“You two go on without me,” she had told Cindy and Heidi. “Walter is playing one of his silly squirrel games. I will see you both tomorrow.” Her friends made their farewells and Carla headed toward where Walter sat, under a tree, his tail wagging, waiting for his new playmate to resume their game.
Tom had arrived in the park just minutes after Cindy and Heidi had left. Carla spotted him immediately and a sudden feeling of excitement engulfed her. Her heartbeat quickened and a surge of adrenalin seemed to ooze through her body. This was the first time she had ever seen him alone, without his wife at his side, and she without either Heidi or Cindy. Was this fate? Had this been preordained? She had dreamt of this moment, lived it in her dreams, fantasied about her and Tom alone, and now she would at last have the chance to at least speak to the man of her dreams. Maybe this would be the opportunity she needed; the opportunity she needed to bed Tom Hudd. Being prepared for anything was one of Carla’s strengths, and she supposed one of her mottos. The expensive boob job she’d had was for him, so he would notice her. The clothes which she wore, that she knew had incurred the disdain of Cindy and Heidi, were designed to be sexy, to attract, to snare. She wore tight figure hugging jeans, a tight leather jacket so her new breasts could not be ignored. Her hair and make-up were always perfect. Every day she had dressed like this since she had decided enough was enough, that if she was going to have any chance of ever getting Tom Hudd to notice her then everything and anything could help. And here he was, walking his dog alone in the park. And here she was, a predator ready to pounce, her claws already sharpened.
“Hi,” said Tom as he approached Carla, unleashing Shmitty, who headed towards Walter, apparently curious as to why the bulldog was staring at a tree.
Carla took a deep breath; she would play it cool, this wasn’t going to be easy she was sure, but if it was ever going to happen, this was the perfect opportunity to start the ball rolling.
“Why hello,” she replied as Tom neared. “I hardly ever see you in the park. It’s usually your wife who takes out the dog, isn’t it?”
“Usually, yes, but she has kind of abandoned me. She is in Europe, France, Paris to be exact, having fun no doubt, so I am on dog duty,” he replied, pointing towards Shmitty, who was now chasing Walter in a playful game. “You are Carla, aren’t you? My wife talks about you all the time, says that you are a regular customer of hers. Probably one of her best.”
That was probably true. Carla often visited Macy’s and Kelly’s beauty counter. In fact, just lately she had spent well over $500 on products, especially anti-aging creams and foundation, all of course, for the sole purpose of attracting a man. Not just any man. But the man who stood right there in front of her.
“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” said Carla. It wasn’t. It wasn’t nice to hear at all. Did that mean that Kelly Hudd was mocking her? Discussing how much she spent on beauty products? That bitch, that nasty little bitch, well, if that was the case she would shop elsewhere. Was she seen as a joke in the Hudd household? She pushed the thought from her mind. Stay on point, she told herself, stay focused.
“She says you are wasting time though,” smiled Tom. “You don’t need anything, she tells me. Honestly, you are her role model. She constantly tells me that ‘when I get to be forty I hope look like Carla Zipp; the woman is just beautiful’, she says it all the time. You have a big fan there.”
Carla’s heart almost missed a beat. Kelly Hudd envied her? Kelly Hudd thought she was only forty? She was Kelly’s role model? Best of all though, that meant Tom only thought she was forty. This might be easier than she had initially anticipated.
“I have to agree with her,” said Tom, flashing a pearly white smile. “I sure hope Kelly looks like you when she turns forty; I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. How do you do it? You look great?”
And that was all Carla needed to hear. That was her cue. She knew Tom Hudd, despite his beautiful wife, despite his reputation as being a good hard working man, despite being the ‘saint’ of the neighborhood, was like every other man she had ever met. He did not think with his brain. He was human. It was time to go to work.
“Why, thank you, Tom,” smiled Carla, as she discreetly pushed out her chest. “That is so nice of you to say. I am sure that if I was Kelly when she reaches my age, forty, that I wouldn’t object to having your hands all over me.”
