A Kiss With Death

by Frances Hoelsema

  CHAPTER 21

  L

  aura spent the rest of the morning cleaning. First were the tissues lying all over the living room floor. Next was her bathroom. Cleaning the toilets was not her favorite thing to do, but tolerable. Cleaning the tub and shower, however, she absolutely despised. But they wouldn’t clean themselves. When the hard work of scrubbing the tile had been completed, she took everything out of the cabinets just so she could wipe them down and rearrange the contents. After that, she moved to her bedroom. In there, she changed the sheets on her bed, dusted the dresser and nightstand, and vacuumed the floor.

  She didn’t stop. From one task to another, she kept going. She was a woman on a mission. A mission to keep her mind busy so that it didn’t have time to think about everything that was going on.

  The closet in the hallway was her next target. That was the happy home of blankets, sheets, games, and some of her teaching materials. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gone through it, so it was definitely due. After opening the doors, she ransacked through everything, throwing things onto the floor. Sheets were unfolded, papers were thrown around, and some games had been opened, spilling out some of the contents. In short, it looked like a bomb went off.

  Before she put things back away, her stomach growled. She had totally missed breakfast. Not that she could have eaten if she wanted to. But now that her mind had been redirected for the past couple of hours, her appetite came back with a vengeance. Knowing she would eventually get to cleaning the kitchen, now was a good time. She could look for something suitable to eat, all while getting rid of the excess baggage, a.k.a. dirt and old goods. When all was said and done, nothing sounded good. So, she reverted to an old-time favorite: scrambled eggs.

  The pan on the stove top, the eggs cracked open, and heat turned on, Laura whisked the eggs to near oblivion. She sprinkled in a little cheese and continued to mix the two ingredients together. Faster and faster, she continued to beat the eggs, taking all her frustration out on them. She was so in tune with her vigorous movement that she almost missed her phone ringing.

  Laura stopped, and went to her phone, checking to see who was calling her now. She was hoping it was Connor calling her back, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. That would probably make her die.

  Looking at the caller ID, she saw it was Mr. Hilton. He probably wanted to say something about the fact that she called in this morning. Then again, he had never done that before. Laura thought twice about answering. Did she really want to hear what he had to say? Her gut told her no. But her mind told her she better answer. So, she did.

  “Good morning, Laura. Or I should say, good afternoon.”

  She sniffed, trying to act slightly sick. “Hi, I –”

  “I saw you had called in this morning, after you were already late for your class.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but I –”

  “Look,” he interrupted, “I think it would be best if you were to take some time off. You have vacation days you can use up.”

  Laura was a bit confused. “But my –”

  “Your classes are already covered so there’s no need to worry about them.”

  “Why are –”

  “You need to get yourself together. It’s for your best interest.”

  “I do have –”

  “And you not being around is for our students’ best interest, especially now that we’ve lost Mr. Peterson.”

  “I know! Everything is –”

  “Do you understand?”

  Man, he wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise!

  Silence.

  “Do you understand?” the dean repeated.

  Laura sighed. “Yes. Thank you for calling.” She hung up. Her head hung backward for her eyes to see the ceiling. Another heavy inhale and exhale went through her body. But why? She might as well just give up.

  In a burst of anger, she threw her phone to the wall. It ricocheted and landed face down onto the carpet. Her stupid phone brought nothing but bad news today. Who needed it anyway?

  The next breath Laura took in, she smelled something burning. Her brows furrowed, and she took in another breath, trying to figure out where the smell came from. It was her eggs!

  * * *

  Detective Randy Kojak drove with white-knuckled fists on the steering wheel. Though, for whatever reason, the search warrant on Laura Keaton had not been completed yet, he still had a purpose. He still had a chance to get the information he needed. In fact, he was bound and determined to get it.

  The rain had been off and on all last night and this morning. Now mid-afternoon, there was still no end in sight. The skies spit whenever they felt it was convenient. This gloomy weather seemed to resemble the mood of Crimson Shores as of late.

  His vehicle entered the driveway of 111 Mainview Road. He snuffed out his cigar, walking to the door with his hands in his pockets. At the door he stood. He took one hand out, made sure his hair was in the right place, and then knocked.

  Laura slowly opened the door. Her face said it all. She looked dismayed, unkempt, and slightly off guard. Was she up to something?

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Keaton. May I come in?” He looked passed her, into the living room, as he spoke.

  Her brows pinched together. She hesitated. “Um, I guess,” she finally answered. She pulled the door further open and stepped out of the way for him to enter.

  “Thanks.”

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, hands crossed over her chest.

  Detective Kojak rocked on his heels. “I’ve got some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

  Laura’s shoulders shrugged. “I guess. What?”

  He scratched the side of his goatee, thinking about where to start. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the death of Chris Peterson. So, I have to ask, where were you last night?”

  Again, she shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly don’t remember.”

  The detective raised his left brow. “You don’t remember?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Were you drinking too much? Doing drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have memory problems?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  The detective scratched the side of his mouth again. “I guess I’m not following you here.”

