White Widow

by Kaitlyn Cross

  Pulling the hem down, I search for a hair tie to corral my wild locks. Movement behind the front door draws my eyes to the frosted glass. Whoever is standing outside, is too short to be Lincoln and I can’t tell if I’m happy or sad. Mary surges to the forefront of my mind on a painful bolt of recollection, leaving a bright lens flare in her wake. She saw us kissing in front of the record store last night and now she’s here to give me a piece of her mind, which I’m definitely not up for accepting with this throbbing headache turning everything blurry around the edges. Inhaling a steadying breath that tastes like tequila, I grip the doorknob before that sonofabitching bell can bash my brains in again. Opening the arched door, I shoot a hand up to block out the sunlight.

  “Good morning.” A petite woman with long, dark hair stares at me with a smile affixed to her pretty face. “Sienna?”

  “Yes,” I cautiously reply, squinting at a shiny Lexus parked in the driveway next to my Range Rover. Mary’s Prius is still parked in the street and the thought of her coming over to collect it makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t. I can’t face her ever again.

  The woman on the front porch extends a splayed hand, her skin dark and smooth. “Wendy Waggoner with Jackson Realty. We had a ten o’clock this morning.”

  The pieces sluggishly click into place inside my thick head and I’m slow to take her hand.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Umm, no, no.” Looking away from the daylight, I pull the heavy door back. “Come in.”

  Tentatively, Wendy steps a candy apple red stiletto across the threshold and I can’t tell if she’s checking the place for realtor dollars or the scene of a terrible tryst. Her perfume makes my eyes water and she’s dressed to the nines in tight, black slacks with a white blazer thrown over a shiny top that matches her cute shoes. “Wow,” she says, looking about. “Who are your decorators? Chip and Joanna Gaines?”

  I can feel my cheeks get warm because that’s all me. I did this. “Thank you,” I say, closing the door and blocking out the ruthless sunshine.

  Wendy stops at an accent wall and bends to run a finger down it. “Is this shiplap?”

  “It is.” I try to think of something witty to say but I’m hungover as fuck and it feels like somebody poured quicksand in through my ears while I was sleeping. “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, making a beeline for the fridge. My mouth is dry as hell and tastes like I brushed my teeth with a raccoon tail.

  “No thanks, I’m all set,” Wendy replies from the living room, craning her head in all directions.

  Pulling the double door fridge open on the right side, I snag a water bottle and chug half of it in less than four gulps. Cold air washes over my skin and the water revives my parched tongue. Stopping to catch my breath, I twist the cap back on and shut the fridge door, jumping when I find Wendy standing directly behind it.

  She arches a manicured eyebrow at me. “Thirsty?”

  “A little,” I reply, wiping water from my chin.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she hums through her nose, eyeballing me up and down. “Nice shirt.”

  I look down to recall what I’m wearing and cringe sharply. I’m so fucking stupid, it’s not even funny.

  “No lives matter.” Wendy snorts. “I don’t care what anyone says, that is funny.”

  “A friend gave it to me,” I lie, taking another drink of cold water. I don’t know why I lie about it. I also think the shirt is funny but, as it turns out, don’t have the guts to where it out in public. “It’s more of a house shirt.”

  “Looks like somebody had the girls’ night out I was supposed to have last night.” She flashes me an understanding smile and strolls off. “Babysitter cancelled on my friend Char at the last minute and I got stuck inhaling an entire pizza and five episodes of MINDHUNTER.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she agrees, stopping to gaze out the French doors. “Always the babysitter, isn’t it?”

  Laughter catches me by surprise and the insides of my legs stick together when I walk. “I’m sorry, Wendy, but do you mind if I take a quick shower? Feel free to look around and see what you think of the place.”

  Turning from the patio, she cocks her head to one side. “Was there a death in here?” she asks, examining the kitchen. “I’m getting a…weird vibe.”

  Adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream, feeding my pulse. “Vibe?”

