The garden of dead thoughts Read online

  “Look at her! She thought my dad would leave everything to her!” Numbness and noise started to fade and Margo understood the last words. She stretched her lips into a smile, stood up with dignity, and saw Charles’s ex-wife regarding her. The woman also smiled, but her smile was different. It was the smile of a dish eaten cold—revenge.

  “It’s fair,” Margo said. Her voice was a whisper, but that was all she could manage.

  “We’ll see about that,” Dylan said. “He shouldn’t have left you anything at all. Why would you stay in his house and ride in his cars?”

  “Let’s go, dear.” Dylan’s mother took him under his arm. “The expression on her face is enough for me.”

  “We’ll see,” Dylan added before his whole family left the office.

  Margaret stared at the closed door for a minute then turned to the lawyer.

  “Here’s your copy,” he said and held out a sheet of paper to Margo. She glanced at it briefly, only to check the date of the document’s creation.

  “He re-wrote his will two weeks ago,” the lawyer said. “He didn’t explain anything to me. Actually, he said four words.”

  “What words?” Margo asked quietly.

  “I made a mistake.”

  Margo got into the car, but didn’t leave the parking lot for a long time. Some bugs or black snowflakes were dancing in front of her eyes or maybe they were her thoughts. Her heart was beating uncertainly in her chest as if it was afraid that excessive thumping would blow up the universe. When Margo was finally able to breathe normally and the black dust in front of her eyes thinned out, she slowly moved the transmission and left the parking lot. She reached home without problems, walked to the door, sluggishly moving her legs. She bought Dior shoes especially for today and now she hated them. She slowly closed the door behind her and looked around the house, which was now hers. A big foyer with marble floors laughed at her, bright light from a crystal chandelier mocked her. Margo yelled and threw her bag across the living room, knocking the lamp near the couch off the table. She took off her shoes and threw one into the lamp opposite the first one. The second shoe, so beautiful, with a silver heel, flew into the Chinese vase near the door leading to the terrace. Margo couldn’t stand that vase and wanted to get rid of it long time ago, but Charles wouldn’t allow it and it didn’t break now.

  “I hate you!” she yelled, banging her hands on her legs. “I hate you! I hate you! How did you dare? Traitor! How could you, you filthy jerk! Aaaah!”

  She screamed, standing in the middle of the room, trying to catch her breath. Her head was spinning, her legs were shaking, and Margo realized she was about to black out. Too much stress, she had to calm down. She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water and drank it near the open refrigerator door, looking at the bottle of champagne in a metal bucket. She wanted to grab it and throw it somewhere, but then she took out a half-full bottle of wine and slowly closed the refrigerator. She finished her water and poured some wine into the same glass, then picked up the bottle and the glass and went to the terrace.

  It was getting dark and the heat level was dropping. Margo sat in the wicker armchair looking at the yacht tied to their dock. She wanted a bigger one, but Charles said this one was large enough for the two of them. Thinking about it, she drank her wine almost in one gulp, wincing at the sour taste. After drinking a second glass, she leaned back in the chair. The picture in front of her eyes became clear, the volcano inside her began to cool down, and Margo thought that her life wasn’t as bad as she had thought a few minutes ago. If Charles had left everything to her as she wanted, the police would surely start digging into it. They would find nothing, but it would be a nerve-racking experience anyway. Now she had a beautiful house, she could sell the boat, and half a million would be enough for a couple of years of quite tolerable existence. Then ... There were plenty of men in the world. There were plenty of rich men in the world. She surely wouldn’t need two years to find another one. Margo went back into the house in a fine mood, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and began to re-plan the design of the place. Her husband loved this house and she hated it even though she chose the house and the furniture. Charles tried to save on everything and didn’t let her buy what she really wanted. The time had come.

  “I made a mistake,” Margo whispered, looking at the vase that didn’t break and at the shoe resting next to it. Charles said these words to her before she started planning the trip. She told her husband they just needed a change of scenery. They needed to spend some time together to rebuild their relationship. He listened to her, shook his head, and smiled sadly, as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Next time I’ll be smarter,” Margo said, picking up the shoe and looking around to find the second one. She put too much pressure on Charles, showed her temper, and he grew cold towards her. She even heard him talking to his first wife a week before they went on the trip.

  “Next time,” Margo repeated, heading to the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 2

  Her neighbors could think whatever they wanted, she didn’t care. If she decided to throw away all the furniture from her husband’s house, she would do so. Actually, it was her house and she could do whatever her little heart desired. She wanted nothing left of him: no smell, no bad taste. In just a week, she selected all new furniture and decorations, paintings and lamps. She hired a designer to avoid making mistakes and now her house could be photographed for some architectural publication. There were white leather couches in the living room, with glass-topped tables, and large mirrors which made the already big rooms seem even more impressive visually. Her feet sank in the bright, soft carpets, and arrangements of exotic flowers enlivened the minimalist style. When Margo entered the house now, it seemed to her that it was a different place, not the one where she had lived for more than a year. At first, she wanted to sell the house, but she thought about it and changed her mind. She had gotten used to Boca Raton and to the area where she lived. Everything in this city was new; her house was in a neat neighborhood with the canal in her backyard. Rich and successful people surrounded her left and right. If she wanted to find another husband, it was the best place to start the search.

