The bitch.
* * * *
The following Friday, an urge for mocha almond fudge sent Julie out in the early evening. But she had to acknowledge the real reason for her errand after she’d passed the shopping center and turned onto Felicity Drive, Woodmere Estates’ main road. Searching for house numbers on mailboxes and over garages, Julie told herself she was just looking. There’s no law saying you can’t drive through a neighborhood on the way to get ice cream, is there?
As she drove farther, new construction gave way to still-empty lots with numbers nailed to trees. At a Dead End sign, Julie lost her nerve and pulled her car onto the nearest side street, Kristin Court, so far populated only by piles of roof trusses and front end loaders.
She made a three-point turn and was about to leave the neighborhood when she saw Rick’s silver BMW pass on Felicity Drive on his way out of the development. There was just enough light left in the late February sky to make out Tina’s blonde head in the passenger’s seat. Julie glanced at the clock on her dashboard and figured they were going out to dinner. Apparently Rick had his own Friday night routine with Tina. Curious, Julie turned her car back onto Felicity Drive in search of number 142.
The road ended in a cul-de-sac just past Kristin Court, and Rick’s house was the only one on the circle. It was dark enough that her car’s headlights had come on and they swept an illuminated arc across the front of 142’s two-story red brick exterior as Julie drove slowly past. She went back to Kristin Court, parked the car and returned to Rick’s house on foot.
She didn’t have a plan but was careful to stay on the driveway and then on the walkway leading to the backyard. The new lawn wouldn’t be put in until spring and Julie didn’t want to leave footprints in the mud. She tested the side door to the garage and found it was locked. Seeing a deck with a Hummer-sized stainless steel gas grill, she ran her hand under the railing.
At least some things don’t change, Julie thought as she removed a key from the hide-a-key box. She and Rick kept a spare key in an identical spot at their house. My house, Julie corrected herself, as she unlocked the garage door. Tina’s bimbo-mobile was parked inside, and Julie stopped short. No, she reasoned, I’m sure I saw Tina in the passenger seat of Rick’s car a few minutes ago.
She took a deep breath and opened the door to the house.
Passing through the mudroom, she paused at the doorway to the kitchen and listened to make sure she was alone. The only sound was the purr of new appliances awaiting their owners’ return. Lights were on in every room—another of Rick’s old habits—because he hated coming home to a dark house.
I just want to look, Julie told herself, but she kept her gloves on, just in case, as she moved through the downstairs. Considering Tina’s outfit, it was surprising how normal, even tasteful, the interior looked. She’d expected the decorating style to be early-harem, like a tawdry den of seduction.
Pausing outside the door to Rick’s office, Julie wondered what other bombshells might be lurking in the papers on his desk. It was Tina’s face, not hers, that smiled from the picture frames on his desk. Not a surprise, but it still hurt. She knew she should leave, but instead, Julie turned towards the stairs.
In the upstairs hall she stopped briefly to glance in the open bedroom doors—a guest room, Tina’s office with a desk and shelves filled with True You products, and a room filled with moving boxes marked “Mabry.” But it wasn’t these rooms that had drawn her up the stairs. Despite the thick pile carpet, she crossed the threshold to the master bedroom on tiptoes.
The room was spacious with his and her dressers, his and her chairs in the sitting area, and his and her nightstands flanking the king size bed. There were even his and her closets. Julie opened the larger of the two, the one belonging to Tina, and stepped inside, running her hand lightly along a row of garments, which set the blouse sleeves to swinging. Julie stepped out, closed the door, and stepped into the master bathroom.
She couldn’t resist touching the glossy marble sink tops, her hand stopping on the handle of a vanity drawer and opening it to find it full of True You cosmetics. Julie picked up a lipstick at random, pulled the top off and twisted the base. The lipstick appeared like a scarlet turtle poking its head from its cylindrical shell. She recapped the lipstick and checked the label on the bottom. “Temptress.” Figures.
The contents of the drawer weren’t exactly messy but they weren’t so neat that Tina would notice right away if something were missing. Before she realized what she was doing, Julie pocketed the lipstick and closed the drawer.