  “Technically, I have to report that to a potential buyer, if they ask. Weird thing is, half of em actually like that kind of stuff.” She blows out a revolted breath. “Freaks.”

  “Umm,” I pause to take a quick look around, as if there might be some blood splatter or a hangman’s noose lying around. “My husband passed away in the backyard two weeks ago,” I confess, though I’m not quite sure why. I guess if Wendy did a little digging she could find out on her own.

  Staring at me, she lets my words sink in. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I saw you were married on the deed, but I didn’t…”

  “It’s okay,” I say, bailing her out. “Thank you, but this place has always felt…too big to me. Now? It feels like a mansion.”

  “I understand completely and I can tell you this much, this house will go faster than omelets at a continental breakfast. It’s beautiful and the market is so hot right now.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Backpedaling, I thumb behind me. “I’m just going to…”

  “Oh sure, no problem.” Wendy pulls a tablet from her purse and taps long, red nails against the screen. “I’m just going to run some comps, check the house’s history, and swipe some hot guys on Tinder. Take your time, sweetie. I don’t have another appointment until two.”

  After a breakneck shower, I slip into a floral summer dress that shows off my brown eyes and hair. I can’t wait to sell this place and Wendy seems like she will make it happen. Buttoning my dress up the front, my mood shifts when I find her standing out in the backyard. I mean, what if she’s a part-time psychic? She already smelled something fishy in the kitchen! Inhaling a deep breath, I push the French door open and step out onto the patio. The wind blows through my wet hair and lifts my dress. It’s sunny but crisp so I hug my chest.

  “That was quick,” Wendy says, swiping at her tablet. “And I looove the pool and jacuzzi! What a gorgeous backyard. Fenced, private, and great grass.” She looks up to see if I’m still listening. Sunlight winks off her sunglasses, the wind pulling her long, straight hair out behind her like a professional photoshoot.

  “It’s perfect for a family,” I say, offering up the obvious and trying not to stare at the spot where the medics found Jack’s body lying next to the ladder.

  “Do you mind if I ask what you do, Sienna?”

  Tucking a cold, wet strand of hair behind an ear, I shed a sheepish smile. “I teach yoga, part-time.”

  Wendy’s manicured eyebrows pops up over her shades. “Good gig if you can get it.” Pressing a finger to her lips, she eyes me over to the soundtrack of bird calls floating from the trees. “If you’ve ever considered real-estate, my boss would probably show you to a desk without an interview. Mack only hires hotties and, yes, he’s kind of a d-bag, but he’s harmless. In fact, I’m going home to take a nap after this and you think he cares? Pfffft,” she sprays, pushing a hand through the air. “Girl like you could make a killing at real estate.”

  Heat builds in my cheeks and I manage a weak smile. “Thank you.”

  Wendy blows out a breath. “So…where do you want to start with the list price?”

  My gaze follows hers to the peanut-shaped pool, built-in grill, and stone fire pit. I know we paid six hundred and eighty thousand for the place three years ago and I can only assume the property value has gone up considerably since then and I wonder what Lincoln is doing right now. At this very minute. I breathe into my fist to warm my hand, imagining him still in bed, sleeping last night off like I should be doing.

  “Sienna?”

  My distant eyes jerk to Wendy. “Seven hundred and fifty thousand?
”

  “Let’s start at eight twenty-five,” she counters, tapping at the screen. “This place is already staged and it is on fire! I sold a house around the corner last week for six, and they didn’t have a pool or a three-car garage.” With one last tap, she looks up and stares out over the pool. “But it did have a pervert named Marty,” she admits. “Guy came out to meet me wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping wet.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah, and Marty did not look like the guy from my fantasies. Looked more like Harvey Weinstein and as soon as he sat down across from me, I got a good look at what was hiding under the hood, and it wasn’t pretty.” She tips her head down and peers at me over her sunglasses. “When he saw that I saw, the hood began to magically grow.”

  “Gross! Was he married?”

  Wendy nods rapidly. “His wife was at work and he worked from home.”

  “Man, are all men pigs?”

