Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)

by Rod Hoisington

  Sandy watched in horror as the woman reached into her handbag and drew out a silver revolver.

  “Good God, honey, where’d you get that gun?” he yelled.

  In Sandy’s opinion, the woman was one of those wives whose obvious good looks, slender build and shoulder-length blond hair, not to mention her marvelous long legs, made you wonder why hubby ever left home. She tried to speak calmly, “Look, just take it easy. You don’t need that gun, Mrs. Powell. Now put it away and let’s talk. If you fire that gun you’ll go to jail.”

  “If I do, at least I’ll have gotten back at him for all those years of screwing around. The world will be rid of him and one less whore.” She seemed about ready to cry and nervously shifted the gun from hand to hand. “I’ll say I came here to discuss divorce...brought a gun because he’s so violent. I’ll say I shot while you were clenched together kissing.”

  “Now just settle down. You need to think about what you’re doing,” Sandy said. “You’ll just end up with two dead bodies on the floor and nothing to prove we even knew each other.”

  “What if you’re both undressed? Would that be proof? What if the two dead bodies on the floor are naked? Would a jury understand that? Better yet, what if I caught you two actually banging away? That’s it, I saw you two locked together on the desk going at it like animals. So engrossed you didn’t hear me come in. That’s when I lost it, a heat of passion thing, entirely justifiable.”

  The situation was escalating. Sandy feared it could spin out of control at any second. “You have to be kidding. I wouldn’t buy a used car from this guy, let alone screw him. Nothing like that’s going to happen here. I’m not here for that and sex with your husband is not going to happen.” She could feel her heart thumping.

  “The woman with the gun makes the rules, you slut. If I say it’ll happen, then it’ll happen. Yes, that’s what I want. I just decided. My cheating husband and his long-time lover in the middle of the act as I walk in.” She gave Brad a crooked smile. “You like screwing little Miss Tramp here? Show me just how much.”

  Sandy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What! That’s absurd. I don’t even live down here. I’m not his lover.”

  “Well, you were doing a good imitation. As I came in, he was standing close in front of you, and you were waving your tongue at him.”

  “Not so. Look, this is the first I’ve ever been alone with him.” She swallowed hard.

  Brad pleaded, “We’re telling you the God’s truth, sweetheart. We don’t even know each other. Anyway, I can’t do anything with you holding a gun on me.”

  “Bullshit, you could do it standing on one leg in a hammock. Go on now.” She motioned with the gun. “I want you two clamped together at the moment I pull the trigger. That’s the way the police will find you.”

  Sandy cried out, “Wait, Mrs. Powell, you don’t have to kill him. Take him to court. Sue him for everything he has. You’ll get it all and still be free.”

  “My wife won’t shoot, Sandy. I know her. She’s bluffing. She doesn’t have the nerve to pull that trigger.”

  “Shut up, you moron! She has a gun in her hand. Both of you are crazy, but I’m not—no way I’m screwing your husband.” Sandy took a step toward the back door. “You two settle this. I’m out of here.”

  “Stop right there.” The woman raised the gun and aimed it at her. “I’m through talking. Get started. Off with the clothes and up on the desk.” She waved the gun at him, “My sweet loving Brad, drop those fancy shorts right now or I’ll shoot them off you. You, the whore, you get to hike up your skirt for the last time—get on the desk!”

  Sandy head was pounding. She stared in disbelief and didn’t know how to defuse the situation. The woman must be out of her mind.

  Brad had said his wife wouldn’t shoot, yet it seemed he wasn’t hesitating to cooperate. His shirt was off and he’d unbuckled and unzipped. His walking shorts were already down at his ankles and he was furiously trying to get his underwear down. He was having difficulty slipping them off his hips.

  Sandy looked down at him and raised her eyebrows. The problem with his underwear was all too obvious—there he was, erect and immense. “Geez Brad, has all the blood left your brain? Will you think about being shot for just a minute?”

