“Why just fine, Miss Heidi,” replied Betty as she put on her coat, preparing to leave her employer for the evening and return to her own home.
“Well, you are a braver woman than me. I cannot remember the last time I drove a car. I really admire you. I think my buying you a car and helping you get a driving license will not only help me but you also.”
Betty nodded her agreement. A few weeks earlier, Heidi had had the notion that it would be beneficial if her housekeeper had a better means of transportation than just the city bus. It would benefit her to have Betty on call, as well as working her normal hours. It seemed common sense to buy a car for her use, and of course pay for lessons to enable her to drive it. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it. Betty had jumped at the chance of learning to drive. She knew that her employer’s motives were more self-serving than good-natured, but that hadn’t deterred her enthusiasm to learn. And though the car would not be hers, Heidi had promised her that she could use it whenever she liked, and that of course she could use it for her own personal use. Heidi was getting older; she knew it would only be a matter of time before she would have to rely on Betty, not just for cooking and cleaning, but to provide her care as her age advanced. Betty, though she didn’t know it yet, would not only be Heidi’s housekeeper, but would also become her caregiver, Heidi always planned ahead.
Once Betty had departed, not before clearing her employer’s plate, Heidi retired to her living room. Fuchsl lifted his head from his dog bed, acknowledging his mistress’s entrance, and wagging his tail, before lowering his head, apparently disappointed she was not holding his leash. So, thought Heidi, the election was tomorrow. As she peered from the living room window, her eyes shifting to her neighbor’s lawn. She knew who she wouldn’t be voting for, even if the odds were he was going to win anyway, and by all accounts by a landslide. Elliott Miller, the fraud and liar, still alive and, despite numerous calls to her son Stephen, no explanation as to why her proposed contract on the man who had stolen from her family, masqueraded as something he was not, had not been carried out. Nor had there been any word about the money she had paid to have him killed. Her son had explained he was trying his best to get her news, to find out what was going on, or in this case, what was not going on, but he had few answers. Apparently it wasn’t just Heidi who was disappointed; many of her son’s criminal clients had also expressed their frustration at the lack of activity by this so called ‘organization’. It appeared they had simply vanished.
What a complete waste of time, she thought. If you need something done, do it yourself. That was the problem with things these days. If only she had just killed Elliott herself. She had had the opportunity many times, and despite her age, it wouldn’t have taken much to sneak up behind him and put a bullet in the back of his head, though of course she would have preferred to shoot him between the eyes, so he could see it was she who was his executioner. She would have reveled in the pleasure of his seeing her smiling face as the last thing he ever saw, unaware of the reason his neighbor was killing him. And who would even suspect her anyway? Who would have suspected an old lady; no motive, no witnesses, and no proof? Heidi regretted ever trusting her business with her son, and his so called ‘connections’.
What sort of Mayor would he make anyway? A Jew? What were the people of Savannah thinking? Even a black Mayor was better than one of those people. Maybe they just didn’t know, maybe they didn’t even care. Idiots. And now another one had moved into the neighborhood? The Polish one, who had rented Brenda Carter’s house on Henry Street. She shuddered. What was happening to Gordonston? It was becoming infested. Soon they would be everywhere, then God forbid interbreeding, eradicating those who were purebred. She closed her eyes. So many of these interracial marriages. Soon, if someone didn’t stop it, it would be she and her kind who would be the minority, the pure blooded races wiped out, by what? Love? A more tolerant generation? It was utter nonsense. If he had had his way there would be none of ‘those people’. The world would have been a better place, everyone in their place, none of these terrorists fighting over that piece of dirt called Israel. It wouldn’t even have existed. There would be no war. There would be harmony; the world led by the master race. If they had succeeded, there would have been order, discipline, cures for diseases, science would have progressed further. China and India the best economies in the world? Not if they had had their way. Crime would have been dealt with correctly, not that there would have been any crime, as those who ruled would have ruled with an iron fist, would have ensured that there would have been no descent into chaos. If only they had stopped to think. What they were trying to achieve was the right thing to do. Heidi calmed herself, before she worked herself into a frenzy. The world had had its chance, and it was their loss.
