Hot to Kill

by Linda Coles

  He needed a greeting so Madeline obliged. “Morning, Jordan. Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?”

  It was always left to Madeline to sort guests’ drinks out, so she just got on with it.

  “Tea’s fine, thanks. Anything else on offer, gorgeous? You’re looking as edible as usual.” His suggestive wink and the slimy clicking of his always moist-looking mouth turned her stomach.

  God, does he ever have any luck getting a woman with those chat-up lines? Surely no one falls for them?

  Walking away before her stomach rolled again, she flipped over her shoulder, “I’ll bring you a couple of digestives if you’re that hungry.” She went to put the kettle back on, mumbling, “Pity there wasn’t some rat poison under the sink. That might put the brakes on his innuendos and sexist comments.” But really, she had had her fill of poisoning people. It was causing her too much stress.

  While the kettle boiled, she grabbed the packet of biscuits back out of the fridge, hurriedly crammed another one into her own mouth and placed two more on a small plate for His Highness. Stanley never ate biscuits or drank tea or coffee, only water, so this little ‘breaking of bread’ was all for Jordan.

  “My chocolate-demanding hormones must be particularly active today,” she muttered with a half-full mouth, dropping crumbs all over the floor. When the tea was ready, she put it all on a tray with a fresh glass of water for Stanley and took it downstairs to his office.

  Jordan was already sitting in front of Stanley’s desk, deep in conversation, so she put the tray down and handed the water to Stanley. As she leant over, her leg accidentally brushed Jordan’s knee. He slammed the brakes on his conversation immediately, changing his face from businessman back to the painted clown smile. Madeline nearly puked as their eyes met for a second.

  “Sorry!” she stammered, but it was too late. His hand rubbed up her calf and towards her knee in quick-smart time. To her chagrin, she found herself screaming in surprise and bolting for the door like a frightened schoolgirl. The sound of the men’s high-pitched laughter followed her out, laughter at her expense, and she closed the door behind her with a thud. Heart racing, and suppressing a shiver of revulsion, she took a moment to calm herself before she fled back to the safe sanctuary of her desk.

  “What has he done now?” Deidre said in alarm. “I heard you scream and you look like you’ve had a fright.”

  “Slimy git stroked my sodding leg!” Madeline sputtered, now well and truly pissed off. “He’s gone too far this time and Stanley doesn’t sodding care – thinks it’s so funny. I’m getting sick of it,” she shouted, raising her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Her pulse was racing hard as she sat back in her chair, trying to calm herself down again. Sweat beads were forming on her upper lip, yet again.

  “You know, Madeline, he really is a dirty pervert, that guy,” Deidre grumbled. “I don’t know why Stanley rates him, and I don’t know why we have to put up with him.” Deidre had also had her fair share of his lecherous advances.

  “One day he’ll get his comeuppance – you mark my words,” Madeline said, and meant it. “I know he does some good stuff with the kids, but for the sake of all womankind, he needs to stop being such a sodding letchy pervert. I can see why he’s never got a steady girlfriend. Who’d want to get close enough? Nice car and nice house or not.”

  Madeline gazed out of the office window towards the car park and wondered what that comeuppance would be. How could she teach him a lesson and piss him off – but without killing him? She’d had enough of killing people. The sky was still an incredible blue outside, but in the distance a few clouds were just visible. She saw them –and the start of another plan.

  Feeling a little calmer, she asked casually, “Any idea what the weather forecast is going to be over the next day or two, Deidre? We could do with some rain.”

  “My roses are desperate for a good drink. The watering can is never as good as the real stuff from the clouds. I do believe they have forecast rain the day after tomorrow for most of the afternoon. It’s the kids’ cricket tournament, so I suppose it could be called off. A shame, really. And it’s also the day of that astronomy fair thing that slimy git gets involved in.”

  Bugger, and my day off as well. What a shame indeed.

