Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  “Gotten into me? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” He grabbed my arm before I could pick up the bread knife on the counter. As I spun around to face him, the sensitive Frank I knew––thought I knew––was gone. In a matter of seconds, he had turned into a stranger. Worse than a stranger––a killer. He was holding a gun. And it was pointed at me.

  “You’re going to shoot me?”

  “Of course not. How stupid do you think I am?”

  I was in a fog trying to fight my way out. The champagne. He must’ve put something in the champagne. “Frank…your mother…” I was growing more woozy by the second. “The picture…in your den…your mother was wearing a necklace similar to Sondra’s.” My tongue was getting in the way of my words and making it difficult to talk.

  “Similar to this?” He held up Sondra’s ankle bracelet.

  My head was about to explode. He’d pocketed Sondra’s ankle bracelet when I wasn’t looking?

  “But why? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m such a bad boy. I should be punished for taking it when you weren’t looking, don’t you think? But can you imagine what would have happened if you turned it into the police. They might have connected it to my mother’s necklace. Particularly if you were around to tell them about it.” He looked at me and smiled. I was staring into the face of pure evil.

  He reached for the champagne. Perhaps it’s time you enjoyed another glass of Dom Perignon. One can neither be too rich nor have too much Dom? Don’t you agree?”

  I couldn’t believe it. Frank was the killer and I’d missed it! He’d been toying with me all this time. Working his way into my confidence to find out what I knew. Everything had been a lie. His falling in love with me was a lie. And I’d fallen for it.

  “But Frank, I don’t understand. Sondra can’t be your sister..”

  I was trying to keep him talking. Trying to figure out a way out of there. But I was growing dizzier by the second. The champagne. He’d put something in the champagne.

  “Frank, I don’t understand,” I said again while trying to focus on his eyes so I wouldn’t fall asleep. I needed to keep my wits about me. How could I when all I wanted to do was to close my eyes and sleep. Sleep forever. “I checked you out. You couldn’t be Sondra’s brother. You didn’t have a sister. I saw the photo in your den––you told me yourself, it was your brother, Bartholemew.”

  “Henderson,” he corrected. “That is until he changed his name to Sondra Sockerman.”

  I gasped. The walls closed in on me. It didn’t help matters that I was staring down the barrel of the gun. “Wait… you mean…your brother Barth…Henderson is Sondra Sockerman?”

  Frank nodded. “He had a sex change operation. My brother became my sister.”

  Wow, I thought. I could really use the name of his/her plastic surgeon. Then I remembered that my aging process was about to come to an abrupt end if I didn’t think of something quickly.

  “But Sandra read from her memoir in writing class! About helping her mother dress for the ball and being her mother’s favorite when she was very young.”

  “Henderson was always Mother’s favorite,” Frank shrugged. “‘My pretty little boy,’ Mother would say. Henderson would dress up in her high heels, tart himself up in her jewelry and scarves. It was enough to make you sick to your stomach.”

  “Wow,” I said again. How could I have missed it! It was all there. Spelled out in Sondra’s bio.

  Hinting at the various plastic surgeries she’d undergone and how life–changing it was. I’d assumed she was talking about the usual: face lifts and breast implants. I wanted to ask if she’d also had a butt lift, but since she’d start out a male, I suspected Sondra’s butt was naturally tight.

  “But why kill her?” I said innocently.

  “What would you do if your brother––who hadn’t been in contact with your mother for twenty years––suddenly came back into your life to reclaim half of her fortune?” He paused. “Drink up, Izzy. It won’t do you any good to dawdle around.”

  “But how could you? How could you kill your own sister, uh, brother. And now me?” My shock and anger had obviously caused a surge in my adrenaline and I was feeling much more alert. Unfortunately Frank must have been aware of it also. He took a vial out of his pocket and dropped a few of pills into the glass. “Enough talk. Just drink.”

  “Those are my sleeping pills,” I gasped.

  “Yeah, I got them from your medicine cabinet. By the way, you needn’t worry that the pills won’t kill you. I’ll help them along with an injection of potassium chloride between your toes. No one will think to look there.” He sat back, looking satisfied. “You see, Izzy, I have it all planned out and there’s no escaping your fate.”

  “But no one will believe I tried to commit suicide!” I screamed.

  “True. You do have the survival instincts of a cockroach. But they will believe you had an accident. Too much alcohol with too many sleeping pills. You told the class that you once took a sleeping pill instead of your blood pressure medicine. Remember?”

  Damn! He’d actually been listening to me in class. “But why kill me, Frank. There’s no need to,” I said, in my most seductive voice. “We could go away. You and I. Together.” I had just written those exact words in my story which I was hoping to turn into a hot seller.

