did you break the gate? Did you . . . Bean?”
She doesn’t answer. I can see the resemblance now. She and Elvira don’t look alike, but I can see how they would be sisters.
“If you’re trying to decide if you can trust me,” I say, “I can tell you, you can’t trust anyone. Not here.” Still she says nothing. I have no choice but to change my tactic. “That dog was Margo’s life. . . .”
“It wasn’t me.” She grips the table. The gun hums in its silver plate. “It was the man downstairs, Michael.”
“Michael?”
“The man you saw in the courtyard. He’s living with the woman downstairs. He gets high and goes into the gardens. He’s the one who broke the gate. He’s been robbing houses up and down this street. He killed the dog. He was in Margo’s garden and the dog found him, was barking at him. He said it was the dog or him. He broke its neck. He put the body in your courtyard to scare you.”
“Sorry—I’m still . . . There’s a man living downstairs?” I’m going to need more Mo?t.
She shakes her head. “You don’t know anything that happens. None of you pays any attention to anyone else.”
“I have a lot on my plate right now. This party.” I sigh. It’s not important now.
“I want things to be fair,” she insists. “I want there to be consequences.”
I grip my glass. “These people can’t give you fair. They can only give you money.”
She looks down at the gun and then, cautiously, like she can’t quite believe she is doing it herself, she picks it up. She points it at me. “What happened to my sister? I don’t believe she killed herself.”
It’s more depressing than I would have expected, being held at gunpoint. It’s disappointing. Maybe because I know, by the fear in her eyes, by the way she doesn’t even touch the trigger, that she would never, ever shoot me.
“Tell me.” Her voice shakes.
The truth throbs in my throat: You’re right. She didn’t kill herself. Graham killed her. If I tell her, what will she do? Kill me? Kill him? Go to the police? She couldn’t kill him. And the police won’t help her. The house always wins. That’s why I play for the house.
“You should leave this place. It’s not . . .”
I try to organize my thoughts, but the gun is distracting. I stand up. I cross the room toward her. I take the gun from her hands. She lets me. The safety is still on. I am inches away from her. I can smell her breath. It smells like Elvira’s. The scent damages me. It tricks me into believing she’s here in the room with us. The star around her neck winks. I sigh all through my bones and I tell her, “If you’re looking for fair, you won’t find it here. If you’re looking for peace or happiness or some kind of resolution, you won’t find it with these people. The only thing rich people have is money.”
She sets her jaw. “I’m not leaving.” I see myself on my wedding day. The gown with lace all the way to my chin. The train that dragged along the floor. My still, determined face.
“What’s your number?” She says nothing. “I can’t give you back what you’ve lost. I can’t bring Elvira back. I would if I could. For you, for me, I would give everything back. But I can’t do that. All I can do is make a transfer. And make sure you never have to worry about these things again.”
She tells me her number.
* * *
AS I WALK down the stairs to the guesthouse, I consider how lucky Astrid is to get to walk away. I gave her that. My one good deed. If I could go back to my wedding day, back to that room and that question, would my answer be different?
I think of Elvira and the answer is yes. I would take the money. I would leave the life. If I could, I would.