She's Kill Crazy

by Tina Laningham

  “Good work, partner,” he says.

  “I’m not calling for a pat on the back,” Candice says. “I need help.”

  “You got it. Anything.”

  “Can you access the credit card purchases of Dr. Hunter Flynn and see what products he’s purchased from Spa di Venus?”

  “You bet.” Greg pauses. “Hey, I’m in the middle of something.” Click.

  By the time Candice gets back to her desk, there’s an email from Greg: No product purchases. Just a massage, a membership, and an upgrade.

  Candice calls Rayna’s cell and surprisingly, she picks up. “You’ve been so helpful and I do appreciate it,” Candice says. “I have one more question.”

  Silence.

  Candice continues, “Did someone buy three cases of products in the last few months?”

  “Um, yes. A woman. She paid cash.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No,” Rayna says. “Wait, I think it was Smith. Yeah, Suzanne Smith.”

  “Was she a client?”

  “No,” Rayna says. “I’d never seen her before.”

  “Thanks.” Candice hangs up.

  The cases of products ended up in the Flynn home, but Hunter didn’t buy them. A woman did.

  Vanessa?

  A sick feeling wells in the pit of Candice’s gut. A serial killer team. Husband and wife.

  Holy shit!

  CHAPTER 31

  HUNTER HANGS UP after explaining to his attorney what had transpired in the privacy of his home. The search warrant. The accusation. And when he turns around, Vanessa is gone.

  Hunter searches the dining room, the kitchen, the office. No Vanessa. He scrambles upstairs and opens each door, one by one. No Vanessa. By the pool. Nothing. And when he darts out the front door, Vanessa’s car is gone.

  He can’t blame her.

  After finding out about his affair with Venus. After finding out he’s no better than his own cheating father. After finding out he’s connected to a murder investigation.

  Vanessa. So petite. So innocent. As if she hasn’t suffered enough in this lifetime.

  And then, a paralyzing thought strikes Hunter. His mother died because of his father’s affairs with other women. Now his wife may be contemplating suicide.

  Hunter grabs the phone and calls Vanessa, but she doesn’t answer. He waits for the voicemail and says, “Where are you? I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please come home.” Hunter’s voice breaks and he sobs into the phone. “I love you so much.”

  He paces the floor in the family living room, wiping tears off his cheeks. Vanessa is pregnant. How stupid can he be? They’re having a baby. Starting a family. And he’s cheating with someone who’s in jail for murder. Hunter quickens his pace. And now the University’s involved. They’re getting his fingerprints from HR.

  Hunter races to the Fiat and slams it in drive. Tires screech as he flies into the street. The main streets in Napa are bustling with shoppers and Vanessa’s red Mercedes is easy to spot, but nowhere to be found.

  This is crazy. Go home.

  Tires screech into the driveway. Hunter gets Vanessa’s voicemail again and throws the phone on a sofa.

  Obsess about the solution, not the problem.

  That’s the motto he used to achieve success in his career. The youngest and most highly celebrated scholar at the University of fucking Berkeley.

  The solution. What is it?

  Start living the life he wants. That’s the solution. He wants to be a husband, a father, a family man, a decent man. Start at the beginning. With flowers. Blood lilies. Vanessa’s favorite.

  The exotic nursery on the northside of Napa has blood lilies. Hunter calls and orders ten pots for delivery. “And put each one in a hand painted Italian pot.”

  Flowers and wine.

  From the rack in the dining room, where the most expensive wine is kept, Hunter pulls down a bottle of their finest red. A thousand dollar bottle of Barolo Collina Rionda. After the blood lilies are delivered and placed around the living room, Hunter sets the wine and two crystal glasses on the table in front of the sofa.

  He calls Vanessa every thirty minutes and still no answer. Now the sun is setting. At the bar, Hunter finds a bottle of cognac, and as it goes down, the warm liquid soothes him.

  Obsess about the solution, not the problem.

  CHAPTER 32

  TWO ITALIAN CANDELABRAS give the room a romantic glow. After placing one on each side of the room, Hunter sits on the sofa and throws back another swallow of cognac. Any moment, Vanessa will walk through that door.

