Malice Masterpieces

by K'Anne Meinel

  “I’m Alice Weaver, I’m a friend of both the Spauldings,” she told them with perfect truth.

  Never for a moment did they doubt her as she held the grieving and now sobbing woman in her arms.

  Again the officer swallowed noisily. “We will be in touch ma’am and as I said, contact me if you need anything or have any questions.” Both of the officers rose from where they were sitting, relieved to be getting the hell out of the expensive house. It was bad enough to uphold the law but to have to face grieving widows and tell them their beloved husband was dead was a horrible part of the job.

  Deirdre never heard them as she sobbed into Alice’s arms. “But he was coming home for dinner,” she said unnecessarily to the blonde.

  The officers had no reason to question Deirdre’s sincere grief.

  Alice watched them leave, relieved to have them gone. She didn’t trust cops. They asked too many questions sometimes. That night she held Deirdre as she sobbed out her grief, at her relief at having Carl gone, and the guilt over her relief. She subsided in the early morning hours as Alice watched over her friend.

  Alice was an excellent friend to the bereaved widow over the next few days. Condolences began to come in droves, expensive flower arrangements were everywhere. Alice helped direct things for her friend. She drove her to Carl’s lawyer’s office and pretended surprise that there was no will. The state would take a large chunk of the estate since he had died intestate. The remaining chunk though was considerable and Carl had investments and property in place that assured the widow plenty of money in her coming years. Alice drove her to Carl’s offices, helped her deal with the sugar sweet and two faced condolences of his co-workers and bosses. Already an audit was going in for his accounts and monies. On Alice’s advice, Carl’s lawyer, and now Deirdre’s, was looking to protect as much of Carl’s and now apparently Deirdre’s assets as possible. Carl had been a rising star at his job, a silent stock holder who if he had wanted could have eventually been a partner, his holdings were astounding, but then Alice knew that, it just took direction to send the lawyer on the right course. Packing up his office took no time at all, the files had already been rifled through, there was a couple of plants that Deirdre had no desire to take, and a framed photograph of a much younger and happier couple, Carl and Deirdre in their early days before he turned into the monster he had become, before money and power corrupted him.

  Alice helped her go to the funeral parlor to arrange the funeral, a necessarily evil before the body would be cremated. She had convinced Deirdre there was no point in letting the man take up real estate and his body interred in an urn would suffice. The outpouring of clients and friends for Carl Spaulding was amazing, but then he was an important man, a powerful man, and knew many people. Alice took a discrete step back and let the now more confident Deirdre handle this part. She slowly released her grip on her friend, bolstered her with encouragement, but slowly she took a back seat. Deirdre’s two friends had become suspicious at her interest in their friend, after all the women had met in a lesbian club. That Alice was still around after all these weeks made them wonder at their relationship. If Carl hadn’t bragged to his buddies that he was about to bed both his wife and the apparently bi-sexual Alice there would have been a quiet scandal and Deirdre would have suffered. Deirdre though wisely realized these two ‘friends’ were a subtle way to keep her in line with Carl and his buddies, equally controlling men of their wives, who voluntarily allowed these types of men to treat them in this fashion in exchange for a life that few could imagine. Deirdre slowly distanced herself from these types of people, she no longer needed them in her life, and she no longer had Carl controlling the purse strings, controlling her and who her friends were.

  Alice let herself into her condo after the funeral and immediately went to her office and her laptop. She opened it and typed in an encoded password. She also had the pad for a thumbprint to ensure no one could ever break into the machine. She quickly pulled up the information she was looking for, satisfied that things were going her way. She checked the figures, and then double checked them, and sent a quiet command that would slowly sell off the mass of stocks that would now begin to rise again since the boy wonder of the banking world was buried. They had dipped quite low when his death was announced and Alice had bought large chunks of the stock planning for this moment. She had used the occasion of Carl’s death to place her in a strategic position that allowed for vast profits, her profits; she looked satisfied as her blocks of stock were eagerly gobbled up as a greedy public began to buy the now rising priced options she had bought on spec. She enjoyed knowing that this manipulation had worked out to her pocketbooks benefit.

  Remembering Carl’s derision over her being a day trader she saluted herself with a glass of expensive wine over her astute business manipulations of the stocks of the bank, a few of their select customers that she knew about from her investigations, and the fact that by spreading her investments over a wide range of unrelated stocks and bonds she had allayed any suspicions from falling on her shoulders. After all, no one could have anticipated the death of Carl Spaulding could they? She smiled evilly.

  Over the next few months as lawyers worked out Carl’s investments and settled his estate, and dealt with the state, Deirdre became more confident in her role as a grieving widow, relieved to have him gone. She relied on Alice for a while but found she didn’t need her as much towards the end. Alice was okay with this; she had anticipated this as well and left Deirdre with a loving smile and a memory that made her stronger, confident, and self-assured. She would survive now. Alice had ensured that in many ways.