Tom and Carla both laughed at Carla’s comment. For a moment, Carla thought that he even blushed.
“Now, tell me, why have you been abandoned? I know if you were my husband I would not let you out of my sight.”
Tom nodded and smiled, he stroked his thick black hair with his hand, and this time Carla was sure that he was blushing. Carla had no idea what he was thinking, but she could guess; she had a sixth sense when it came to men. Midafternoon, bored no doubt, obviously thinking about sex; she had read somewhere that men think about sex eight thousand times a day. If that was true she did not know, but she had also read, again God only knew where, that every time a man encounters a woman, he weighs her up as a potential sexual partner, and she knew that was exactly what Tom was doing that minute.
Tom grinned. That was a good sign, thought Carla. He was obviously flattered by her last comment.
“Well, I asked her not to go without me, but she insisted. I only hope that she is okay; she hasn’t called yet. You know, it is kind of hard being on my own. I have taken time off from work, you know, to look after the dog, that sort of thing, and I guess I am a little bored. Haven’t eaten anything decent for days, just takeout food and the odd sandwich.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to be doing you any harm,” said Carla, who made a point of looking Tom up and down, obviously admiring his physique, and making sure Tom knew it.
They were flirting and Carla was enjoying it and she could tell Tom was also. It was time to make her move.
“I tell you what,” said Carla, “and I hope you don’t take this wrong way, but why don’t I cook you something nice and healthy to eat. You know, so you can maintain that perfect body of yours.”
Tom stared at Carla, and it was now obvious what was going through his mind. Carla knew he wanted her; he was bored, and he had not had sex for at least three days, as Carla knew Kelly had left Savannah three days earlier. She had him, she was sure. It all depended on his response.
“Well,” said Tom, rubbing his chin, “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, but I do have a very well stocked pantry. I wouldn’t say no to a tasty dish right now.”
The flirting had just gone up a notch. There was now no doubt in Carla’s mind she would be spending the afternoon in the arms of Tom Hudd. She knew men, and he had practically invited her to his home to cook. Cooking, though, is not what either of them had in mind. Though it did rhyme with it.
“I am sure your pantry is very well stocked,” said Carla with a smile, “and I think I know what tasty dish would really whet your appetite.”
Tom folded his muscular arms and put a foot on a felled tree stump. “Really? Something I could get my teeth into? Maybe you fancy a nibble just as much as I do?”
“Maybe I do,” said Carla, “maybe I do.”
“Tell you what, why don’t you come over now,” said Tom. “I am practically starving. I really need to deal with this enormous appetite I have.”
“Well,” said Carla, “I could certainly use something inside me right me now.”
Thirty minutes later Tom Hudd and Carla Zipp were satisfying their appetites, and not an ounce of food had been consumed. Carla had snared her man, and it had been easier than she had thought. Sadly though, the sex hadn’t been as good as she had imagined.
Tom, for all his good looks and charm, was a selfish lover. Carla was used to men who worshiped her body, who made love to her passionately. Tom Hudd was not as enthusiastic as she had hoped he would be. For him it was just sex. A relief from the boredom he felt, a chance to get laid, and deep down Carla knew it. Yes, she had enjoyed it, yes she was extre
mely aroused by Tom, but there was something missing. She wasn’t used to being used, she was the user, but once satisfied, it was apparent to her that this time she was the one being used. Then of course came the phone call.
Kelly calling from Paris. Tom brushing away Carla’s accidental cough as being the dog. Despite this, though, she still wanted him. Maybe she could change him, mold him into the lover she yearned for. She had gone this far – why stop now?
“Now,” said Tom, after he had ended his call with Kelly, “what about those casseroles you promised me?”
Carla had returned home disappointed. She had cooked Tom two casseroles and helped him clean his house. They had even gone to the store together to buy cleaning supplies. Thank God they hadn’t been spotted by any of the neighbors, she thought. Carla, though, still wanted more. She still wanted Tom Hudd. Call it desire, call it lust, and call it a need to be associated with a man who complimented her looks; to satisfy her own need to be desired by someone she desired.
