I Took My Wife to a Remote Cabin for a Surprise… BIG Mistake

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or Amazon music. Be sure to click follow to get notified every time a new episode is released. The fresh air feels amazing on my face as I lean back into the passenger seat. The window is open and I trace the wind with my hand, letting it lift and fall, lift and fall as my wife drives us

deep into the mountains. She always drives. At the start of our marriage, I thought it was because

she loves driving, which I sort of think she does in her own way of loving anything, but the reality is she does it for the control. That's her true motivator and not just with driving, but with everything in our lives. I can't blame her. It's that kind of control that turned her from a weekend blogger into a media empire dominatrix. And yes, dominatrix is the correct word. Although she'd argue with me to the death about the term, to the death.

Allison believes that she's assertive in a world dominated by tech bros and man's planers. It doesn't matter that she ruffles more than feathers, that she's been known to burn bridges

where bridges aren't even constructed, or wage wars just because she can. Go against my wife,

and you get the scorched earth treatment. Trust me, been there, got scorched.

“It's why I plan to kill my wife this weekend. I don't hate her. I think I actually still love her.”

But I'm just tired of her dominaring crap. Reaching over, I pat her leg and give her a warm smile. Her lips curl up in a matching smile, although maybe not quite as warm as mine. She keeps her eyes on the winding road that leads us to the cabin I rented for the weekend. A little couples get away. Time for us to relax and reconnect. With plenty of privacy, so I can murder the hell out of the bitch. Sure, I am probably a bad person for this. Murdering your wife isn't exactly on the

list of good husband attributes, but I simply can't take it anymore. I can't take her anymore. And divorce won't work. She'd get half of everything I own if I'm lucky. Knowing her and the lawyers she hires to vet her hit pieces and character attacks, I'd be minced meat in seconds.

“Not that I don't have my own army of lawyers. When you acquire IP like I do, you have to”

get your hands dirty. And when I say acquire, I mean to rip from their creators hands with extreme prejudice. And by hands dirty, I mean crushing them under my venture capital boot, making sure they not only can't come after me later, but that they actually thank me for not doing worse. Something on your mind arrives day firmly on the road. She doesn't even bother to look at me, even though she somehow thinks there's something on my mind if she only knew. Nope,

all good sweetheart. Just thinking how lovely it'll all be when we get to the cabin and have some peace and quiet all to ourselves. Allison doesn't reply. Well, not right away. Yes, about that. I managed to keep the anger and disappointment out of my voice, but I let a little creep in so that she knows I'm somewhat upset. Too much, and she might suspect I have all tear your motives. I wouldn't put it past her. The woman has a sixth sense when it comes to

duplicity. About what? What's wrong? Nothing's wrong. Nothing is wrong, Michael. Don't go into panic mode immediately. I'm not panicking. I'm asking what is wrong. As in, what are you about to tell me that is going to ruin our weekend alone? Allison's eyes. She shakes her head and I can tell she's formulating what to say to me so that it has the most impact, but also paints her as the wrong one. You know how hard I have been working on the Mitchell story, right? That scoop

we got from the whistleblower last month? I know about it. It's all she talks about during dinner and bed in the shower. When she's on the toilet, Mitchell Mitchell. God, I'll be so happy when

Right, the story about the sex trafficking ring hidden in plain sight at that upstate golf club.

“That's the one. Her eyes narrow. And I worry that I've played it a little too ignorantly.”

Then she shakes her head and a realize that her narrowed eyes were because she pitties me and my lesser intellect. Yeah, well, we'll see just how smart she is when she's falling off at 200 foot cliff. Or instead, when she accidentally drowns in the hot tub, or maybe she drinks too much wine, takes too many sleeping pills and falls asleep in the claw foot tub, the unsweet bathroom boasts to have. Or I could just shoot the bitch. That works too. Yes, Michael, that's the one.

I'm glad you have been paying attention. I better leg again. I try. It's hard to keep up with all your exploits. Exploits like Jurgen, her Austrian trainer. And from what I can tell, Thursday night the lover. Like hell, she's going to book club. Book club doesn't stink of smell, max and douchebag, and nasty sex. Or maybe it does. And I read the wrong books. Ah, baby. You'll be just a successful one day. How is that investment pitch for that

indie movie studio going? Landed the deal yet? She knows I haven't. She knows that the deal is falling apart. She knows all of this. It can't help but plunge the knife into my guts and twist, while still keeping both hands on the steering wheel. Getting close. I'm sure they'll agree to our investment offer any day now. Of course they will, baby. We sit in silence for a few moments.

“I stare out at the fur trees, streaming by. So what's this about the whistleblower and our weekend?”