  ~The End~

  METICULOUS MALICE

  Book 2

  Alice closed her laptop after making certain that it shut down completely. She knew very few people in the world could break the encryption code it would take to get into the computer and the regular password and thumbprint were to keep out the amateurs, but it never paid to not be careful. She was a creature of habit on certain things, these habits were automatic and deeply seated, she had to finish what she had started, shutting down the computer completely was one of those habits. Her cell phone rang and she picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Alice, I have those test results you asked for.”

  “’Bout time,” she griped good naturedly.

  “Hey, I put off city work to get your results for you,” he returned defensively.

  “With the amount of money I and others pay you, you should,” she said with a slight smile as she looked down at her manicure, she needed to add more polish.

  “You’re sure that money is safe?” he quavered with unease.

  She grimaced. She wasn’t fond of cowards, but she needed his expertise occasionally so she put up with his slow results and his constant worry. “Yes, I told you, they will never be able to track it. You have enough put by to retire comfortably on.”

  “Well, I better not say much, they may be monitoring the phones.”

  Instantly annoyed she asked, “Are you calling on your cell or a landline?”

  “My cell, but I saw….”

  She interrupted, “You watch too many CSI shows, unless you’ve raised red flags to arouse their suspicions there is absolutely no reason for them to go to that expense,” her voice was a warning despite the reassurances.

  He immediately calmed down; she had brought him many ‘benefactors’ and the amount in his portfolio in off shore accounts was impressive. He couldn’t afford to anger this particular client. There was something about her, he couldn’t put his finger on it but something told him not to piss her off. There was nothing about the petite blonde that physically intimidated him but still, there was something…he always got the impression she could and would do his job better and more thoroughly, or that she knew the results before he had a chance to even run the tests. He never understood why she needed them done, but with the amount she and others paid him under the table, he wasn’t going to begin asking
questions, he knew better by now.

  “Just drop the results in the normal way,” she told him impersonally, her mind already elsewhere. Maybe she would spend some time on her manicure.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to deliver them personally?” he asked hopefully, he loved seeing her in person, she was worth the look, and he always hoped she would take a personal interest in him.

  “No, I’m going out of town,” she told the lie without a hesitation, it lent credence by saying it so quickly and succinctly. He was always trying to have more of a relationship than she was willing to give, wasn’t the money enough? She sighed, someday she might have to eliminate this particular relationship, and she didn’t want him knowing where she lived or what she did with his test results. The P.O. Box he would send them to in the anonymous county mail envelope would be enough.

  Disappointed he said, “Well call me if you need help interpreting any of the …..”

  “Okay, goodbye,” she interrupted knowing that he would blabber on indefinitely if she didn’t stop it now as she disconnected the call. Getting up from her desk she looked out over the balcony to her living room. It was fastidiously clean and in order, but then, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Some might find her taste in furniture futuristic; she found it orderly and functional. It required a minimum of cleaning; she could dust, vacuum, and clean the room in twenty minutes flat, something she had timed herself out of boredom one day. Her entire apartment never took more than an hour unless she decided to disinfect the bathrooms. She was a neat person normally, but occasionally, the bathrooms needed extra attention.

  Thinking about the rest of the day she thought about how she would pass the time. The cleaning had been done yesterday; her work necessitated a minimum amount of her time and this periodically during the day unless the market was wildly fluctuating. She could access some of her business accounts from her smart phone, and unless needed, her laptop rarely was opened but once a day, ritualistically every morning after she got up and ate breakfast.

  Most mornings she got up out of bed; pulled the blanket and sheets back to air the bed for the twenty minutes it would take for her to bathe. She hated showers, and loved to soak in a tub. It warmed the bones and her delicate ones were frequently cold. Even washing her long blonde hair didn’t take any time at all. Shaving was no longer necessary since she had laser surgery to remove the excess hair on her legs, feet, toes, underarms, and knuckles. She had hated having it waxed and detested shaving it, having the money to do what she wanted she had justified the expense by the time and effort it saved. With blonde hair, laser surgery took a little longer, something about the pale blonde follicles or some bullshit; she figured the technician just wanted to see her repeatedly for these two hour stints until all the hair was removed, permanently.

  After bathing she would dry off as much as possible, rubbing the excess water out of her locks while she made her now aired bed. Once a week she changed the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets and changed them to another almost identical set. Buying these in bulk saved her money but occasionally they didn’t have the same pattern and while it annoyed her, she shrugged off these little human idiosyncrasies. Getting angry over sheets was not in her forte. Quickly, efficiently, the bed looked like no one had ever slept in it. Even the pillows were smoothed out and looked welcoming to their next occupant, whether it was her or a guest she might bring in. As this was rare, she didn’t worry about it.

  Quickly she looked around to make sure everything was in order, nothing left on the floor, or side table. She went to the dresser and brushed out her hair before stepping into the bathroom again, down the small flight of stairs to the next landing, her bedroom being on the uppermost landing of her series of lofts. Now that her body was dry she rolled on anti-perspirant and brushed her hair again before fastening a couple of barrettes to keep it back from her face. She checked the mirror for any blemishes or imperfections that would need dealing with. She still occasionally got them but knew how to deal with them quickly. Returning to her room, she swore she got her exercise from going up and down these infernal steps, she dropped the towel to change into underwear she had bought in France. It was sexy lingerie but also functional. It enticed when she allowed it to be seen, it intrigued for the casual glance down her blouse, and it made her feel sexy besides, attitude was everything. Pulling on functional but classy clothes she was soon dressed. Wiping off the top of the dresser from where she had leaned on it, the droplets of water from her hair brushing and bodily cleaned off the top with her towel. A minimum amount of makeup and she was good to go for the day.