Heidi suddenly felt tired, no doubt brought about by her hatred of, and anger at, the world. Not for one minute did Heidi consider that she was wrong, that her beliefs were abhorrent, that the philosophy, indoctrinated into her as a child, was evil. As far as she was concerned, it was they who were evil, as proved by the actions of her neighbor. Not for one minute did Heidi consider the innocent, the lives lost nor the pain suffered by millions. As far she was concerned, they had deserved it.
The old woman felt that an early night would be in order. She commanded Fuchsl to follow her up the stairs to her bedroom, and once again the dog appeared disappointed that he was not to be taken for at least a quick walk. Sulkily he followed his owner. As she passed her ‘secret room’ she paused, gently caressing the door knob, her past, her glorious past, memories and relics of an ideal that she worshiped, an ideal that she could only hope would one day rise again. She suddenly shuddered, a cold chill engulfing her body. What if her secret ever got out? What if she was ever exposed? What then? She would be shunned, maybe even worse. She had heard of people being deported to whence they came for having been a member of the party. They would take everything, her home, her money and of course her reputation. She couldn’t imagine the uproar if anyone ever entered her secret room, or even had any idea about her past. All her secrets, all her things, her beliefs. Betty would surely resign, she would be thrown out of The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, people would not understand. No, the thought was simply abhorrent to her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Billy Malphrus enjoyed moments like this. He had the whole house to himself, apart from Paddy; whom he did his best to ignore. His Aunt Cindy had left earlier to cast her vote in the mayoral election, advising him, not for the first time that day that, “Elliott is going to win! Go, Elliott!” and to canvass on behalf of Elliott Miller at polling stations across the city. She had become a pivotal part of the campaign, according to her at least, and she would be gone for the whole day. Billy had of course agreed with her that Elliott, if he did win, would owe his victory to Cindy, that he too believed he was the ideal candidate, and like Cindy, the people of Savannah would be just crazy not to elect him Mayor. The truth was Billy didn’t care, he wasn’t bothered who won the silly election; it meant nothing to him. Who cared about Savannah? It was a small, boring town, filled with uppity rich people with an obnoxiously high opinion of themselves. Not to mention a certain amount of snobbery and unjustified self-importance. The only good thing about Savannah, thought Billy, was the fact you could walk the streets drinking alcohol from an open container, its St Patrick’s Day parade and the fact that there was money to be made from its pompous and self-righteous inhabitants, many of those he classed as ‘snobby’, living in Gordonston.
He despised them. Rich, always in everyone’s business, ignorant and spoiled. Self-important, self-serving and cocooned in their enclave of selfishness, they even kept that park to themselves, as if they had a divine right to it. Well, as far as Billy was concerned they were easy pickings, and he would feel not an ounce of remorse, once he mustered enough energy to begin his crime spree, focusing on the people of Gordonston. He would soon be inside their homes, taking anything he could find, and would they s
uspect him? No, of course they wouldn’t. Why, he was the kindhearted nephew of Cindy Mopper; he wouldn’t dream of ever stealing anything. He was a good boy, everyone knew it. Apart, of course, from Kelly Hudd, and she wasn’t even here. Jerry Gordonston? Could she not have come up with something better? At least his false name, Count Enrico de Cristo, had been believable.
With Cindy out of the house, it gave Billy a chance to plan his next move, which involved breaking into the Hudd’s empty house next door and stealing as many items as he could; clothes, jewelry, computers, televisions, everything. Then, he would pawn them, exchanging the stolen goods for what he craved more than anything else — stone cold hard cash. Billy, despite his ignorance, was a planner, and he decided the best way to formulate his plans was to write them down. He would write a checklist, listing those he would steal from, which stores he would use to pawn the stolen items and would begin recording details of his planned victims, including days and hours they worked, the time it would take him to effectively take as much as he could and which of their possessions he would make a priority. Top of his list was Kelly, second would be his aunt’s friend Heidi, then maybe he would even target Elliott.
