by Barb Goffman
I guess I would’ve put up with Jimmy forever if he hadn’t made two important changes right about the same time. First, after his daddy passed a couple summers back, Jimmy paid off our mortgage with the inheritance money, so suddenly our monthly expenses dropped way down. With the house paid off and the savings we had in the bank, I really didn’t need Jimmy no more. If something happened to him, I could sell his law practice to one of his buddy competitors and make enough to be comfortable.
Second, he took up with Mandy Lee, a waitress at a diner near the main road out of town. I’m pretty sure this was Jimmy’s first affair, despite that we’d been married thirty years. Frankly, I think he’d been too scared to stray till then. His daddy was real conservative and wouldn’t have put up with rumors of Jimmy running around. A month had barely gone by after the old man’s death before Gladys, one of the check-out gals at Food Lion, whispered to me that Jimmy’d been spotted at the Motel Six outside of town with Mandy Lee. She thought I should know. She’s sweet that way.
I spent a long time trying to figure out what to do after that. I’d grown used to the beatings. But I wasn’t used to being made a fool of in public. I wasn’t gonna take it. Suppose I cared about my image as much as Jimmy did about his own.
So I followed Jimmy around for a week. Sly like. I wanted to be positive Gladys was right. Of course she was. Gladys always knows everything. I’ve always thought her talents are wasted at that supermarket. She should work for the newspaper.
Oh, how my blood boiled when I spotted Jimmy and Mandy Lee making out in the back seat of his truck, parked on a dirt road near the old lumber mill where anybody could see. Especially ’cause she must have reminded him of me, back in the day. Bleached blond hair. Lot of makeup. And a waitress, too. Not only was he cheating on me, but he’d practically chosen my twin.
What’d she see in him? Couldn’t have been nothing but dollar signs. Jimmy’s charm only went so far, and he hadn’t quite maintained his looks. Sure he dyed his hair and exercised some, but the drink showed in his face and belly. Mandy Lee had to be after him for his money. Our money. Heck, she was twenty-five, he was fifty-five. You do the math.
No way I was gonna let that trampy waitress get her claws on my money. Trying to steal my husband was more than enough.
My first thought was divorce, of course. But given Jimmy’s profession and his daddy’s lingering influence, I knew Jimmy’d find a way to screw me. Besides, this is a small town, and even though I’ve lived here over thirty years, I’m still considered an outsider.
Didn’t help that Jimmy never let me make my own friends. He liked me home by myself at his beck and call.
I could’ve just left him, I guess. Packed up and moved in with Charlotte on the other side of the state. Lived in the mountains instead of by the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. But I’d spent so much time in our house, our paid-off house, I didn’t want to leave it. I liked the idea that Charlotte could return to her childhood home at the holidays. That my grandbabies would have memories of the pretty ceramic figurines I sometimes bought and set on the living room mantel, much to Jimmy’s wrath. I never got a good deal, he said. Always paid too much. Well, I did some calculating now, and if I took a job working retail, I could afford to keep the house. Plus it’d be nice to have a place to go to everyday instead of staying home with the TV as company. There’s only so many talk shows you can watch before your brain starts to cave in.
So that left me with only one choice. I had to kill him.
Not right away mind you. Since I’d just learned of the affair—a fact Gladys would surely tell the world about—if Jimmy died then and there I’d be the prime suspect faster than gossip at a church picnic. No. I had to bide my time. Yet I couldn’t wait too long, not with Mandy Lee gunning to replace me.
And I had to come up with a way to make it look like an accident. That wasn’t easy. Especially since I was so angry, all I wanted to do was shove a knife in his chest and twist it round and round. Bashing his head in with a snow shovel also crossed my mind. Jimmy’s beatings always got worse in the winter. Somehow I never shoveled the walk between the carport and the front door well enough for him.
I was sitting on our living room sofa a few days after I spotted Jimmy and Mandy Lee together, thinking about that snow shovel. And how Daddy died in that whiteout. That’s when it came to me.
The plan was so simple it kinda scared me. The only tricky part was the timing. I had to do wait till winter and hope we got a big snow storm that started in the evening.