  Hanging the towel in the bathroom on her way down, she turned and looked into the spare bedroom on the second landing, no one ever used this room but she felt better having it, it led to the impression that she was expecting someone, that a friend could stay anytime. It had never been used. Even when family came to visit she convinced them that a hotel was a better place to stay. Something about having this empty room made her feel comfortable, almost luxurious, she had worked hard to achieve this kind of space and this empty room was one of her indulgences. It only made her uneasy occasionally and this was why she checked it occasionally, obsessively, daily to see that all was in order within. The bed never changed, the minimalist furniture never changed, nothing was ever out of order, but she couldn’t help checking it to see all was in order. Periodically she pulled the sheets and blankets from the bed to wash them but otherwise it always looked ready to accept a guest, no one had ever slept in the bed though. Her paranoia over this room led her to check the empty closet, making sure the hangers were one inch apart and ready to accept someone’s offerings to hang up apparel, they had never been touched since she set up this room years ago when she bought the place.

  She glanced at the loft office room on this second level that contained the bathroom, the guest bedroom, and the office. Nothing was out of order and she resisted the urge to go to her laptop and do research or check balances of her various accounts. That kind of obsessive compulsive behavior she was able to resist. She didn’t realize the rest of her own OCD. She headed down the final steps to the main living room and then turned down a short hall to the kitchen which was under the main bedroom loft. Ah, her coffee was brewed to perfection, accurately timed to her schedule. She popped a bagel into the toaster and sipped her coffee black while she waited for it to pop. When it did, she put down the cup of java and pulled a plate from the cupboard, not before, as the bagel needed to cool marginally before she would put butter, not cream cheese on it. She wanted the butter to melt slightly but not drench the hard bagel and make it soggy. Today she had indulged and she had blueberry in her bagel and she stood there eating it and sipping her coffee as she finished her breakfast. Washing the plate, her cup, and checking for crumbs on the counter she quickly dried both and put them away. Looking around the kitchen she saw it was all in order and she went back to her office to start her day.

  Now her morning ritual was complete and she had the rest of the day to do what she wanted. She could go for a walk in the Marina, use her boat, or borrow a kayak. She didn’t want to get wet, salt sprayed, or sweaty though and when she glanced out the window she saw it was a gloomy sort of day. Something Southern Californians were used to during late May and all of June and sometimes into July, these June glooms as they were called were a fact of life.

  ‘Going out of town’ made her think over her conversation earlier, maybe she should go out of town. She opened a locked desk drawer and checked that her passport was there. Other sets were in the safe under her feet but she had no reason to use these other sets, they had other names and her face on them and she had used them rarely. In fact, she didn’t check this safe but once a month or even longer, her obsessive checking of her things not lending to this particular aspect of her life. She didn’t want any tell-tale signs leading to this safe that contained false identification, money enough to start over, although she could access her money from anywhere in the world and
had it spread out enough that no one would ever find all her hidey holes, cash though bought immediate need things if necessary. Money though gave her a thought about getting out of town; it was time to open another account.

  Picking up her phone she checked her contact list and using a code only she understood found the number she was looking for. That way if she ever lost her phone, Uncle Bob wouldn’t mean anything to the casual observer. She had several copies of her SD card in the safe for safe keeping. She rarely had to add new numbers and this only occasionally, the main numbers she kept were safe forever.

  She called the airlines to get an open ended flight to South Carolina. To anyone who might be tracking her she was taking a vacation to a beachside location she frequented. She didn’t think anyone was tracking her but it paid to be careful. Her second call to Uncle Bob assured her another flight, but this one from a beachside quay that few people knew about. Thinking momentarily, she carefully peeled back the carpeting and opened her safe using a set of algorithms that would defeat most safe crackers and few if any of the most expert people in the world who would break into such a safe or have reason to. She knew when she employed one of them to put it in that they would someday be back to try it out and had added a few of her own surprises. She was a fairly intelligent woman and had watched and learned from some of the best people, this safe was just one of the many things this condo contained to protect her and her anonymity. Learning how to install it, how to avoid detection, what to do to prevent others from getting inside had been easy. Topping it and preventing the expert teacher had been hard. She carefully avoided the laser insights, the claw that would grab an unsuspecting hand and rip it off at the wrist, she deactivated a few of the other safety protocols, even a rat trap that would break fingers to the unsuspecting. Some of these were inspired by late night movies, some mere annoyances, all designed to keep someone out of her personal and more private information. She gathered cashier’s checks and bonds in a large bag and threw in one of her alternate passports as an afterthought before reactivating her layers of security to the safe.