  “Please, Izzy, begging is so unbecoming. Anyway, I know you better than that.”

  “But Flo will pursue it. She won’t believe I committed suicide. And Merv and Danny. They won’t believe it either. Maybe not even Yettah and Minna! On the other hand, they might. What about Dr. Jorgenson! He was calling to tell me something about the pictures I sent him.”

  “Unfortunately that was the nail in your coffin.”

  “But I didn’t send him your picture.” I paused. Or had I? I stared at Frank as the realization sunk in. Frank was in the background of several pictures adjusting the lighting.

  “Yes, Izzy, little mistakes have big consequences. Which means I’ll have to take care of Dr. Jorgenson next since he probably recognized me as being Sondra’s brother. However don’t fret it. We all make mistakes. And mine was to leave you alive for too long.” He dropped a few more pills into my champagne, “For good measure. Now finish the drink please.”

  Keep him talking. Keep asking questions and above all stay awake. “Is that what Dr. Jorgenson’s phone call was about?” I asked. “That he recognized you in the picture?”

  “Probably or maybe he wanted to get off his chest that he and Henderson were lovers back in college.”

  Frank, urging me on with his gun, watched as I took a sip of champagne. “What if I refused to drink any more? Would you really shoot me?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to but if I had to I would.”

  I nodded and took another sip. If I took many more there was no way I could get out of this.

  Maybe it was hopeless already. But I couldn’t give up without a fight, not when he was watching me with such a smug, pleased expression on his face. “You know, Frank,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I don’t think you would shoot me,” I said. Then I threw my glass at him and took off running down the hall.

  I could hear him cursing, then a loud crash, then more cursing. Both sounds I knew only too well. The awkwardly placed brass lamp had clearly crashed again to the floor.

  Then his footsteps came pounding down the hall after me.

  I hurriedly opened the bathroom door.

  “Give it up, Izzy,” he yelled. “It’s over.” He grabbed for my robe just as I made it into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it behind me.

  “You won’t get away, Izzy,” he yelled. “I can shoot you through the door, you know.”

  “Then it won’t look like an accident.” I yelled back. “The police…they’ll investigate and find out you did it!” I looked around frantically for a weapon. Any kind of weapon. There was my hot iron but he would shoot me before it’d heat up––if
it heated up. Ah, the toilet bowl plunger. I hurried over to the toilet and grabbed it but it was suctioned to the floor and wouldn’t budge. I searched under the sink. Hair spray!

  “Why would the police investigate me?” he scoffed. “I didn’t kill you. Danny did! You proved that yourself when you found that manuscript I planted in his car. And when Flo tells the police, guess what else they’ll find there? This gun!”

  “You’re evil!” I screamed, feeling more angry than afraid––for a second.

  “You have a choice, Izzy. A peaceful accidental death with another glass of champagne and maybe even a slice of cake if you want. Or I shoot you right now. Your choice.

  I looked around, hopeless. There was nothing else I could do. Then I glanced up at Sherlock who was lying on top of the armoire. Our eyes locked on each other and I sensed an understanding. “It’s just you and me, cat,” I said. Then I threw open the door.

  “You made the right choice,” Frank said, coming towards me. I backed away. He took a step closer as I hoped that there was at least one male I could count on to come to my rescue.

  “Izzy, let’s go,” Frank grabbed my arm. I feared all was lost as he walked me to the door. Just then Sherlock took a flying leap and wrapped himself around Frank’s neck, hissing like the little furry devil he was.

  “Noooooo!” Frank screamed, trying to dislodge the vengeful cat. As he struggled, trying to pull Sherlock off, he dropped his gun. I kicked it away towards the bathtub. He reached for it with one hand while, still trying to fight off the cat with the other. Sherlock’s sharp claws, digging into Frank’s forehead, were drawing blood.

  I went for the gun. Frank grabbed my arm and gave it a sharp twist. I screamed and kicked him in the groin.

  “Owww!” he screamed. I pulled away and grabbed the gun off the floor. “On your knees,” I ordered, pointing the gun at his head.

  “Get this damn animal off me!” he yelled. Sherlock hissed, no doubt wanting to add his two cents worth.

  “Sherlock doesn’t like cursing,” I said. “And he really doesn’t like men. At least not men that aren’t women.”

  “Your sentence structure always was clunky,” Frank sighed.

  Chapter 47

  I sat on the couch and watched the police cuff Frank. As they were about to walk out the door, Frank stopped and looked back at me. “Maybe you should think about getting a facelift, Izzy.”

  “Take him away, boys,” Officer Martinelli ordered with a wave of his hand. He walked over and sat down on the couch next to me. “I should have listened to you about Sondra Sockerman,” he said.

