by Tim Kizer
"And?"
"You’re going to pretend to be Mary when you talk to him."
"Mary? Who is she?”
“She’s my friend."
“How will I recognize him?”
“Just assume that every guy that calls my number is Don.” Richard pointed at the notebook sheet he had just handed to Susie, and said, “Let me remind you: you do not answer the calls from these numbers.”
“Okay, I remember that.”
“Check the caller ID before you pick up, okay?”
“Got it, honey.” Susie nodded.
“Here’s how you can recognize Don. He’s going to talk to you about love. He’ll tell you that he misses you, that he can’t live without you—well, you get the drift.”
“Gotcha. Is he in love with Mary?"
“Yes. He’ll ask you what happened to your voice. You'll tell him that you have a cold."
“Okay.”
“Susie, I want you to remember every word I'm telling you.”
"Sure, honey. I can do it, don't worry. "
"I hope so. You’re going to set up a date with him. You’ll suggest that you meet the next morning."
"Where?" Curiosity flashed in Susie's eyes.
"There’s an Olive Garden restaurant in Lynnwood. That’s where you’ll ask him to come. I’ll give you the address."
"I love Olive Garden. Have I told you one of my grandmas was Italian?”
"You’re going to tell Don that you love him, that you can’t wait to see him. You must make him want to meet you. But don’t overdo it. Keep it clean, okay?”
“How long should I talk to him?”
“No more than three minutes. Your objective is to get him to come to that restaurant. The less you say the better. If he asks why you haven’t been answering your cellphone, tell him that you lost it.”
"Will I have to meet with this guy?"
"No. As soon as you’ve talked to Don, you can go home."
"All right.” Susie clapped her hands lightly. “It's so romantic. I feel like I’m in a movie."
"Once we’re done with this, we forget we ever met.” Richard paused. “Do you understand everything I just told you?"
"I got it, honey.”
“You forget me, you forget this house, you forget what I asked you to do, okay?”
“Okay. I know what you mean, honey. I’m not an idiot."
Susie laid her hand on his thigh and moved it up and down several times. Strange as it might be, her touch made Richard feel good.
4.
Well, he did it. This morning he went to the sheriff’s station and reported Mary missing. As he drove home, he wondered what was going on in his house. Was Susie ransacking his place for jewelry? Was she drinking his booze? Smoking crack?
When Richard entered the living room, his arms broke out in gooseflesh: the room was empty, the house was silent. The hooker must have changed her mind and gone home. He rushed upstairs. The first room he checked was the master bedroom. He flung open the door and breathed a sigh of relief: Susie was sitting on the bed, holding one of Mary's dresses in her hands.
"Susie, what are you doing here?" he asked, crossing the doorstep.
"Hi, honey. Did you think I ran away?" Susie got up and hung the dress back in the closet. "No, baby, I'm still here. I kept my promise.”
Richard looked at the closet. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just checking out your wife’s closet. Are you mad?"
No, he wasn’t mad. He didn’t give a shit about Mary’s clothes.
Richard motioned Susie to follow him out of the bedroom.
"Did anybody call?"
"Just one guy. His name’s Bob."
Richard stopped. “Did you forget what I told you about those two numbers?”
“What numbers?” A moment later Susie said, “Oh, I remember. But this guy called from some other number.”
Richard decided not to waste time trying to make Susie admit she had screwed up.
“What did you tell him?" he asked.
"He said he wanted to talk to Richard. I told him that he dialed the wrong number."
"And?”
"He hung up and then called again. I told him that he dialed the wrong number."
"Did he call again?"
"No, he didn't." Susie cracked a smile. "Is your real name Richard, honey?"
"It doesn’t matter," Richard said firmly.
5.
He heard a whisper through sleep. He awoke, opened his eyes a crack, and looked at Susie. She was holding the receiver in her hand. She was talking to someone on the phone.
"He’s a dumbass,” she said in a low voice. “He doesn’t suspect anything."