  In the harsh silence, he becomes anxious. Hunter picks up a remote and turns on some Pavarotti songs and then flips the TV to some personal photos he uploaded from his phone. Mostly photos of Rome that he took while attending various symposiums over the years.

  Another glass of cognac and the worrisome thoughts begin to mellow. As the slideshow of photos flashes on the large screen, Hunter realizes what’s wrong with this picture. It’s all about him. The photos, the music, the wine from Italy. Nothing reflects Vanessa’s life, their married life, or the baby she’s carrying. To be an amazing husband and father, that must change.

  Staggering back to the dining room, he pushes the walls to keep his balance. He switches the expensive Italian wine with a bottle of Giovanni Red Blend from Vincent’s Vineyard, Vanessa’s family winery. Now for the music. What does she listen to? At the wedding, she let Hunter choose the music.

  You self-centered bastard! You don’t even know what kind of music your wife likes!

  He finds a love songs channel, the safest bet.

  Outside it’s dark. The glow of candles and the photo slideshow provide the only light in the room.

  He’s changed the wine.

  He’s changed the music.

  He’s had half a bottle of cognac.

  Now he’s scrolling through the phone to find photos of Vanessa. He finds a dozen selfies of the two of them and three adorable photos of Vanessa the day she got her red Mercedes Roadster. The top is down and she’s sitting in it, then standing next to it, and Hunter’s favorite, lying across the hood. When he gets to a photo of Vanessa holding her belly in the baby nursery, just after they had finished decorating, his eyes well up.

  These photos should be on the TV. Not all this stupid scenery from Rome. Vanessa’s never even been to Rome.

  The phone is blurry, too blurry to select the photos he wants to upload to the TV.

  Hunter slurs, “If you have to obsess about anything, you idiot, obsess about the solution.”

  He hits select all.

  An option appears.

  He taps Family Cloud.

  “Eureka!” he shouts.

  All the photos will upload, not only from his phone, but from Vanessa’s too. This is, without a doubt, the best surprise ever.

  Hunter gazes at the blurry TV. One by one, the photos slowly upload. It’s taking forever. He swallows more cognac and lays back on the sofa to wait.

  And he makes the mistake of closing his eyes.

  CHAPTER 33

  VANESSA

  DINNER AT DAD’S is always an all night event. It’s the Italian in him. I just wanted to get a pull-string plastic bag. If Hunter ends up in prison and Nancy Van Cleave goes free, I may need it.

  I hide the plastic bag in the glove compartment and lock it. Not the best place, but it will have to do for now. I turn the key in the front door and open it slowly. One of those whiney love songs is playing and TV light is bouncing off the walls. Hunter’s still up, the cheating worm. I close the door quietly, tip toe around to the family room and peek in.

  Melted candles. Flowers and wine. Is he serious? An empty bottle of cognac. He’s passed out cold. I pick up the remote and aim it at the TV. I’m about to hit the power off button when an image appears on the screen.

  An image of my second kill victim. A man with a plastic bag tied over his head.

  The next photo is my third kill. And then my fourth, H
unter’s dad. He knows. Hunter knows everything.

  Now it’s the screen shots of client names and addresses I took at Spa di Venus. I deleted those. What the fuck.

  Hunter’s arm stirs and he snorts. The swine.

  I run to the kitchen and grab a curved carving knife. I dig around in the utility drawer and pull out two large zip ties and a roll of duct tape.

  Hunter’s snoring when I get back. I wrap a large zip tie around his ankles and thread it through the tiny hole, but leave it loose. If I hear one more sappy, whiney song, I’m going to throw up. But I don’t dare turn anything off just yet. Don’t awaken the drunken giant.

  I place his limp arms on his stomach and wrap the other zip tie around his wrists. He turns his head, but doesn’t open his eyes. In one hand, I get a good grip on the tie around his wrists and in the other, I grip the tie that’s wrapped around his ankles. With a strong jolt, I yank them simultaneously.