Now you may not approve of my plan, but I kind of think God did, ’cause he sent us that wallop of a storm last year, and early, too. It doesn’t often snow a lot in Virginia, especially in December.
Little tingles pricked my arms that morning as I listened to the weather report. A nor’easter was making her way up the coast. The winds were gonna wreck havoc on the Bay, they said. Plus, they figured we’d get a good six inches at least, with the snow starting to fall late in the night. That’d be too late for my plan. But I waited all day, hoping the storm would speed up a bit.
By dinner time, the snow still hadn’t started. Hopeful, I served Jimmy a meatloaf that I cooked too long. I knew that would piss him off and encourage him to go to the bar as usual, despite the impending storm. Then, during the meal, I started chattering about Oprah. Lord, he hated Oprah. That ran him out of the house fast and good.
At seven o’clock, about twenty minutes after he fled, the snow started coming. Unlike that first day he hit me, these were big flakes. Heavy ones. They fell at two inches an hour. I worried that maybe this was too much snow too quick, that God was playing an awful trick on me. If Jimmy paid attention, he might come home early to avoid the bad roads. But I didn’t have another plan, and I’d made up my mind to kill him. I wouldn’t spend another day being the town laughingstock.
So I got down on my knees, and I prayed. Prayed that Jimmy’d get so caught up with his good old boys that he wouldn’t worry about slick roads and wouldn’t start weaving up the driveway till his usual time, around eleven. I prayed he’d do the same three-point turn he’d done every night since he built that carport next to the tall bushes twenty years ago, backing in under the awning so in the morning he could hop in and take off fast. And since he’d be drunk, that fancy maneuver would take him several tries and wear him out like always, so he’d snooze in the truck before coming in the house.
I prayed to God, all the while fearing the devil would respond instead.
By nine-thirty I felt a little more confident. Enough snow had fallen, and Jimmy hadn’t come home. I grabbed my trusty shovel and headed to the driveway. Over and over I scooped up piles of snow, then hauled ’em to the carport and flung ’em at the edges, until I’d created sort of an oval that Jimmy could fit his truck in. I made sure that I put more snow at the back, so there’d be a good solid mound right by the tail pipe.
Then I made a half-hearted attempt to shovel the walk to the house. I had to make it look like I had shoveled some, but I didn’t need to do a good job. Not anymore. I left just enough snow on the walk to encourage Jimmy to nap in the truck, in case he thought of coming straight in. Jimmy hated walking in the snow, especially when his legs weren’t that steady. And since it was so cold that night, I reckoned he’d leave the motor running and the heater on while he rested before his stagger to the front door.
I counted on it.
At a little before eleven I slid into the house. Boy, I’d cut it close. Moving all that snow took a lot more time than I’d expected. I shimmied out of my jeans and threw on a flannel nightgown. After shutting the lights, I got in bed and rolled around a bit, so it’d look like I’d been sleeping just in case he came in.
But I had no intention of sleeping.
I planned to watch.
When I heard Jimmy’s truck start to rumble up our long driveway, I crept to the window. Since I’d been lying in the dark, my eyes had adjusted, and I could see pretty good outside. The moonlight reflecting
off the snow helped, too.
Jimmy weaved back and forth, far more than usual. I didn’t realize the driveway would be so icy. Lord, it looked like he might spin out and never make it to the carport. Then he’d leave the truck on the driveway and head on in. Boy, would he be mad then.
I held my breath for what felt like forever. Finally, thank the Lord, Jimmy made it to the carport and started his three-point-turn. The truck skidded a bit more, and I sucked in breath. Funny, even with the plan in motion, I got frightened when I thought he might be hurt. The heart’s strange that way.
I almost ran out there to bring him in, but then I remembered Mandy Lee. And the pitying looks I’d been getting all over town. And I thought of all the blows I’d endured these many years. I stayed put.