Allison seems surprised that I remembered what she said only a few moments ago. Damn. She really does underestimate me at all costs. It doesn't she. Ah, right. Well, the whistleblower insists on meeting me personally, but not in public or anywhere we could even possibly be recognized. Easy for them to be anonymous, but not so easy for me since my face is too well-known. I doubt I could go to a Bucky's in the middle of Nebraska without someone pointing me out. Do they have

Bucky's in Nebraska? How would I know? I've never stepped inside one of those places in my life.

This coming from the woman who admittedly didn't have running water until she was five years old, or shoes until she was eight. And her best friends growing up were a king snake that lived under the family shack and a stuffed squirrel her grandpa bought her one day. Just a joke on, just a joke. I know the sharp defences of this inner voice forces me to cover my mouth with a hand to conceal my smirk. I fake a yawn and stretch. Don't get sleepy now, baby. We have a full afternoon waiting for us.

Yeah, because she took over the itinerary the second I mentioned booking us a trip. Gone are the relaxing times in the hammocks, quickly replaced by a short in her words, 10 mile hike up to some lookout. That's 10 miles one way. Gone is the lazy boat ride out to the middle of the lake that the cabin sits above. That's been switched out for water skiing with a hired boat driver so we can ski in tandem. Even though I have told her multiple times that I don't water ski

and have no desire to learn. But it will be so much fun she insisted. So we'll bashing her head in with a fire poker. Although, like with a gun, I probably shouldn't do something so hard to cover up. The cleanup alone makes it an unworthy form of killing her. But one can fantasize. My huge breakfast of eggs and bacon and pancakes and mimosas is now yogurt and fruit balls with organic granola sweetened with stevia, accompanied by herbal tea. Stakes on the grill are now

baked fish in the oven with fingering potatoes, not the massive bakers I'd planned for. Don't get me started on the complete lack of bourbon that we brought. Wouldn't want our fun time to be ruined by a hangover. She'd said, "Yeah, well, wouldn't want your face to be ruined by a frying pan." Hmm, frying pan. I bet I could get away with that. Yeah, I could make that

“look like an accident somehow. Won't be a bother. Michael, are you even listening to me?”

What? I was telling you about the whistleblower, but you were obviously elsewhere. No, no, go ahead. Sorry. I was just thinking about maybe skinny dipping at midnight. How's that sound?

She finally glances over at me, and it looks good kill. Then she slowly returns her attention to the

road. Skinny dipping? You didn't hear a word I said. It's going to be hard to skinny dip while we

breasts to a stranger. Ah crap, I really did miss something important. I go up knowing I'm about to

“get a face full of Alice in Rage. Okay, sorry. Can you start from the beginning? What's this about”

a guest? Alice in frustrated sigh could have filled the sales of a hundred ship Armada. I said that the whistleblower wants to meet somewhere private. I heard that part. Oh, good for you. The other part is that this cabin is the only likely place that will work. So thank you for setting this all up.

She thinks me while at the same time telling me that our couples get away now has a third wheel.

Classic. How long are they staying? I'll weekend? There's bitterness in my voice. And it is 100% real. I don't care about our couples' weekend, of course. But I do care about how a third wheel really puts a wrench in my plans. They'll be staying until I can convince them to talk on the record. Once I have that, they can be on their way. Great. With your abilities, they'll be agreeing by lunchtime tomorrow. With any luck, it'll be by dessert tonight. I nod in smile. Yep. With any

luck, we take a curve and my breath catches in my throat. The view of the valley below is spectacular.

Allison doesn't seem to notice. She hugs the road and accelerates into the next curve, leaving

the view behind. My phone buzzes and I pull it out. It's my assistant, Lucy. She also happens to be

“my co-conspirator. I can't plan to murder my wife all by myself, now can I?”

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trial today at Shopify.com/DNS. Go to Shopify.com/DNS that Shopify.com/DNS. All items are in place. Hidden perfectly in the spot we agreed on. It will be a complete surprise to her. It's our code. It sounds like I'm planning something romantic for Alison. When in reality, it's about the different weapons that Lucy has secreted around the cabin. So that I have plenty of options when opportunity arises. Yes, a gun is included in those items.

Potential mess or not, I need to be prepared for all contingencies. Great. Thank you so much. I got you something special for all this hard work. It's a gift that is over and above our agreed upon compensation. You didn't have to do that. You are already being more than generous.

“It's my pleasure, but I can always take it back. Just don't look in your fridge until I get back, okay?”

My fridge? I watched the dance roll and wiggle, knowing that you'll figure it out. Wait, did you get me a cake from wallavers? I grin. Lucy is a sharp one, that's for sure. Damn,

you're good. Remind me never to play poker with you. And yes, I got you that chocolate ganache cake you love.

