by The Mysterious Bookshop Presents the Best Mystery Stories of the Year 2021
“Meaning what?”
“Ingest one iota and the recipient susperates his last. The only known unction is extreme.”
“If he’s stricken, why wouldn’t he use his cell phone to dial 911?”
“Easy. Turn off the ringer and toss it in the trash. Next question.”
“Will he suffer?”
“Not that much. On the other hand, you wouldn’t want to be there. This form of expiration is often accompanied by encopresis.”
“Enco . . .”
“. . . presis. Victim shits himself.”
“I see.”
“A further advantage to this toxic substance? There’s no known anecdote. And the best part is this—no one will ever know. It looks entirely natural, like a sudden heart attack or a massive stroke.”
“You mentioned putting this substance in food. Won’t he taste it?”
“Negatory, but if it worries you, I can add a dollop to one of his personal hygiene products, like maybe his shaving gel.”
“Or maybe the container of wet wipes,” she said, helpfully. “He’s always swabbing down the counters because he’s phobic about germs.”
“Now you’re thinking like a champ. So what do you say? Are we in this together or are we not?”
She considered his proposal, quickly assessing the pros and cons. As crude as he was, she could see the virtue of delegating this particular job. She was a capable woman, but she wasn’t at all certain she’d be good at murder. She might get rattled and betray herself. On the other hand, if Puckett was experienced and had access to an undetectable poison, she could avoid doing anything distasteful.
Cautiously, she said, “The police are thorough. How can you be sure the poison will defy detection?”
“Because I’ve seen to such situations in the past. The forensic experts can expiscate all they like. They’ll never cop to this.”
“And you’d do this in exchange for what?”
“Why don’t we say equipotent compensation.”
“Which is how much?”
“Ordinarily, we’re talking five grand . . . a bargain, even if I say so myself.”
“I’m sure it is, but if my husband dies—”
“Correction. When hubby dies . . .”
“Suppose I come under suspicion? The police will examine my bank accounts. I can’t afford to show a large cash withdrawal. How would I explain?”
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “I’m not asking for dough. Did I say a word about that? Jesus, lady. That would be unpropitious, to say the least.”
She put a finger to her lips, shushing him again.
He lowered his voice. “You’re an educated woman, am I right?”
“I graduated from Smith. I assume you’ve heard of it.”
“Of course. With a common name like that? So what it ain’t Harvard? It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of. Now me, I’m a self-educated sort.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“It surprises a lot of people, but it’s the truth. I’ve been studying you. Just while we been sitting here, I’m picking up clues. You may be hoity-toity, but you’re not a bad egg. You got a good life that you’re just trying to protect. If hubby don’t treat you right, you gotta take the situation in hand. I got no quarrel with that.”
“I appreciate your support.”
“So I’m thinking there’s more than one woman in your position. We could make a deal on the if-come. I do for you and in exchange, you give me a referral should another housewife of your acquaintance express an interest in the process of spousal peroration.”
“Like a loss leader.”
“Right. I’m out the bucks on this one, but the deal will be effective at bringing in the trade.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“How do I know I can trust you? Truth is I do. You know what I sense about you? You’re a nice lady. I mean, aside from your desire to take a lead pipe to hubby’s skull, I’d say you’re a peach.”
She studied him briefly. “I leave on Tuesday for two weeks in India. Our anniversary trip. If you can take care of this while I’m away, I’ll have the perfect alibi.”
“Good move.”
“So how do we proceed?”
“Simple. You have an alarm system at your place?”
“Yes, but we hardly ever use it.”
“Fine. You give me a house key and the code. I already got the address off your driver’s license, so I know where you live. I’ll keep an eye on the place, and at some point when hubby’s out, I’ll let myself in and insinuate a generous serving of the you-know-what where it’ll do the most good. And don’t pin me down. The less you know the better. When the time comes, you want to be able to fake your genuine surprise.”
“And my genuine horror and grief.”
“That too.”
“Perfect. I’ll give the housekeeper the time off, as well, so you won’t have to worry about her.” She removed the house key from her key ring and dropped it in his palm. “One more thing. How will I know when the job is done?”
“Easy. I’ll leave the key underneath the doormat in front. The key ain’t there, you know the job ain’t been done. It’s there, then all your troubles evaporate.”
For Lucy Burgess, the cruise was magical. Knowing the pesky business with Burt was finally under control, she felt lighter and freer than she had in years. She slept late, alone in the luxury of her stateroom. She made friends, sunned herself, danced, played bridge, and sat in the bar drinking pricey champagne. On the various shore excursions, she scarcely noticed the loathsome lepers and crippled children begging her for coins. She was dreaming of what awaited her when she got home: the properties, the house. She could get a dog, now that she didn’t have Burt’s allergies to worry about.
She did entertain the faintest whisper of uneasiness where Puckett was concerned. There was no guarantee that he would do what he said. She believed in backup plans, keeping a little something in reserve. Delegating work was all well and good, but if the other person failed to perform, you had to be prepared to step in. She pondered this for days with no clear sense of how to protect herself. Then in Goa, on the final day ashore—her silver anniversary of marriage to Burt, by happy coincidence—she went on the tour of a local factory, and the answer presented itself.