  But she now had an idea of how to give Gekko II a spot of inconvenience, and get his stupid slicked-back hair wet at the same time. His car was parked at the far end of the little car park under one of the shady trees. She knew it couldn’t be seen from Stanley’s office so, leaving her desk, she went outside and walked over. His car really was beautiful, she thought as she approached – a navy-blue F-Type Jaguar, a two-seater sports car no less, that fitted exactly with his greased-back hair and expensive cologne. The beautiful leather interior with the familiar feline jumping cat logo on the centre of the steering wheel reminded you of the luxury brand you were driving, in case you happened to forget. It really was beautiful and something she didn’t want to damage, but she didn’t actually need to. But he could. And would.

  Moving around to the front of the car, which was mostly shaded by the tree’s branches, she leant across the windscreen and lifted the wiper arm away from the glass. She slid the rubber blade off the arm and then did the same with the other side. They came off easily in her hands and she gently replaced the now-naked arms back on the windscreen. To look at them, you would never know anything was missing. But when the rain came and Slimy Git turned the wipers on, well, that would be a different story. She sniggered at the thought of what would happen. His windscreen would need replacing from the damage, sure, but the inconvenience of having no wiper blades when it rained would be far worse. And he’d have no clue where or when the rubbers had been lost. Or taken, in this case. That should wipe his cheesy clown smile off his face, and it would be Madeline smiling come Wednesday afternoon when it poured down.

  She wondered exactly where he would be when her latest little plan took effect.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  On her way home from work that evening, Madeline was driving back down Purley Way towards home when a car pulled out of a junction up ahead. There was nothing to note about the style of driving – it wasn’t erratic or anything like that – but what did pique her attention was what the car looked like. It was the same sticker-covered old blue car with the coat-hanger aerial that had jammed her in at Sainsbury’s on Saturday afternoon.

  She grunted to herself in disgust, remembering how she’d been forced to enter her car via the boot, and the youths who had watched in delight, pointing and hooting, as she’d hitched her skirt up and displayed her ample thighs and her Bridget Jones–style M&S lavender-coloured undies for all the world, or at least all of the car park, to see. Those lavender undies were now in the wheelie bin by the garage, never to be worn again. If only she could throw that part of her brain in the wheelie bin too.

  The Blue Stickered Car indicated left now, and Madeline, freshly enraged, decided to follow, keeping a little distance, but interested to see if the owner lived locally. A short detour wouldn’t be a problem. It was Monday, and Sunday leftovers for dinner would be an easy meal to prepare. The blue car turned right and she followed. In fact, she followed it all the way home, which as it happened was only three or four miles away. It turned into Sanderson Road and pulled up outside a mid-terraced house. Madeline pulled up a bit further on, not wanting to be seen. With the motor still running, Madeline watched to see who was driving the car and where they lived. She wasn’t surprised to see a middle-aged man, quite unkempt-looking, get out and head up an equally unkempt garden path. Would he knock or did he live there, she wondered? He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the front door.

  “So, I’ve gotcha,” she said to herself triumphantly. “There’s no escaping me, you ignorant sod. You caused me too much embarrassment to let this slip. I’ve just got to decide on your penance: should it be harsher than your original crime, or just something to teach you a bloody lesson?”

  Thinking
about James, she decided she needed to err on the side of caution. “But you’re certainly not getting away scot-free,” she spluttered into the rear-view mirror as he closed his front door.

  There was nothing to be gained by staying parked outside, and she was melting in the still very warm sun anyway, so she made her way back home, thinking about how best to get back at him and get that heap of junk with its four bald tyres off the road at the same time. It was later on, while she was doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen down and Gordon was watching the soccer game he’d recorded, that the answer came to her. Quickly, she Googled it on her phone to double-check it would work then closed the page and deleted the browser history just in case. Now she had to put the plan into action.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Tuesday

  From @Stargazer, So the guy who rolled his van last week on the Wickham road has died. Complications from an infection, I believe. #droppinglikeflies

  @Stargazer, That’s not good news, and a reminder to wear a seatbelt, I guess.

