Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  Palm Springs and its neighboring towns are small communities. What if I ran into him? In a grocery store. Or at a gas station. Would I recognize him? Unlikely. I’d really only seen his back. The more important question was would he recognize me? That also seemed unlikely. He hadn’t turned around to look at me. Besides I was wearing oversized dark sunglasses and my hair was tucked under my pink sun hat which I would now have to donate to Goodwill. Too bad. It was my favorite.

  Feeling reassured, I stepped into the shower, shampooed my hair and scrubbed the last trace of the trail from my body. I emerged feeling both bodily and mentally cleansed.

  Sondra would come to class. I’d give her back her ankle chain and all would be right with the world again.

  And I would never again go near that trail.

  I closed the shutters in my bedroom to block out the afternoon sun, fell into bed, covered myself with the light summer quilt and fell asleep.

  The man dressed in black was gaining on me. “You! Stop! Can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” he sneered. Panting, I ran up the side of the mountain to escape.The distance between us narrowed. I spotted a large sign up ahead. In a burst of energy I ran toward it and read the two words printed in blood red: DEAD END.

  Chapter 10

  The ringing of the phone jolted me awake. I glanced at the clock. Seven a.m. Hard to believe that after what had happened on the trail I’d actually slept through the night, getting up only once to pee.

  “Flo, forget about it,” I announced. “I am not going walking. Your idea of a hike almost got me killed.”

  “It’ll be $100 this time,” a nasal voice said. It was the Palm Springs Sun Villas secretary from hell. “This is your fifth infringement.”

  “Fourth. Whatever,” I replied, falling back against my pillow. “What now?”

  “Speeding. You were caught speeding through the complex.”

  So much for that fabulous $89.99 cashmere sweater on Etsy.com. It was a gorgeous deep red which would have turned the bridge group green with envy but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. “If I promise that I’ll never speed again, could we forget it? Maybe just this once?” I pleaded.

  “It’ll be added…”

  “To my homeowners bill.” I slammed down the phone.

  I climbed out of bed, dragged myself into the kitchen and added speeding to my list of condo infractions. Then I popped an extra dark, extra robust pod in my coffeemaker and fired up my laptop.

  I scrolled through the Desert News to see if any bodies were found near the Bump and Grind––and thankfully didn’t see anything about it. Perhaps Flo was right and I’d overreacted.

  I decided to relax and forget about the whole ordeal. I would focus on my writing and stop worrying about Sondra. Which reminded me that I had to come up with a story for the afternoon’s writing group. But first I’d give Merv a ring since he owed me an explanation about why he hadn’t called lately.

  I was going to hang up after the sixth ring, when he picked up.

  Play it cool, Izzy, I reminded myself.

  “Merv, how nice to hear from you. How would you like to come over for my fabulous meat loaf tonight?” It was his favorite dish and it’d be a cold day in hell before he’d turn down meat loaf.

  There was momentary pause on the other end, then, “Sounds good. Unfortunately I have another commitment.”

  “Another commitment!” I screamed. “What other commitment could possibly be more important than meat loaf?” I clicked off, wishing I still had one of those phones that you could slam down dramatically.

  I waited a few minutes hoping he’d call back.

  He didn’t.

  Which gave me an idea for a new story. I just knew my writing group was going to love it.

  Chapter 11

  I was only ten minutes late. I threw my bag on the table, slid into the seat next to Danny and glanced and looked around for Sondra.

  “Say, you think Sondra’s coming back to our writing group?” Danny asked as though he’d read my thoughts.

  “Who cares?” I snapped. Of course I cared, but I’d had enough of the men’s obsession with her.

  “Yeah, why should Sondra come back,” Yettah chimed in. “What does she need with you old farts fawning over her like lovesick teenagers?”

  “I’ll say,” Minna nodded. “When Nate pulled out that chair for her, I thought I’d lose my lunch.” Minna may have been Yettah’s best friend but that never stopped her from sticking in the knife and giving it an extra little twist.