The truck’s tires spun as Jimmy tried to back up. He revved the engine over and over, the truck sliding this way and that. I was sure any moment he’d give up, frustrated. And then he’d come inside and share his anger with me. But just as my fear was settling into my stomach, the truck shot back. Its tail rammed right into the large mound of snow I’d created. Then Jimmy cut the lights. And like a puppet on my string, he stayed put, slumping back in the seat. That was odd, because Jimmy typically crawled in the back for his naps. I guessed he’d drank too much for his stomach to handle even that little bit of motion. Not that it mattered. His being extra drunk worked better for me.
He likely began snoring within two minutes, even before the carbon monoxide began seeping into the truck. I figured the local police would call this an accident. Hell, how was anyone down here supposed to know that snow could clog a tail pipe like that? We hardly ever get big storms.
After I watched Jimmy snooze for thirty minutes without stirring, I crept off to bed. Slept like a baby.
The sun flashed through the window the next morning, shining off all that snow outside. I threw on my heavy coat and snow boots, grabbed my shovel, and headed to the carport. Had to make finding Jimmy look authentic.
“Jimmy!” I called for the benefit of any neighbors who might be out shoveling their walks. “You old fool. What in the world were you thinking sleeping in the truck all night? You could’ve froze to death.”
I pulled open the cab door and let out a scream. Sounded pretty authentic if I do say so myself. Jimmy was pale blue and stiff, eyes closed, his head leaning on his right shoulder. Hard to believe he’d never be able to lay a hand on me again. I ran in the house, called the ambulance. It took ’em a while make it over. The roads were pretty bad. That worked well for me, ’cause the snow had started to melt. I hoped the evidence by the tail pipe had begun to disappear too, but I didn’t dare check. Didn’t want to leave footprints.
Once the paramedics declared Jimmy dead, they called in the reinforcements. The cops and the medical examiner pulled up together. I stood out on the walk, arms crossed over my chest while the wind whipped through my coat. I pretended not to notice, had to look consumed by my grief.
I gave my story to the cops in between sobs that made it hard for me to breathe. (Thought that would be a nice touch.) I railed at Jimmy for going out into that storm. Was furious that he’d napped in the truck instead of coming in from the cold. If only I hadn’t gone to sleep before he got home, if I’d checked on him, maybe I could’ve saved him.
The medical examiner ambled over from Jimmy and gave me a hard stare. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Marshall.” He paused, pulling on his gray whiskers. “But your husband didn’t die from the cold.”
“Then what killed him, Harry?” one of the cops asked.
I looked up, trying to appear surprised.
“Well, a number of factors seemed to be at work, and I’ll have to do a full autopsy to be sure, but I’d have to say it was the blow to his head that did him in.”
You could’ve blown me over. “What blow to the head?”
“You probably didn’t notice it when you pulled open the door, ma’am,” the medical examiner said. “But there’s a deep impression on the right side of his head. Looks like someone hit him hard.”
I tried to make sense of all this but couldn’t. Stunned, I went inside and called Charlotte. Pretty soon the cops took Jimmy away. And then they started asking me questions. When was the last time I saw Jimmy? Did I know anyone who’d want to hurt him? And then, with narrow eyes, they asked, how was our marriage? I’d worked so hard to make it look like an accident, and now someone else had gone off and killed Jimmy, and the cops were looking at me. Lord, maybe the devil had heard my prayers.
Eventually I must have satisfied the cops, ’cause they went off to investigate elsewhere. Probably that bar Jimmy loved so much.
For the rest of the day I sat in the house, confused as all get-out. Jimmy wasn’t one to get into fights. The only person he’d ever hit was me. I couldn’t make heads or tails of this turn of events. I sure was glad when Charlotte came home late that afternoon. She was a real comfort.
It may sound odd, but I felt angry that someone else had killed Jimmy. I may have wanted him dead, but he was my husband, and if anyone was gonna kill him, it shoulda been me.
I tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out who had done it. And worrying that the cops would come back to snoop over here. Would they figure out I’d tried to kill Jimmy? Would they blame me for the blow to his head?
I got my answer the next morning. The doorbell rang while I was having my second cup of coffee. I thought it was Charlotte, back quick from the florist’s. I opened the door and swallowed hard. The sheriff was standing there, the handcuffs on his belt shining in the light.