She laughed quietly, listened to the person on the other end of the line. Then she said, "He has a really nice place. Four bedrooms, nice furniture, expensive rugs. He’s paying me for sitting on my ass, can you believe it?"
She fell silent, listening to the response.
"I figure he's after his wife's lover,” Susie said. “I guessed it right away. I wonder where his wife is. If her lover doesn't know where she is, there’s something fishy here."
Richard gathered his strength and jumped off the sofa. When he landed on the floor, he woke up. Then he heard a howling noise, which seemed to have emerged from inside the house. For a second, he thought it was a cat meowing. He lifted his back off the floor and, gasping for air, climbed back on the sofa. He ran his hand through his hair and began rubbing his eyes.
He thought about the dream he had just had, and discovered he couldn’t remember what it was about.
"Honey! Have you seen her! Have you seen her!" Susie shouted from the second floor.
Richard turned his head and saw Susie coming downstairs. She was rubbing her right knee as she descended. Her face was contorted with shock. Richard rose to his feet and took a step toward the stairs. He was feeling chilly.
"What happened?" he asked discontentedly.
"Honey, you should lock the front door," she yelled, rubbing her knee. "I just saw some woman in the hallway. Did you see her?”
"I didn’t see anyone." Richard glanced toward the entrance hall. It was empty. “Where is she now?”
Could he have forgotten to lock the door? No. Richard clearly remembered locking the deadbolt and putting the key in his shorts pocket. Yawning, he fumbled in his pocket; the key was still there.
"She’s gone. She ran outside.” Susie eased into a chair and began massaging her knee with both hands. “I ran after her but slipped and almost broke my leg."
Richard drew a deep breath and shut his eyes for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts. The back of his head was throbbing with pain. Then he asked, “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Want some ice?”
“Sure, hon.”
Richard went to the kitchen, filled a plastic bag with ice cubes from the freezer, and returned to the living room. “Here you go.” He handed the bag to Susie.
“Thank you, hon.” Susie pressed the makeshift ice bag to her knee. "Who is she? Were you expecting anyone?"
“Who are you talking about?” Richard grabbed a couch pillow and blotted the sweat off his forehead with it.
“Are you deaf? I told you five times that I saw a woman.”
“You’re not making it up, are you?” He got up, marched to the entrance hall, and, after a short hesitation, checked to see if the front door was locked. To his surprise, every lock was open. He engaged all the locks and went back to the living room.
“I’m telling you the truth, honey,” Susie said.
He dropped himself on the couch, and asked in a weary voice, “What did she look like?”
"I didn't see her face. Could it be your wife?" Susie giggled.
It couldn’t have been my wife, because I buried her.
Richard wondered how Susie would have reacted if he had told her this little tidbit.
“What was she wearing?”
“Blue jeans and a green s
hirt. She came out of your bedroom and then went downstairs."
Blue jeans and a green shirt. Mary had blue jeans and green shirts in her wardrobe. As a matter of fact, she had worn blue jeans and a green shirt the night she had died.
Was it a coincidence? Of course it was. Susie couldn’t have known what Mary had had on that night.
Why did he even care whether it was a coincidence or not? Mary was dead. Whoever Susie had seen in the hallway, it hadn’t been Mary, plain and simple.
It must be nerves, Richard thought.
“I’m not expecting any guests,” he said.
He had changed the locks on the front door. He was the only person who had the keys to the new locks.
So what?
Can ghosts open locks without keys?
Well, ghosts don’t need keys, because they can fly through walls.
Was he starting to lose his mind? Ghosts? What the hell did ghosts have to do with all this?
“It could be your mistress,” Susie said. “Do you have a mistress?”
Maybe it was Kathy? Maybe she had somehow unlocked the door?
"No, I don't." Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Was she chubby?"
Susie shook her head. "She was slim. But not skinny.”
"I think you should cut it out, Susie. Why are you lying?"