  When the last painting was hung and the last contractor left the room, Margo sat on the couch with a glass of wine in her hand and smiled, looking at the pool outside the window, and at a boat sailing in the canal. This was the life she had dreamed about. Now she had almost everything she wanted. Almost. She hadn’t become a millionaire, but she was halfway there. She was still waiting for money from Charles’s will and was spending her savings, but it would happen. Her road to the top wasn’t easy, she was a girl who was born into a lower-class family and had nothing, but she climbed those stairs, leaving the losers behind. The staircase she climbed was steep and partially broken, but it didn’t stop her. Nothing could ever stop her.

  Margo took a sip of wine, remembering the days when she moved from Cleveland to Chicago. She had to ask her boyfriend, who was in college, to help her open a bank account. As soon as her inheritance from her grandmother got there, Margo bought a used car and went on a trip.

  She had enough money to rent an apartment and live without much strain for several months, but she understood that this money wouldn’t last long and wouldn’t suffice the lifestyle she had expected. She dreamed of brand-name clothes and jewelry. She dreamed about traveling and expensive cars. She wanted to have money without working. That was why she started to walk around expensive restaurants, not bars like those cheap whores, and go to golf courses, or attend horse races and tennis tournaments. She met men, she slept with them, she got money from them, but that was never enough. That was not what she wanted. Not all men gave her money although she had never concealed her desires. One of her lovers was a complete asshole and hit her. Later she registered at the Sugar Baby website and quickly found men who didn’t need any explanation. They exchanged money for her company and sex. She didn’t consider it to be prostitution because she was above that. S
he thought of it as a business transaction between two adults who didn’t have time for bullshit.

  Her interest in relationships of this type ran out quickly. The endless string of men, the majority of whom were married, never a steady amount of money, sometimes even gifts instead of cash in spite of their agreement. This lifestyle had turned into work and that was the last thing she wanted to do. There was another issue. She was beautiful by all means, but she grew older and she found fewer men interested in her. The competition came from eighteen year olds and Margo didn’t want to feel like an old woman. The main issue for her was stability. She needed a rich husband, not a lover. She didn’t kill her grandmother to end up like her mother.

  That was when she moved to Florida and met Charles.

  Now Margo shook her head, looked into the empty glass, and got up from the couch. She didn’t like memories of her grandmother. She wasn’t remorseful, but still there was little joy in those recollections. Margo changed into a swimsuit, made a cocktail with champagne and cold orange juice, and went outside again. It wasn’t as hot at four o’clock and she could relax by the pool, waving to the passing yachts. There could be a handsome captain on one of them. She gave her yacht to a broker for sale and he promised to get rid of it soon. She hoped for that. She needed money.

  Captains of yachts weren’t necessarily rich and she needed serious capital. The sooner the better. On the other hand, if she started dating too soon, it could raise suspicion. Margo watched criminal shows, she knew how it went. She plopped into a chair, tried her cocktail, and rolled her eyes in pleasure. The thing that prevented her from fully enjoying her day was her head. As soon as Margo leaned back, reminiscences of her past spilled out like bees from a broken beehive and Margo couldn’t stop them.

  One Sunday afternoon she went to a country club with one of her new Florida lovers for a nice brunch. She was irresistible in a flowery, silk dress, seven inch high heels, and with her red hair curled and spread over her shoulders. Old matrons and slobbering men turned their heads to her. Margo sat down at the table with a plate of various foods from the buffet and a glass of champagne while her lover walked around the room and chatted with his friends. When he returned to the table, Margo was boiling with frustration.

  “You have a beautiful woman with you,” she hissed, so no one would hear them, “and you prefer other people? Why did you even bring me here? Why should I sit here alone? You are being selfish.”

  Her lover raised an eyebrow and grinned then he bent to her ear.

  “Darling, you’re just a whore. Don’t try to make a scene. As soon as we get to my house, I’ll give you all my attention.”

  Margo threw her napkin on the table and went outside the banquet hall. She didn’t want to go back, but she had wasted a lot of time on this person and hadn’t gotten her payment yet. He gave her some cheap earrings and that was it. It didn’t matter anyway. No one had ever called her a whore. She spent time with men on mutually beneficial terms and didn’t prey on a street corner. She chose who to be with and not the other way around.

  Margo looked at the golf course, thinking about her options, about a possible way out of the situation when she heard a voice. It was a pleasant, male voice.

  “You look upset.”

  Margo turned to the stranger.

  He looked about forty-five, slightly taller than five foot nine and fit. He was wearing a typical country club outfit that consisted of khaki shorts, a blue polo shirt, and expensive moccasins. His moccasins and the watch on his arm attracted Margo’s attention more than anything. He didn’t have a Rolex and most likely he wasn’t a multi-millionaire, but she didn’t worry about that when she saw his eyes. He was trusting and something else. Weak? Maybe.

  Margo sighed and shook her head.

  “You can’t help me,” she said.

  “Why?” The man’s face became serious. He leaned against the table that stood between them.