  “Nate only did that because he’s a gentleman,” Yettah sniffed.

  “It’s time we got started,” Dr. Linda said, stepping out from behind her desk and motioning to me. “Go ahead, Izzy, we’ll start with you. Frank can read next. Then Yettah, Danny, Minna, and finally, Nate.”

  “What about Sondra?” I asked.

  “What about her?” Danny asked.

  “I don’t know. I saw her on the Bump and Grind trail yesterday and I figured she’d be coming back to the writing group.”

  “You went hiking? I can’t believe it,” Danny said.

  “Yeah, Izzy’s a real athlete, can’t you tell?” Yettah snickered.

  I shot her a dirty look and walked to the front of the class. As I read the beginning of my new story about a woman who kills her cheating boy friend by adding poison to his meatloaf, I realized I wasn’t the only one keeping one eye posted on the door. The women were anticipating Sondra’s arrival with dread, while the men were hoping she’d appear and give them their much needed shot of testosterone. I just wanted to know if she was alive and well.

  After I finished reading, it was Frank’s turn to read more of his sci-fi space story. Next came Yettah who read her children’s story––again. She was followed by Minna. As each member of the group read and Sondra still hadn’t shown up, the men appeared to slowly shrink and deflate like punctured balloons.

  When class ended, I gathered up my papers, stuffed them in my bag and headed to the parking lot. I couldn’t let go of the fact that Sondra hadn’t shown. It just seemed so odd since she said she was planning to come back. But was that proof that something happened to her on the trail?

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun around. “Oh, Frank, I didn’t see you. I…I guess I was distracted.”

  “Just wanted to say I thought what you read today was good. I hope you’ll finish it.”

  Was he pulling my leg?

  “Really? That silly thing?”

  “You should have more confidence in your writing ability, Izzy. You’re really good. When you bother to bring something in.”

  “You’re kidding, right?

  “There. You just proved my point.”

  I smiled at him, realizing I’d never given much thought to Frank Fields before––other than finding his stories boring, that is. I’d also never really looked at him. But studying him now, I realized he was good looking. Not too heavy, not too thin. Maybe just right. Blue eyes, sandy blond hair. But was he potential Merv-replacement material?

  Get hold of yourself, Izzy. You’re not picking out a tasty leg of lamb for dinner.

  “I guess I’ve been kind of hard on your writing, Frank. I know it’s good but, to be honest, I’m not into science fiction.”

  “That’s okay. I understand. People either like science fiction or they don’t. You’re obviously in the latter category. I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

  There was an awkward silence while I searched through my bag for my car keys. “Found them,” I said, holding them up. I looked at him again. Yes, he was not only handsome for his age––there was something sexy about him.

  “Good for you,” he laughed.

  “I guess I’d better be off.” I clicked the lock and Frank reached over to open the door for me.

  “I hope you’ll take my advice and trust yourself when it comes to your writing,” he said. Then he paused, “Say, how would you like to go to the opening of the new Meat Market? There’ll be lot
s of good food.”

  Oh my God. It was like Bobby Swidley all over again. Back in fourth grade, Bobby Swidley had enticed me to go with him to the Saturday double feature starring Gene Autry by promising to buy me two giant size boxes of jujubes. I guess some things never change. But why was it so obvious that I could be so easily won over with food? Maybe I really needed to start that diet. Tomorrow.

  “I could pick you up if you want,” he said.

  “I kind of like having my own car,” I said as a way to hedge. On the one hand I wasn’t really ready to write Merv off and go out with another man. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to write Frank off either. “Why don’t we meet there?”

  “Yeah, I understand, in case you want to leave early, you don’t want to be stuck with me,” he laughed.

  “No, of course that’s not it. It’s complicated…sort of.” Was I nuts? There was nothing complicated about it. I had to face it, I’d been cuckolded by Merv so I had the right to go out with whomever I wanted. Besides, Merv was probably living it up with Sondra if––big if––she was still alive.

