Dying to Get Her Man

by Judy Fitzwater

  "I'll let you back in," Jennifer offered.

  "That's okay. Just pass the jar over here."

  Jennifer scooted the peanut butter jar and her milk over to Belle, as Belle passed her her sandwich.

  "Too bad we don't have a bottle of wine," Jennifer added, leaning back against the counter. "Two glasses and I'm gone. What kind of wine goes with peanut butter and jelly? Maybe a good white zinfandel?"

  "No, red would go better, don't you think?" Belle suggested. "I could use a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon."

  Jennifer took another nibble of sandwich and a bit of peanut butter stuck to her tooth. She fished it loose with her tongue. And as she did, her eyes met Belle's. Solemn, serious, intently watching her.

  The truth struck her full in the face. The Silver Oak that was Richard Hovey's favorite wine was a Cabernet Sauvignon.

  How could she have been so dense? Like minds. Both were risky, attractive, intense. Of course Hovey would fall for Belle. And she for him. She wouldn't pester him with morals. She didn't have any.

  And she knew why Belle had come to stay in Macon: To watch over Sam. To make sure he didn't figure it all out. To make sure Richard hadn't let something slip about her in the interviews he'd given Sam. Their relationship was to remain secret until they were ready to tell his family and the rest of the world. And now it had to remain secret so her name would never be linked to Hovey's should someone figure out that Suzanne had been murdered.

  And she knew that Belle knew that she knew.

  "Eat up, Jennifer. You need to get some sleep."

  "So do you."

  Belle slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe.

  Jennifer scanned the counters. Knives in a butcher's block. Dull knives, but knives. Skewers in one of the drawers. A blade in the food processor. The remnants of last night's Chinese dinner. There had to be chopsticks somewhere in that mess of paper. The number of weapons in that kitchen was overwhelming. Exactly what did Belle plan to do? Of course, she could have a little gun tucked in that pocket, the one her hand was in.

  "Sam would have let it go eventually," Belle said. "Everybody was just glad to be rid of Suzanne."

  No everybody. Not Suzie. Not Kelli. Not Marjorie.

  "But you don't know when to stop, do you?" Belle went on. "You're the worrying type. Something doesn't fit, something doesn't quite make sense, and it will keep after you until you figure it out."

  "That's right," Jennifer agreed, raising the sandwich to her lips. She opened her mouth to take another bite. And then she stopped. Peanut butter. Chunky peanut butter. God. It was in the peanut butter. That's how she'd drugged Suzanne. How much had she already had? It couldn't be more than one pill, surely. It hadn't been that big a bite. She dropped the sandwich back onto the plate.

  Belle lifted her hand from the pocket of her robe, a gun in her fist, just as Jennifer suspected. Not all that original a backup plan, but then nobody said Belle was a genius.

  "I really think you should finish that sandwich."

  "Oh, I'm sure you do, so you can take my body elsewhere and try to pass off my death as another unsolved murder. Or accident. Surely not another suicide. That one's getting old."

  "Haven't you heard? There's a murderer on the loose. Someone killed Simon DeSoto, the same person who tried to kill me this afternoon."

  "I hate to spoil your plan, but if I die, Belle, it's going to be right here, right in this apartment with plenty of evidence that you were the one who did it."

  Chapter 32

  "Eat the damn sandwich," Belle growled, blocking the only way out of the little slit of a kitchen.

  "Not yet. I want to know why you killed Suzanne."

  "She killed Richard."

  "Surely it was an accident."

  "Surely I don't give a damn how or why she did it. All I know is when I got to his house late Saturday night, he was dead at the bottom of the stairs. When I went upstairs, I saw what she'd done. That bitch had tried to seduce him."

  "How'd you know it was her?"

  "She'd been calling him off and on for months. Nothing too pushy, but I knew she'd pull something eventually. I deal with nuts like her every day. Their behavior escalates."

  "Why didn't Richard take out a restraining order against her?"

  "And validate her existence? He was convinced she'd go away, that she was harmless."