The one I ordered for your birthday last year, the dance roll and wiggle, disappear, then roll and wiggle again. Good thing I'm getting that promotion and bump in pay because I'm going to eat that entire cake when I get home. I don't need the extra income to afford a new gym membership, LOL. I give her an LOL back. Even though I told her not to look, I knew she would look. I really do hope she does eat that whole cake. I'll worry less,

knowing that the peanut oil I injected into the middle of the cake will do its trick. If she eats the whole thing, then all that oil goes in her, triggering anaphylactic shock from her severe peanut allergy. I'll hate to lose Lucy, but I am sure her parents will get a big, huge settlement when they sue the bakery for the wrongful death of their daughter.

She's not going to be there, is she? Who? Lucy? Beware! At the cabin. Why would she be at the cabin?

“Because you can barely get anything accomplished without her. Ouch. That dig hits a little too close”

to home, but I shrug it off. No, she's not going to be there. Alison nods, and we ride the rest of the way in silence. When we pull up to the cabin, which is really a two story, 4,000 square foot log house with all of the amenities, Alison actually smiles. Not bad. Looks better than the online pictures. They should fire whoever is in charge of the listing. It doesn't do the place credit. She's even more marveled by the interior, not cheap as she puts it.

We unpack our luggage, and Alison checks her phone. You'll be here in 10 minutes. I frown. He, he who? The whistleblower, Michael. The whistleblower is a he. You didn't mention that. I am sure I did, and why does it matter? Unless you are hoping for a woman, so you could have that

“three-some you've always wanted. What? I've never wanted a three-some. Alison rolls her eyes and walks away,”

headed into the kitchen. I turned to look out of the bay windows, taking in the view of the lake. I hear the wine opener word to life behind me, followed by the distinct sound of a cork popping. The Alison joins me by the window, a glass of white wine in her hand. I keep my cool wondering if this bottle is the one that Lucy spiked. I need to see the label to be sure. Care for a sip? She offers me her glass. No, no, I'll get my own. It smells delicious.

Alison eyes me. Then takes a sip and nods. It is. Her eyes stay on me for a bit longer, then she shifts to take in the lake. The pictures don't do justice to the view either. Nope. I go and check the wine bottle. No, it's not the one I had Lucy spike. That's still in the wine cooler on the kitchen counter. I pour a glass of the safe wine and return to Alison's side. We sip in silence. I sweep my gaze over the lake, tracking the ducks lying close to the water

before they land in front of a dock on the far side, barely visible anymore. Then I watch them quickly paddle under the dock, gone into the shadows. Smart ducks. What? Oh, were you watching them too? Alison's marks. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I was, but I was mostly

watching the predator clocking them. She turns to me, sips her wine and smiles. I never miss a predator.

“I laugh and look over at her, suddenly nervous. What does she mean by that? Is she on to me?”

No, no, she can't be. I've been so careful. She doesn't suspect a thing. I'm sure of it. Never miss a predator. What are you talking about? The bald eagle circling the lake. It took off from its nest before you returned with your wine. The ducks got lucky that they reached the dock before the eagle could swoop down and pick one off. Eagle? I scan the lake, and then see the brown and white dot flying lazy circles above the dock where the ducks are hiding.

Oh, cool. I didn't know there were bald eagles around here. Did you? Alison snarts and walks off, letting me know without words that yes, she knew bald eagles were in this area, and also that I am a stupid idiot for asking. Alison can say a lot with a snort. I can't wait to kill her. A text chimes and I instantly go from my phone to my pocket, but it's not me. Who's that? Alison doesn't answer, forcing me to turn away from the window and face her,

just like she wants, dammit. She doesn't look up from her phone as her thumbs type type away.

Alison, who is it? The whistleblower. He's taken the first turn. Should be here in five minutes,

tops. Well, it's a good thing he's getting it early. Maybe you can convince him to do whatever it is you wanted to do, and then he can leave. So we still have the weekend together. Maybe make dessert like he said in the car. Whitten that being nice. It sure would. Hard to murder your wife with a witness present. I'm going to go rinse off from the drive, changing to something more comfortable. Alison frowns. Looking me up and down. You're wearing jeans and a rugby shirt,

Michael. How much more comfortable do you need to get? So that's an a t-shirt more comfortable.

Guests are invited. Without another word, I go to the stairs and head up to our bedroom.

As soon as I close the door, I rush over to the bedside table and pull it away from the wall.

“My hand slaps at the dusty cobwebby back, but finds nothing. What the hell?”