"Lying? Honey, you’re lucky I have a thick skin. Otherwise I would have slapped you upside the head. I’m not a liar, okay?"
"I don't believe you. There was no woman." Richard headed for the stairs.
"Wait, honey. Listen, I’m telling you the truth.” Susie ran after him. “Someone broke into your house, do you understand that? This chick could steal something from you, and I know you will blame it on me."
"What are you getting at? What do you want me to do?"
"I'm not getting at anything. I just want you to know that some woman sneaked into your house. Maybe it’s not her first time." Susie caught up with him and continued, "Believe me, honey. I’m not making it up. I saw her. She was in your bedroom."
Richard heaved a sigh and began rubbing his neck.
"Honey, this woman was in your bedroom for at least five minutes. She might have stolen something from there."
"What did she steal?"
It looked like Susie was planning to blame the mysterious stranger for the thefts she was going to commit herself. It was smart of her to start laying the groundwork early.
"I don't know. But I’m willing to bet she took something. People don’t sneak into other people’s houses just for fun."
"I knew you’d say that." Richard stopped in front of the bedroom door, and said, “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
He entered the bedroom and stretched himself on the bed. He got up a few minutes later, when he heard Susie shouting, “Look, honey!”
Richard descended the stairs and walked up to Susie, who was pointing at the wooden bench in the entrance hall. After gazing at the bench for a while, he asked, “What is it?”
"Look at that shoe,” Susie said with a triumphant air. "It's that woman's shoe. She lost it when she ran to the door. Do you believe me now?"
Susie was right; there really was a shoe under the bench. He would have noticed it himself earlier if he had been more attentive.
Richard squatted by the bench and picked up the shoe. It was a gray slip-on Lacoste canvas sneaker. If Richard had to guess, he would say it was a woman’s shoe. The reason was simple: Mary owned a pair of Lacoste sneakers just like this one. The shoe appeared to have been worn a few dozen times. The manufacturer’s name and logo that had been printed on the insole were already gone; the bottom of the sneaker was in a fairly good condition. His eyes fixed on the crocodile logo embroidered on the vamp of the shoe, Richard stood up and asked, "Did she only lose one shoe?"
Susie shrugged. "I don't know."
Richard checked the inside label for the size—8½. Mary wore size 8½ shoes. Another interesting coincidence.
"Of course you know,” he said. “Where’s the other shoe? You wanted to take them, didn't you? Where is it?"
The prostitute’s face turned red with agitation and annoyance. Curving her lips, she replied, "Honey, go to hell. I'm tired of explaining it to you. If you don't believe me, okay, I don't give a shit. But if she steals anything, blame yourself."
Susie turned around and marched to the armchair in the living room. Richard stood still for a while, deciding what to do with the shoe (leave it here on the floor or take it with him?), and then went after Susie, with the sneaker in his hand.
"Where did you get it?" He sat down on the couch and fixed his eyes on the prostitute. "Where did you get the shoe?"
Now he was positive Mary had had exactly the same sneakers on when he had killed her, but he still deemed it inconceivable that the shoe found by Susie was one of those sneakers. It would have been insane if he entertained such a possibility, wouldn’t it?
It looks too clean to be a shoe that was buried underground, Richard thought.
"Are you trying to say I took it from your wife’s closet?” Susie asked.
“No, I’m not.”
“I would never steal used shoes, okay?" Susie crossed her legs. "I’m not some bum, you know. Used shoes are full of germs.” Her nostrils flared. “I may be a hooker, but I’m not a thief."
Well, Susie was right about the germs. Richard’s mother had taught him early on to avoid putting on other people’s shoes. She had told him countless times about toenail fungus and athlete’s foot, which one could easily acquire by wearing infected shoes just once.
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Susie. Relax.”
How hard would it have been for Mary to clean the dirt of her shoes? Not too hard at all.
Richard placed the sneaker on the table. “So you didn’t her face?”