On her return that Saturday, when Burt wasn’t at the airport to meet her plane, she was thrilled. Wonderful! Divine! He was doubtless d-e-a-d. Giddy, she took a taxi to the house. Once her luggage was on the porch and the driver had pulled away, she lifted one corner of the mat. There lay her house key, glinting in the sun. Hallelujah, she thought. It’s over. The deed was done.
She unlocked the door, breathing in the familiar scent of the rooms. The house felt gloriously empty. Colors seemed brighter and every surface shone. The very air seemed sweet. She made a cautious circuit, knowing the body was somewhere on the premises. She hoped he wasn’t sprawled on the bedroom floor, where she’d have to work around him when she unpacked her bags. She was also hoping he hadn’t been dead so long that putrefaction had set in, though they probably had cleaning services to eradicate the ooze. She found herself tiptoeing, as though playing a game of hide-and-seek, peeking around corners to make sure the coast was clear. Guest room, hall, foyer bathroom. Really, how aggravating. She was running out of rooms.
“Hey, babe. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting home today?”
She whirled, shrieking.
There stood Burt, alive and well, and apparently in perfect health. In addition to looking fit, he seemed rested, probably from screwing his brains out the whole time she was gone. Her heart was pounding and she thought she’d weep from disappointment, but she had to carry on as though everything were fine.
She recovered sufficiently to fake her way through the rest of the day. Sunday came and went. She waited, but there was no sign whatever that Burt was on the brink of death. He must have spent every minute at his girlfriend’s place. Clearly, he hadn’t
ingested or applied poison of any kind. She wondered where it was. Puckett had mentioned food, personal hygiene items, and common household products, but he hadn’t said which. How could she avoid poisoning herself by mistake? He could have put the fatal dose in anything. She realized with dismay she had no way of reaching him. Originally, he’d called her—and had neglected to give her a contact number in return. Whatever he’d done, wherever he’d put the poison, she was now as vulnerable as Burt.
When two more days passed and they continued to coexist, her anxiety began to mount. Burt showered and shaved, slapped cologne on his face, and went merrily off to work. When he came home, he’d fix himself a drink while she prepared dinner as she usually did. While his appetite was hearty, she couldn’t eat a thing. The only products she used were those she removed from her own suitcases, sitting in the bedroom still packed and kept under lock and key. She bathed with newly opened bars of soap and ate all her breakfasts and lunches out. She avoided room fresheners, laundry soap, and scouring cleanser, even though the sinks were turning gray. No shampoo, conditioner, or styling spray for her. She made certain no toothpaste, dental floss, or mouthwash crossed her lips.
Meanwhile, Burt was in the best of spirits. Lucy was mystified. What if he’d already been exposed to the poison and somehow managed to avoid harm? Maybe he was naturally immune to whatever it was. Occasionally, she thought he might be toying with her. He’d start to eat a handful of nuts, and then change his mind. Or he’d fix himself a sandwich and end up throwing it in the trash. The suspense was getting on her nerves.
By the weekend she decided it was time to move on to Plan B.
Saturday night, the two retired early. Lucy read the paper, catching up on the news while Burt lay beside her, watching one of his boring TV shows. She noticed him wincing as he cleared his throat. “Scratchy. I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
“Poor you,” she said.
“Yeah, poor me. There’s all kinds of shit going around these days. Client came in yesterday and coughed all over me. Office was a cesspool of germs. I sprayed everything as soon as she left.”
Lucy snapped the paper, folding it back so she could check the weather page. “Highs in the nineties tomorrow. How unpleasant is that?”
“What’s the pollen count?”
“Way up,” she said.
He looked over at her. “They’re talking weeds?”
“Weeds and grass. Molds are moderate, but trees are off the charts.”
“Shit.” He got out of bed and padded barefoot into the bathroom where she heard him opening the medicine cabinet. Lucy rolled her eyes.
Sunday morning, Lucy went into the big walk-in closet and got out her walking shoes. She couldn’t bear it. She had to leave the house or she’d go stark raving mad. She was beginning to regret the agreement she’d made with Puckett, which was harebrained at best. The man was a moron. She took off her robe and was pulling on her sweats when Burt stuck his head in. “So, how about Sunday brunch? I thought you could rustle up some bacon, eggs, and toast.”
“I was just going for a walk.”
“Come on. Indulge me. It’ll be just like the old days. I’ll walk with you afterward. How’s that for a deal?”
She shoved her feet down into her running shoes and laced them, then followed him down the stairs. His proposal was the first nice thing he’d come up with in recent memory. Eggs must be safe. Surely, Puckett hadn’t used osmosis to get poison through the shells. She didn’t give him credit for the imagination it would take to inject a dose into the hermetically sealed package of bacon they’d had for a month. She made a pot of coffee. She poured Burt a glass of orange juice while he sanitized his hands and downed his echinacea. For once, his fussiness seemed more eccentric than annoying. She had quirks that probably annoyed him no end. She cooked his bacon, eggs, and toast. She opened a jar of his favorite strawberry jam and spooned it into a dish.