  After his eyes pop open, Hunter struggles to sit up, but all he can do is wiggle like the worm that he is. Words sputter out, but I don’t care what he’s saying. I rip off a piece of duct tape and press it over his mouth. His eyes pop and his face turns red.

  Now more photos are flashing across the giant TV. Wedding photos, our couple selfies, the baby nursery. “You made a little photo album on the TV,” I say. “How sweet.”

  Hunter nods and gets this look in his eyes like he’s begging for mercy. But I’m just getting started. “You’re exactly like your dead dad.” I hold the carving knife to my throat. “This is what you’re doing to me. You’re killing me!”

  Hunter’s eyes get all bug-eyed again and then he squishes them tight. He’s sobbing. What a pitiful man. I look at Hunter with disgust and place the knife at his throat. “Sit up.”

  I coax him to hop over to a chair, but he sways and loses his balance. I manage to push him into the recliner before he falls. I punch the recline button and his feet pop up. His face is red and sweaty, and he’s muttering something completely indecipherable. More sex lies to his devoted pregnant wife, I’m sure.

  With the duct tape, I strap Hunter onto the recliner. First the arms. I wrap the tape around the chair several times and then stand back to admire my work. Hunter’s eyes follow me. When I start wrapping his legs, he kicks me away. His pregnant wife!

  I pick up the carving knife and put on my sweetest face. With the blade against his cheek, I make a little slice and pull the blade out to show the blood to Hunter. He looks terrified. “Poor baby,” I say and set the knife down,

  After wrapping his legs with the duct tape, I stand directly in front of Hunter and we lock eyes. I say calmly, “You weren’t even in control when you were mud fucking that Neanderthal woman.” And then real loud I scream, “I was in control, Hunter! I was!” I point to my chest. “Me! Not you.”

  CHAPTER 34

  VANESSA

  I POUR TWO glasses of red wine and do a double take at the bottle. Sarcastically I say, “Oh, my dad’s wine is finally good enough for you.”

  With the knife, I slice a little deeper into Hunter’s cheek and press to draw more blood. The thick red liquid oozes out and drips into Hunter’s wine glass. I hold the glass there until more dribbles in, and then I swirl it high in the air until his blood mixes with the red wine.

  With the tip of the knife, I poke his neck and rip the duct tape off his mouth. “Open wide.” I tilt the glass and let the bloody wine flow in. Hunter swallows it and a thrill rushes through me like I’ve never experienced before. I inhale deeply. I should try new things more often.

  I rip off a fresh piece of tape and slap it on his mouth. The other wine glass is next to my recliner to sip while we watch the photo montage Hunter’s made. With the music remote, I flip to a metal music channel Hunter hates. I turn up the volume and get comfy cozy in my seat. I’m sipping wine with my soon-to-be-dead husband and waiting for those kill photos to loop around again. It doesn’t get any better than this.

  “More wine?” I say to Hunter.

  He shakes his head.

  I take another sip. Finally the first kill photo reappears. “I know you’ve seen these, but I want us to watch them together.”

  Hunter’s eyes are bulging at the image. The poor man looks like he’s in shock. “Have you not seen these?” I ask.

  Breathing hard, Hunter shakes his head no.

  “I thought you had,” I say all cheery, “This was my first kill. He was a rapist.”

  With duct tape tight over his mouth, Hunter makes a pitiful attempt at yelling for help.

  The photo fades and the next kill victim appears. “My second kill. This man raped two women and thought he could roam the streets of St. Helena like nothing ever happened. He was wrong, of course.”

  Hunter’s hyperventilating now.

  “Don’t worry, Sweetie.” I brush a wisp of hair out of his eyes. “I’ve got a plastic bag with your name on it.”

  The third kill victim fades in. Let’s enjoy this one with music. I turn up the metal music and smile at Hunter. “Can’t wait for you to see the next one.”

  Finally, the fourth photo appears. I turn down the music a little and say, “Do you recognize this man?”

  Hunter furrows his brows and stares hard at the photo.

  “That’s your dad,” I say proudly. “Another sex offender. You see, a lying, cheating husband is a sex offender. I’ve actually taken this photo of your dead father to your mother’s grave. She knows justice has been served and now she can rest in peace.”