The truth was that Tom Hudd had no intention of seeing Carla again. He had no intention of ever leaving his wife. He had used her, used her as she had used hundreds of men in the past. It was sex. Nothing more and nothing less.
And then Kelly returned home. It was Cindy who had told Carla the truth, that Tom had no passport, that the story he had told Carla had been nothing more than lies. She sat and listened, a false smile masking her despair and anger, as Cindy explained to both Carla and Heidi how Tom had not only cleaned the house from top to bottom, but also made a delicious casserole for his wife as a surprise.
Carla had been furious, and now, four months later, felt no regret for the death of Tom Hudd. He had deserved it. There was no way she was ever going to become the butt of jokes, told to his friends at the fire station, and there was no way she was ever going to be able to bear to look at Tom, let alone at him and Kelly together. In her eyes, she had done Kelly a favor; she deserved better. If anything, Carla had stopped Kelly from spending her life with a no good cheating dog. And Carla should know, she had once been married to a man just like Tom. She had saved Kelly from a life of heartache. If anything, if Kelly actually knew the truth, she should thank Carla.
* * * * *
Putting thoughts of Tom Hudd out her mind, Carla reached for the glass of lemonade; she was parched. She raised the glass to her lips, and drank.
* * * * *
Cindy Mopper, despite the pills Carla had given to her, could not sleep, and she was sure she had just heard two loud bangs. She got out of bed and headed downstairs hoping that Carla was still there, or maybe had even gone to fetch Walter to play with Paddy.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Veronica Partridge decided she would have a bath and an early night. She was tired. She still hadn’t recovered from all the digging and the burial of poor Bern, the Partridge family’s loyal German shepherd who had died peacefully at the vet's office the week before. It had been a tough evening, not only digging the grave herself, but trying to bury the poor dog without Katie seeing. Katie, she knew, would have been devastated to discover her dog had died. At least she had followed all of Doug’s instructions to the letter. He had told her how deep to dig the grave, and of course he had a supply of lime salts in the shed. Doug was good at leaving instructions, and though she had no respect for his chosen profession and had insisted he leave, she had done what he had asked. Reported him as a missing person, for one thing, a month after he left, as well as reconsider her divorce request. Maybe she would. Maybe she would give him a second chance. After all, at least he was a good father, and when he had called her, the same day Bern had died, he had sounded so sad when she had told him the news. Maybe he wasn’t a monster after all. She raised her glass of wine to her lips and took a sip, before falling asleep on the sofa.
* * * * *
Stefan Derepaska had never gotten over the murder of his son, and never would. Killed by an assassin’s bullet. Murdered because he simply knew too much about the financial dealings of the man he worked for. He had left a wife and two children. Stefan Derepaska had spent years tracing and hunting down those responsible for the murder of his only child. He had taken on many identities, many guises, and meticulously searched and eventually killed all those responsible for his son’s death, including the man who had paid for and ordered his son’s murder. Only one person remained, the man who had pulled the trigger. And if he couldn’t find him, then he would find and kill the one closest to him. Stefan Derepaska opened the sliding door that led from Veronica Partridges’ yard to her den and approached the snoozing woman, where she lay on the couch, an empty glass of wine sat on the floor. He placed the rope around her neck and squeezed tightly. Veronica awoke, confused as to what was occurring. She struggled violently, trying to force the old man to loosen his grip. She had never seen him before, had no idea who he was. What she did know, in those final seconds of her life, was that he was choking her, strangling her. She coughed, spluttered, and eventually her grip on the old man’s arm loosened, her hand flopping to her side. Derepaska removed the rope from her neck, and placed a finger on her neck, checking for a pulse. It was done. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
* * * * *
Doug Partridge kicked open the front door of his former home; the cab he had taken from the airport had gotten stuck in traffic along Bay Street. He had urged the driver to speed up, to take a quicker route, but it was late afternoon and early evening, and all the roads leading eastward were snarled with commuters eager to get home. The house was silent. He called out Veronica’s name, but there was no reply. He headed to the den, positive he had heard the sliding door that led to the backyard opening.