  “What’s your problem, sister? He’s ready. Look at him he’s a bull.” The woman waved the gun up and down at her. “Now, get with it.”

  The woman seemed serious. Sandy moved her hands to the waistband of her skirt.

  Brad was now between her and the woman. He was now entirely stripped, dancing on one foot trying to get his other leg out. When he raised his foot to get his underpants off his ankle, Sandy threw her full body weight into him violently. He stumbled, off balance, into the woman. The gun went off with an earsplitting bang.

  Sandy lunged for the woman. The woman had already dropped the gun and had sunk to her knees screaming. Brad was on the floor moaning, holding his chest.

  Sandy kicked the gun away, rushed to the desk and called 911.

  She looked back at the woman who was now crying hysterically into her hands. “You idiot,” she screamed at her. “What on earth were you thinking?”

  Sandy knelt beside Brad now lying still on the floor. With both hands and considerable effort, she rolled his naked body onto his back. He wasn’t moving. Blood was oozing from the wound on his chest. She grabbed his walking shorts from the floor and pressed them hard against his chest with both hands to slow the bleeding. She was afraid to take one hand away to check for a pulse. “You’re going to be okay, Brad. Stay with me.” She couldn’t tell if he was breathing and wondered if she should be doing something else, CPR or something. It seemed that pressing on his chest to slow down the bleeding made the most sense.

  “You’d better hope your husband doesn’t die,” she yelled.

  The woman peeked at the body through her shaking fingers, “That’s not my husband.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Among the many features I loved about my new Magnolia Palms condominium, besides being in West Palm Beach and near the water, was the building security. All access to the apartments was through the security desk in the lobby. And if somehow someone snuck past the guard the elevators were unusable except by tenants with the proper access code. I’d left word at the security desk that Gail Holman in 208 was expecting a Mr. Martin Bronner at seven. The guards would check his ID, sign him in and send him up.

  My nerves had settled down and I was prepared for his visit—until security phoned and said he was actually on the way up. He wasn’t going to like me at all. No, I should think positive; I might be the girl of his dreams. Could happen. Yeah, right. Then I panicked. The new strapless outfit I’d been fussing with since I got home from work was stupid. He’s not going to take me in his arms when I open the door anyway.

  I bought it at Nordstrom’s on lunch hour for a month’s pay—well, it seemed like it. Nordie’s for chrissake. I ran to the bedroom and found a simple straight skirt and a white blouse. I was changing into that when the door buzzed. I checked myself in the mirror. Shit. For one thing the skirt was all wrong, should be shorter something that hit just above my knees. I freaked and fumbled and somehow got the strapless outfit back on and was heading for the door fussing with the bra, when he buzzed again.

  I opened the door and tried to look desirable while reaching behind with one hand to check if I’d zipped. He smiled and glanced down. I’d forgotten my shoes.

  “Impressive building, you have here. How are you, Gail?”

  Or something like that, I don’t really remember. I greeted him and led him on into my sensational powder-blue and cream living room. I wasn’t the one who designed it, but he didn’t know that.

  He was wearing a dark blue blazer with gray pants. Impeccable. He had one of those bodies that look good in clothes. The look came off as too uptight but I loved it. Beautiful eyes. His dark brown hair was perfectly in place, probably stayed that way even in hurricanes.

>   I needed to say something about not wearing shoes. Perhaps going shoeless would make me appear unconventional and comfortable with myself. But I didn’t want to take the chance of offending him. I felt sexy standing there in my bare feet. Still, I had to remember this guy wasn’t needy, wasn’t primarily after sex. Or if he was, he was being super cool about it. Come to think of it, I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was after.

  “Give me a second, Martin. I was just changing my shoes. Take a seat anywhere. Be right back.” I wasn’t all that unhappy when I reappeared. I was two inches taller.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Not even a month yet. I’m thrilled with it. Isn’t it great? Everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Hard to believe, one month and already you’ve done all this sophisticated decorating?”