  Hunter is convulsing. He may be having a heart attack and I’m worried I won’t get to punish him. That would be just like him. Asshole.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE PHONE RINGS. Midnight. On Saturday.

  Has to be Peter. Something’s happened to the girls. It was a mistake to trust Feather with them. Candice rolls over in bed and reaches for the phone. A number not in her contacts. “Hello.”

  “Hi. Detective Blake? This is Rayna. From the spa.”

  Candice sits on the edge of the bed.

  “You told me to call if I think of anything else.”

  She sounds drunk. “Yeah, what is it?”

  While Candice wanders down the hall in search of a pad and paper, Rayna explains that Suzanne Smith, who paid cash for three cases of spa products, had taken an Uber or a Lyft.

  Interesting. Three cases of those same spa products were found in the home of Dr. Hunter Flynn.

  “The SUV had both stickers. Uber and Lyft. A silver SUV, I think, and the driver was a young guy. Anyway, hope that helps.”

  “Everything helps, Rayna. Thank you.”

  Even though it’s midnight, Candice punches the brew button on the coffee pot. There are two possible scenarios. That someone Hunter knew bought and delivered the products to him. Too bad he lawyered up.

  The other scenario, that Vanessa Flynn is the mystery woman, is starting to make sense. Vanessa claims she never heard of the spa until Candice told her about her husband’s shenanigans. But killers lie.

  In either scenario, the killer may not be Nancy Van Cleave. The real killer, or killers, may reside in that prestigious home in Napa. Mr. and Mrs. Flynn need to be watched more closely.

  Time for a stakeout.

  CHAPTER 36

  ONE O’CLOCK IN the morning. Most people are just getting in from a sensational Saturday night or they’re fast asleep in bed. Not Candice. She’s parked down the street from the Flynn house, completely puzzled by those three boxes. The big clues point to the spa, but the details keep leading back to the Flynn home.

  Both cars are in the circular drive. TV light flickers through sheer drapes at the front of the house. Either the reconciled couple is bingeing on Netflix, or the cheating husband has been kicked out of the bedroom and is camping on the sofa. Most likely, the latter.

  Candice hopes it’s not true what they say about the cat because curiosity is getting the best of her. Just one peek. It’s legal. She still has the search warrant and Hunter is now a suspe
ct. Candice gets out and softly clicks the car door shut.

  The lit street is silent and the homes, far apart. Candice steps around purple flowering shrubs and ducks underneath the window where the TV light is flickering. Slowly, at the corner of the window, she rises. One eye peeks in.

  Her breath catches. Now both eyes are watching. Watching Vanessa draw blood from Hunter’s cheek as he’s duct taped to a recliner. She’s funneling the blood into a wine glass and force feeding it down Hunter’s throat. Candice grits her teeth to slow her racing heart.

  Vanessa duct tapes Hunter’s mouth and sits next to him, sipping wine. All along, Vanessa was the psychopath. Not just the thallium killer—the Napa Valley Killer.

  At that moment, all the clues click into place. Vanessa was four. She witnessed it. And then she recreated her mother’s brutal murder on May ninth every year for four years. Plastic bags over her victims’ heads. Most of the victims, convicted rapists. The motive, revenge.

  Everything Candice does from this point forward must be by the book. She’s got the killer. Now she needs to bring her in. Laying low, Candice creeps back to the car and gets out the phone. She calls the Sheriff’s office first. “This is Detective Candice Blake. We have a hostage situation in Napa.” Candice reports the address and says, “I need backup. No sirens. No lights. Surround the premises silently. Again, this is a hostage situation.”

  Next, she calls Todd, but gets his voicemail. She leaves a message and texts the address.

  She calls FBI Agent Greg Hansen and he picks up on one ring. “Hey Candy.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Seattle. Working a sting operation. What’s up?”

  “Have a hostage situation. Think it’s the Napa Valley Killer.”

  “Your partner there?”

  “Not yet. I’ve requested backup. No sirens, no lights, surround the premises.”