  “Yep.” Wendy slips the tablet into her purse and hikes the straps up her shoulder. “You’d be surprised by how many potential pornos I walk into on a monthly basis. For some reason, men equate female realtors to Chinese masseuses. Like we’ll show them a new home and then give them a happy ending.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Not to scare you off, but I’ve only agreed to that once.”

  I laugh and she continues.

  “Guy’s name was Augustus.” Grimly, she shakes her head. “Girl, I didn’t stand a chance against that man.”

  I laugh harder and thumb to the patio doors, desperate to go back inside. I’m freezing and keeping looking at the spot where the medics found Jack lying dead in the grass. “Coffee?”

  “If you’re having some, sure.” Wendy starts to follow me back inside and stops. “You a closet smoker too?”

  Knitting my brow together, my eyes follow hers to something outside the bathroom window. I step closer and my heart leaps into my throat. Peering around a burning bush, I stare in horror at a pile of cigarette butts lying outside the bathroom window. “Yeah,” I lie in a shaky voice, breathing faster. “Bad habit.”

  “Tell me about it. I only smoke when I drink, so it’s not that bad,” Wendy explains, placing a hand over her heart. “Hey, we should meet up for drinks next time, like on House Hunters. I know a fantastic place called Talvert’s Bar & Grill. They make the best free drinks in town!”

  “I, uhh, yeah, that’d be great,” I answer, turning from the burnt butts to scan the trees lining the backyard. The cigarettes look like Camels and I don’t smoke. Neither did Jack and I can feel his little butt-buddy out there right now. Watching. Filming. Waiting. But waiting for what? Jack’s black handgun flashes in my mind like a lighthouse on a stormy night. Going back inside, I calculate how long someone would have to stand outside the bathroom window to smoke all those cigarettes to the bone like that and I do not like the answer my overworked brain spits out. “So, did that really happen?” I ask, changing the subject and spooning grounds into a coffee filter.

  Setting her purse on the island, Wendy pulls back a chair. “Did what happen?”

  “The porno thing with Augustus.”

  “Actually, it happened twice,” she says, sitting down. “At the same condo.”

  “Wow,” I say, shutting the lid and filling the carafe with water. “Was he married too?”

  “Oh no, I don’t play with married men. That’s bad karma right there. He was single and fine! A doctor,” she adds, clicking her nails against the marble. “Helped him find a place on the south side.”

  “So…did it continue after that?”

  “Naw,” she says, crossing her legs and checking her phone. “Man was a total germaphobe, always using silk handkerchiefs to open public doors and take change from the drive-thru. Creeped me out.”

  “What?” I laugh and hit the power button on the coffee maker before leaning back against the farm sink where Lincoln made me feel whole again. Wendy goes on and on about this doctor guy and all I hear is Lincoln’s heavy breathing in my ear. I want to text him so bad it hurts. I know it’s selfish and wrong, but then again, I do have new evidence of a psycho stalker and if not Lincoln, who else can I call? The police? Mary? Kurt from my yoga class? Or was it Kirk? Shit, I can’t even remember his name. I rest my hands against the counter to stop them from shaking because someone is spying on me and I’m scared to death.

  I know.

  The color bleeds from my cheeks and I begin to panic. What does he know? Shit…

  “Am I still talking?” Wendy straightens her snow-white blazer. “Sorry, I get diarrhea of the mouth sometimes. So, how can I help you find a new place, Sienna? What’re you interested in? A condo? Townhome? Haunted cabin in the woods?”

  Clearing my throat, I grab two mugs from a cupboard. “Thank you, but I’m moving out of state.”

  “Oh yeah? Where to?”

  “Not exactly sure yet.”

  Wendy slowly nods. “Too many memories here. I get it.”

  “Something like that.”

