A Clause for Murder

by Jill Shure

  Arlene gazed down at the floor. A tear edged down her cheek.

  Then Lisa calmly said. &ldquoDon&rsquot bother, Courtney. We&rsquove already read the letters. They&rsquore no big deal.&rdquo

  Courtney grinned meanly. &ldquoHow broad-minded of you.&rdquo She faced me again. &ldquoLet&rsquos get this straight, Betsy. I want my money. That&rsquos half a million dollars from Aloss Life. Or did you think I&rsquod let you keep it for yourself?&rdquo

  I marveled at her chutzpah and blazing ignorance. &ldquoListen, Courtney. Aloss doesn&rsquot pay murderers. Or even liars. Your application was pure fiction, right down to your age. What&rsquos more, you aren&rsquot really dead.&rdquo

  &ldquoOh, but I am dead. The police found a body. And my premiums are paid up.&rdquo

  This girl would&rsquove been better off lying on Davy Spunkhoffer&rsquos couch for the next decade, instead of giving him lap dances and blackmailing him. &ldquoThink, Courtney. A body with the wrong DNA. Store tags on your clothes from places like Sears and JC Penny&rsquos. The police aren&rsquot stupid. They know you planted those things.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou&rsquore lying,&rdquo she snarled, breathing hard, her eyes darting back and forth as she figured out her next move.

  Maybe I could stall her. Or convince her to give herself up. &ldquoI told you to read the fine print on your policy. My company isn&rsquot ever going to pay off.&rdquo I hoped my expression didn&rsquot betray the fact that I still had William McDade&rsquos check in my purse, wedged between my cell phone and my sinus medication.

  &ldquoThen I want my things,&rdquo she snarled. &ldquoThe purses, the furs, the jewelry, the shoes. Everything you and your thieving friends took from my condo.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow do you know we took your stuff?&rdquo Tabitha asked.

  &ldquoI was outside watching. You and that miserable aunt of mine waltzed off with a fortune. But it was my stuff. Paid for by me.&rdquo

  &ldquoAnd the dozens of men you duped,&rdquo I added.

  &ldquoDuped? I slept with them, didn&rsquot I? I put up with their filthy pawing and pathetic promises. How many of you were promised the moon by some guy only to have everything blow up in your face?&rdquo

  My friends and I sheepishly stared at the rug.

  &ldquoWell, I was a poor kid with a rotten childhood,&rdquo she said. &ldquoBut I learned how to get what I wanted.&rdquo

  &ldquoUntil Sirhan Spector,&rdquo I cut in. &ldquoYou fell in love with him. Something you never expected.&rdquo

  Contempt covered her face. &ldquoA lot you know.&rdquo

  &ldquoHe was handsome and rich. And he knew how to make you scream in bed. Except he chose his wife over you.&rdquo

  &ldquoShut your stupid mouth!&rdquo She aimed her gun at me. &ldquoYou&rsquove always been jealous of me, Betsy. Because I could&rsquove had Ken any time I felt like it. And you knew it.&rdquo

  &ldquoNo, you couldn&rsquot. That infuriated you, too. I found your letters to him.&rdquo

  &ldquoWho gives a shit about my letters. We fucked, Betsy. We made the Kama Sutra look like Candyland. And we laughed at you. You with your pathetic need to possess him.&rdquo

  My mouth tasted dry. My heart raced. Don&rsquot listen to her, I told myself. You know better. Still, her words stung. Even if there was a faint possibility of truth there, it gnawed at my confidence. But I ignored my doubts and pushed on. &ldquoYou mean I begged Ken the way you begged Sirhan? Sirhan told me you were just another girl. One of many.&rdquo

  Her eyes narrowed. &ldquoThat was his pride talking. He loved me. He just&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoChose to do what he&rsquod done a dozen times before. Go back to his wife. Which was why you killed her.&rdquo

  &ldquoThat&rsquos a lie. I never meant to hurt her ...&rdquo Her hand flew to her mouth. Rage blanketed her face. &ldquoI used to think we&rsquod make a good team. You and me. Two beautiful girls. But you&rsquove been jealous of me from the start&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoYou won&rsquot get away with it,&rdquo Lisa cut in. &ldquoFace it, Courtney, you failed. Another murder won&rsquot help. Look at yourself. Tired, rundown, dirty. Is this the debutante from Greenwich, Connecticut? The girl with the million dollar body and the condo to match? Face it, you came here because you wanted help. You wanted to see your friends.&rdquo

  Clearly, Lisa had lost her mind. None of us had ever really considered Courtney a friend. An amusing distraction, yes. But never a friend. And Courtney knew it. But a moment later Courtney&rsquos arm went down. She gazed into space as if in a trance. Maybe Lisa had uncovered the truth. Maybe Courtney actually thought of us as friends. Meaning Ken had been right about Courtney envying me: A college graduate, mother, and career woman. Unremarkable as this seemed to me.

