15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  “What are they?” asks Melisa.

  “Left one is a ‘To Lease’ form, and the right is a ‘To Sell’ form,’ says the real-estate agent, gesturing with the two forms.

  “To sell?” says Andy, looking at his wife.

  She nods her head. “I think it’s for the best. I love your mom’s house, but the place gives me the creeps,” she says. The real-estate agent raises his eyebrow at her comment.

  “Why? What’s wrong with the place?” he asks, giving Melisa his undivided attention for what seems like the first time that day.

  “It’s just we get a lot of bugs in this place,” she says.

  “No rats?” asks the real-estate agent.

  “Nope, just bugs.”

  “What sort of bugs?”

  “Spiders, mostly,” says Andy, butting into the conversation. “Nothing too serious,” he says.

  “What sort of spiders?” asks the real-estate agent.

  “I don’t know, little black ones, I guess,” says Melisa.

  “Hmmm,” says the real-estate agent. He thumbs through some more documents. “Will we need to get a fumigator down here?” he asks.

  Melisa shrugs. “Beats me,” she says.

  The real-estate agent looks at Andy. “You found a nest?” he asks.

  “Nope. Just a few spiders. Nothing spectacular. Hazards of the country, I guess,” says Andy, biting his nails.

  “Good. Well, I’ll get these papers sorted out and get back to you guys as soon as possible. Keep an eye out for any other spiders. Get rid of the ones you find, and if you find more after that, then I suggest you get someone on it. I don’t really want to show people a house that could have a spider infestation,’ says the real-estate agent, wiping his brow. “My, my, it’s hot in here,” he says as he gets up.

  He extends his hand out and shakes both of their hands. He makes his way to the door and out to his car. Andy and Melisa watch from the porch as he gets into his car. The car reverses down the road and leaves a slight dusty residue in the air. The crickets buzz in the afternoon sun. Melisa kisses Andy on the cheek and makes her way inside. Andy looks out at the view from the porch. A few dozen trees pepper the perimeter of the house. He looks up at the sun and shields his eyes. The sound of the countryside plays in the background as he spots a small cobweb in the corner of the porch, just above the front door to the house.

  “Fucking spiders,” he says as he turns around and walks into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Three

  “Looks like you guys have a spider problem,” says the fat fumigator while wiping his heavily saturated brow. The fumigator’s face is red with color, his eyebrows moist with sweat, his black hair combed back, slick and wet. The man is wearing some blue overalls that look as if they could do with a wash.

  Andy and Melisa look at each other and then back at the heavyset fumigator.

  “A spider problem?” asks Andy.

  The fat fumigator nods his head. “Yeah, a really bad one by the looks of it,” he says, still nodding with every syllable that leaves his mouth. Andy just looks on, unsure of how to react.

  “Are you sure?” he says, still analyzing the man standing in front of him.

  The fumigator wipes his brow with a dirty yellow cloth that was once white. “As sure as I can be,” he says.

  Andy looks at Melisa, who seems to be repulsed by the blunt fumigator.

  “What do we do, then?” she asks, finally saying something.

  “You get rid of them — unless you’re okay with sharing the house with black widows,” he says.

  Melisa’s face drops. “Black widows?” she repeats.

  “Aren’t they dangerous?” asks Andy.

  “About as dangerous as any other spiders. They are venomous, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Can they kill?” asks Melisa.

  “Sure, if there are a load of them,” the fumigator says.

  “How many do you think there are?” asks Andy, who is now pacing the width of the corridor in which this meeting of the minds is taking place.

  “Judging by some of the telltale signs these critters leave behind, I’d say you have a nest on your hands, maybe even two,” says the fumigator while lighting a cigarette.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” says Melisa.

  The man shrugs. “If you get the place fumigated, you’ll have a ton of smoke in here. One cigarette ain’t going to make the slightest bit of difference, ma’am.”

  “He’s right. Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. Do you think we should fumigate the house?” asks Andy.

