Dorothy hears glass breaking downstairs. Jerk. He never said anything about damaging their house. She nudges her husband. “Roger?”

 

Roger sits up in bed. “Why’d he break a window?”

“To make it look real, I suppose. I’ll deduct it from his fee.” They both snicker.

Roger opens the nightstand drawer and grips his revolver. “You’re sure he’s got only a knife?” 

“Part of the deal. I told him you were a sound sleeper.” Stairs creak. “Get ready.”

 

Roger lies back, holding the gun by his side.

“Happy anniversary, Honey,” Dorothy whispers.

“Best present ever.”

 

The bedroom door eases open and the intruder, wearing a ski mask, steps inside. 

Angling toward the bed, the man holds up a large knife that glistens in the moonlit room.

 

Roger snaps upright, levels the gun, and fires. Nothing but a click. Five more.

The man laughs. Then lunges. 

 

Roger screams as the knife sinks into his chest. He writhes, gasps, then topples back, lifeless. 

Dorothy picks up the revolver and spins the empty chamber.

 

The intruder pulls off his mask, kisses Dorothy and hands her a ransom note, which she puts on her bed stand.

 

“See you in Mexico,” the guy says.

 

Dorothy takes a revolver from her bedstand and shoots the fellow. He stumbles, eyes wide, then crashes to the floor. 

 

Now I’m rid of those two, Dorothy thinks as she wipes the gun. She makes a call with a burner phone. A man with a deep voice answers. “All done. See you in Mexico,” she says.

 

“Mexico.”

 

Driving to the airport, Dorothy calls the police. She describes the man with the deep voice, says he shot her husband and that the fellow will be found at the gate for the 7 a.m. flight to Mexico.

 

By the time they arrest him, she’s sipping Mekhong Mules in Thailand.