  The doorbell rings, pulling my gaze down the long hall into the foyer. My heart dips because I know Lincoln has come back to try and change my mind. To beg me to be with him even though he’s my brother-in-law (ex-brother-in-law technically) and it’s a terrible thing. But that doesn’t stop me from rushing across the room and whipping the heavy front door back. My breath catches in my lungs because nobody is there and I’m petrified to look down and see what perverse calling card the psycho stalker left behind this time. Perhaps a symbolic bag of leaves? Maybe one of Jack’s neckties he left at the little prick’s shit-hole apartment? A bloody horse’s head? The options are seemingly endless but then I see Mary’s Prius jump away from the curb and tear down the street. My eyes slide to the driveway where Jack’s shiny Corvette is now parked behind my Range Rover. Shit. I look down to see the silver keychain sitting on the welcome mat and my heart falls to pieces.

  “Did someone just drop a 1957 Corvette off in your driveway?”

  Brow folding, I slowly turn to Wendy. “Wow, you really know your cars.”

  “My Daddy is a big gear head. After school, I used to help him change the oil or rotate the tires or whatever on a 1970 Plymouth Duster. It was midnight blue with black racing stripes and sometimes I think that man loved that car more than my mama. But to be fair, it was a sweet ride. Not a scratch on it. This one time, we were supposed to go to my aunt’s wedding in Menomonee Falls and…” Wendy puts a finger to her lips. “Am I still talking?”

  Scooping up the car keys, my eyes sweep the area before I shut the door and lock it. I lean against the frosted glass and unlock a pent-up breath. Now I have another reason to call Lincoln. Someone has to take this damn car. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But the harsh reality is, that pile of cigarette butts in the backyard sends a cold shiver down my spine. Whoever is messing with me, obviously isn’t finished yet.

  “You okay, Sienna?”

  I dial the consternated look gripping Wendy’s pretty face into focus. The smell of Columbian java breathes some life back into my hackneyed system, clearing my head. “I’m fine. Let’s go check on that coffee.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Some Weird Blair Witch Thing

  Curling a leg beneath me, I stare at the nine-millimeter resting next to me on the couch. It’s black and heavy and I’ve only shot it one time when Jack took me to a range on the outskirts of town. This was right after three pretty blonds went missing here in Cottage Grove. Some monster slit their throats before hanging them, sending the town into lockdown. Fortunately, they caught the sick bastard, but now there’s a new monster in town. A soft knock stirs me from my thoughts and I thank the good Lord above he did not ring that Godforsaken doorbell. Shoving the gun under a navy-blue pillow with silver trim, sweet relief floods my system. It feels like I’m floating across the hardwood flooring because, just like always, he’s here now and everything is okay.

  I open the door and my eyes automatically slide down the black t-shirt hugging his frame, l
anding on the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

  “You mind?” Lincoln says, lifting his brow.

  Pulling the door back, I step aside and try not to breathe in his sweet scent as he passes by. I know it’s his secret weapon, one that’s futile to resist. My insides tighten as I shut the door and double lock it. Lincoln stops to look around, filling the foyer like a proud Italian statue guarding The Colosseum on a damp, foggy night. My eyes drop to the nice ass filling out his jeans and my pulse responds.

  “Why does it smell like an Abercrombie store in here?”

  “Oh,” I say, padding a new pair of purple Nikes into the living room. “My realtor just left and she really packs on the perfume. Super funny girl though. If I wasn’t sacred out of my mind, I might’ve laughed a little.”

  Lincoln lets the bag slide from his shoulder to an armchair that matches the couch and loveseat. “Everything is going to be fine. Now, show me the cigarettes.”

  “What’s in the bag? Guns?”

  “Clothes.”

  My heart swells. “You’re going to stay?”

  “Yeah, but I only brought two changes of clothing so try not to rip them off my body this time.”

  “Me?” I roll my eyes and head for the French doors, grumbling under my breath. Out back, he kneels down to examine the pile of burnt butts hiding in the house’s shade. “Camels,” he announces, holding one up to the light.

  “I knew it!” I purse my lips in disgust. “It’s like some weird Blair Witch thing.”

  Dropping it back to the pile, he straightens up and brushes his hands together. “Looks like he’s been here more than once.”