  “Yeah, and if I was you, I’d be starting as soon as possible. A few bites from these bastards, and you could be done for. Better be safe than sorry.”

  Four

  Andy and Melisa pull into the plush-looking driveway. It’s draped with fairy lights on the trees and water features that seem to stretch on for miles. It’s a pleasant-looking area, quaint, but homely at the same time. The sort of place you would think was a hotel of some sorts. Andy brakes firmly, and the car rolls to a stop. The blinking light on the dash flickers a few times before he takes the key out of the ignition. The engine ticks away as it powers down. He looks across at his wife, who looks a little nervous.

  “It will be okay. I’m sure the house will be fine,” he says.

  Melisa just nods. “Yeah,” she says, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. She looks up at the rear-view mirror and catches a glimpse of her tired eyes.

  “It’s been a long day. A good night’s sleep will sort you out, dear,” says Andy, noticing Melisa’s disappointment at her appearance.

  That was the thing she loved about her husband. He was considerate beyond most people and loved to shower her with compliments.

  “Thanks, Andy,” she says, appreciating his splendid way with words, which makes her fuzzy inside.

  “No problem.” He gestures with his hands as if he wants to sweep her away into the sunset.

  “My parents were puzzled as to why we wanted to stay at their ‘abode,’” says Melisa, taking hold of her husband’s hand and squeezing gently.

  ‘Well, you know that we normal folk don’t usually stay in ‘abodes,’” says Andy playfully as he spots the door to the rather large house opening up and a well-dressed older woman signaling them in with a smile as wide as the Joker’s. “At least she looks pleased to see us,” he says, smiling and waving through the car windshield.

  “It’s not her I’m worried about,” smiles Melisa.

  Both of them get out of the car, lugging a few possessions in each hand. The sound of the mini suitcase wheels hitting the gravel crunches along the pavement. Andy sports a pleasant smile and is first to reach the door, Melisa tags behind a few paces.

  “Andy, my dear, how are you?” the smiling lady asks as she immediately offers help with his luggage.

  Andy kindly refuses, holding tightly to his suitcase. “I’m fine, Patsy,” he says, beaming with splendor as he usually does. Melisa, on the other hand, looks flustered and tries not to make too much eye contact with her mother.

  “Melisa, are you okay? You look positively lampooned!” says Patsy. Melisa just shrugs and gently pushes past her mother.

  Andy looks on as Patsy gives him a questioning look. “What’s wrong with my girl? Have you two been fighting? She isn’t pregnant, is she?” asks Patsy, in the bullet-point way only a mother can pull off.

  “It’s a long story, Patsy. Pour me a scotch, and I’ll divulge,” he says.

  Patsy screws her face into a forced yet warming smile. Both of them enter the large house and gently swing the door shut.

  Five

  “You been hitting my daughter?” asks Melisa’s dad as he sits down in his big red leather chair. He puts down his copy of the Financial Times and picks up his Cuban as he eyes Andy as he sits opposite him on the less red and much lesser leather chair.

  “Of course I haven’t been hitting Melisa,”
says Andy as he shifts himself into a comfortable spot on the rustic-looking chair.

  “So why does she look like she’s been knocked around, then?”

  Andy nearly laughs but manages to hold his chuckle down to a mere mumble. “We’ve had some bug problems at our house. The fumigators are there — that’s why we’re here,” says Andy.

  Melisa’s dad raises his eyebrow. “Bugs, huh? That mother of yours kept the house in such a condition that bugs would form in and around the premises?” says Melisa’s dad scornfully as he tuts while pulling on his Cuban.

  Andy refrains from an outburst. The loss of his mother is still sore on his heart. He decides to change the conversation. “How’s the stock markets?” he asks, trying to find some safe ground to tread on.

  “Crap,” Melissa’s dad says.