  "But you weren't."

  "I kept watch on her."

  "Because you thought he might be cheating on you."

  "A man cheats on his wife with a mistress. Why in the world would the mistress think he would be true to her?"

  So Hovey had been cheating on Ruth. With Belle.

  "She shouldn't. You had a key to his place."

  "Of course. You have one to Sam's, don't you?"

  She didn't but she nodded anyway.

  "And I found him. Dead. His neck badly broken."

  "If you'd called 911, he might have been revived."

  "No. He was dead. And even if something could have been done, Richard wouldn't have wanted to live that way, not as a cripple. You didn't know him."

  "I still don't understand why you didn't call the police."

  "And let that bitch get off? I know what lawyers can do. I was about to marry one of the best. She would never have served a day. Accident, insanity, whatever. She would have walked and you know it."

  "But why stage Suzanne's elaborate suicide?"

  "Two reasons. I waited four days. I actually gave her a chance to come forward, turn herself in, but she didn't. When I knocked on her door Wednesday night, she was a mess."

  "How did you go to her house without anybody seeing you?"

  "I pulled off the road and hiked over to the house, in the dark. She had all that wedding nonsense strewn all over the living room."

  "I can't believe she let you in."

  "Why not? I told her I had been in love with Richard, too. She already knew that. I'd told her off one time on the phone when she'd called his house. I gave her some bull shit about knowing how much Richard loved her."

  "And she bought it?"

  "You kidding? It was what she was telling me. She must have had half a dozen condolence phone calls—for my fiancé—while I was sitting there. She was pathetic, really, but halfway convincing.

  "I'd brought a bottle of Southern Comfort. She was more than happy to share it with me, although she did most of the drinking. And then I offered to make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'd brought my own peanut butter and jelly. Comfort food."

  "But why the setup and why on his grave?"

  "Like I said, you should have seen that room. I figured if I was going to kill her, why not give her the wedding she always wanted?"

  "How'd you get her dressed?"

  "She was drunk. She wanted to go to Richard's grave to pay her respects. I got her into the bedroom to help me look for something appropriate for her to wear. I suggested white. After all, she was his bride to be. That summer dress was the only white item she owned. I helped her get into it, and then I found a blue ribbon and combed her hair for her. She showed me the shoes. She'd bought them for the wedding. The pills were kicking in by then, and I was afraid she'd pass out on me before I got her into her car, but I managed."

  "What about the suicide note?"

  "I brought it with me. Laying her out on his grave was a last-minute inspiration. I'd just planned to do her in at her house."

  "What about the white satin shoes and the tape player?"

  "After I strapped her into the passenger seat, I went back into the house for them. And the empty whiskey bottle. I had the pill bottle in my pocket. I found the linen cloth in a closet. I stopped for the roses at an all-night grocery. I was just lucky they had white."

  "While Suzanne waited in the car."

  "Slept in the car."

  "And the song? 'All You Need Is Love'?"

  Belle smiled. "Appropriate, don't you think? She had it playing when I got there. Suzanne didn't need a man, only
love."

  "You drove to the graveyard, moved the flower arrangements out of the way, spread the cloth, and—"

  "Went back and got Suzanne out of the car. She was totally out of it by then, but she could still walk with me holding her up. I took off her coat, laid her down, changed her shoes, and put the flowers in her hands. I dropped the pill bottle and hefted the whiskey bottle out a ways."

  "Then what did you do?"

  "I walked over to the gas station below the cemetery, called a cab, and had it drop me off at the Starvin' Marvin near Suzanne's home. Then I hiked back in the dark to her house, let myself back into her unlocked house, put away her coat and shoes, and picked up my car."

  It was horrible to think of Suzanne helping Belle murder her, but Jennifer couldn't dwell on that, not now.

  "The little enamel anklet. That was yours."

  "Something borrowed. I took it off my own ankle and put it on Suzanne's. I decided she could keep it."

  "And now it's your turn," Belle said. "Eat."

  "No."