  @Jaybaby, Yes, and something should be done about that bend. It’s a known blackspot. #needsattention

  @Stargazer, Any idea what the complications were that killed him?

  @Jaybaby, Yeh, my mum is a nurse on his ward, and said it was infection in the shoulder wound after getting it set. Didn’t respond to antibiotics. #superbug

  @Stargazer, Seems a little extreme?

  @Jaybaby, Had undiagnosed diabetes too, to help complicate things. Boils the size of saucers apparently. And he was massively overweight too. Puts strain on your body.

  @Stagazer, Shit! #betterdiet

  From @Inwonder to @Stagazer, Wow! Sad news. Didn’t know him, but he had a broken collarbone and some bruises, I’d read.

  Hi @Inwonder, You well? Not seen you on here for a few days.

  @Stargazer, Snowed under with work. #busybusy

  @Inwonder, Yep, another one bites the dust. Who’d have thought it would end like that for him? #Lifeisshort

  From @Jaybaby, Buckle up all. Changing the subject. Any news on catching the groper? #groperman

  From @Inwonder, Not heard of him being caught, but I heard about another attack last night. Someone every week. Playing fields this time. Too close to home!

  @Inwonder, Holy shit! Female I assume? She okay?

  @Jaybaby, Believe so to both. Scared her shitless. #Mustbehorrid

  @Inwonder and @Stagazer, You ladies take care out there until this fucker is caught. #Getthefucker

  From @Benj to @Jaybaby, Watch your language, buddy. Public forum and all.

  @Benj, Sorry mate. It worries me, that’s all.

  @Jaybaby, I hear you. They’ll nab him soon. He’s bound to make a mistake.

  @Benj, Fingers crossed. I hear someone’s swiping washing, mainly ladies’ underwear. Connected? #Pervert

  From @Inwonder to @Jaybaby, I reckon that’s pranksters. Wouldn’t want mine. #Neednewundies

  @Inwonder, Thanks for sharing that with the world!

  @Jaybaby, You are so welcome. If you’re offering to buy…

  @Inwonder, Nah, strapped for cash as always. Keep dreamin’.

  @Jaybaby, Off to read now. Goodnight.

  @Inwonder, Stay safe and sweet dreams.

  Benjamin, the moderator, smiled at the banter the two of them had developed over the recent weeks. Jason and Alice – Jaybaby and Inwonder – were two opinionated and active voices on The Daisy Chain, and he often sat back to watch and listen, though he’d take what Jason said with a pinch of salt. His over-exuberance was well known – and better than TV any day. Benjamin hated having to wade in and remind Jason to watch his language, even though he agreed with the sentiment, but bad language was not tolerated and, as moderator, he had to keep control. He sat, thoughtful. So the van driver had died and there had been another groper attack last night. What a sad state of affairs. The attacks were getting more regular, and the frightening thing was that no one ever saw anything, and no one could ever give much of a description. Apart from ‘male, fifties and balding,’ which meant he could be one of hundreds of thousands of men. The clock on the top right corner of his Mac said 10.30 pm. Time to log out and get some sleep.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “So, are we all complete? Everything organised?” Jordan asked his friend Brian.

  “All set, Jordan, all set. We just need the weather to be kind to us for the outdoor stuff, so fingers crossed.” Brian was the main organiser of the event. It was an annual thing: the kids would work hard on an astronomy project all through the summer holidays, and then, before they all went back to school after their long summer break, they would hold an exhibition and festival in the school hall and the surrounding grounds. There were stalls and raffles and bouncy castles and food vans. Over the last few years it had become quite a big part of the local social calendar. Other schools now took part, which had converted it into more of a local derby challenge, with public schools trying to beat the private ones. It had started off as a bit of fun, and something to help occupy the kids during their holiday time off, but the beast had grown – in a good way. And Jordan, who was the founder, was now the judge of the competition. He’d been fascinated for years with the moon and stars and everything that floated up there, and had been running this program, his brainchild, for the last ten years. This year was to be a celebration of that milestone. He had wanted young idle holiday minds to learn and create rather than wander the streets and get into bother. It was a shame he wasn’t as thoughtful about women as he was about the children he encouraged.