  “I said I don’t remember. What’s hard to understand about that?”

  He could tell she was getting annoyed. Defensive even.

  Switching his stance to put most of his weight on the one side, he said, “You know, I find it interesting that in all these murder cases, you have no credible alibi.”

  Laura took a step back. “That doesn’t mean I’m guilty.”

  “No, that’s true. But it doesn’t look good. I mean, with Trey Cooper, you were at Tommygun Tavern that night. There is video footage of a woman, looking a lot like you, dancing with him, and later in the evening leaving with him. You, of course, said you don’t remember what happened that night.”

  “So, that was weeks ago.”

  “And with Ben Dahlman, he was a part of your book club, and pretty much everyone said the same thing, that you two didn’t get along. You said you were at home, but no one can attest to that.”

  Laura sighed.

  “Parker Manscotti was your student. We viewed footage of the area where his body was found, and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You were the only one that was on the grounds from what we could see.” He quickly corrected himself. “Well, you and another student, Cassie Seaver. However, she checks out. You don’t.”

  “So? I told you I was there, working out!”

  Detective Kojak continued his point. “And your neighbor, Sammy Brevelin, you said you weren’t home. And again, no one can attest to that. Now, Chris Peterson, you were his colleague. And all you have to say is you don’t remember where you were last night?”

  Laura threw her arms up. “I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is
I went home with a headache yesterday, something Mr. Hilton can confirm. I woke up this morning with tissue all over the living room, my clothes still on from yesterday, and a couple of dirty dishes. Other than that, I have no idea what happened.”

  The detective pursed his lips. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Look, I know it sounds bad. And trust me, these episodes scare me, making me think I could be guilty. But I know I could never hurt a fly!”

  “Episodes?”

  “Yes, episodes. I’ve been getting headaches, and there have been a couple of times where I just don’t remember things. It scares me to death.”

  He raised a brow.

  “No pun intended,” she quickly added.

  “Have you seen a doctor about this?”

  “Not yet.”

  The detective sighed. Looking around, he asked, “Do you mind if I search your place?”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “Not yet. We are working on getting one, though.”

  “Then, no.”

  He put his hands up. “Okay. I understand. Thought I’d try it, but you do have your rights. I wanted to let you know that we’re also doing a background search.”

  Laura rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “But if you are innocent like you say you are, you’d have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m still not going to let you search my place.”

  “Have it your way. We’ll wait until the warrant comes then. Should be any moment.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for the warning.”

  The two of them stared at one another in silence. Detective Kojak looked around once more. Other than a burnt smell and a messy pile by the closet, nothing seemed off. At least to the naked eye. Before turning to leave, he asked, “By the way, mind if I get a hair sample?”

  She looked at him funny.

  “It could help prove your innocence.”

  Yanking a few strands out, Laura handed them over. “Fine. Here. Now please leave.” She opened the door for him.

  “Thanks for your time,” he smiled as he walked out.

  She half smiled back before coming close to slamming the door on him.

  Detective Kojak was careful to put the hair in an evidence bag. He had to get it to the lab as soon as possible. Hopefully it’d be a match with what was found in Sammy Jo’s duplex. If so, it’d be one more piece of evidence to help convict her. And one step closer to making The Margaret Killer case closed.

  CHAPTER 22

  S

  he parked down the street, out of sight from Mr. Hilton’s house. It was all part of the story she was about to share. Walking up the driveway, she put down her umbrella. The stick could now be used as a weapon if, and that was a pretty big if, she needed one. Highly doubtful, though. The rain continued to drip on her, but, again, it would bode well for her and what she was about to tell. Straightening her damp hair, she plastered on a smile and knocked on the front door.

  As expected, a woman answered. Must be the Mrs. However, she was not what was expected. Compared to Mr. Hilton’s tall, lanky frame, this woman was short and plump. She looked much younger than the dean and had a head full of hair. One brief thought of the two of them in bed together was bound to leave one confused and/or laughing. Never had she seen such a contrast in partners.

  The woman was kind. She had a smile on her face the whole time. Her concerned look was touching, but little did she know it was for no reason. “Are you okay, dear?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She rubbed her hands back and forth, pretending she was cold. “My car just broke down a little way down the street.” She pointed in the direction her car was, but purposely made it the opposite of where it really was. Just to cover her tracks. One could never be too careful. “I just need to make a phone call. May I use your phone?”

  Mrs. Hilton opened the door wide. “Of course! Come in, come in! You must be freezing.”

  “The rain does make it colder.” She entered the home, letting the woman lead her.

  Boxes filled the home. She knew that soon they would be leaving for California. Unfortunately for them, she was about to put a life-size dent in those plans.

  “Here’s the phone. Feel free to call who you need to.”

  She wished she could smack the smile off the woman’s face. She was way too cheery. And who still had a corded house phone? She was expecting a cell phone. Oh, well. She’d make this work. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be in the kitchen. I have a casserole to put in the oven.”