I need to text Lucy. Hey, where is the party favor that goes pop? I wait for her response, but don't see any dots wiggling. Lucy, I need to know now. There should have been a pistol behind that bedside table. A small 22 that could easily be tossed into the lake, or wiped down, and dropped outside after I heroically chased off our fictional attacker. I know I know the mess, but as I said, I need to be prepared, and having a gun on me while some strange man is in the house

feels prepared, but there's no gun. And Lucy isn't answering my texts. Shit. Maybe she already got home and had herself a slice of death cake. Damn. She could be lying dead on her kitchen floor right now, with chocolatey foam dripping out of her mouth. Dead is a door nail. Not that I know what a door nail is. I just heard it said in all those old noir movies I watched to prepare for how to kill

“Allison. You can learn a lot about murdering your spouse from those old movies you know.”

I see another bedside table on Allison's side, and hurry over to it just as I hear gravel crunching under tires. The damn whistleblower is here. Shit, shit, shit. There's a window above the bedside table, and I ease the curtain back enough to see a bland sedan pull into the driveway and park just behind our car. Why the hell would he do that? There are like four other spaces to park in. Now he's blocking us in. Well, blocking me in, since Allison won't be going anywhere if I can help

it. I let the curtain fall back and yank the bedside table away from the wall. I slap at the back. Oh gun! Damn it! Pushing the table back into place, I ease the curtain aside once more, and see a tall man, good looking and great shape, get out of the sedan, and go around to the trunk, or he pulls a carry on bag out. I guess someone assumes he's staying over. I'm about to let my

“anger build when I suddenly feel ice cold. The man's light jacket shifts to the side, and I get a”

clear view of a holster with a pistol in it under his arm. Oh crap! Why the hell is the whistleblower packing? Is he that scared someone is coming for him? Seems extreme to have a weapon in a shoulder holster. I'd have kept it in my carry on bag if I were him. Yeah well, at least he has a pistol. I can't seem to find mine. I text Lucy again. Damn it Lucy answer me. The guest has arrived, and I need that party favor. Still no wiggling dots, still no response. I shove my phone into my

pocket and think for a second. I go back to the curtain and just catch side of the whistleblower

as he approaches the cabin's front door below. He suddenly glances up, and I jerk back, hoping he didn't see me. Michael, are you coming down? There's a town in Allison's voice that I don't like it all. Instantly, my defense has come up. She's hiding something I can tell. Then I thought it hits me. Allison immediately thought to use this cabin trip to her advantage by inviting the whistleblower here. But what if it's all bullshit? What if the guy down there

isn't a whistleblower at all? The image of that shoulder holster pops into my head. Oh shit, he's not a whistleblower. He's a goddamn hitman. Allison is going to have me killed. I spin in a circle, panic him. Yeah, she's totally going to have me killed. I know it. She'll make it look like someone broken and killed me. I bet she will even have the guy wing her or shoot her in the leg to move suspicion off of her. She can say that it was a random dude or that he was hired

by one of her enemies or even hired to kill the whistleblower who conveniently never showed up.

Oh man, I am dead, dead, dead, dead. I need a weapon. Getting my shit together, I slip into the onsweep bathroom and hurry to the sink. Crouching down, I open the cabinet under the sink and reach up, hoping to find another of the hidden weapons. But there isn't one. I slap my hand around again, then pull out my phone and shine the flashlight into the cabinet, searching every inch for the large hunting knife I told Lucy to stash there. Nothing. Just some bottles of cleaning supplies

and extra soap. There's a loud knock behind me and I scream. Dropping my phone as I fall back on my ass. Jesus, Michael, relax. I was just coming up to tell you, our guest has arrived. She looks for me to the open cabinet. What are you doing? Nothing. Just making sure we have enough toilet paper. Her eyes move to a tasteful wicker basket on the back of the commode, filled with roles of

Okay. Well, whatever you are doing, finish it up and come downstairs. Don't be rude to our guests.

“Yeah. Sure. No problem. Be right down. She gives the TP basket a second look.”

Shakes are head, bent turns and walks away. I let out a breath and scramble to my feet. Then I head out of the bathroom and over to the walk-in closet. He hanging the door open too hard. I nearly put a dent in the wall from the handle. I stop, center my self, and then move carefully under the closet. Going up on my toes, my hand feeling along the top shelf, searching for the stun button I told Lucy to put there. Back and forth I go, my hand blindly searching every

inch of that shelf. There's nothing up there except for extra blankets and pillows. I'm about to go find a stool and double check, but Alice and Shouts from downstairs. Michael, we have company.

Man, I am dead. The second I walked down there, that guy is going to pull that pistol.