  Chapter 12

  Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of the station on South Civic Drive wondering if I made the right decision. I did a quick check in the rear view mirror, smoothed down my hair and grabbed my bag from the back seat. I exited the car before I could change my mind.

  “Something I can help you with, ma’am?” the officer at the front desk asked.

  “I certainly hope so,” I replied. “I’d like to report a crime. I think.”

  “You think you’d like to report a crime or you’d like to report what you think is a crime?” he asked, looking bored.

  “I’ll talk to her, Garrison,” a low sexy voice said.

  I spun around. “Officer Martini,” I gasped.

  “Martinelli,” he said, flashing that sexy bedroom smile of his, “So, we meet again.”

  I couldn’t believe he actually remembered me. Wait till Flo hears! She’ll die of jealousy.

  “Where’s your sidekick?” he asked as if reading my mind.

  “Oh her,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Who knows.” Or cares.

  “So what can I do for you? Want to report a missing chocolate chip cookie?”

  The officer behind the desk gave a loud guffaw. I shot him a dirty look. “Perhaps we could talk in private,” I said.

  I followed Martinelli down a narrow hallway to a small room that needed a good scrubbing, a cheery coat of paint and a deodorizer to get rid of the smell of stale coffee.

  “Sorry,” he said grabbing a folder stuffed with papers off the chair. “Have a seat, uh, I forgot…”

  “Izzy. Izzy Greene.” I felt a jolt of panic as he wrote the name on a sheet of paper. I now had a record. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a police station,” I said in a shaky voice.

  “And maybe not your last. But there’s nothing to be nervous about.” He paused and looked at me in a way that made me doubt the truth of his comment. “Unless, of course, you’re guilty of something.”

  He walked over to the Mr. Coffee in the corner. “Coffee?” he asked. I knew the routine. Soften me up, then go for the jugular. I shook my head.

  “Are you guilty of something?” he asked.

  “Of course not. What could I possibly be guilty of?”

  “Go ahead then,” he said. He carried his cup to his desk, then settled into his chair. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  How about that I shouldn’t have come.

  I opened my mouth and before I realized what was happening, the words came out in a torrent, like some full-blown attack of verbal diarrhea. I described how I’d gone hiking, followed Sondra up the trail, saw the guy dressed all in black, heard the awful scream. Then like a train barreling down the track and unable to stop, I described in minutest detail my intense fear of high places, my possible allergy to tumbleweed and finally my need to lose weight. When I finished I sat back and took a deep breath.

  The entire time Martinelli never took his eyes off me. He sat silent and expressionless behind his desk. Every now and then he sipped coffee from his oversized black cup with the words, Hot ‘n Sexy, in red.

  “Do you think I’m making too much of what happened?” I asked.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “But at the time I was sure something bad happened up there.”

  “Do you have any idea who the guy was? Ever seen him before?”

  “No,” I said shaking my head. “He had his back to me. I didn’t get to see his face. Thankfully.”

  “And you’re figuring he might have done something to this Sondra person.” I knew what he was implying––that I was an hysterical woman with a vivid imagination who was taking up his valuable time.

  “I know that he scared me. I had the feeling he was going to attack me.”

  “This woman, Sondra. What’d you say her last name was?”

  The sound of the clock’s ticking grew louder, filling the room like The Tell-Tale Heart. “Sockerman,” I said quietly. “Sondra Sockerman.”

  “Seems I heard that name before,” he mused. The ticking grew louder.

  “Okay, you’re right! She’s the same woman Flo and I stalked––I mean––staked out the night you saw us in the car.”

  “And now you’re stalking her again.”

  “Of course I wasn’t stalking her! I just happened to be on her tail, I mean, on the trail at the same time.”

  “Izzy, I’d like to tell you the same thing I told my mother just the other day.”