“Morning, Mrs. Marshall.” His voice sounded gruff from tobacco. “I’m here to talk about your husband. May I come in?”
It didn’t really seem like a request. I let him in.
The sheriff walked beside me to the living room, looking at me sideways. Then he settled on the couch while I sank into Jimmy’s favorite chair. He stared at me and sighed. I began feeling real jumpy and worked hard to stay still.
“My boys have done a lot of investigating in the last twenty-four hours, trying to find out how your husband ended up the way he did.”
The sheriff paused and stared at me some more. A lump grew in my throat while I waited him out.
“Do you know a Mandy Lee Roulston?” he asked.
I blinked. They’d found out about the affair, and now they thought I’d struck Jimmy in revenge. And I had no alibi! I’d been home alone shoveling all that snow.
My mind raced while I tried to decide how to plead my case. “Mandy Lee. Well, um, yes, I guess I have heard that name.”
The sheriff nodded, staring at the floor. “It looks like she’s the one who hit your husband, ma’am. We arrested her late last night.” He cleared his throat and stood. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any more information right now. Just wanted you to know we’d made an arrest.”
And before I could ask any questions, he’d said his goodbyes and left. I stood there bug-eyed for a few minutes. They’d arrested Mandy Lee? They weren’t after me? It took a bit for the news to sink in, and then I got real happy real fast. The sheriff hadn’t been playing coy with me. He probably didn’t feel comfortable telling me what had happened. But I knew the important stuff. Jimmy was dead. Mandy Lee’d been arrested. Jimmy would’ve been proud. Talk about a two-for-one deal.
A half-hour later, Gladys came by to pay a condolence call, and she had no qualms telling me what the sheriff hadn’t. Thank goodness Charlotte hadn’t come back, so she didn’t have to hear the details right then.
Seems Mandy Lee had stopped by the bar that snowy night, and she and Jimmy had words. She was tired of waiting for him. Tired of watching me live like a queen in my nice little house while she continued to serve greasy food to men with grabby hands.
Mandy Lee told Jimmy the time had come to make a choice, and God bless Jimmy, he chose me.
Hearing that made my heart swell. Even after all these years, all the beatings and the affair, in the end he loved
me. He picked me. That meant something.
Meant something to Mandy Lee, too. She chased him out of the bar, screaming her head off. Some of the boys followed to watch the show. Jimmy tried to ignore her, but at some point she belittled his manhood. Jimmy turned back and slipped in the snow.
It’s hard for me to believe what Gladys said happened next, what with Jimmy caring so much about public appearances. But I guess his anger over looking like a fool clouded his senses.
He hauled off and hit Mandy Lee right in the stomach. She doubled over moaning for a moment, then ran forward, ramming her head into him. Jimmy fell back. And she started kicking him. In his stomach and his legs.
And his head.
The fight didn’t last more than a minute before the bystanders broke it up. Mandy Lee stomped off, and Jimmy, humiliated, drove on home. It’s a wonder he didn’t run off the road. Mandy Lee had kicked him so hard, his brains had banged around his skull and started to turn to mush.
That explained why his truck swerved as he came up the driveway that night. And why he weaved so much during the three-point turn. It wasn’t the snow and ice and beer after all. I kept that thought to myself.
Now that slut Mandy Lee’s in prison for manslaughter, and I’m living the good life. I got a job at Becky’s Hallmark Shop over in Grafton, where they sell the prettiest figurines. I get a twenty percent discount. I’ve finally made some friends, and I still make it home everyday in time to watch Oprah.
Turns out that years ago, Jimmy bought a heap of life insurance from one of his daddy’s pals. He’d wanted to make sure his girls would be taken care of in case anything happened to him, the insurance man told me. And every year like clockwork, Jimmy upped the policy. Kind of like an inflation adjustment.
So I only have to work part time. And I have more than enough money to pay a neighbor boy to shovel the driveway whenever it snows. No way I’m gonna do it.
Yep, Jimmy’s gone, but he’s still taking care of me. God bless my compulsive bubba.