  "I'll shoot you."

  "You do that. And then what will you do?"

  "I'll make it look as if an intruder broke in."

  "The same one who tried to kill you, excuse me, tried to kill me in the parking lot? No wonder you were so angry. You weren't suppose to get hurt. What was the signal? Once you went down between the cars he was supposed to shoot? I was the one out in the open. I should have realized it at the time. And here I was trying to protect you. You must have had a real laugh over that one."

  "I was too pissed. The idiot missed."

  "And the intruder story... That won't work. That lock on my door is a bar lock, remember? It goes all the way across the frame. Once it's thrown, nobody can get in short of hacking down the door."

  "You were tired and you forgot to put it on."

  "When Sam left, he waited to hear it slide into place."

  "Okay then. I woke up and needed some air. I went outside and when I came back, I neglected to put it on. Or the intruder had already slipped inside. It was so foolish of me. I'm so terribly sorry, but it was an accident. I'll never forgive myself."

  "Yeah? Well, I appreciate the sentiment. Where were we?"

  "You were dead."

  "Not dead. Wounded." Jennifer studied the gun. "That's a .22 pistol. You should have brought something bigger. Oh, I know they're more bulky and you were packing light, but you're going to have to hit me more than once."

  "Not if it's well placed."

  "It won't be. What do you think I'm going to do, just stand here and let you shoot me? We're going to be struggling, and I plan to hurt you, leave some of your blood on me as evidence. So you're going to have to put at least two bullets in me, probably three. And you'll have my blood all over you. How are you going to explain that to the police? They're going to know you did it."

  "All right then, I'll wound myself."

  "In the arm or the leg? Better make it the arm. You might hit an artery in the leg and then bleed to death. And how are you going to explain away the powder residue on your hand?"

  "I was sleeping. I heard noise out here. A scream and then shots. I came out and struggled with our assailant. You, unfortunately, were already dead. In our struggle, we fell against you, struggled over you. I managed to get my hand around the gun, and—"

  "And what? Shot yourself?"

  "I was shot and he fled."

  "Leaving no DNA, no hair, no fibers behind."

  "I'm sure there're all sorts of fibers in this apartment for them to choose from. You don't keep the most spotless house, you know."

  Terrific. She'd just helped Belle perfect her plan.

  "You're pretty good at this," Belle said.

  "Yeah, well it's sort of what I do. But you forgot about the gun."

  "I'll get rid of it before the police get here."

  "I do have neighbors."

  "Even better. It'll take them a while to get out of bed and when they do come see what's going on, I'll make sure they all come in to see your body and leave their fibers."

  "Muffy," Jennifer called. She let out a whistle.

  "Don't bother," Belle told her, a nasty grin on her face. "She likes peanut butter, too."

  Chapter 33

  "Nobody messes with Muffy." Jennifer threw herself on top of Belle. They crashed to the floor, hitting the Linoleum so hard she heard the air leave Belle's lungs in one loud grunt. Her leg began to bleed again. She felt the wet stickiness seeping into the gauze, but that was the least of her problems.

  "You bitch," Belle gasped in Jennifer's ear. "I think I broke something."

  "I certainly hope so." She could feel the gun wedged tightly against her chest, where she was going to have one heck of a bruise, assuming she lived to check it out. And she could feel Belle's hand, still firmly wrapped around the grip.

  "I can still pull the trigger," Belle warned.

  "I don't think that would be good for either one of us."

  Suddenly Belle bent her right leg and rolled, throwing Jennifer hard against the lower cabinets. But she was right back on top of her. Where else did she have to go? She grabbed Belle's wrist and a shot rang past her ear.

  Belle's mouth was moving, spitting words, but Jennifer couldn't make out any of them. She twisted and threw herself full force against Belle's right shoulder, and this time, the gun fell from her hand.

  Belle managed to grab it with her bandaged left hand, but she couldn't force her gauze-wrapped finger around the trigger. To keep Jennifer from taking it from her, she flung it over her shoulder. It skittered toward the dining table and into the darkness. Jennifer's ringing ear gave her no indication where it went after that.