  His mother? First I’m a psycho stalker and now I’m his mother?

  “Izzy, I think you have too much time on your hands. I advise you to take up a hobby. Like knitting or line dancing. Maybe both. Get my drift?”

  Oh, I got his drift all right. And I was still smarting from his comparing me to his mother. “Oh wait, I forgot,” I said, rummaging around in my bag. “I found her ankle chain on the trail. Now where’d I put it?”

  I was about to dump everything out on his desk but with all the tissues and crumbs and heaven only knew what else was in there, I decided against it. “I guess I left it at home,” I shrugged. “I’m sure it was Sondra’s since she was wearing one just like it when I saw her on the trail. I could drop it by here tomorrow.”

  I watched as Martinelli pushed his chair back and stood up. Without saying anything, he walked to the door and opened it. A not so subtle signal that our little tete a tete had come to an end.

  “It’s not really necessary, Izzy. I can’t tell you how many people lose things when they go hiking. Folks bring in all sorts of stuff. Hell, someone once turned in a prosthetic leg. No one ever claimed it. Say, if you ever see a one-legged guy hopping around, let me know,” he laughed, obviously enjoying his own humor. When I didn’t join in, he turned serious. “Take my advice, Izzy, get a hobby. It’ll do you a world of good.”

  A hobby! Who did he think he was talking to? I felt not only mortified but betrayed! And after all the nice things Flo and I had said about him! Not to mention all my wonderful fantasies. How could I have so misjudged him?

  As I marched past the front desk, I didn’t so much as glance at Officer Garrison who I could see out of the corner of my eye, was watching me. I had no doubt that both he and Martinelli would enjoy a good laugh at my expense the minute the door closed behind me. “Have a great day,” he called after me.

  From the sound of it, Garrison didn’t wait for the door to close.

  I never should have gone to the police. It was an exercise in humiliation––which was the only exercise I’d gotten lately.

  I slid into the front seat of my Camry and glanced at myself in the rear view mirror. My cheeks were flaming red with embarrassment, though I had to admit the color was quite becoming. The two cops were probably still yukking it up. Take up line dancing. How mortifying! I’d sooner take up sharp shooting.

  I hoped I’d never see Officer Martinel
li again.

  As I pulled out of the parking lot I remembered where I’d put Sondra’s ankle bracelet for safe keeping. It was so safe I almost forgot I’d tucked it into the Kleenex packet in my purse. I thought of going back in and handing it over to Martinelli––but why bother? He didn’t seem interested in it when I’d brought it up and besides, I didn’t feel like facing him and his cohort at the front desk again. I’d done my civic duty by reporting what I thought was a crime.

  My conscience was clear. I could wash my hands of the entire matter––though I still had to figure out what to do with Sondra’s ankle chain.

  Chapter 13

  “I hope you remembered the new water aerobics class is starting in an hour,” Flo announced. “We promised each other that we’d go.”

  “Hang on, toast’s burning.” I grabbed the toaster, turned it upside down and dumped its charcoaled contents into the sink. “Breakfast down the drain,” I yelled into the phone over the sound of the garbage disposal.

  “Forget breakfast. Come to water aerobics. It’s the safest exercise for people of a certain age. Even you won’t be able to strain or break anything.”

  “I could always drown. Anyway if you think I’m putting my thighs on display you’re nuts.” I looked in the fridge for something else to eat but nothing was appealing. “Besides I have something else to take care of this morning.”

  “And what would that be? It wouldn’t have anything to do with Sondra, would it?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I thought you decided to drop that whole Sondra affair.”

  “I did. And I will.”

  Right after I make a full frontal assault on the fortifications of Vintage Cactus Country Club and drop off Sondra’s ankle chain.

  I pulled up to the heavy ornate gate, conscious that my twelve year old Camry hadn’t seen the inside of a car wash in as many years. The security guard eyed my car with suspicion, making it clear that in this country club, even the help drove newer cars.