“No.”
“Can you describe her hair? What color was it?”
“It was auburn.”
Mary had auburn hair—not that it meant anything.
“How long was it?”
“It wasn’t very long. I’d say it was medium length.”
Mary’s hair was medium length, too.
“Did it reach her shoulders?”
“The hair? I believe it did.”
Could it have been Mary’s ghost?
Of course not. Ghosts didn’t exist.
Richard drew a deep breath, and then said, "If you find the other shoe, let me know.”
Susie nodded. “Okay, hon. But I doubt she lost both of them.” She switched on the TV. “I hope you start locking the doors. Seriously, honey."
Besides, ghosts don’t lose shoes.
Richard returned to the entrance hall and searched it thoroughly for the other shoe, but without success. Then he checked Mary’s shoe closet, with the same result.
"Are you going to stay home all day?" Susie asked when he came back to the living room and sat down on the couch.
“Yes.” Richard nodded.
"Are you afraid I’ll steal your stuff?"
Richard gave Susie a studying look. “No, that’s not the reason.”
“Then why?”
“You want me to trust you, Susie, don’t you?"
“That would be nice.”
“Do you think you’re a trustworthy person?”
“Yes, I do. I'm an honest woman." Susie lowered the TV volume. “You don’t trust me because I’m a prostitute, right? Let me tell you this, honey: we’re all prostitutes. We sell ourselves every day. Some people sell their bodies, some sell their minds, but in the end we’re all the same.”
“You know, I think you’re right.” Richard cracked a smile. “Did you hear this in a movie or did you come up with it on your own?”
“These are my own thoughts, baby. I’m quite perceptive.”
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, “This has nothing to do with your occupation, Susie. Believe me, I don’t care what you do for a living.”
“Okay.”
“Yes, I did.” Susie let out an irritated sigh. “Look, honey, I’m not lying to you. I'm trying to help you."
"All right, let's move on.”
Even though Richard was hoping that Susie’s story would eventually turn out to be untrue, he believed the hooker.
“Why would I make this up?” Susie said. “Think about it, honey.”
Maybe he should show her Mary’s picture? She said she hadn’t seen the woman's face, but she might have lied about that. At any rate, there was no harm in trying.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Richard spread his arms over the back of the couch.
"I’ve never seen one, but I think they could be real." Susie shifted her eyes to Richard. “Don’t tell me that woman was a ghost. I know for sure that she wasn’t.”
Why would he show Susie Mary’s picture? What was the point? His wife was dead. His wife was buried twenty miles away from here. The woman in blue jeans couldn’t have been Mary.
And there was no such thing as ghosts.
I am losing my mind, aren’t I?
Maybe it was Mary’s ghost who had called Lisa last Monday. Maybe Lisa hadn’t imagined that phone call after all.
CHAPTER 8
1.
He rolled the platform cart into the front hall and shut the door. As he turned the deadbolt, he noted to himself that he felt nothing special at the moment. He was neither excited nor agitated. The day seemed to be just like any other, as though he hadn’t killed a man four hours ago.
All in all it’s been a fairly good day so far, he thought.
Richard left the cart in the bedroom and went to the bathroom. There, he washed his hands, face, and neck, wiped himself with a towel, and then took an unopened toothbrush from the mirror cabinet. He stuck the toothbrush in his breast pocket. On the way back to the bedroom, he dropped by the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of bleach, a butcher knife, and a plastic zipper bag.
In the bedroom, Richard put on latex gloves and opened the travel trunk, which sat at the foot of the bed. Lying in a fetal position inside the trunk was a naked dead body. When he had bought this trunk at a pawn shop four months earlier, he had not intended to use it for transporting corpses, although it had crossed his mind that it was large enough to fit the body of an average adult. He realized that he would have to discard the trunk when this was over, but he was not upset about it. He was also going to get rid of the platform cart, which he had just purchased at a local home improvement store, for cash.