  At that moment, Patsy walks in with a tray of refreshments. A combination of carbonated favorites and bourbons don the tray. She puts the flimsy metal tray down on the low-legged table between Andy and her husband.

  Patsy can feel the tension in the room as Andy looks at her with welcoming eyes. She darts her head slightly to the right and sees her husband grunt. “I got you two some drinks. It’s mighty hot outside. Maybe a nice soft or STRONG drink will sort you two out,” she says.

  Andy smiles. “I’ll have a whisky,” he says.

  Patsy hands over a two-finger of whisky. She looks at her husband across the way. “And you, dear?”

  “I’m okay,” he says.

  “You sure, Peter?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Where’s Melisa?” asks Andy.

  “She’s gone to bed. She said she was tired,” says Patsy.

  “You worn my daughter out, Andy?”

  Andy starts to laugh.

  It catches Peter off-guard. “What’s so fucking funny?”

  “Nothing, sir. It’s just I don’t know what you could possibly mean by that,” he says.

  ‘I mean, have you been running my daughter down? You seem like the type to take out your insecurities on women… Just an observation.”

  Andy remains silent. He downs his drink and stands up. “I’m off to bed as well,” he says.

  “Good, dear. Go get some rest,” Patsy says.

  “And no funny business,” says Melisa’s dad as he pulls on his Cuban once more.

  Andy smiles a forced tight-lipped courtesy and walks out. Once he’s out of the room, Patsy pulls a stern look.

  “Why are you so harsh on the boy?” she says, sitting down opposite to her reeling husband.

  “Because he’s no good, that’s why. All these city types aren’t. Fucking got given his big house because his no-good mother died. He didn’t earn it!”

  Patsy looks shocked at Peter’s rash comments. “Peter! Don’t be so rude!”

  Six

  “Knock, knock,” says Andy as he enters the bedroom, looking a little ticked off. Even though he doesn’t feel at his best, he wouldn’t be the one to burden his wife Melisa with such trivial matters. His wife sits up in the bed. She gives him an understanding look. He doesn’t need to say much at all. She can tell when he has something on his mind. Like all good women, intuition isn’t something she lacks.

  “Hey, dear, you okay?” she asks as Andy sits at the end of the bed.

  The bedroom is dimly lit and elegant in its appearance to match the lavishness of the outside. She reaches for the bedside table light and hits the dimmer switch, making the room a little lighter.

  “Yeah, I’m okay, just missing the house, that’s all,” he says.

  Melisa gives him a sympathetic look. “I thought you were okay with selling it,” she says.

  Andy’s eyes widen. “Of course I am okay with selling it. It’s just I would prefer to be there, not here. You know I don’t like coming here,” he says.

  Melisa looks annoyed. “I thought you were happy to be here. You sure looked that way when we pulled up to the drive,” she says.

  Andy scratches at his face. “That was before I spoke to your dad. He actually asked me if I beat you. Can you believe that shit?”

  Melisa bursts out laughing. “Unfortunately, I can,” she says. “He means well, I guess.”

  Both Andy and Melisa get into bed and cuddle for a few minutes. The lights then go off, and before both of them know it, they are both asleep.

  Seven

  “Wakey, wakey,” Melisa says, tugging at her unconscious husband as he snores into his pillow.

  “I’m awake,” Andy says groggily. He squints his eyes as he sits up in the bed. Melisa throws herself at him and cuddles him. “My, my, you’re in a good mood,” he says.

  She smiles. “Yes I am!”

  “Why? What gives?”

  Melisa gets up from the bed and walks over to the mirror. She flicks her hair back a few times while grinning at her reflection. She then turns around. “The fumigator said we can go back when we want! It’s all been taken care of!”

  Andy seems a bit more awake and finally cracks a smile. “Wow, that was fast,” he says, not quite believing their luck. “We were only here for one night. How can that be?” Andy adds, pondering the situation.

  “The guy said he found both of the nests. He said there weren’t many spiders after all. So we should be good to go,” says Melisa as she starts to get herself ready.

