by Matt Hader
“Too meaty,” said Rita, thinking she had completed the code.
Deb suddenly looked a bit panic-stricken, until Rita stammered and then corrected herself. “Too fatty. Way too fatty.”
“Hey, Deb. Ralph’s been making sure to trim those cuts so they’re not fatty, you know,” said the portly clerk, eavesdropping from thirty feet away.
Deb gave Rita a quick, surreptitious hand motion telling her to lower her speaking volume and softly said, “The cabins on Lake Morey Road are really something, especially the little blue one.”
And with that, Deb made sure the portly clerk wasn’t watching, reached into her purse and came out holding something in her hand. She placed a garage door opener with a key and a note taped to it on top of a four-pound pot roast in the case.
Rita made sure the clerk was still distracted then picked up the package and tucked it into her own purse.
The main thought that clouded her brain when she arrived in Fairlee was ‘does the person I’m murdering really deserve to die?’ Because if this was just about greed, she wasn’t sure she could go through with the killing.
Rita knew she wasn’t being much of a professional hit man if she thought such a thing, but the idea that the person had to deserve their fate was winning out over all her other thoughts.
Rita grew confused as she watched Deb step around to the other side of the meat counter, grab an apron and put it on.
Rita whispered, “You work here?”
Deb smirked, and said, “I own the store.”
“I have to know the reason. I’m sorry, but I have to know.”
“The reason?” asked Deb, quietly.
“The reason for cooking the pot roast,” said Rita.
Deb appeared as if she was about to break down in tears and said, “We used to have a six-year old son. Now my husband and I are childless. And she still drives the murder weapon around, flaunting it in my face.” Deb fell quiet, tears streamed down her cheeks.
Rita wanted to ask more probing questions, but she knew if she did that she’d completely expose herself as a rank amateur so she remained reproachfully silent and nodded instead.
Deb gave Rita a brief, yet intense, once-over, then walked into the back storage room.
***
Lake Morey was beautiful, serene, calm. Tall pine trees crowded-out most of the sun on the drive around the lake, but that just added to the cozy charm of the area.
The houses that encircled the water were a mix of rustic cabins and modernistic homes.
Most of the houses on Lake Morey Road, a narrow two-lane road that circled the lake itself, were summer cottages, but a few of the heartier residents toughed it out year-round.
The address on the note taped to the garage door opener was for a small blue cabin that was situated at an angle and indirectly opposite of a modern, glass-encased, year-round home. The modern home was positioned directly on the shores of the lake and had a rather large foot-print as well as its own private dock.
On the seat next to Rita was a typed note that read: Big glass house. Mercedes. BLRBN. Jane. Short hair. 802-555-0107.
Traffic was very light, and Rita drove slowly past both the modern glass home and the tiny blue cabin twice. She saw that the attached two-car garage of the modern house was open and a Mercedes E-Class with a personalized plate, BLRBN, was parked in one of the spaces.
Rita spied a pretty 40-year old woman sporting a stylishly short hair-cut. She worked unseen over a table in the other space of the garage. Old, colorful bottles were meticulously laid out in perfect rows on her workbench.
Rita activated the door opener on the single-car attached garage of the tiny blue cabin, pulled her rented Toyota into the space, and immediately closed the overhead door. She grabbed her suitcase and, with barely enough room, squeezed her way out of the car.
She then used the key to get inside the home.
The kitchen was small but well appointed. Rita opened the fridge and then the freezer. Both were stocked with a few days’ supply of bottled water and frozen dinners as she requested in the last of the online communications she had with Deb.
There was an unsealed white envelope stuffed with money on the counter-top with a typewritten note that read: Half.
The inside of the house was empty except for a canvas cot in the middle of the living room floor. There weren’t even any curtains on the living room windows.
From the forest green colored and whimsical ‘North Woods’ type décor, complete with framed renderings of moose and other woodland wildlife, Rita quickly discerned that the cabin was probably used as a summer rental property.
The only non-North Woods decorations displayed were glass mosaics that hung from the wall. Put together using clear epoxy and broken bits of glass, the artwork looked like a small child had made them.
She sat on the wobbly cot in the middle of the living room floor and took in the sights through the window. To the left was her intended victim’s modern glass house; to the right, a more modest lake-side home.
Both of the homes shared an open space between them, and that allowed for an unobstructed view of the beautiful lake.
Rita grabbed the folded blanket and skinny pillow from the floor under the cot and rolled them into a lean-to. She reclined on the cot and contemplated her next move.
Did she even know what her next move would look like, she wondered? What in the hell was she doing?
Someone had killed a child, maybe even the youngster who had created the glass mosaics in the house where she sat, and nothing had been done about it. That’s why she was here.
Rita finally decided that she did, indeed, have enough of a valid reason, outside of her own emotional needs, to go through with her plan.
The roar of a powerful motor woke Rita with a start. She drooled a little while in a deep sleep, and she wiped the spittle away with the back of her hand as she tried to focus on what was happening.