  My cell phone rang.

  A slow smile spread across Courtney&rsquos face. &ldquoAnswer it, Betsy. Maybe it&rsquos good news.&rdquo

  Not likely based on her expression. &ldquoHello?&rdquo

  &ldquoMrs. Ross. It&rsquos Mrs. Odetts. Sofia isn&rsquot home. I got to your place early and waited. But she never arrived. I called your mother, but&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoMy mother?&rdquo

  &ldquoShe said they dropped Sofia off in front of the building after dinner. But Sofia never made it inside. I&rsquove searched everywhere. Even back at my place. I called her little friend Darcy, too. But she hasn&rsquot seen her either.&rdquo

  &ldquoHang up,&rdquo Courtney commanded.

  I stared up at her. &ldquoWhat?&rdquo

  &ldquoI said, hang up.&rdquo Courtney had a demonic look of pleasure in her eyes.

  I closed my phone and faced the terrifying truth. &ldquoYou took Sofia?&rdquo

  &ldquoShut up and listen.&rdquo

  &ldquoIf you harm a single hair on my daughter&rsquos head&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoYou&rsquoll do what?&rdquo Her gaze met mine.

  &ldquoI&rsquoll get you from the grave, if necessary.&rdquo

  &ldquoI don&rsquot give a crap about your brat. I want my money. So you better arrange it.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou idiot,&rdquo Lisa said. &ldquoBetsy doesn&rsquot run the company. She&rsquos just a salesperson.&rdquo

  Suddenly, we heard the front door open again. My friends and I turned, hoping it would be the cavalry. The men in white hats.

  Instead, Dancin&rsquo Beauties&rsquo stripper Samba Gray Evans marched in. Tonight she wore tight turquoise pants, incredibly high heels, and a see-through net top. Without a bra.

  &ldquoSamba, what&rsquore you doing here?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoHuh?&rdquo She faced me. &ldquoOh, yeah, hi.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy aren&rsquot you outside waiting?&rdquo Courtney growled to Samba. &ldquoI told you to stay put.&rdquo

  &ldquoThe kid&rsquos givin&rsquo me a real hard time. She never shuts up and&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoYou have my daughter?&rdquo I said, rising off the floor.

  &ldquoSit down and shut up!&rdquo Courtney snapped. She held the gun on me as she spoke to Samba. &ldquoDon&rsquot be an idiot. Slap her down if she gives you any crap.&rdquo

  &ldquoDon&rsquot you dare touch her,&rdquo I shouted.

  Samba scowled at Courtney. &ldquoWell, hurry it up in here. I&rsquom freezin&rsquo out there.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo use the car heater. What are you, a moron?&rdquo

  &ldquoHoney, you got one rude mouth,&rdquo Samba said, looking hurt. A moment later, we heard the front door slam.

  I could barely sit still. Then I caught Arlene&rsquos look. She had a plan. Using her eyes, she urged me to look up. I did, but couldn&rsquot catch on.

  By now, Courtney had dropped onto the sectional opposite my friends and me.

  And then it hit me. I&rsquod taken a spot on the floor right below the side table. The very place where Arlene had stored Courtney&rsquos twenty-two pistol months ago.

  &ldquoSo you&rsquore now with Samba?&rdquo I said to Courtney, to distract her. &ldquoBart said you left him for a woman. I never dreamt it was Samba.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhy not?&rdquo

  &ldquoWell, she&rsquos older.&rdquo A
nd her implants are so phony looking.

  &ldquoYou narrow-minded bitch. At least Samba isn&rsquot a two-timing asshole. And she does what she&rsquos told.&rdquo

  Which was when Samba barged in again. &ldquoLook, this kid&rsquos driving me nuts. Now she&rsquos makin&rsquo threats. Talkin&rsquo about the police and private detectives. Sayin&rsquo I&rsquom too old and ugly to be a dancer.&rdquo

  While Samba and Courtney&rsquos argument escalated, I stretched up my arm and slowly opened the slender drawer. My fingers instantly felt cold steel. But when I wrapped my fingers around the handle, the gun scraped against the wood.

  Courtney faced me. &ldquoWhat the hell are you doing?&rdquo

  I yanked out the tiny pistol. Courtney raised her gun. Then a hand sliced through the air. Courtney cried out. In a flash, her weapon fell to the carpet. Throwing down her crutch, Arlene pounced on Courtney and her gun. I raised the twenty-two and aimed. Then Arlene dragged Courtney up by the hair. She had Courtney&rsquos gun, too.

