An Unwanted Guest

by Shari Lapena

She’s more one for grim fairy tales than picture postcards.

She’s a city girl, born and bred; she’s not used to country driving. It gets so dark up here. She’s becoming anxious now – the drive has taken longer than planned.

She casts a furtive glance at the woman named Riley, who hasn’t said a word. She wonders what’s up with her. Something about her definitely seems off.

Too much familiarity, the dreariness of domesticity, of paying bills, raising children. Of having full-time jobs and always too much to do. She doesn’t know if a weekend away at a lovely and remote place in the country will make that much of a difference, but it could be a start.

He’s been very successful as a defence attorney. As a human being – he’s not so sure. His partners at the firm have gently suggested that he take some time off, perhaps travel. But he has no one to travel with. He no longer has a wife.

Matthew is a warm, generous man, and she’s very much in love with him. Of course, the money doesn’t hurt. She thinks often of how lucky she is, of how awful it must be for most women – to marry and have children on a budget.

‘We’ve never had mobile reception,’ Bradley says, flushing slightly at the rebuke. ‘Or wi-fi. It’s in our brochure. Many of our guests come up here to get away from all

It’s not just her beauty, which is hard to ignore. It’s her glamour. Her awareness of her own gorgeousness. She makes every other woman in the room feel second rate without even trying.

and the only one who’s gay – she has been stuck with the lion’s share of caring for their widowed and declining mother, because her rather selfish sisters are too busy with their own demanding families, who adore them.

They didn’t use to be like this. They used to be good together. All those years of eating with the kids has made them lose the knack of conversation. They should have hired more babysitters, gone out by themselves to restaurants more, she thinks regretfully, like the experts always advise.

Perhaps it was simply because of her rather intimidating beauty. Perhaps it was the way she ostentatiously waved that diamond ring around.

And she’s been self-medicating more than she’d care to admit these last few years, since she started going to the ugly, dangerous parts of the world.

Of course they haven’t been happy. Her friends – with big mortgages, demanding jobs, problem teenagers, and ageing parents – aren’t happy, either. It’s impossible at this stage of their

Dana had everything to live for, Gwen thinks. It’s too horrible. It makes her realize that she should try to enjoy every moment. Live life to the fullest. She hasn’t been very good at that. Maybe it’s time to try.

It’s as if they’ve both been pulled back from the brink they’d faced last night. It’s awful to think so, but she’s hoping that it will prevent them from focusing again on their marriage in the cold, empty light of day. She does not want to go there, now that she knows just how precarious her position is.

He was used to people – friends and girlfriends – being intimidated by his wealthy, powerful family.

Gwen wouldn’t be able to handle it. Riley is the strangest collection of impressive skills, fierce bravery, and now, a terrible, unpredictable fragility.

He’s surprised that it’s the pretty, pale Gwen who has suggested it, rather than her hard-drinking friend who looks like she’s escaped from rehab.

But the word nag also makes her think of an old, broken-down mare – whiskered, swaybacked, and ugly. She fights tears and continues reading.

‘You think you can run off with this young woman and it’s going to be fabulous. You’ll move into her apartment, maybe buy yourself a convertible. No more people carrier for you, ferrying the kids to soccer three nights a week!

Riley is wrong. David cannot be the man she’s thinking of. Riley is confused. Riley’s confused about a lot of things.

As much as Bradley loves the place – and loves his dad – he’s itching to leave. He doesn’t want to be trapped here, catering to people with more money than him, with the freedom to go wherever they want.

‘Murder is far-fetched,’ Henry says. ‘We’re not dealing with normal here. Somebody around here is a killer. Somebody had good enough reasons to kill Dana and Candice. I’m just trying to figure out what they are.’

This can’t really be happening, not to her. She’s a very normal woman, with a very normal, even dull, life. Nothing exceptional ever happens to her. And deep down, she likes it that way.

It’s the way she views him. Overweight family man. A bit of a fool. Someone whose life is mostly over, who will never do anything interesting or exciting again. Just her presence near him, knowing that she believes this about him, makes him hate her.

‘So what? None of you can prove where you were all night. Why are you pointing the finger at me?’ He says, ‘I think we all need to take a step back here. We’re all getting a little paranoid.’

‘I knew Bradley. He was always up to something – very enterprising, always had some scheme going. He’s involved with this somehow, I’m certain of it. He saw something, or knew something, and it got him killed. What did he know?’

Surely a man who maintains his reason while others around him are losing theirs – surely such a man could never kill his wife or anyone else?

He thought it was Matthew who had killed everyone – born with a silver spoon in his mouth, maybe he’d killed his fiancée after an argument and then tried to cover it up with the natural arrogance of the born rich.

Dana didn’t look like she’d ever spent a single night in a miserable foster home, taking her frustration, rage, and fear out on others more vulnerable than herself.

And to know that she killed her before she could marry a rich man and have everything she ever wanted was especially satisfying. They would think Dana fell down the stairs. Lauren crawled back into bed and lay awake all night thinking about what she’d done. She felt no remorse.

think Lauren is probably a psychopath – and very good at pretending that she isn’t.’ He hesitates. ‘They’re different you know – not like you and me.’

And Lauren, the murderer of the other three, can’t exactly say anything without implicating herself. She can’t say, But I didn’t kill Henry! She can’t say a thing.