Careful not to disturb anything on the way out, she returned the key to its hiding place, walked back to her car and drove away. Taking a lipstick hardly compared to taking a husband, Julie told herself, but it was exciting enough that she almost forgot to stop for ice cream on her way home.
Julie enjoyed her new Friday night routine: come home from work, eat dinner, go out to buy ice cream, and along the way stop at Rick’s house to take something belonging to Tina. She told no one, not even Donna, the one friend she could tell anything. Donna couldn’t possibly understand something Julie had a hard time explaining to herself. All she knew for sure was that the thrill of this routine was habit-forming.
She was careful to avoid getting caught. Careful to make sure no one was home, careful to always wear gloves even as the weather warmed with the passing weeks, and careful only to take little things she was sure Tina wouldn’t miss. Things like eye shadow, a travel-sized toothpaste, and a cheap pair of earrings. When she collected some of Tina’s blond hair from her hairbrush and placed it in a sandwich bag she’d brought especially for that purpose, Julie was forced to consider whether she had an obsession.
It’s not a problem if I have a plan, she told herself. The idea of using her collection to make a voodoo doll crossed her mind. Although she didn’t know the first thing about voodoo, the thought of taking her frustrations out on a little Tina doll was appealing.
Now that she had a goal, Julie began to find herself smiling at work, in line at the grocery checkout, and while making dinner as she thought of all the ways to torture her Tina doll. Like sticking pins in it—that was voodoo de rigueur—but it was also boring. Especially when Julie could also imagine smashing it with a frying pan, or grinding the heel of her shoe into its face, or submerging it in the bathtub, or even backing over it with her car. Repeatedly.
It was the closest thing to revenge that Julie could muster and it was serious motivation to continue pilfering the floozy’s things. Maybe she couldn’t knock off Tina, but she could vent her wrath on a Tina knockoff. Going through some of Tina’s moving boxes stacked in a spare bedroom, Julie found an old tax return. Cutting out Tina’s signature and attaching it to the doll would be a nice touch, Julie thought. Then there was the photograph of Tina taken in a house that didn’t look familiar. Julie wondered if Rick had taken the picture. It didn’t matter—it was a good shot of Tina’s face, perfect to cut out and stick on the doll for added realism.
One week she took a pillowcase—just right for the doll’s body. Another time Julie found one of Tina’s blouses at the bottom of the dry cleaners’ bag. Judging from the amount of clothes in Tina’s closet, she doubted Tina would miss it. Even if she did, odds were good the witch would blame the cleaners.
There was still one thing Julie needed to complete her tramp-in-miniature: the fishnet stockings. They represented everything about Tina that Julie hated. She’d waited to take them, believing in the virtue of delayed gratification. The time had come, however, to collect the final embodiment of trashiness for her Tina facsimile.
Knowing she’d miss the thrill of her covert missions, Julie felt a pang of regret as she parked her car on Kristin Court for the last time. She paused after letting herself in through the side door to the garage. Both cars were gone.
Maybe they were doing something different tonight, Julie thought as she let herself into the house. It didn’t matter. As long as no one was home.…
/> Wasting no time, Julie headed straight for the stairs. Once in the master bedroom she went to Tina’s dresser and opened the top drawer. She knew where she’d find them—she’d scoped out their location on earlier visits. Tina’s lingerie, a study in silk and lace, was neatly arranged on the left hand side of the drawer, and on the right her hosiery. And there it was, the Holy Grail of her voodoo quest: Tina’s fishnet stockings. Certain her excitement could be rivaled only by Sir Galahad, she reached in and took her prize.
“Find what you’re looking for?” Julie froze when she heard the voice behind her. Turning, she saw Tina standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
She couldn’t run; Tina was blocking the only exit. Possible explanations for her presence ran through Julie’s head.
“I was just looking around” would be negated by the fact she was holding Tina’s stockings in her hand. “I’m here to water the plants” or “Rick asked me to meet him here” were both quickly discarded as ludicrous. Not that it mattered because Tina didn’t seem to be expecting an explanation.