  “Great. I guess we get packing, then.”

  After forty minutes, Andy and Melisa are saying their goodbyes to Melisa’s mom and dad. They get into the car and make their way home. A journey of two and a half hours awaits them, multiple roads, many backdrops, all on the way back home. Melisa braces herself against the passenger-side window and nods off while her husband mans the wheel.

  Eight

  “Home sweet home,” says Andy as both he and Melisa enter their house. It’s a strange sight. It has an abundance of white sheeting draped on all manner of surfaces. Their house looks alien in its new surroundings, and a rather peculiar smell surrounds the place.

  “Gosh, they really went to town, didn’t they?” says Melisa as she puts down one of her suitcases.

  “I suppose they did what they had to do,” says Andy as he surveys the chaos.

  Melisa nearly stomps her foot as she sees some markings on the wall of the hallway. “Look at the walls! They ruined them,” she says.

  Andy shakes his head. “I guess a paint job is in order, then,” he says.

  Melisa nods again, trying to calm herself down. “We can’t be showing the house in this state.”

  Andy runs his hands across the slick wall with the strange markings on it. “Feels warm,” he says.

  Melisa just watches him for a long moment. “Do we just get someone else in to redecorate?” she asks finally.

  “No way. We need to save as much money as possible. The fumigation has already cost us an arm and a leg,” he says.

  “I suppose,” Melisa replies.

  They both pick up their belongings and make their way upstairs to unpack. The sight of their bedroom isn’t much different from the sight downstairs. Melisa isn’t happy as she unpacks her suitcase with a hint of fury in her rapid motions.

  “It will be fine,” says Andy as he tries to comfort his wife. She doesn’t say anything, but just continues to unpack. They remain in silence for what seems like the rest of the afternoon.

  Nine

  “I’ll get it,” says Andy as he hurries to the door. The loud knocking continues. Someone urgently wants to be seen, by the looks of it. Andy’s face crinkles a bit. He wonders who could possibly be knocking on the door in such an urgent fashion. He gently opens the door, not knowing what to expect. He immediately feels a little better at who he sees.

  “Hey,” he says. The real-estate agent smiles at him. The corners of his mouth curve a little as he looks Andy up and down. “I thought you were the police or something. Sounded like you were about to burst through the door,” Andy says as he wipes the sweat off his brow. It’s still rather hot outside, even at six in the eveni
ng. Andy wasn’t expecting the real-estate agent that day, and he certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to be thumping at his door.

  “Sorry about the banging on the door. I tend to knock quite loudly. It’s one of my bad habits, among others,” the estate-agent says as he coughs and spits on the doorstep.

  Andy nearly loses his temper. He can’t believe the man who was selling his house was spitting on the property. He composes himself. “No problem,” he says. It must be the area. Andy has come to the conclusion that nearly everyone in the area he lives in is weird in their own special way. “Please come in,” Andy says, stepping aside for the agent.

  They both walk into the kitchen. The real-estate agent is mesmerized by the state of the house. The white drapes that the fumigators left behind are still covering most of the work surfaces in the kitchen. A dim gleam of light manages to cut through all the sheeting and lights up a small crevice of the room, like a spotlight at a play.

  “You guys redecorating?” asks the real-estate agent as he sits down on a stool.

  “Nope, we had the fumigators come in. We got rid of all the spiders.”

  The agent’s face brightens a bit. “Good! Well done. I like that. Initiative.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. We were more concerned about getting spider bites,” Andy says, he, too, taking a seat next to the real-estate agent. Andy spots some files that the agent is carrying and immediately wonders about their contents. Could it be an offer for the house in such a short amount of time? His curiosity gets the better of him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he asks.

  The agent smiles and sets the files on the table. He shifts his weight on the stool like he’s trying to get comfortable.

  “We’ve had an offer,” he says, gleefully smiling as he snaps the files open and starts reading their contents.