He needed a pen and some paper, to begin compiling his notes, and he reckoned the most likely place to find the implements he needed to put his plan into writing were probably in his aunt’s desk, the one in the den, where her computer sat. As he rummaged through his aunt’s desk drawers, in his search for a pencil or pen, he stumbled upon something that immediately peaked his interest. It was an envelope, an envelope he knew he had to open, and its contents he had to read. With curiosity taking a hold of him, he removed the envelope from the drawer, opened it and began to read the document inside it:
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF
CINDY HELEN MOPPER
STATE OF GEORGIA
COUNTY OF CHATHAM
I, Cindy Helen Mopper, a resident of Chatham County, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make this my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking and annulling all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.
BURIAL AND FUNERAL EXPENSES
I desire and direct that my body be buried in a regular manner, suitable to my circumstances and condition in life, and a suitable memorial erected, the cost of my burial and memorial to be paid out of my estate.
BEQUEST OF ESTATE
I give, bequeath, and devise to BILLY ULYSES MALPHRUS, all of my property, both real and personal, of every kind and description, wherever situated, whether now owned or hereafter acquired, including the rest, residue, and remainder, in fee simple.
In the event BILLY ULYSES MALPHRUS, does not survive me, or we die simultaneously, then I give, bequeath and devise all my property, including the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate to THE GORDONSTON RESIDENTS ASSOCIATION, in fee simple.
Billy took in a sharp intake of breath and his eyes widened. This changed everything. This was an unexpected turn of events. So he would get everything, everything when she died? Everything! The house, the money and the good Lord only knew what else. He would never have to work again. He would be rich beyond his dreams. He wouldn’t need to steal, con, work crappy jobs just to get by. He would have money, lots of it, as long as they didn’t die together, or him before her, but what were the chances of that? He could ignore the second part, the bit about the stupid Residents Association getting their already rich hands on anything. And no mention of having to care for her stupid dog either. No clauses, nothing preventing him from selling her assets, her house included, and nothing stopping him from having Paddy put to sleep. He could sell this place and move to somewhere exotic, somewhere cool, maybe Miami, even Las Vegas. Billy’s mind was racing: he could travel, without having to pretend to be someone he wasn’t; he could live like a king. Women would flock to him; he could buy a sport’s car, designer clothes, and he could do anything he wanted. Already he was making plans, spending his inheritance in nightclubs, living in a luxurious apartment; he would be a jet setter; he would be a playboy, and he could actually really live like his alter ego, Count Enrico de Cristo; a yacht maybe? This was all he had ever dreamed about: wealth, money, possessions and an easy life.
Just as quickly as Billy’s elation and euphoria had begun, it subsided. His heart sank and thoughts of casinos, gorgeous women and boats evaporated as quickly as they had materialized. Of course he didn’t have it yet. He would have to wait, and God only knew how many years. His aunt was a healthy active woman and had years ahead of her. She was never sick, and, knowing his luck, she would live to be a hundred. The chances were he could never keep up his act; the act of being the loving nephew, the charitable and kindhearted boy who adored his Aunt Cindy for much longer. He was already finding it difficult to put up with her constant talking, her constant open displays of affection towards him, and he was finding it even more difficult to keep up with his own lies. It would only be a matter of time before he blew it and Cindy found out what he was really like. And what if that Kelly showed up? Began spilling the beans, told Cindy about his antics in Paris? That, supposed Billy, was more likely to happen than him blowing it himself. All it would take would be Kelly to reappear and he could wave goodbye to his money, his dreams, and any chance he had of living a stress and work free life. Once Cindy saw through his façade of lies and deceit, she would change her will, leaving it all to either her neighbors, or probably some stupid animal charity, maybe even to her stupid dog. No, he could forget the money and any inheritance. Billy folded up Cindy’s last will and testament, put it back into the envelope and placed it back inside the drawer of Cindy’s desk.