“I told Rick I had an appointment and I’d meet him at the restaurant tonight. I wanted to be able to catch you red-handed.” Tina smiled as she glanced at the stockings. “Don’t look so shocked, Julie. Did you think you could come here week after week and get away with it?”
Julie pressed herself against the dresser as Tina walked slowly towards her.
“Oh, that’s right, I know what you’ve been doing. I have ever since I saw your car parked on the side road last winter. Don’t worry. Rick didn’t see you and I didn’t tell him. I thought it would be fun to let you run with your sick little game and see how it played out. Turns out it was all pretty pathetic. Just like you. And to think Rick feels guilty for leaving you.”
Tina reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.
“Are you going to call him?” Julie asked.
Tina held the phone in front of Julie. “I will, right after I take your picture.”
In that moment Julie imagined how desperate she would look to Rick. Panicked, she reached out, grabbed a lamp from the dresser and swung with all her might. The whiplash of the lamp’s cord when it was yanked from the wall mirrored the snap of Tina’s neck as the lamp crashed into the side of her head. Tina’s body and her cell phone flew in opposite directions but both landed on the plush bedroom carpet with the same soft thud.
* * * *
Julie stoked the fire in the backyard fire pit until it was good and hot then she went inside to gather Tina’s things from their hiding places. She threw her stolen trophies into the flames, adding her own gloves for good measure, and watched the fragmented effigy burn. It was somewhat satisfying, but not as much as if she’d been able to assemble a complete likeness of Tina before the immolation. And it was missing one thing—the fishnet stockings. Those were still around Tina’s neck, a tightly wrapped insurance policy in case the blow wasn’t fatal.
Julie was mesmerized by the flames as the remains of Tina’s belongings disintegrated to ash. The sound of her cell phone broke the trance.
“Oh my God, Julie, did you hear?” Donna rasped into the phone. “Tina’s dead. Murdered. And the police are questioning Rick.”
“What?” was all Julie could manage.
“Stay there. I’m coming right over.” Donna clicked off before Julie could say another word. Good thing, Julie thought, let Donna think the little hitch in her voice was surprise that Tina was dead and not relief that the police were focusing on Rick.
She felt a momentary twinge of guilt for feeling relieved, remembering Tina’s claim that Rick felt guilty about leaving her. Julie let the feeling pass as she poked at the fire. Rick had made his choice when he’d disrupted her routine and her life on that Friday night months ago. Now he had to deal with the consequences.
Donna arrived with a bottle of Chardonnay, which complemented nicely the bottle Julie had already opened. They sat at the fire pit late into the evening toasting their friendship, discussing the vagaries of love, and marveling at how the people you think you know best are capable of surprising acts.
It was the start of a new Friday night routine.
FISHY BUSINESS, by Jean Huffman
Fancy Raeford Hodge stopped to smell the roses—and almost gagged in the process.
Vernon needs to empty that dumpster, she thought, waving the odor away. Or else the health department is gonna be on his backside like white on dice.
Vernon McCall’s Fish Shack stood at the corner of Old Eighty-Six and Peterson Roads in Hillsborough, North Carolina, and usually had plenty of good ole’ boys’ trucks jammed into its dusty, graveled lot.
Today it was deserted. Why Mike wanted to meet here mid-afternoon for lunch was anyone’s guess. It really didn’t matter. The Shack had the best fried fish in three counties hands-down, and Fancy didn’t hesitate to drive over.
She’d been coming here for over a decade and always loved catching up with Vern’s daughter Piper. She’d even known wife and mother Sue McCall before her mysterious and unfortunate death.
Fancy remembered the time she found Sue stubbornly digging holes near the restaurant’s front door. Sue proudly pointed out the fourteen double pink Poetic Justice bushes she’d special-ordered from an arborist in Durham and was determined to get them in the ground.
“To give the place some class,” Sue said with a laugh.