Put it to my forehead and pull the trigger, splattering my brains across some very nice

“hardwood furniture. Maybe I'll get to see that wonderful view before I have my head blown off.”

No, I can't think this way. I brought Alice in up here so I can kill her, not the other way around. I am the predator. Me! But the three weapons that were supposed to be stashed here are not here. I checked my phone again, but Lucy is still ghosting me. We're dead. I keep forgetting that part. I did inject peanut oil into her cake after all. Okay, new plan. I look around, hoping to see a weapon I can use. Then my eyes fall on an old set of golf clubs tucked into the

corner of the walk in closet. There's a bucket of balls next to it. Probably so guests can drive balls off the deck and out into the lake. Naturally sounds like fun, but I'm going to need one of the clubs for a much different game, a deadly game. Plucking a wood out of the bag, I weigh it in my hands. Nah, woods are usually hollow in the head and I need something solid. I put the wood back and grab an iron instead. It's a two iron and the shaft is much too long. I need something short I can grip

like a baseball bat. So I tossed the two back in and find a nine iron instead. I'm not much of a golfer. But I bet I can get a hole in one of their heads pretty easily with this baby. I laugh at my little joke, hold the iron behind my back and leave the bedroom, headed for the stairs. Voices drift up from below when I reach the landing. Alice and laughs as I descend to the ground floor. Stop. You are too kind. No, it's true. I read your website from top to bottom every day.

Best news on the internet, I say. Well, I appreciate that. They have their backs to me. Each sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. Wine glasses in hand as they face the lake.

“Good. This is perfect. The hitman won't see me coming. And I know that's what he is.”

I feel it in my bones. He's no whistleblower. Oh no. He's a hired gun that I bet my wife has probably used before. She's ruthless like that. A couple of years ago, one of her media rivals was run over by a newter. I still think she planned that. It would be just like her to take out a rival with a ride share. Taking slow, careful steps, I make sure the stairs don't squeak. When I reach the ground floor, I pause and wait. Neither has noticed me. I can do this.

I can save myself. Then I realize just how perfect this is. I get to kill the hitman. Then kill Allison, blame it on the hitman, and I'll be in the clear. It's self defense. The perfect crime just fell into my lap. Taking a deep breath, I lift the iron over my head and rush at the hitman, bringing it down as hard as I can onto his head. Except Allison shifts

on her stool. Seeing me at the last second in screams, causing the hitman to turn just enough

that the golf club glances off his cheek and slams into his shoulder. The man cries out and collapses onto the floor. He goes for his pistol, but I swing again and hit his wrist. The crack of bones echoes to the cabin. As the gun skitters across the hardwood, lost under the ground leather couch. I raised the club once more, ready to bash the hitman's head in. Michael, you idiot stop! Why? So your higher gun is another chance to try to kill me? Nice try sweetheart.

But this weekend is about me taking you out. You don't get the upper hand this time. Allison shakes her head in smiles. Then she sits back down on her stool and picks up her wine glass, just as the cabin's front door bursts open. And a swarm of police officers come rushing in. Guns drawn. Put the golf club down now. Put it down! I stand here. The clubs deliver my head. A bleeding

to his belt. My eyes go to Allison. Who is smiling so hard I think her cheeks will split apart.

“I'm sorry, Michael. What was that about you taking me out this weekend? Drop the damn golf”

club and get on your knees. The barrels of the officers pistol. Stairs at me like accusatory

black eyes. My head nods. My chin falling to my chest. As I drop the golf club and comply.

“My knees hit the hardwood and it doesn't blue uniforms swarm me. I swivel my head and look”

up at Allison as I'm being cuffed. Why did you know? Police call me until me everything.

She was worried you tried to kill her too. To tie up loose ends. I'd never do that.

Allison lost. They already have the cake, Michael. She size so exaggeratedly that I can't help but

“roll my eyes. You never could execute, Michael. It's just a sad. I deserve better. Don't you think?”

I'm yanked up onto my feet by my arms and dragged out of the cabin to a waiting cruiser. My wife follows, still with that glass of wine in her hand. I look back and see her leaning against the door frame. Her shitting grin, the largest I've ever seen her wear. And that woman can fill out a shit-eating grin. Giving me a perfunctory wave, she then pulls out her phone and starts texting. I bet she's going to tell that Austrian trainer to come join her up here now that I'm out of the

picture. Man, I really did blow this and from the start apparently. As I'm driven away from the cabin, I realize that being arrested isn't the shitty part of all of this. It's that my wife is right. Again. But hey, I hear you can arrange spousal murders from inside prison if you know the right people. I'll have to look into that for sure.