She caught a glimpse of Jane, alone, out on the lake in a 20-foot speed-boat, zigzagging back and forth, seemingly without a care in the world, a colorful scarf wrapped around her neck waved in the breeze.
Rita immediately wondered if she should sneak over to the modern home now, hide, await Jane’s return, and choke her to death.
But was Rita ready to do the deed just yet?
She tried to think as professionally as she could and figured that a real hit man would likely observe their prey to get to know their routine before killing them.
Rita’s stomach growled. She noticed that it was just after 3 P.M. She had missed lunch entirely.
In the kitchen, she prepared herself a micro-waved pre-packaged frozen dinner from the selection in the freezer. She ate the gummy chicken and noodle concoction as she watched Jane return her boat to her private dock. A few moments later, Jane was back in her garage. Rita believed her prey was going to tinker at her workbench but was surprised into action when Jane got into her Mercedes, fired it up, and backed out of the driveway.
Rita tossed her frozen dinner aside, grabbed her car keys, and quickly headed to the garage.
***
A dilapidated old barn stood alone just off the roadway near the intersection of Route 5 & Ely Road. The structure was surrounded by tall pine trees on three sides, and it was also a good half-mile from any other building.
Rita spied from her parked Toyota 200 feet away as Jane stepped around the barn, scouting it. It was the third such structure that Rita had followed Jane to – without being noticed. The previous two locations had for sale signs in front, as well.
Jane had a small notebook in her hand, and after every few steps, she would stop to jot something down.
Rita sat low in the Toyota and watched. For now, it was all she could do.
After ten minutes, Jane got back i
nto her car and backed out onto the roadway. Rita sank out of view in the rented car as Jane rolled past.
Rita sat upright, put her car into drive and moved forward to use the old barn’s driveway as a turnaround. That’s when she saw a placard dangling below the female realtor’s name and phone number that read: Zoned Commercial/Studio Space.
***
At 7:30 P.M., Jane was back on her boat for a sunset cruise, alone. This time she wore a different colorful scarf.
In the gloaming, Jane returned, docked her boat, closed her garage doors and stayed in for the evening.
When the sunlight outside was completely extinguished, the inside of Jane’s house glowed like a gem, which made it easier for Rita to observe its occupant.
There was so much glass used in the construction of the structure that it was impossible to cover all the windows. It made for a beautifully stunning sight.
Rita was bored and hungry again so she made another micro-waved meal. As she ate, she sat on the cot in the living room and observed Jane through the big picture window. It was not only her job but observing Jane soon became Rita’s only means of entertainment, as well.
Because of the glass house’s angle, Rita saw nearly all of the kitchen, family room, and dining room.
By the way Jane moved and danced about her home, cleaning and preparing her meal, Rita could tell that she must’ve been listening to music.
When Jane stepped closer to the dining room window to set the table for one, Rita could make out the iPod earbuds in her ears. Rita’s target began to sing, seemingly at the top of her lungs, to the tune playing in her ears.
At first Jane seemed care-free, but after a few moments Rita could sense the sadness in her prey’s face.
Rita’s suspicions of Jane’s emotional state were confirmed after she noticed how her chin sank into her chest after one song presumably ended. She sunk into an over-stuffed chair in the family room and cried.
It didn’t take a professional sleuth to deduce that Jane was a lonely soul, suffering through some emotional turmoil in her life - boat rides for one, preparing single serving meals, dancing by herself - but one question still remained: Did Jane actually deserve to die? Rita had to have solid proof of Jane’s wrongdoings.
Rita made it a point of not bringing her laptop along on this trip for fear that someone could trace back her IP address and Wi-Fi location if she was ever implicated in the killing. That was also the reason she left her own cell phone in Tyler’s dorm room and picked up an untraceable ‘burner’ cell phone with an 802 area code at a convenience store on her way to Fairlee.
She was going to have to find the proof of Jane’s guilt the old fashioned way.
But first she needed to make a quick trip to a real estate office that she had spotted in Fairlee upon her arrival.
***
It was quite dark at that hour, but luckily the illuminated street light was just across from the little real estate office in Fairlee. Otherwise, Rita would have never been able to read the MLS numbers on the lower right corners of each of the commercial properties displayed on brochures in the window. Knowing just enough about house hunting, she realized that the older the MLS number, the longer the property had been on the market.
A slowly approaching car made her tense, and the breath caught in her throat when she saw that the vehicle was a Sheriff’s patrol car. She quickly forced herself to relax and gave a friendly wave to the darkened figure operating the car. Thankfully, the Sheriff’s patrol car rolled by without stopping.
Her eyes scanned for a moment, but then locked on to one of the brochures – one with an MLS number much older than the others that she saw.
***
After a fitful night’s sleep on the cot, Rita woke before daybreak. She showered, ate another frozen dinner in the dark, and got back to her viewing post.