  “I cannot tell a lie. I’m buying it furnished. At first that sounded low-class to me, however my brother said it was very smart. That I was getting good furniture for pennies on the dollar and could take my time replacing what I wanted.”

  “Your brother’s right. Not low-class at all. There’s high-class and there’s upper class. Don’t confuse them. Not everyone in the upper class is classy.”

  I loved how he spoke. Like he was conducting a class. Like he could take care of any woman. I said, “Is greeting a guest barefooted classy.”

  “I’d say you’ve pulled it off nicely.”

  “Let me take your jacket...come over here, Martin.” I led the way across the hardwood floors in the living room-dining room area, out to the shallow balcony. “The less-expensive units on these lower floors don’t look out toward the ocean, but a nice view anyway. Stand here and look over there between those two high-rise apartments. You can see some of the Intracoastal Waterway.”

  “Nice. And you have two bedrooms?”

  “My brother, Ryan, is temporarily staying with me while his house is being fixed up.” I didn’t intend to go into the murder of Myra. Such things don’t happen in sensible families. “He’s away for a couple days, however. He won’t be here tonight.” Just in case you’re wondering, lover-boy. “You might be curious about how I can afford this on a mall employee’s salary.”

  “People can gain wealth in an amazing number of ways. None of which are any of my business.”

  “In my case, I was born poor. Like gluing the soles back on my shoes poor. We lived on nothing—sometimes less.” I tried to sound unconcerned, as though it were all far behind me. “My father stayed poor by living like he was rich.”

  “Big mistake. And many rich people stay rich by living as though they are poor.”

  I wondered if I should tell him that until a month ago I was on the path to staying poor. “Martin, let’s have a drink. I mix a damn good martini.” I hadn’t in a while but was good at it back when I was living the high life.

  He nodded his approval and followed me across the living room to the room divider near the kitchen, where I’d positioned the new bottles of gin and vermouth. I remembered the brands my ex always had—he always bought the best. And I remembered Martin had ordered Tangueray at the bistro. “Do you like it dry? Shaken or stirred?”

  “Just go ahead. I’d like to try it your way. And in return, can I fix you something?”

  “I cannot tell a lie. I had something before you came.” And I was going to need a couple more to make it through the evening.

  “I believe you should have another.”

  “Yes, I’ll have another. That red wine on the kitchen counter, thank you.”

  I was trying to sound clever, always dangerous, if it’s not really you. I wanted so much for him to like me and didn’t even know how to talk to him. I didn’t know how to handle the guy. Let’s face it I was intimidated. Ordinary guys are so much easier. They show up all smiles. They want to take you out and have fun. They want you to laugh and have a good time too. They want to end up in bed and so do you. No problems.

  Maybe I should let my feelings out, he probably can see right through me anyway. I turned to him and said, “Imagining the two of us up here in my apartment has upset my day...I mean I was nervous about it.” Why did I say such a stupid thing?

  “Relax, you’re taking me and this situation much too seriously,” he said. “We’re going to have a couple of drinks, do some talking, and then go out and enjoy an evening together.”

  He handed me the wine, picked up the martini and held it high. “A toast to friendship.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” We sipped our drinks. “I feel better already. Thanks for taking the pressure off.”

  “I’m so sorry you felt I was pressuring you.”

  “You didn’t do it consciously. But you’ve an aura about you. Let’s sit over there.” We moved to the couch and put our drinks on the coffee table. I had a chance to size him up again. Terrible of me to be judging him by the quality of his clothing. Probably never touched polyester in his entire life.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” I said. “Did you try smoking behind the garage, ever steal an apple from an open market, or get caught lying?”

  “Everything you just mentioned seems uncomfortably familiar. Telling lies to your parents about where you went and what you did doesn’t count, does it?” He chuckled so I’d know he was joking.

  I answered, “Of course not. But I doubt if you did much of that. I picture you sitting quietly by the fireplace reading...what did you read as a little boy, Charles Dickens?”

  “Comic books.”