  She picked the phone up and pretended to dial a number. The whole time she did so, she kept an eye on Mrs. Hilton. It was important that she stay in her line of sight. And at the right moment, she would make her move.

  The Mrs. started singing an old song as she put the casserole in the oven. She needed to be shut up. When she turned toward the sink to wash her hands, it was time to make her.

  Lowering the phone, she made a quick pounce toward the dean’s wife and put her in a choke hold. The woman never saw it coming. The hold remained strong until she passed out. She slowly lowered her to the floor. Where was her singing now? Where was her bright and cheery complexion? Where was that smile? Her body shook, thinking of how disgusting some people could be.

  She took out a rope to tie up Mrs. Hilton. Though heavy, she was able to drag her into a chair to secure her position. That’s where she would stay until the dean came home. Then the real party would begin. She raided through the refrigerator, looking for something to eat while she waited. An apple sounded good, so she grabbed one. Taking a seat at the head of the table, she ate it, all while keeping an eye on the short, plump woman. Any minute now she’d come to and she’d probably fear for her life. Or, at the very least, have some questions.

  From the moment she sat down and took a bite of apple, until the moment the dean got home, it was exactly one hour. That meant roughly fifty minutes of alone time with the Mrs. that were unbearable. She was very close to killing her. But then was reminded that her death was something her husband was going to have to sit and suffer through. Eating the casserole helped keep her priorities straight, too. It was very tasty. Too bad the Hilton’s wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of it.

  When Mr. Hilton finally entered the house, he made a “Honey, I’m home!” greeting.

  Honey, I’m home? What are you? The Brady Bunch? She covered Mrs. Hilton’s mouth, threatening to do her in right then and there if she were to make so much as a peep.

  The Mrs. stiffened. The only sounds she dared to make were the short, rapid breaths through the rope in her mouth.

  “Honey?”

  His voice was getting closer. Her adrenaline started to rush. It was almost time!

  And there he was. Exactly as she remembered him, although his mustache was a bit shabbier than before. The look on his face was priceless! He rushed to his wife’s side, scared for her, and his, life. Meanwhile, she sat back a little, watching the scene unfold. Her insides were pumping wildly, but she appeared calm and nonchalant on the outside.

  “What do you want?” he frantically asked. “What are you going to do to us?”

  Standing up, she crossed her arms over her chest. Slowly, she tapped one finger after another against her arm. A small smile formed on her lips. “You chose wrong!”

  Hilton’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know –”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She waved a finger in his face. “One mustn’t speak until the other is finished.”

  “I’m sorry, I –”

  She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him toward her face. “Look, I’m going to make this short and sweet. You took everything away by making that one bad choice. And now…”

  His voice waivered. “Now?”

  “Now I’m going to take everything away from you.” She shoved him away from her, putting another choke hold on his wife. “Starting with her!”

  “No! I’ll do anything! Just stop! Leave her –”

  Before he could
finish his ranting, she had gotten out a needle and injected it right into Mrs. Hilton’s neck.

  The woman cried as she tried to wriggle herself free. Mr. Hilton whimpered and begged.

  “You don’t like it, do you?” Her voice was raised over the loudness of the two.

  Mr. Hilton asked, his voice uneven, “What did you give her? Are you going to kill us both?”

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Again, she smirked. She stepped back a little to be rejoined with her umbrella, in case the dean decided to attack. As predicted, however, he just kneeled by his wife’s side.

  “You know,” she started, “You should really calm down a little. It might help you last longer.” A dirty laugh erupted, to which Mrs. Hilton wailed even more. Some of it was probably due to the pain she must be feeling.

  The dean tried to comfort his wife, but he had no clue that the poison running through her veins was wreaking havoc on her. In less than five minutes she’d be dead. Regardless, he hushed her, gently stroking her hair and wiping the tears from her eyes. His wife shook involuntarily a few times before giving up her last breath. Her head slumped forward, useless. His eyes widened at the realization. He fell back onto his bottom.

  “Barbara, no! Not my Barbara!” he cried.

  Then the dean’s eyes looked up into hers, and he wanted to flee. He got up and bolted for the door. A broom in the hallway to the living room tripped him. He fell forward, his glasses getting knocked right off his face and into an open box. He tried searching for them quickly, but then thought it best to keep going. He again stood up and started to run. When he turned the corner, he ran into another person. They were standing still, blocking his exit. The person was much bigger than him. Stronger. Taller. Younger. The dean had nowhere to go.

  And she had caught up. Not that she was worried he’d even get away. “You’re not getting away with this, Hilton.” In one swift movement, she had injected him in the neck.

  He fell to his knees and then down onto his bottom. His strength was leaving him, but there was still some there. Doing his best, he crab-walked backward in hopes to get away from the two. They never moved. They just looked at him, waiting. He was determined to outdo them, so he kept going. But it was apparent he could feel in his arms, legs, and chest, that his turn was about over. And there before the front door, the dean’s limbs gave way underneath him. He fell to his back and breathed his last.