  I managed a nod before the sleeping pills kicked in.

  I was floating on a white cloud in the middle of a sea of blue. Officer Martinelli was leaning over me. ‘Izzy love, wake up.’

  No, don’t make me wake up from this lovely dream.

  Chapter 48

  “Izzy, Izzy. wake up.” Someone was shaking me.

  My eyes fluttered open. Flo was standing over my bed looking concerned. “I had a dream that Martinelli was here,” I said feeling woozy.

  “He is,” Flo laughed.

  He walked over and patted my arm. “Hey, Izzy. It’s good to see you again.”

  “It is?” I asked.”Am I okay?”

  “You’re perfectly okay, Izzy,” Martinelli said. “Everythings going to be just fine though you’ll have to stay in the hospital until the pills wear off.”

  “Do you think Frank’s right about my needing a facelift? I mean, as long as I’m in the hospital.”

  “You’re perfect the way you are,” he smiled. I nodded and tried to smile back before drifting off.

  When I was released from the hospital Flo threw me a homecoming party. Balloons, fancy paper napkins and plates, the works. True, they were leftover from her New Year’s party and I was sure I spotted a lipstick stain or two on a couple of the napkins, but it was the thought that counted.

  I figured the party was a way to ease her conscience for not driving me home after Frank’s party which nearly caused my demise. But in the end it had worked out. Everyone called me a hero. I tried to explain that the real hero was Sherlock but they insisted on giving me the credit.

  Oh well, who was I to argue?

  Everyone came to the party. Merv. Danny. My writing group minus Frank, of course. Just about the entire Palm Springs Sun Villas Condo residents showed up. Most of whom I didn’t know. Word of free food spreads quickly in these condo settings.

  Dr. Jorgenson approached as I was loading up my plate and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Did I do something to deserve that?” I asked.

  “For helping me ‘come out.’

  “Come out of where?”

  “The closet. That’s why I called you that night and asked you to call me back. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry I hadn’t been honest with you. Henderson and I had an affair back in college. Perhaps if I’d been more specific about which of the men in the picture was his brother, Franklin, all this wouldn’t have happened. I wish I could make it up to you.”

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Your dental hygienist didn’t give me a goody bag with free toothbrush and toothpaste you know.”

  “I’ll see that you get two goody bags. How’s that?”

  “Perfect.” I answered. “Just perfect.”

  ****************************************

  After the initial excitement died down, everything and everyone returned to normal. Except for me. I was having a difficult time recovering from Frank’s duplicity. He killed his own sister, hid her body in a remote area in the desert and I’d almost gone to bed with him. I had trusted him. I’d been taken in by his boyish good looks and charm and all the while, he’d been plotting to kill me.

  I needed time to sort things out. I told Flo that I needed a few weeks to get my head in order. Instead of our usual walk to Starbucks I wanted to enjoy quiet breakfasts at the Sun Villas Hot Coffee Cafe. Alone.

  She was okay with that since both Danny and the book critic from the LA Times were taking up much of her time.

  I was sitting alone at the Sun Villas Hot Coffee Cafe when I heard, “May I sit down.”

  I looked up from the local paper someone had discarded.

  “Name’s, Oshansky. Rushmore Oshansky. May I sit down?” he repeated.

  I nodded toward the empty seat opposite me. “Be my guest.” Not bad looking. Had most of his hair, slightly overweight. Nothing that a healthy diet couldn’t take care of.

  “You’re Izzy Greene. I think we met once before. I heard about your adventure,” he said.

  Appeared to have his own teeth.

  “You know you’re quite the hero around here. I thought maybe we could get together one of these evenings and share stories. Don’t know if you’re aware that I recently solved a murder case. Even wrote a ebook about it. Murder Never Retires.

  I perked up. “A book? Is that so? I’m writing one also.” No need to mention that I just thought about it.

  “How about we get together and compare notes.”

  Not bad looking at all. There was even a sexy quality about him.

  “I presume you still drive a car,” I said.

  “Damn straight.”

  “At night?”

  He nodded.

  “Perfect.” I smiled as I smoothed down my hair and wishing I’d worn something a bit sexier than a pair of baggy sweats and a stained tee.

  THE END

  I hoped you enjoyed reading about Izzy Greene If you did, I’d appreciate your leaving a positive review on Amazon. Also I’d love to add you to my mailing list to let know when Izzy Greene gets involved in another adventure.

  To be added to my mailing list, please send an email to seniorsnoops@aol.com

  If you enjoyed this book be sure to check out Murder Never Retires.

  Also check out my book of short love(?)stories, Splitsville. love gone awry

  Also check out my short story, Fifty Shades of Desire

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  Sylvia Selfman, Murder She Typed