Secrets - contest entry

Chapter 2

Thank God the old witch had finally calmed down. I mean, I’m all for being a good neighbour and all, but Ms. Jeanie Margolis, hoity-toity design consultant, really tries my patience. Barely civilized enough to mutter a ‘hello’ when I bump into her, now that she’s crippled and housebound I’m suddenly good enough to take her on walks. Gary was going to be livid about dinner, in that passive aggressive way of his that I’ve grown to despise in these past five years.

Sure enough, when I got back to the kitchen the carrots had turned to mush and the potatoes were burned.

“Hello sweetness,” Gary said, approaching the kitchen from the lounge.

Great. The big jerk was home already and hadn’t even bothered to check.

“Something smells a bit funny in here, honey. I hope you’re not trying out a new recipe.”

“No Gary.”

“Because it’s Tuesday. On Tuesday we eat grilled steak and carrots. ”

“I know Gary. But dinner got burned so it’ll have to be something else tonight.”

He came up behind me to peek at what was left of dinner.

“What happened? You know better Sonja then to leave the stove unattended. The house could've burned down.”

I explained to him about our loony neighbour and the cops and all, but I could see he had his mind on those damn carrots.

“Okay. I mean, you know I don’t like it when you meddle in other people’s lives like that,” he sighed, “but I suppose you were being a Good Samaritan.”

I thought about arguing. I really did. But after five years I knew it was useless. So I got rid off the carrots and opened the fridge, with Gary hovering behind me again.

“There’s broccoli, and cauliflower,” I pointed out.

“Hmmm. Well I suppose broccoli would be okay with steak. And maybe some plain white rice. Nothing too taxing for my digestive system. it's going to be off anyway because we were supposed to be having carrots." Gary said. "I’ll be in my study. Let me know when we can eat.” He turned to retreat to the sanctity of his precious office.

Great. Culinary advice from a guy who can barely figure out how the toaster works.

I started on the broccoli and rice while thinking about the money. It was a good thing Kenny had been able to get into prissy Ms. Margolis’ apartment while I took her on another damn walk, otherwise I would have had some serious rethinking to do. And I didn’t really have a plan B.

Leaving the money on that building lot hadn’t been my idea, but Kenny had made the arrangements with Mister Garcia and only told me about it last night. Now Kenny, he isn’t the brightest of the bunch, but he makes a mean Tequila Sunrise and knows how to keep a girl entertained. I’d expected more from Mister Garcia though. Punctuality, for starters.

Shredding the broccoli into florets, I was getting increasingly more pissed off. It had been hard enough to get 500 dollar bills but Garcia had insisted – 25 grand now, 25 when the job was done. Luckily I still had connections, but it had taken two months.

And that was two more months of putting up with Gary.

The rice was done so I drained it and left it in the colander. Gary liked his broccoli well done so that would take a while longer.

I was having doubts about Garcia, even if he did come highly recommended. I just couldn’t tolerate mistakes like these.

Now Kenny was a different matter. Kenny thinks he loves me, which is rather sweet of him. And if you tell Kenny exactly what to do, he follows instructions to the letter. It’s when he starts to think for himself that he screws up.

While turning over a steak I considered ditching the entire plan. Dump Kenny, tell Garcia it’s off, nag Gary to take me on a trip to Costa Rica and misplace him somewhere in the jungle. How hard could it be? I could do distraught widow. I’d been doing little Mrs Sunshine for over five years now.

I laid the table and placed the steaks on our plates, making sure Gary got the largest piece of meat. I smiled. I had a plan B.

“Honeeeeeeeeeeey! Dinner’s ready!”

--

It was later on that night, around two, that I heard a scream.

I shook Gary who eventually stopped grumbling and sat up. Gary claims I snore, so he sleeps with earplugs and relies on his annoyingly reliable biological clock to wake him in the morning.

“What’d you wake me for, Sonja? I have a presentation tomorrow,” he whined when he finally uncorked his earplugs.

“I heard a scream,” I whispered. “Should we call the cops?”

“I don’t hear anything. You probably just dreamed it. Go back to sleep.”

“No Gary!” I clutched at him, “I’m positive I heard a scream. Go and look.”

“Sonja please,” he said, removing my arms. “Stop acting like your neurotic mother and go back to sleep. It’s nothing.” He scrunched his earplugs in and lay back, his breathing instantly taking on that annoying whistling quality that indicated he was already back in dreamland. And to think I used to consider the whistling adorable.

Fine.

If he was going to be a spineless slug about it, I’d go and investigate myself.

Being Mrs Gary Armstrong, I wore a demure nightgown to bed so I didn’t have to bother with a robe. I snuck from the bedroom and moved silently to our front door. The scream didn’t sound as if it had come from our place. I suspected it had been our neighbour.

Without making a noise I slid back the bolts on our door and scanned the immediate perimeter. Nothing moved. Staying low, I made my way to Jeanie the meanie’s front door, which I found open. Interesting, but not unusual. She was about as security-conscious as she was pleasant. Take today for example. I mean, if your alarm system is in the kitchen, you make sure you have a phone nearby to warn the cops if it's a false alert.

I did a quick scan of her hallway. Nothing. Still staying low, I inched my way into the front room, senses on full alert, but I didn’t pick up any vibes. Someone had been here - I could tell by the smell, a barely detectable whiff of stale masculine sweat - but whoever had decided to pay a little midnight visit to my darling neighbour was long gone.

I stood up and hit the light switch. Sure enough, it looked like our mystery intruder had startled the old witch so much that she’d fainted. Either that or she was out of it again. There was no time for playing lovely Sonja Armstrong, so I slapped her in the face a bit until she roused.

“What happened?” I demanded aggressively, giving her no time to start wallowing.

“I, there--,” Jeanie swallowed, “there was a man – I woke up, and there was a man standing over me. And I screamed. And that’s when he ran. Just opened the front door, and ran.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“No. It was dark, and it happened so fast, and--”

“I’ll go check the rest of the house,” I interrupted before I had to listen to more drivel. I strode off to her bedroom. The rooms at the back of the house were clear, which left the kitchen and the yard.

And something was definitely wrong there. Aside from the back door being wide open, I mean.

No, what I really didn’t like finding in that yard was Kenny, very much dead, lying on his back like a satiated lover with legs and arms sprawling everywhere. I also wasn’t very happy about the knife sticking in his chest.

But what really pissed me off was the note held in place by that knife, and what it said.

I want my money bitch.

It looked like I’d have to come up with plan C.