“Maggie!” I shouted. "I thought you were ..."
"Of course youse did, youse stupid Yankee fool," she sneered, and the air in the kitchen suddenly began to thicken with the stench of death.
Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. It was as if I were facing some demon from the darkest pits of Hell.
I threw the bottle of Chablis at her and watched it smash against the door frame behind her. It was enough to distract her attention away from me, and I ducked down behind the utility island in the middle of the room. The revolver went off, but the shot missed me completely. I crawled from the kitchen and down the hallway towards the front door. Just as I reached the foyer, the door burst open and Officers Grimes and Mallory burst into the mansion, their guns drawn.
I raised my hands in the air and splayed myself on the floor.
Another shot from Maggie's revolver pierced the confusion. She was at the end of the hallway, firing aimlessly.
The troopers shouted to her to put down her gun and get on the floor. She shot again, and the bullet found Grimes, who fell against a far wall, dead on contact.
Officer Mallory returned her fire, and Maggie took two bullets to her chest. She fell, screaming with pain and delirium. Then, she became silent. Her life at Pendleton was over.
Today, six years after I acquired sole ownership, Pendleton Park is a five-star Bed and Breakfast. Every room has been completely renovated to be historically accurate to the days of the Antebellum South, and every room is booked, at $2500 a night, for two years in advance. Guests not only enjoy the comforts of Southern hospitality inside the mansion, but are also encouraged to walk along trails punctuated with magnolia trees over the sweeping grounds where cotton fields once flourished. In the evening, the finest wines and cheeses from all over the world are made available to them, before they turn in to sleep under the canopy of an ornately carved, antique bed.
For breakfast, guests savor a full course meal, cooked to perfection by a three-star Michelin chef. Pendleton Park is no roadside diner, and yet I sometimes hear an order called to the kitchen, "Double sleazy over easy, XL hash, and sides of swine and Texas trash ..." and for just a moment, I feel something close to remorse, but only for a moment.
Of course, before leaving Pendleton Park, guests are always encouraged to enjoy one more cup of coffee before they go.