  “Right, then. I’ll lock up. It looks great in there, doesn’t it? A job well done, Brian. Thanks for all your help with it. Tremendous achievement.” And he slapped Brian squarely and good-naturedly on his back. Brian lunged forward a little at the force but smiled anyway.

  “Steady on, Jordan,. You don’t know your own strength. Does look great, though, eh? I wonder who’ll win it this year. There are some top-notch entries in there. You have a favourite?”

  “Ah, can’t catch me out like that,” Jordan said, touching the side of his nose in a ‘not telling, don’t be nosey’ manner. “My lips are sealed.”

  If only they’d stay that way. Jordan had a way with folks that they either loved or loathed, mostly depending on their gender. He was harmless enough, but most women gave him a wide berth; his humour was a bit off for most women’s liking. Men, on the other hand, thought he was a ‘Jack-the-lad,’ a fun bloke to be around. He told jokes to make your hair curl, and dressed like he’d walked straight out of Wall Street rather than South Croydon. As long as you kept him away from your wife or girlfriend, there was never any harm done.

  “Fancy a quick pint before you go on? We might catch the end of a match of something if we get going. What do you say?” Brian asked.

  “I say yes. Why the hell not, old boy. That was thirsty work in anyone’s book – don’t mind if I do!” Jordan twanged the braces of his trousers like Charlie Chaplin, and spoke in a voice far older than his years. To others he often sounded a bit upper-class, and many wondered if he had been born into his money or had indeed earned it – on Wall Street. Few knew much about the smaller details of his life except that he was single, lived in a nice secluded house that was run by his housekeeper, and drove a great-looking Jaguar. Some suspected he was lonely; some never gave him a second thought. Jordan, being Jordan, didn’t notice either way.

  “I’ll drive us, Brian, and then I’ll drop you back at home if you like. Get in.” As they approached the beautiful sleek navy-blue F-Type Jaguar two-seater sports car, Brian admired it openly.

  “What a thing of beauty.”

  “She is, isn’t she? And never a cross word out of her,” Jordan said, chuckling. “Not much fun to pinch her bottom, though. A bit too firm for my liking.” He roared at his own joke, throwing his head back and laughing up to the sky. Brian, well aware of what Jordan was like, smiled and shook his head at his friend and slipped into the passenger side. The soft leath
er interior of the sports seat wrapped around him like a blanket.

  “It fits me perfectly, Jordan. It’s like it was made for me.”

  “It fits everyone perfectly, Brian, but you’re welcome to be its owner until I get you home if it pleases you. Choose something from the playlist, buddy, and we’ll let our hair down on the way. It’s such a great day.”

  Brian queued Moby, and ‘Extreme Ways’ pulsed from the top-of-the-range sound system; the sound was crystal clear. Jordan slipped the roof down as they pulled out of the car park, and his greased-back hair started to blow a little around the slick edges. Jordan hadn’t been lying when he’d said they’d let their hair down, though Brian’s comb-over blowing wildly wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Still, the guy was happy just to be sitting in his car, and when they pulled up in the pub car park a couple of minutes later, heads turned to see who was arriving. Brian scrambled to mend his tangled, wispy hair as they headed inside for a pint – a few steps behind Mr. Confident.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The only way Madeline could make sure Gordon stayed asleep while she slipped out was to give him one of her sleeping tablets. He’d taken the odd one before when stress from work had kept him awake at nights, so she knew he was okay taking one. It was just that usually he knew when he’d taken one. This time, however, with a whole pill crushed up and mixed with the filling of blackberry pie and covered with whipped cream, he’d never noticed it. But he was certainly feeling it.

  Funny that.

  He was sleeping it off in his chair in the lounge. The recorded football game had ended long ago without being seen, apart from the first ten minutes. Liverpool had beat Arsenal at home 4–3. Pity he’d missed it; it would have been an exciting game.