At three o’clock that afternoon, Rita heard the speed-boat’s motor start up again. She observed as Jane zipped around in the exact same manner she did the day before.
Thirty minutes later, after Jane docked the boat, she was in her Mercedes and backed out of her driveway.
Rita watched as Jane’s car disappeared down Lake Morey Road. She waited another five minutes before she made her next move just in case Jane decided to return sooner than later.
***
Jane made it a habit of leaving her garage door wide open during her trips away from home, so Rita was not surprised to find it open again.
She knocked twice on the interior garage door and waited. After no response, Rita used her shirt-front to open the door knob and enter Jane’s house. After pausing for a moment at the door to make sure nobody caught sight of her, she made her way around the home.
She mentally kicked herself for not buying some cheap rubber gloves when she purchased the dowel rods, wire, and plastic sheets. The gloves would’ve made her scouting trip around the fancy house much more stress-free, knowing that she could touch whatever she wanted.
The spectacular lake-views from the family room stopped her momentarily, but after a few seconds, Rita got quickly back on task.
After a swift walk-through of the home, Rita determined that Jane was living by herself. There were no other clothes in the house other than one woman’s wardrobe. And there was only one set of make-up and hygiene products in the massive master bathroom.
But she still needed proof that Jane killed Deb’s son.
As she stood in the living room again, admiring the view, and considering her next move, she caught a glimpse of a desk that was butted up to the backside of a love-seat near an expanse of windows.
Rita used her shirt-front again to pull open the side drawers one by one. The drawers were nearly empty, only holding a few antique paperweights, letter openers, and knick-knacks.
And then - jackpot. In the middle drawer, under an envelope containing Jane’s banking statements, was a recent repair bill from an auto body shop in East Thetford – a shop that specialized in foreign cars. The damage listed on Jane’s E-Class Mercedes was for front grill and hood repair.
Rita straightened and exhaled loudly as her eyes, again, scanned the interior of the home.
A glass mosaic, this one professionally crafted, hung on the wall and immediately caught her attention. A blue ribbon from “Hanover Summer Fest” was taped to it.
Rita got her proper thoughts back on task. She was going to do this. This was happening.
Soon, Rita’s mind would be clear of her troubled thoughts. She’d be free to live her life without the mental torment for another long while.
Rita stepped back through the kitchen and out the attached garage door, where -
The front bumper of the slow-moving Mercedes-Benz E-Class nearly rammed her knee caps.
Jane put the car in park, a mixture of fear and confusion on her face. Rita just stood there – dumbstruck.
Jane opened the car door, and that’s when Rita, improvising on the spot, said, “Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize that this was the door to the house.”
“Holy crap, you scared me to death!” said Jane, getting to her feet in the garage.
Rita countered, “I thought it was a storage room. I’m renting the cabin across the street and the owner said it would be okay for me to borrow a chaise lounge chair from your garage.”
After she caught her breath, Jane continued, “Deb told you that? Okay, that’s fine, but all the chaise chairs are on the back deck.”
“This is so embarrassing. I am so sorry to have bothered you,” said Rita.
“Oh, it’s really no trouble at all,” said Jane with a pleasant smile. She closed the car door, stepped closer, and reached out to shake with Rita. “I’m Jane.”
“I’m Becky,” Rita lied, shaking hands.
“I was wondering wh
o was in the cabin. I hadn’t seen anyone there in a while. I noticed the micro-wave light going on a few times in the dark. You don’t like lights, huh?” said Jane.
“Um, no. Well, without the lights on I can see the lake better,” said Rita.
Then, trying to change conversational gears, Rita noticed several of Jane’s colorful scarves draped over the back of a bar stool near the garage workbench. “Wow, those are really something.”
Jane grabbed one of the scarves and said, “I get these at a little shop in Hanover.”
“Oh, Hanover,” said Rita. “My husband and I were thinking of buying a second home around here, and I wanted to get a feel for this area. Hanover is another place we were thinking of looking.”
“Invite your husband over, we’ll have dinner,” said Jane.
“Oh, no. He didn’t make this trip. I needed some time for myself,” said Rita.
“I totally understand that, Becky,” said Jane with a sad smile. “I know Hanover very well. If you’re free tomorrow, I’ll take you there.”
“I couldn’t. I’ve intruded enough as it is,” said Rita.
“It’s no trouble at all. We’ll go to the shop where I get these,” said Jane, nodding to the scarves. “What do you say?”
“I’ll follow you there,” said Rita, sporting a fake smile.
“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive. It’d be my pleasure to show you around,” said Jane.
Rita’s eyes flicked to the workbench, and she said, “You’re an artist?”
“I was a tinkerer, but I’ve been selling pieces lately. But it’s definitely time to expand my work space.”
“Well, okay, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I’d love to see Hanover with you. Thank you,” said Rita. “I’ll get out of your way. I am terribly sorry to barge in like this.” She nodded, smiled, and stepped through the garage and out onto the driveway.