“I’m not too good with roses, myself,” Fancy admitted. “I don’t know what it is, but mine always die.”
Sue leaned in on her shovel. “The real secret is what you use to fertilize. I use the organic stuff—and best of all, it’s free.” She chucked her chin toward the dumpster. “I gotta tell you, there’s a bunch of feral cats that get in our trash and are a real nuisance. Good thing nobody ever misses a stray cat or two.”
Fancy stared back in horror. “Surely, you’re not suggesting—”
Sue’s grin was quick. “Just joshing you, Fancy. Scott’s Rose and Flower Water-Soluble, that’ll do the trick.”
Fancy shook off the conversation, studiously avoiding any memory of it whenever she came to the restaurant. The roses now mushroomed out of control, reaching halfway up the casement windows, flanking the cedar-planked eating establishment with billows of pink blossoms. Fancy hurried up the steps past the buzzing bees.
Even though the Shack was 170 miles from the nearest ocean, Fancy eyed Vern’s cheesy green fishnets interlaced with plastic starfish and sand dollars beside the cash register. It was his way of being beachy, she supposed.
Vern exited the kitchen. “Hey, Fancy,” he said, coming around the register to kiss her on the cheek, the smell of fried goodness emanating from his t-shirt.
She smacked him back. “Mike’s meeting me here for lunch.”
“Have a seat. I’ll send Piper for your drinks.”
Two minutes later, Lieutenant Mike Hodge joined Fancy at the oilcloth-covered table, pulling out a ladderback chair across from his mother. “Whew, plenty hot today,” he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his brow.
“I heard the meteorologist on Channel Five say according to the Farmer’s Almanac this year, we were in for a hot one. The heat record’s already been broken several times in the past couple of weeks.”
Mike scanned the menu. “Mom, you gettin’ the flounder platter?”
“Sure am. Best thing on the menu.”
“It doesn’t hurt that Vern gives you extra helpings of anything you want.”
“A gal’s got to keep up her strength somehow,” she said, smoothing her clothes over her ample figure.
A young woman in her twenties, hair dyed half-purple, a couple of piercings spiking her brows, came to their table. Her face lit with a huge smile.
“Hey, Miz Fancy. Hey, Mike.”
Fancy reached over for a hug. “Hey, Piper. Good to see you.”
“What y’all want to drink?”
“Two teas,” Fancy said.
“Be right back.” Piper s
miled, headed toward the kitchen.
Fancy pulled her mammoth purse close. “I swear, that Piper looks more like her mama every year, don’t you think? Here, give me your hands.” She gave herself and Mike a squirt of sanitizer. “How many years has it been since they found Sue McCall’s body in Jordan Lake, Mike? Probably ten. Piper was such a young thing when it happened.”
“Nine years ago, this August.” He concentrated on the menu. “You know, we happened to pull Sue McCall’s case out of the cold pile not too long ago.”
“And what did you find?”
He sat back as Piper suddenly returned, setting their teas on the table. “What can I get you folks?”
“You know me, the usual,” Fancy said, patting her platinum blond hair.
“Guess I’ll have the flounder, too. Extra slaw, please.”
Piper left. Vern stood against the doorframe, then ducked back in the kitchen.
“Well?” asked Fancy, tapping her red nails on the table. “I’m waiting.”
“Everyone’s alibis lined up, especially Vern’s.” He leaned in. “He was here at the restaurant all day and late into the evening, waiting on customers, well past Sue’s estimated time of death.”
“Mike, you can’t be serious!” Fancy’s eyes bugged. “Vern would’ve never killed Sue. They built this business together from the ground up. They were a team.”
Mike took a long sip. “You know the first person the police investigate is always the spouse, Mom. No matter what the marriage appeared like from the outside.”
Sad but true, thought Fancy. When her husband Rich, a cop like their son, had been alive, he’d taught her that most murderers came from within a very small circle of likely suspects, usually well known to the victim. And most often doing the gruesome deed, by a landslide, was the victim’s significant other.
Fish Nets: The Second Guppy Anthology Page 21