Unlucky Seven

A shriek startled Harold as he entered the mansion. He thought it was a scream and froze for a second or two. He halted just inside the foyer, his heart beating double time.

The sight of Corrine rushing down the grand staircase brought a sense of calmness back to him. His blood flow shifted as he watched the source of the happy shrieking saunter toward him, her lean legs urging her athletic body forward, her bleached blonde curls bouncing past her shoulders. There were moments Harold regretted the cost of fixing up Corrine, but moments like this one made the implants, tummy tuck, liposuction, and collagen and Botox injections worth the thousands of dollars he'd spent on all the plastic surgery for her.

"Happy anniversary!" Corrine flung her arms around Harold's neck and pressed her lips to his jaw. "Thanks for the marvelous gift. I love it."

Harold stepped aside without returning the hug. He left Corrine standing before the foyer's mirror caressing her fingertips along the jewelry hung around her neck. "Uh, you're welcome. And be glad for that trinket. After all, it's not a real anniversary we're celebrating."

"What do you mean not a real anniversary?"

"Do I really have to explain it to you?" Harold waited for a reply, specifically for a 'no.' But Corrine stood wide-eyed and speechless. Harold wondered why he bothered sometimes and then remembered the look of envy on most men's faces when he was out with Corrine. "It's not real 'cause we're not married," he stressed.

"Well, that doesn't matter, right?"

"And besides," Harold continued. "I think you celebrate these anniversaries every month to see how expensive a gift you can get outta me to show off to your girlfriends."

"Oh, don't be such a party pooper. I just love you and wanna let the world know as often as I can. The gifts are nice, but you don't have to give 'em if you don't wanna. It's not like I put a gun to your head."

A gun to your head. The words caused an image to flash to life in Harold's mind. The photograph where there had been so much blood on the wall Harold couldn't bring himself to look farther than his late wife's feet as she lay sprawled on the floor. She died seven years ago after being shot by the burglar who had managed to disarm the mansion's security.

Corrine's voice lulled Harold from his thoughts. "And speaking of gifts I was kinda mad at you, at first, for having your latest temp secretary drop off yet another one to me. Until I saw how beautiful this necklace was. You'll have to return it, though. The engraver carved the wrong message--"

"What's it say?" Harold asked after Corrine's voice trailed off.

"To My Love, Regina,'' she admitted.

Harold rushed back over to her. He snapped his fingers, held out his hand, and Corrine surrendered the necklace. Harold flipped the jewelry over and stared down. He read and reread the inscription on the back of the platinum setting of the diamond wreathed, silver dollar sized gemstone pendant as if the letters were going to rearrange themselves. He shoved the necklace into his pocket and brushed past Corrine.

"Where're you going?" she spun around and yelled.

Harold ignored her and kept on his way. Corrine knew little about his past and this was not the time to start clueing her in. Although they had been dating for seven months, he didn't speak much about his dead wife and had long since gotten rid of her clothes and pictures of her. Corrine never cared to ask much about his past, either, and that suited Harold just fine.

An hour and a half later, Harold sat parked outside Smith's cabin in the woods along the outskirts of town. He took the .357 Magnum from the glove box before leaving the car.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Smith asked after answering the pounding at the door.

Harold aimed his gun at Smith. "Let me in," he demanded.

Smith complied, inching backwards into the cabin. "What's going on?"

Inside, Harold kicked the door shut. He pulled out the necklace. "This was one of the things I told you to take. So, how and why did Corrine end up with it?!"

The pop pop of two gunshots sounded off.

Harold's eyes bulged and he stiffened in shock. He forced himself to glance down. Blood oozed along his white Armani shirt. Searing pain spread through his torso. He collapsed.

Smith moved in. He grabbed Harold's gun and the necklace. "It's just business, nothing personal." He towered over Harold. "She offered me seven hundred thousand to make you believe I'd offed her. And after she proved she had that kind of cash and then some stashed in an offshore account you knew nothing about, I couldn't refuse.

"I wanted to off you back then, but she wanted to lay low to keep watch 'til her seven year itch came about. So with her becoming the higher paying customer, who was I to argue." Smith shrugged. "Don't worry about Corrine, though. I'll be taking care of her, soon." He turned and held out the necklace.

Regina strolled from the doorway where she'd shot Harold, still clasping a .22 revolver. She slid the necklace from Smith's palm as she stood over her former husband. "And speaking of Corrine," Regina aimed. "If you had the chance to ask her, I bet she'd say I look a lot like the woman who delivered her gift, today." She squeezed the trigger.

"Happy Anniversary," were the last words Harold heard.



Word Count: 955

Note: I wrote Unlucky Seven in 1999 when I just starting writing Mystery Flash Fiction.