Bonnie rose early, fixed a three-course breakfast for Jim and the kids.
“It’s French themed,” she announced. “French toast, French roast, and—just to make sure you get enough carbs—French croissants.”
“I could really use that coffee,” Jim said. “I guess I’m not used to wine at altitude.”
“Help yourself,” Bonnie said.
She’d hoped for a picnic in the meadow, but the sky was overcast, so they sat in the dining room of what Rudy called the proprietor’s apartment: a five-room home set off in the main lodge. The kids were still in their pajamas, still blinking sleep from their eyes. Bonnie watched them lick syrup off their forks and felt as though she were watching a memory—the memory that would carry her through their long, five-day absence. Just a few more months to go, she reminded herself. Seventy-two days, to be exact, before they’d be living here instead of visiting.
After breakfast, Jim Jr. insisted on a round of Uno.
“Why don’t you kids get washed up and changed first?” Bonnie said. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”
Jim helped her clear the table, then said he was going out to grab some air.
“I’ve got a long drive ahead of me,” he said. “And I’m feeling a little fuzzy.”
“Better hurry,” Bonnie told him. “It’s going to start thundering any minute.”
An hour later, Bonnie and the children were sitting on the living room floor, arguing over whether Mindy had remembered to say Uno before her last discard, when Jim came rushing in, yelling Bonnie’s name.
“What is it?” Bonnie asked.
“You need to come see this,” he said. “Now. Kids, you stay here.”
She followed him through the lodge, asking again and again what was wrong. But as soon as they stepped outside, she saw. The windshield on her Jeep was smashed to bits. Someone had pegged it dead-center with an object large enough and hard enough to suck the whole sheet of glass inward.
“My god,” she said. “Who the hell…”
“It must have happened while I was out walking,” Jim said.
Bonnie stood at the edge of the porch, staring, her arms akimbo, her mouth wide open. She figured the fear would come later, once Jim was gone. Right now, she wanted to kill someone. Starting with that biker at the bar.
Jim walked over to the Jeep, opened the driver-side door, and pulled out a red brick wrapped in a pale-blue sheet of paper.
“Let me see that,” Bonnie said, running up to him. He handed it over without objecting. Bonnie tore off the rubber bands, let the brick drop to the ground as she straightened out the note.
It read: LAST WARNING, YOU RICH BITCH.
* * *
The thunder was short lived, though the rain lasted into the late afternoon. They sat by the bay window in the dining room and watched the storm while they played Chutes and Ladders, Monopoly, Go Fish. Jim was quiet and on edge, would snap at the children when they broke the rules or asked for a do-over. Bonnie chatted nonstop, laughed when nothing was funny, praised the kids for nothing in particular.
“Are you guys fighting?” Mindy asked.
“You’re not supposed to ask that, stupid,” her brother scolded.
“Hey, don’t talk to your sister like that,” Jim said.
“I think we all need snacks,” Bonnie said. “I’ll go heat up some cookies.”
“And I’ll help,” Jim said.
Bonnie should have anticipated that: the last thing she wanted right now was to be alone with Jim. In the kitchen, out of earshot of the children, he launched right in.
“Last warning?” he quoted. “You want to tell me how many others there have been?”
“None that came with property damage.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said, transferring a batch of snickerdoodles from tin to tray. “You told me you don’t want to be involved in lodge business. Well, this is lodge business.”
“No,” Jim corrected her, “business is ledgers and balance sheets. This is a death threat.”
Bonnie slid the tray into the oven and set the timer for five minutes.
“Stop being so dramatic,” she said. “They’re just trying to scare me off. If they wanted to hurt me, I’d be hurt.”
“They? So you know who’s behind this?”
“I have an idea. No proof.”
“Then why won’t you go to the police?”
“You know, if you’re really going to pretend to help me, you could at least pour the milk.”
“Answer my question.”
“I told you, I’ll call once the kids are gone. I don’t want to frighten them. I don’t want them to be afraid of this place. And don’t you say anything to them, either.”
Jim punched the counter with the side of his fist.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll fill them in at your funeral.”
“Just pour the damn milk,” Bonnie said.
* * *
The rain let up around four p.m., then stopped altogether. Bonnie hid the Jeep before seeing Jim and the kids off. Mindy cried, clutched her mother’s leg, begged to stay.
“Soon, love,” Bonnie said.
“I bet that makes you happy,” Jim said under his breath.
Bonnie brushed him off, leaned into the car and gave Jim Jr. a kiss.
“Sleep well,” she said.
* * *
That night, Bonnie sat at her desk in her office while Rudy paced the room. She unlocked a drawer, slid it open, pulled out a folder containing a half-dozen pale-blue sheets of paper. She placed the first threatening letter side-by-side with the one Jim had taken from her car.
“The writing is the same,” she said.
“Of course it’s the same,” Rudy said. “I’m begging you to let me handle those rednecks.”
Bonnie raised one eyebrow.
“You want me to sanction violence?” she asked.
“You tried the cops. They’re not going to do anything until you’re dead.”
“That’s not exactly what they said. They need proof.”
“Yeah, well…I don’t.”
Bonnie slid both letters back into the file.
“Calm the testosterone,” she said. “Why don’t we try setting up some cameras first?”
Rudy grinned, walked around behind the desk, began massaging her shoulders.
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “These guys run around in the dark like cowards. They are cowards. But cowards can be the most dangerous. They go too far without meaning to.”
Bonnie stood, turned so she was facing him.
“The wisdom of Rudy Manuel,” she said.
Their kiss was long and fiery—the kiss of new lovers who’d been kept at arm’s length for days on end. Bonnie was only mildly disturbed by the fact that she felt no guilt.
Rudy pulled back, smiled.
“I swear,” he said, “I never did this with the Edwards Group.”