  She managed to push herself up so she was straddling Belle. Belle caught her with an upper cut to the stomach that held as much force as she could manage from a prone position. She slapped Belle hard on the cheek, fully aware that the lock on her door, so carefully designed to keep people out of her apartment, even police, may have sealed Muffy's fate. They could beat up on each other for hours, but unless someone got hold of that gun, lost in the darkness, or she did something clever, Muffy was going to die.

  She had one thing going for her: the hometown advantage. She pushed hard against Belle's shoulders and pushed herself upright, rocking back onto her feet, and turned. Belle scrambled up behind her, but not before she managed to open the cabinet door next to the stove. She reached inside, pulled out a box of salt, and flipped it open. Belle grabbed her upper arm, and as Belle pulled her round to face her, she flung a stream of crystals at her face, right into Belle's very surprised eyes.

  Belle screamed, a bloodcurdling screech. Jennifer shoved past her as Belle fumbled for the sink. She dashed to the door and flipped on the overhead lights to the dining area and the living room. Now where the heck was that gun? She got down on all fours and wasted precious seconds scrambling around the table legs, but she couldn't find it.

  Back to the door to release the bar and push it out of the way, then unlock the dead bolt and finally the small lock on the door handle itself.

  "Don't move."

  Jennifer turned, her hand still on the doorknob, cradling it behind her back, to see Belle, her eyes swollen and red, holding the pistol in a shaky hand. "I should have killed you in your sleep."

  "Probably," Jennifer agreed. "But I think it's a little late for that now." She looked Belle up and down. "Lots of comingled DNA all over you and all over me. You look like hell, by the way. How are you going to explain all this to the police?"

  The muffled whir in the distance was growing louder and louder.

  "My neighbor, Mrs. Ramon, the one across the hall that you and Sam kept bothering the other day? She's from El Salvador. She knows the difference between a backfire and a gunshot."

  Chapter 34

  Jennifer stared through the glass window of the surgery room at the Macon Small Animal Clinic and felt the tears stream down her cheeks. Muffy lay so still on the table, an IV hooked t
o her leg.

  Mrs. Ramon patted her shoulder, giving her a little hug every now and again. She held her rosary in her hands.

  "Is she going to be all right?" Sam's voice whispered behind her.

  She turned and there he stood in the brightly lit, sterile hallway holding a Scooby Doo balloon almost as big as Muffy herself in one hand and a huge bone with a red bow around it and a bag of Snausages in the other.

  She couldn't help but grin, and the tears started all over again. Mrs. Ramon cocked her head toward Sam and gave her a little push in his direction.

  But it didn't take much. She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, burying her face in his shoulder. "I muff ooo."

  "What'd you say?" he asked.

  She looked up at him, suddenly self-conscious. "Thank God you're here."

  Sam dropped the treats and the bone and let the balloon float to the ceiling. He took her face in his hands. "How is she?"

  Jennifer pulled back a little and wiped her tears with the heel of her hand. "They pumped her stomach. They think they got enough of the pills and the peanut butter out. She does have some in her system that she's just going to have to sleep off. That's why they keeping her overnight, so they can monitor her and make sure she'll be all right."

  "That's great, but do you think we can get back to what you said before you started telling me about Muffy. I'm not sure I heard you right."

  The lump in her throat was huge. "Sam, we can't talk about this here. I'm exhausted and—"

  "You look like hell." He ran his finger over her cheek. "You have bruises—"

  "In places you can only imagine."

  He grinned.

  "Stop that!" She slapped his arm. "I have to get down to the police station. They were gracious enough to let me make sure Muffy would be all right."

  Mrs. Ramon snorted. "She made the paramedics look at Muffy before her." The woman threw up her hands. "And then one of the police officers, he rush us here in his squad car."

  "You wouldn't let me come by myself."

  "Jennifer, I'm so sorry," Sam said. "I would never have let Belle in your place if I'd had any idea..."