  Courtney and Samba looked like cornered hamsters.

  &ldquoBring me my daughter!&rdquo I barked at Samba. &ldquoNow!&rdquo

  &ldquoSo help me, I never touched her. She ain&rsquot hurt one bit. And it was her idea.&rdquo Samba pointed to Courtney.

  I aimed the gun at Samba. &ldquoI don&rsquot give a shit.&rdquo

  Two minutes later, Sofia appeared in Arlene&rsquos entry. She flew into my arms. Then we heard tires screeching. Meaning Samba wouldn&rsquot be a problem anymore.

  While Arlene held Courtney at gunpoint, Lisa, Tabitha, and I put Sofia in Arlene&rsquos bed with pizza, soda, and a movie. Then I marched out to Arlene&rsquos family room and did what I&rsquod been dying to for ages. I slapped Courtney across the face with relish. In fact, my hand burned afterward.

  On the floor, leaning on her elbows, Courtney rubbed her cheek and glared up at me. &ldquoI&rsquoll get you for this.&rdquo

  &ldquoBullshit. Your days of ruining everyone&rsquos life are over,&rdquo Arlene snarled.

  &ldquoNow tell us what you did to Sirhan&rsquos wife,&rdquo Lisa said.

  &ldquoFuck you.&rdquo

  &ldquoTell us,&rdquo I warned, &ldquoOr you&rsquoll be very sorry.&rdquo I held the gun to her head.

  &ldquoOkay, fine. But it was all an accident. I never meant to hurt her.&rdquo Courtney slowly sat up. &ldquoI was on my way to work. And there she was, right by my car. She kept cursing, making threats, raising her fists at me. So I pushed her away&mdashthat&rsquos all I did, I swear. She fell. And hit her head. I tried everything to revive her. But she was so stubborn. She wouldn&rsquot wake up.&rdquo

  &ldquoYes, dead people can be very stubborn,&rdquo Lisa added softly.

  &ldquoI didn&rsquot know where to turn. Sirhan&mdashthe lying bastard&mdashhad discovered his conscience that afternoon. Suddenly, he refused to help me anymore. And I owed money everywhere.&rdquo

  &ldquoTo Duke?&rdquo Lisa said.

  &ldquoTo Duke, the bank, everyone. I wanted to call the police about her. Tell them it was an accident. But I figured they&rsquod never believe me. Then I remembered the garage next door was empty. The tenants had moved out, and I knew how to get inside. I decided to hide her there. I never meant to leave her there permanently. Then McDade said we were lucky. Because we could use her body in place of mine to get the insurance money.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhere is McDade? Why isn&rsquot he here with you?&rdquo I asked.

  Courtney looked even more stricken. &ldquoHe&rsquos gone.&rdquo

  My friends and I exchanged looks.

  As if in a trance, Courtney began to talk. &ldquoFrom the start, Bill and I planned to split everything. He&rsquod pay off his gambling debts and I&rsquod disappear. But then he needed money and he started demanding his share of the insurance money. Like I already had it. But I&rsquod only gotten a lousy fifty grand from some small policy. So I told Andy and him to be patient. But they kept hounding me. So I decided to change my beneficiary. To Samba. Only Wild Bill found out. And I never had the chance to change a thing.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo you took care of Andy and Wild Bill,&rdquo I concluded.

  &ldquoWhat choice did I have?&rdquo

  &ldquoBut if you believed Sirhan wanted to marry you, why buy insurance and plan to fake your own death?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoEver date a married man?&rdquo Courtney replied in a beaten voice. &ldquoThey&rsquore all real sports&mdashat first. They promise you the world while they&rsquore having fun. But as soon as you mention marriage, they run like hell. Sirhan was no different. He kept saying it wasn&rsquot a good time to tell his wife. I figured he was just blowing smoke. But it didn&rsquot matter. Because I had plans. You see, dear Betsy, I&rsquove been planning to fake my death ever since you gave me the idea.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat&rsquore you talking about?&rdquo I said, catching curious looks from my friends.

  &ldquoLife insurance. You explained how great it was. A forced savings plan. Guaranteed interest rates. Best of all, death benefits.&rdquo

  &ldquoWait a second. You came to me for health insurance. You insisted we meet at my house because it was late and you couldn&rsquot find my office&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoAnd after you sold me health insurance, you started talking about life insurance. How I could create an estate. How I&rsquod thank you one day.&rdquo

  And today was the day.

  I felt sick. I often quoted rates for one policy only to lead into questions about another type of insurance. That&rsquos how you took care of clients, by helping them achieve their objectives. Unfortunately, my sales training never covered sociopaths with homicidal motives.