  I wasn’t going to get a serious answer regarding his background. That was okay at this stage. Looking at him, I guessed he’d never ever been needy. Never eaten expired food. Never had to steal as an adult to get something he absolutely needed. Always had plenty of everything and wanted for nothing. “I’ll bet you’ve never stolen anything in your entire life. Silly of me to say that. I’m just fascinated with you.”

  “I don’t know how we got on the subject of lying and stealing, but you’re wrong. I stole a rubber duck from a cousin, twenty-dollars out of my mother’s purse, a library book and a kiss from a fifth-grade classmate.” He sipped his martini. “No one has ever asked me that question before and I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to confess. I feel much better now. In my defense, I must explain, there were grievous extenuating circumstances in each case. Especially the rubber duck. I really wanted that rubber duck.”

  The guy was fantastic; I thought I was falling for him. “Forget everything else. Tell me about the kiss.”

  “I thought it was beautiful and never forgot it. She thought it was disgusting and never spoke to me again.”

  Was this guy for real? At that moment, I desperately wished I’d something more than sex to offer him.

  “How did you meet your former husband?”

  Wow! That question certainly sucked all the magic out of the air. I blinked and stared at him curiously. “I never said I was married.” Where did that come from, I wondered.

  He had a sudden pained look on his face and said nothing for a long moment. “I thought you said...something...yesterday.”

  I didn’t remember saying anything, but if he wanted to talk about me it was okay. “Anyway, don’t look so sour. The subject isn’t off limits. As a matter of fact, the story starts with me stealing. You sure you want to hear it?”

  He raised his glass and nodded to encourage me to keep talking.

  “I worked in a pizza parlor, years ago and stole every day. Never money. Little precious, forbidden pieces of mushroom or tomato I cleaned up and pretended to throw away. The boss let us have one free slice for lunch. Otherwise, eating on the job would get you fired. Every day I’d steal pieces of raw pizza dough, hide them in my pocket and eat it as soon as I got out the door. I pretty much lived on pizza and pizza dough. A wonder I can even look at pizza now, yet it’s just the opposite. I buy it now and stuff it down because no one can stop me.”

  The subject made me hungry. I excused myself, went to the fridge and bro
ught back the platter of fancy cheeses and little cracker bites I’d picked up on the way home.

  “Anyway, this customer noticed me ravishing my daily free slice of pizza, which took all of five seconds and was waiting for me when I left work. He bought me a beer. God that tasted good. I remember the bar had free nuts. He was a little older, nice enough. You’ve heard of a movie star discovered in a drug store. Well, I was discovered in a pizza parlor with sauce on my face and unbaked dough in my pocket.”

  I offered Martin a napkin and nudged the platter closer to him. He tried the fancy cheese and crackers and nodded approval.

  He was waiting for me to continue, but I was still thinking about Bucky, who told me later, the pizza sauce smeared on my mouth had turned him on. It sounded kinky and I thought he was kidding. I honestly believe he might have been a virgin and chose me because I wasn’t so gorgeous as to intimidate him. The pre-marital sex was very primitive; I’d done more in the back of a movie theater when a teenager. I guess he was so impressed he wanted to marry me. I didn’t want to look forward to that level of sex life, but—.

  I turned back to Martin. “He was rich. So I said yes and we were married. Am I shocking you, Martin?”

  “We live and learn.”

  “Can you imagine a woman frantic enough to settle for money?”

  “My grandmother would say you married well and leave it at that. With a wave of her hand, she’d have forbidden all future discussions of the matter.”

  “Yes, married well and ended up poor.” I needn’t have worried about Bucky being kinky. All the sex stopped immediately. “I killed him later, didn’t you hear?”

  “I must have missed the newspaper that day.”

  “That’s what his family claimed. I should have killed him to stop the abuse—nothing physical, just emotional.” I was exaggerating for Martin’s benefit. Mostly, I was just bored out of my gourd. “He came from a wealthy family—.”