  “It’s my boyfriend. I just found out that he cheated on me.”

  “Really? You? That’s not possible. You are so beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” Margo smiled. “Not for him. For him, I was never beautiful enough.”

  She watched the reaction on the man’s face and caught the expression she was waiting for. He was a savior. He was a noble savior. The only drawback was the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was a flaw, but Margo wasn’t one of those who were stopped by small hitches. He was a savior, which meant he was the one she was looking for.

  Margo looked into the banquet hall through the opened doors and saw the man, the one who called her a whore, having an emotional discussion with some old dude about some hot topic. Politics, probably. Always politics.

  “I don’t want to be here,” she almost groaned. “His mistress is here too, can you believe it? I need to get a taxi.” Margo fished in her bag and pulled out her phone then she froze in total devastation as if it was the end of the world. “I didn’t even bring any money with me! Gosh, I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, I have to make a phone call if you don’t mind. I need to find someone to pick me up. I hope someone is available, this being Sunday. I don’t want to be here. I can see her across the room from him exchanging glances. How could he?” Margo wiped away a single tear.

  “I just finished my game,” the man said, “if you are okay with it, I can drop you off.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about your wife? I hope she won’t mind.”

  The man blushed.

  “She’s in New York with her girlfriends. We don’t see each other much. It’s ... It’s complicated, you know.”

  “I understand.”

  This man’s name was Charles, he was forty-nine years old and he divorced his wife a month after he met Margo. Two months later they had gotten married. Eleven months later …”

  Margo took a sip of champagne and waved to the guy who was passing by her house in his boat. He was about her age and his boat was for one person, cheap. He was not of her caliber, not at all.

  He disappeared from her view and Margo suddenly felt like having some strawberries with her drink, but she had none in the fridge and was too lazy to go to the store.

  Margo had wanted to have an assistant forever, even when she was in school. She wanted to get one while she lived with Charles, but her husband was too cheap to let her do it, he believed it was an unnecessary expense. Margo didn’t work, didn’t have children, what did she need an assistant for? He was too cheap and he deserved what he had gotten.

  “Eleven months later,” Margo muttered, sipping her champagne again and plunging into her memories.

  Charles divorced his wife a month after he met Margo. His first wife was too proud and agreed to a divorce as soon and as she learned that her husband had slept with a younger woman. Also he gave her a pretty delicious slice of money to ensure that everything went smoothly and she had no complaints. Charles’s eldest son was the only one who could ruin their happiness, but Margo wasn’t afraid of men his age. Actually, she wasn’t afraid of anyone, let alone kids. He was a kid, a spoiled brat.

  Everything went well after their engagement and a quick wedding in Las Vegas. Margo was the one who insisted on a Vegas wedding. A lavish ceremony with a white dress and a flock of bridesmaids wasn’t something she saw herself doing. She had never dreamed of getting married, but it was the best choice in her life plan. Her future husband was in sync with her on this matter, only he had different reasons. He just got divorced, had kids who hated his new wife and friends who didn’t approve of his decision. She had no friends or relatives to impress, so they used money for different needs. For example, one of the “needs” was a Chanel handbag, which Margo “accidentally” saw in the store, where they “accidentally” came a week after the wedding. After two weeks of marriage, Charles, madly in love with his young, beautiful wife, gave her a credit card and a carefree life began. The carelessness lasted only three months before Charles, blushing and stammering, invi
ted his wife to a restaurant and initiated a conversation with her. The conversation revealed and confirmed the fact that Charles Logan was a cheapskate. He told his beautiful, young wife that her spending was slightly higher than his income. He was the owner of a food company, not an oil tycoon.

  “Work more,” Margo said indignantly. “You know what kind of life I’m used to. You promised me.” According to Margo, her lifestyle didn’t require counting money and she used to buy whatever she wanted.

  “I’m sorry, love, I’m trying,” the poor fellow mumbled. “I’m doing everything I can.”

  Margo didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know what to say when her beloved hubby limited her spending to three thousand dollars a month. Margo rarely had such a sum of money only for herself before the marriage, but there was a reason for her marrying him and it didn’t include counting every penny.

  Margo couldn’t sleep two nights after their conversation, wondering how she could get what she wanted. She remembered her grandmother and the plan matured. First, she had to convince Charles to rewrite his will. She knew he had one and it wasn’t in her favor because he transferred all his assets to his two sons. Margo knew this task wouldn’t be the easiest one because Charles genuinely loved his sons, but she didn’t believe there were situations in her world that were hopeless or impossible. Margo was capable of anything and she started an active and purposeful manipulation. She managed to turn Charles away from his sons and set him against them. It took her almost four months, but it wasn’t time wasted. Then she had to wait a month for him to change his will. She knew there would be questions as to why Charles Logan died so soon after altering his last testament, but she was prepared to take that risk. The hardest part for her was waiting. She couldn’t do anything right away after he signed the new documents, she had to find a way to do it right. Margo consoled herself with shopping. She stopped having sex with Charles for reasons like headaches or periods, sometimes even food poisoning. The last time she allowed him to touch her was the day before his death.