  &ldquoHow many policies did you buy?&rdquo Lisa asked.

  &ldquoTwo.&rdquo

  &ldquoMore like eight,&rdquo I cut in. &ldquoWorth over two million.&rdquo

  &ldquoHow did you pay for all those premiums?&rdquo Lisa asked.

  &ldquoGreen stamps and used soda cans,&rdquo Courtney said. &ldquoHow do you think I managed?&rdquo

  &ldquoYou blackmailed guys like Eddy Post. You milked your married lovers. And you stripped,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoYou expect me to be ashamed, don&rsquot you. Forget it. I could never stand some boring sales job with an uptight boss.&rdquo

  Lisa stood, rage in her eyes. &ldquoOh, sure, cause it&rsquos so much more impressive to spend nights stripping and&mdash&rdquo

  &ldquoHow did you plan to fake your death?&rdquo I said, sending Lisa a cool it look.

  &ldquoA boating accident. Something simple but hard to trace.&rdquo

  &ldquoExcept you never needed to fake anything once Mrs. Spector entered the picture.&rdquo

  &ldquoSeems like you already have all the answers,&rdquo Courtney said.

  I ignored her tone. &ldquoSo after you stuffed Mrs. Spector&rsquos body in the garage, you went to the strip club?&rdquo

  &ldquoIf you don&rsquot mind, exotic dancing club. First, I called McDade, so he expected me. But when I got there, I had nothing but trouble. First, this other dancer picked a fight. Then that cow, Mrs. Tranquillo, started hassling me. But even that turned out okay. Because she helped me stage my disappearance by publicly threatening me. Until she forced me to hide in the john to get away from her.

  &ldquoThen what?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoI left stuff behind in the john to make it look as if I&rsquod been interrupted and had to run for my life.&rdquo

  &ldquoGo on.&rdquo

  &ldquoI drove out to Lake Hodges. Wild Bill followed. We left my car on the road to confuse the police. Bill brought me home. Around three in the morning, we burned the body. Even that seemed like good luck. A woman&rsquos body burned to a crisp would be hard to identify.&rdquo

  &ldquoWhat about my earrings?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoYou left them in the bathroom the night of the party when you changed to go swimming. I decided they&rsquod look better on me.&rdquo

  &ldquoSo you left them with the body to incriminate me?&rdquo

  Courtney smirked. &ldquoI didn&rsquot much care who took the rap. You or that
little Mexican troll.&rdquo

  &ldquoExcept Mrs. Tranquillo had an alibi,&rdquo I said.

  &ldquoI need a drink with a little more kick,&rdquo Courtney said.

  I held the gun on her in case she had any surprises for us.

  Arlene pulled out vodka from her wet bar and poured a hefty portion into a glass. Courtney downed the drink so fast, my eyes watered. Afterward, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. A big no no in Greenwich society.

  &ldquoWhat about Miguel Tranquillo?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoAfter I disappeared, I tried to go back to my condo for my stuff. But every time I stopped by, some busybody was inside. You and Arlene. Mrs. Tranquillo, the cops&mdashyou name it. So one night, I waited till after four in the morning. The whole building complex was asleep. I&rsquod just unlocked my door, when Miguel jumped out of the bushes and almost scared me to death. He said he&rsquod been praying that the news stories were wrong. I convinced him to come inside so we could talk. But then he started having chest pains.&rdquo

  &ldquoBefore or after you roughed him up?&rdquo Tabitha chimed in.

  &ldquoHow was I supposed to know he had a bad ticker? One minute we were talking and the next ...&rdquo she shrugged.

  &ldquoWhy did you tie him up?&rdquo I asked.

  &ldquoTo make it look like a robbery.&rdquo

  &ldquoYou&rsquore lying,&rdquo I said. &ldquoYou killed him to make sure he couldn&rsquot talk. So he couldn&rsquot tell anyone that you weren&rsquot the one cooked in that garage.&rdquo

  Courtney&rsquos face became hard. &ldquoI&rsquom not saying another word.&rdquo

  My phone rang, startling me. &ldquoHoney, are you okay?&rdquo Ken asked.

  &ldquoI&rsquom fine. We have Courtney here at Arlene&rsquos.&rdquo

  &ldquoHold onto her. The police found McDade. Shot through the head in a room at the Pala Indian Casino. I&rsquom on my way. One more thing. She had another policy no one knew about that

  she already collected on. And guess who was her beneficiary?&rdquo

  &ldquoSamba?&rdquo

  &ldquoTommy.&rdquo

  I studied Courtney, as Ken filled me in on the details. I&rsquod almost forgotten about Tommy.