She put his plate in front of him, and then sat across the table watching as he read the Sunday paper and wolfed down his meal without saying a word. He was still in his robe and pajamas. He didn’t shave on Sundays so he was disheveled—unusual for him.
He looked up, noticing for the first time she wasn’t joining him. “You’re not having anything?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Something wrong with you? You’ve hardly touched a bite since you’ve been home.”
“I haven’t been feeling well. My digestion’s off. I’ll fix something for myself later on.”
He wiped his mouth and crumpled the paper napkin as he pushed his plate aside. “You picked up a bug. I hear some parasites can live in your guts for life. I warned you about that. You better have the doc run some tests.”
Lucy took his dirty dishes and put them in the sink. She ran water, but she couldn’t bring herself to add detergent, which might be the agent Puckett had selected to deliver the you-know-what. On second thought, she added detergent. No danger there. Puckett must have known Burt had never washed a dish in his life. Behind her, she heard him snicker. She assumed he was reading the funnies, but when she turned she saw him looking at her with barely suppressed mirth. She turned off the water. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” he said solemnly, and then cracked up again. “No, wait. This is rich. This is killing me. Maybe it’s time to end your misery.”
“Misery?”
It took him a minute to compose himself. Finally, he took out a handkerchief and mopped his eyes. “Whew. I didn’t mean to lose it there. I just couldn’t help myself. This past Friday, I ran into a pal of yours, who said to tell you hello.”
“Oh? And who was that?”
“A fellow named Puckett. He says the two of you had a meeting before you left town.” Burt was making an effort to keep a straight face.
Lucy frowned. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.” She leaned her backside against the counter and crossed her arms, keeping her distance from him. “How do you know him?”
“He was referred by one of the other attorneys in the firm. I said I needed a little job done and his name came up.”
“What sort of job?”
Burt left her hanging for a moment while a smile played across his lips. “Let’s put our cards on the table for a change, okay? Just this once.”
“Fine. Go ahead. I’m fascinated.” In truth, she felt a touch of uneasiness settle in her gut.
“I knew you were up to something so I paid this guy Puckett five thousand bucks to steal your purse and hand it over to me. You might have noticed the cash withdrawal when you were snooping in my desk.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was curious why you were so engrossed in that journal of yours. Every time I turned around, you were scribbling away.”
“That’s how I’m able to stay organized. You know how I am.”
“Come on, Luce. I read it from beginning to end. You were planning to have me iced. Puckett spilled the beans about the deal you made.”
“Burt, I’d never heard of this Puckett fellow until you mentioned him just now.”
“Get off it. The cat is officially out of the bag. He left the key under the doormat like he said he would. When you got home from the cruise, you thought I was dead. I watched you creep around the house with me ten steps behind. You should have seen the look on your face when you turned around and spotted me. You screamed like you’d seen a ghost.”
Lucy smiled politely. The joke was always on her. She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t see the point.
“You want to know how I survived?” He began to laugh again, so tickled with himself he started to snort. “The guy’s an actor. He does improv. There isn’t any poison. That was all bullshit.” On he went, chortling to himself while she stared, her smile fading. “Sorry, but I got such a kick out of watching you this past week. You were so worried about poison you wouldn’t sit down on the toilet seat. You had to squat to pee.”
Lucy faltered. “An ac
tor?”
“Get a clue. With all that phony lingo, you didn’t pick up on it? Nobody talks that way. I told him to play it straight, but he insisted. Guess he fooled you anyway, huh.”
“Oh, Burt. It’s not funny.”
“You know what your problem is? You have no sense of humor. God, you’re gullible. It really cracks me up. Hook, line, and sinker, you swallowed every bit of it.”
She turned back to the sink and washed his plate. Her hands shook badly and as she moved the plate to the draining rack, it slipped out of her hand and shattered on the floor.
“Goddamn it!” She leaned her hands on the counter. “Jesus, Burt. You should have told me before.”
“Well, you don’t have to get mad. It was a prank, okay?”
She returned to the breakfast table and sat down. “There’s something I have to confess.”
“Great. I’m all ears.”
Lucy put a trembling hand against her lips, then placed it palm down on the table. “You know how particular I am, how I hate to delegate . . .”
“Jesus, you’re telling me? You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I wasn’t sure I could trust Puckett so I came up with a backup plan . . .”
“What’s wrong with electrocution? Drop a radio in the bathtub. I liked that.”
She leaned forward, clasping his hands in hers. “Don’t make jokes. We’re in serious trouble here. I thought you were having an affair.”
“Nah. The bimbo? I dropped her.”
Lucy studied his face with a worried gaze. “But you told Laird you wanted to rewrite your will.”
“Yours, too. It’s been ten years since we signed those things. You think our financial situation hasn’t changed?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? You should have said something at the time.”
“Gee, sorry. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”
Lucy sank to her knees beside him. “Listen. You have to trust me. We need to get you to a hospital . . .”
“What for?”
“You need medical attention.”
