Dahlia Deep (Snippet 1)

  Dahlia Hart had the perfect marriage.
She had it up to her eyeballs for ten years now. Longer, if you counted the two years she and Eric dated. They met at a frat party in their second year of college. She fell hard for his baby blues, his unruly blond waves, his carefree smile.
The people closest to Dahlia, and there weren't many, often made comments about her absolutely fantastic marriage.
"Ooh, you are so lucky you nabbed Eric way back when. I would kill to be in your shoes!" gushed Tara, Dahlia's homely best friend, for the umpteenth time. Poor Tara had zero luck in the romance department. She was too chunky, too plain, too awkward and shy with men. Still, she was sweet.
Dahlia didn't mind her friend's flaws. She fed on them, feeling like a rockstar whenever they were together. Dahlia was tall, slim, and elegant. How could she not stand out next to Tara?
Why, Dahlia caught many interested glances thrown her way, right there at the restaurant they lunched at. Tara didn't, she was the blah frame to Dahlia's Mona Lisa.
"I wish I had an Eric," Tara gushed on, her mud brown eyes filled with longing. "Do you know how blessed you are? You have a sexy man who treats you like a queen."
But Dahlia always responded the same to comments like these. It made no difference who did the gushing. She would make a slow nod of her head, careful not to disturb the sleek chestnut bob she styled to perfection. Then she would agree, as expected, with a small sigh, "Yes, I'm very blessed."

*

The mid-October's day was warm and gorgeous, typical for south-western Tennessee. Tree leaves were turning to the colors of Autumn, yet the weather remained mild.
Dahlia felt happy and sad that sunny gold afternoon, standing alongside the other mourners in her crisp black pantsuit with matching heels, gloves, and netted hat. She cried the dignified tears of a widow watching her beloved husband being laid to rest. But while she daintily dabbed at the moisture mucking up her eye-liner, and while she sniffed her delicate sniffles, Dahlia felt wonderstruck most of all.
She got away with murder.
It was too easy, spur of the moment, planned on a whim. Dahlia "accidentally" brought home a cake, flavored with hidden nut products. Eric's allergy was most severe due to his asthma. His reaction to the cake proved swift, fatal.
While Eric struggled for his life's breath, baby blues straining wide and carefree smile gone missing, Dahlia performed a frantic search for his "misplaced" EpiPen. As she did so, she faked the 911 call.
When Dahlia made the real call, she cried to the operator, "I was in the shower. I didn't know! Oh gawd, my Eric, I found him on the floor after. I couldn't save him, I was too late!"
The prevalence of food allergies and Dahlia's long, happy history with Eric made for a lax investigation. It wasn't quite open and shut just yet, there was life insurance involved. Though after the case was reviewed, Dahlia had been assured, by one and all, that the shutting was soon in coming.
Murdering her husband happened just like that, as easy as a snap of the fingers in the blink of an eye. Dahlia found it hard to believe, even while she stood watching Eric's casket being lowered into the ground.
After the funeral, at the grand reception held in her husband's memory, Dahlia thought of the exciting things she could now do with her fresh-earned freedom.
She also thought of Eric. She missed him already and sort of wished he would be there to hear all about her future escapades. If only she could have her cake and eat it too. But she couldn't, she realized, and it pricked at her heart.
Dahlia soothed her sadness by telling herself it was normal to grieve. Eric had been a huge part of her life. A wonderful man. A wonderful husband. He'd loved her well and she'd loved him back, but it was time to move on.
Awash in excitement and grief, she mingled and mourned with the other reception-goers. Condolences were given, memories were shared. She received a multitude of comforting pats and squeezes.
"Eric would have loved the weather today," Dahlia murmured to sympathetic ears, her tone one of fond sorrow, while she dabbed and sniffed.