Simon

I steal the laptop and sneak out of her trailer while she’s sleeping. And I don’t think. I turn my brain off until I’m in my own room, sitting on my own bed. The laptop in front of me.

And within seconds it’s over.

The laptop is her mother’s. The password is Tina’s name. Once I type it in, the desktop has one folder on it.

Dale.

That’s it.

Dale.

Sitting on my bed in my minuscule hotel room, I click on it and files of all types appear.

There are digital recordings of conversations with the Chairmen of the FDA. California Judges. Obvious bribe situations.

PDFs of invoices and receipts. Interrogation reports.

Pictures of him with, Jesus…Bates. Great. Just great. But it’s a connection to the criminal drug world, that’s for sure.

It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of and the sizzle of the story fills me. It pushes away every feeling I have about what happened last night. About what I did.

What she said. What I fucking said.

I don’t want to feel anything. I want to stay angry. I want to feed my revenge.

She needs to go back to being Tina Andreas.

I don’t like Tina Andreas. I never touched her. I never told her anything about myself. I never laughed with her.

She’s a tool.

And I’m using her.

I like the way you use me.

I think, for a moment, I’m going to be sick.

What do you think, Mom? Dad? So proud, right?

Oh, my God, my mother would have loved her. I think these thoughts like pressing salt into a wound.

There is a shortcut on the toolbar to the on-line portal for her bank. Her passwords are far too simple and she has auto-fill on almost all of them. Even as I’m benefitting from her laziness, I’m furious with her.

Within minutes I can see her bank account. There’s only one. A trust fund in the name of Tina Andreas. And there have been systematic and large sums of money removed over the last two years.

It’s proof she’s funding The Paintbrush. And she’s using a trust fund to do it.

There is no question where or from whom the trust fund came.

Dale Simpson.

“It’s over,” I breathe. “It’s all over.”

Dale Simpson will be going to jail for the rest of his natural life. And Penny will be ruined.

I start downloading all of the files onto my USB stick.

There’s a Word document in the middle of it titled simply Tina and I stop the download.

I rub my hand over my face and click it. I’ve gone this far, what’s one more betrayal?

Daughter,

I’m sorry that I’ve put you in this spot. I know you want nothing to do with him. And I don’t blame you. And I know you don’t want much to do with me, either, and I guess I don’t blame you for that, either. But I have to believe that part of you remembers the good times we had. You and me in Papa’s farm. The beach and the goats. You would braid my hair and I would let you wear my makeup. Surely after all this time, those memories mean something to you. You can’t be as heartless as all that.

Since you aren’t accepting my calls anymore, I don’t know if you are aware but a threat was made on my life. Your father, of course. He’s scared of the information I have. Information that could ruin him. All that information is in this laptop.

You don’t have to do anything. I promise. And I know I’ve made promises before. But this time it’s true. Just…don’t let anyone find this. Hide it away until I get out. That’s all. I promise.

If he gets his hands on this — or if this information is leaked to the press — I’ll die here, honey. I’ll die in prison. I’ll be murdered in my bed.

And I know you and I have had some problems, but you don’t want that. You don’t want your own mother murdered.

Just keep it safe. That’s all. Until I get out.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry for all of it.

I click out of the file.

Marianna Andreas is a real peach. I imagine what kind of damage a woman like that could inflict on a little girl. And I realize I don’t have to imagine.

I was witness to it all last night. The way Penny couldn’t quite accept affection. The bitterness she needed with the sweet. The way she couldn’t meet my eyes while absolutely absorbing every nuance of my mood.

She’s using Simpson’s money to make this place. And she has been sitting on the information that would bring him down, that could have, in theory, made it possible for thousands of people to get the medicine they need.

I have, in my time, felt sympathy for the devil. But I’ve always done my job, no matter what.

This won’t be any different.

I finish the download and sit, quietly, in the dark.

* * *

Panic builds in me as I get dressed. As I walk to the inn. I glance at the mountain behind me, pink in the light of the fresh, new morning, like I might be able to see him there.

But, of course, I can’t.

He’s here, I think. He hasn’t left. Not without saying goodbye. Not after everything that happened last night.

But I have been so conditioned to heartache. Every measure of self-preservation I have is urging me not to hope, to drag these wishes into the dirt.

The kitchen is quiet. Brandi is here mixing the scones, listening to NPR in the back. It smells like baking and coffee and still, I’m freaking out.

“You haven’t seen Simon, have you?” I ask her and she shakes her head no.

Nothing, I think. He didn’t come in through the kitchen. He went around to the front.

Megan is on the front desk.

“Holy cow,” she says when she sees me. “We are booked all weekend long. Both dinner seatings are full, with wait lists. I am turning people away. Some really rude rich guy just called and said he wanted to rent out the whole hotel.”

“When?”

“Tonight!”

“That’s crazy,” I say without any enthusiasm.

“It’s so freaking amazing!” Megan laughs and clacks around on her computer. Humming, practically dancing in place.

“Hey,” I say.

“Yep.” She doesn’t look up.

“I know you’re busy, but…we need to talk.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“No. Like…for real.”

She glances up. “Okay. Now? Or —”

Like a coward, I put it off. Because it’s a giant conversation. Because it’s going to hurt her more than I can handle right now. Because it may be the end of us.

“Let’s get through this weekend,” I say. Let’s have this one great thing. This giant success, before I burn it all down.

“You bet. Monday morning. You bring the scones. I’ll bring coffee.”

“It’s a date,” I say with a smile, but I feel like I might cry.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Fine,” I lie. But I’m not doing it well. Like telling the truth ruined me for lying. “Have you seen Simon?”

“I have, but not recently. Not this morning. Why? What —”

“Can you see if he’s checked out? And don’t —” My breath shudders. “Don’t say I told you so.”

“I wouldn’t. I won’t. Oh, Penny,” she sighs and she clacks around on the computer for a second. “Oh, you know, that’s weird. He’s checked in under the name Simon Malik.”

Dread is sinking into my bones. Something is so wrong.

“But he’s still here?” I ask and Megan nods.

“Hey,” she says as I walk away. “I’m here if you need me. Anytime.”

“I know,” I say. “Thanks.”

I walk down the hallway, to the room under the stairs. And Simon.