* * * * *
Cindy Mopper felt drowsy; a result of the medication given to her by Carla. As she made her way downstairs, for a fleeting moment, she felt fine. Then the realization dawned on her and she remembered. Billy was dead. Kind-hearted, charitable and loving Billy was gone. She closed her eyes as a wave of grief overcame her and tears filled her eyes. She clung to the bannister for support, as once again she felt faint.
The poor boy. The police officer who had broken the news to her had told Cindy that Billy had been hit by two cars. The first car had catapulted him into the air, while the second car, following the first one, at speed, had crushed his head. She had nearly fainted when given the news. The officer had been kind, and he had offered to sit with her until a friend could be with her. She had, of course, asked to see Billy’s body, but the officer had been blunt and straight to the point, she wouldn’t even recognize him, so bad were the injuries he had sustained.
Of course she had called her best friend, Carla Zipp, who had arrived within minutes. Cindy felt a pang of guilt. How could she have ever wanted to do her friend any harm? How could she have plotted Carla’s death? And for what? Out of a misguided jealousy that was so misplaced and utterly ridiculous. Cindy could not believe she had even contemplated such a thing. Murder; it was abhorrent to her. Cindy cried even more and her stomach knotted. Billy was gone. He was the only person about whom she cared and who had really cared for her.
It was three hours ago that Carla had arrived and given her Xanax and Ambien and told her to sleep. The medications had a bad effect on her though, and she wondered, briefly, why Carla even took them. Still groggy, she continued her descent.
As Cindy reached the first floor of her home and entered the hallway that led into her kitchen, she shouted for Carla. There was no reply. Maybe she had left, maybe she had taken the dogs out for a walk, probably to the park. No. She heard barking, Paddy, and then Walter, both barking, responding to her voice.
“Shush, you two,” she said as she put her hand to her forehead. She really didn’t need barking pooches right now. As well as the grogginess, she felt pain in her head. But why were they barking so manically? What was wrong with them? Paddy never created a commotion like this, and she was sure Walter wasn’t the type of dog who barked for no reason. Her head pounded, the thumping pain
in her right side lobe increasing. She must be dehydrated, she thought, she needed a drink. Suddenly another wave of grieve engulfed her. Billy’s lemonade. The lemonade he had made for her. The kind, oh so dear boy, always thinking about others, never himself. She was parched, and the first thing she would do would be to drink Billy’s lemonade. Poor Billy, now lying on a mortuary slab with his head crushed and his body lifeless.
As Cindy entered her kitchen, both Walter and Paddy ran towards her, continuing their incessant barking.
Then she saw Carla.
She was lying prone on the kitchen floor. Walter ran to his mistress and began to whine, as if trying to guide Cindy towards her. He stared at Cindy, as if pleading with her to do something, as he turned his head to his mistress and then back to Cindy.
“Oh my God,” said Cindy, putting her hand to her mouth. “Carla! Carla!” she screamed as she rushed to where her friend lay. “Carla, wake up,” she said as she shook her friend, in a futile attempt to wake her. Cindy turned Carla’s body to face her and froze in horror. Carla’s eyes were open, fixed as if staring at some invincible horror. Cindy put her hand to her mouth, then screamed. “Carla, wake up, please, wake up!” But Carla didn’t respond. Cindy had no idea how long Carla had lain on the kitchen floor. She shook her again, but still her friend did not respond.
Cindy burst into tears for the umpteenth time that day, uncontrollable tears of grief, shock and fear. She shook as she cradled her friend in her arms. Cindy did not care or seem to notice that as she cradled her dead friend in her arms, she did so sitting in a pool of vomit. She did not care as she gently stroked her friend’s hair that it was matted with more vomit. She looked around the kitchen, confused as to what had caused her friend’s demise. Both Walter and Paddy were now whining; the sound, mixed with Cindy’s sobbing, filling the home with a macabre, even haunting noise. Cindy looked up, her heart broken twice in one day, sitting on her kitchen table was Billy’s pitcher of lemonade and a glass, half full.
Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2 Page 15