Billy stared at Paddy, sleeping on the rug in the den; he wanted to kick him. He wanted to take out his frustration on anything, and as Paddy was closest, he would do. He couldn’t exactly tell on him. There were no witnesses; he could do what he wanted to Paddy. It was then Billy had a thought, and instead of kicking Paddy he sat down on the sofa. Another plan was forming in Billy’s head. No witnesses. Of course. Billy couldn’t wait for his aunt’s money, nor could he afford to wait for Kelly to suddenly return and ruin everything. He could keep up the ruse, he was sure he could, if the payoff meant a big return, for a little longer. There was really no choice, quite simply, if his life was ever to improve, if he was ever to actually live, not struggle, then Cindy’s life had to end.
That, though, was easier said than done. He considered several scenarios. For one thing, Cindy just “disappearing”, which seemed to him to be a common occurrence in Gordonston, was not an option he could even consider. Even Billy knew that before any inheritance could be paid to any beneficiary the departed had to be pronounced officially dead, that it could take years before he received any money, and of course what money his aunt did have would be wasted by attorneys and who knew what else. And how could he make her disappear? Bury her in the park? Dump her body at sea? That would have meant he would have to have killed her first, something he was sure he could do, as long as it was quick, and not gruesome, but chopping up her body? Even handling a corpse sent shivers down Billy’s spine. Billy, above everything, was a coward. Even though he knew, for him to get a penny of his aunt’s money, before she lived until a hundred, he would have to do her in, the actual thought of clubbing her to death, choking her or even touching her scared him. What if he did it wrong? What if he buried her alive, and she dug herself out of any place he had entombed her?
Maybe he could get somebody to do it for him. Maybe he could hire somebody to break into the house, bash Cindy on the head, and then someone could find her later. He would of course have an alibi; he wouldn’t even be in Savannah when the dastardly deed was done. Billy dismissed the idea from his mind as quickly as it had formed. How the hell did you even go about hiring a hit man? It wasn’t as if they had websites or were dispensing flyers advertising their services. Hit men and professional killers only ever appeared in stupid movies, or even more stupid books. No, Billy would have to do this himself. Maybe, he thought, he cou
ld stage a fake burglary himself, club his Aunt Cindy to death, while pretending he was somewhere else…. No… he didn’t have the stomach for it. And what if she didn’t die? She would identify him and he would spend the rest of his life in prison.
Paddy stirred on the rug and stretched. That damn dog, thought Billy, always digging in the trash, eating anything and everything thrown at him; it was a miracle the dog had not eaten anything to make him sick. Maybe Billy would feed him something to make him ill, just to teach him a lesson.
Billy smiled. Of course, it had been staring him in the face all along.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Who is that?” asked Heidi, as the gate to the park creaked open.
Carla and Cindy turned to face the entrance to the park just as an old man, dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back, entered. “Is he a resident of Gordonston? I have never seen him before. What does he think he is doing? This isn’t a public park,” continued Heidi, before her friends had a chance to even contemplate her first question.
“Oh, I do believe that is the lovely gentleman who has moved into Brenda Carter’s house on Henry Street, the one I told you about,” replied Cindy. “From Peru, no Poland, or somewhere like that. I am going to call him over. Let’s introduce ourselves.”
Before either Heidi or Carla could agree or object to Cindy’s idea, their friend began waving her hand, attempting to attract the attention of their new neighbor.
“Hello, over here,” shouted Cindy. “Yes, you, you there by the gate.”
The old man looked around; the woman shouting and waving obviously was shouting and waving at him. He began walking towards the trio of women sitting at the picnic table, who he noticed all had red plastic cups on the table in front of them.
Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2 Page 8
