The Real Mrs. Price

by J. D. Mason

  “He showed up at my house,” she told her. “Even crossed my barrier line, Shou.” Marlowe felt absolutely helpless against him, and Shou Shou had to have heard it in her voice.

  “Oh, baby,” she said sorrowfully. Shou Shou shook her head. “Are you sure it was him, Marlowe? Are you most certainly sure? More sure than you ever been about anything?”

  “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life, Auntie. I felt it as soon as I saw him.”

  Marlowe recalled the tall, dark, handsome monster standing in her yard and hovering over her like a storm cloud. She worked as hard as she could to fight back tears. “How come I couldn’t have gotten warning about Eddie? If I’d known then what I know now about him, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Oh, you had your warning,” her aunt said irritably. All that sympathy was gone as soon as it’d come. “You had plenty, but you chose to do what you wanted to do anyhow.”

  Marlowe became angry. “How, you say?”

  “You felt it. Remember you was breaking up with him before he took you to Vegas. Remember you thought something about him wasn’t right. Next thing I know, you come back wearing a ring and calling yourself Marlowe Price ’stead of Brown. I think you knew. But I think you can’t help how you are. Just like Merrilyn couldn’t help who she was.”

  “I’m not like her,” Marlowe retorted. Her mother had spent more time out of their lives than in it. She hardly even knew the woman, but she knew enough to argue being anything like her. “Besides, you said she was possessed.”

  “I said she was haunted. Not possessed. There’s a difference.”

  “Well, I ain’t like her.”

  “You ain’t haunted but sure as hell are like her. Follow your heart all around the world like it’s got you on a leash. Never using your head. Never listening to your instinct. Instinct is always true. It’s never false. But you choose to ignore it, same way she did.”

  She was right. Marlowe had only been seeing Eddie for a few months when she realized that she didn’t love him. Not like she thought she should. He was handsome and sweet and funny, but he was absent. Even when they were together, he never seemed to be really present. Now she understood why. He was married and who knows what else he was. He was most certainly a murderer.

  “I let him talk me into taking that trip,” she said, disappointed.

  “He saw your weakness and played on it,” her aunt said. “He saw you was lonesome. He saw you was lost.”

  “Why marry me, though, when he was married already? Why not get a divorce first?”

  “Who the hell knows, child? Men do what they do for all kinds of dumb reasons, mostly pussy.”

  Marlowe was shocked. “Auntie!” She didn’t even know that Shou Shou knew that word.

  “What? It’s the truth,” she said, holding her cup between two dainty hands. “Men to ass is like bees to honey. You grown. You know that.”

  He made her feel like she was everything that week in Vegas. Eddie wined and dined her, danced with her, made love to her. He promised her that he’d give her everything she needed and even some things she didn’t. He’d promised to love her how she needed to be loved. He even bought her a ring. The morning after Marlowe said “I do,” she wished she hadn’t. If she had to pinpoint a moment when her life began spiraling out of control, that would be it, only she didn’t know it at the time.

  “What do you think he wants with me?” she asked, thinking back to that tall, dark man standing in her front yard. It was hard enough dealing with this drama that Eddie had caused. To have to deal with that one, too? Marlowe didn’t know if she had the strength.

  Her aunt sighed. “I had hoped that if you knew up front that he was coming, you could stop him. But apparently not. You might be able to fight him. It’ll have to be spiritual, though, because I imagine that he’s powerful.”

  “He is,” she murmured. He was massive in size, but even more daunting than being physically powerful, Marlowe sensed that spiritually and possibly emotionally, he was like nothing or no one she’d ever encountered.

  “You might be able to win. But I couldn’t tell you how. It could be that he just wants to use you for something and then go on his way,” Shou Shou said optimistically.

  “The bones said he was coming for me.”

  “I don’t know what that means, Marlowe. It could mean so many things. Did he threaten you?”

  “Would he?”

  She shook her head. “Probably not. Was he charming?”

  “Charming with warning.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “Get the sage sticks out,” she advised her. “Carry your rosary. Stay prayed up.”

  She hadn’t told Marlowe to do anything she didn’t already know about, but she was right. Marlowe needed to do what she could to protect herself.

  “Holy water?” Holy water worked on demons, but Marlowe couldn’t be sure that it would work on an actual devil.

  “Can’t hurt.” Shou Shou sighed.

  All that was missing were wooden stakes, garlic, and silver bullets. Marlowe made a mental note to stop at the hardware store for wood and the grocery store for garlic on the way home. As for bullets? She figured that she might have to look for silver ones online.

  “Eddie’s first wife had a man call and ask if she could come see me.”

  “You say yes?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I think she’s curious about me.”

  “Her curiosity is not your problem, Marlowe. That woman don’t need to be coming down here starting no mess.”

  “I’m curious, too, Auntie.”

  “About what?”

  “Her. Him. She was married to him longer. Maybe she can tell me something about him that can help clear my name.”

  “Well, if she do or if she don’t, both of y’all were fools for a fool. And I’m sorry for you both.”

  Black Gypsy

  EVERYBODY DON’T NEED EYES to see. Shou Shou could tell that candle was burning by the smell and the warmth.

  An old scratchy song called “Black Gypsy Blues” spun on her record player. She’d been playing it over and over again all morning. That song was always in the back of her mind. Shou Shou played the record whenever people came to her for help having to do with otherworldly matters. She claimed that song as her own, claimed it was about her, written by a man who had loved her once. The women in Shou Shou’s family had never had much luck with love. Oh, the men found them easily enough, loved them hard and strong. All of the women were said to have been so beautiful that men couldn’t keep away from them, claimed that the women put spells on them that drove them mad with desire. Somehow, though, the men who loved them would end up dead or broken or lost.

  She lost her first love, Lewis Jr., when she was fifteen. He was playing baseball and got hit in the head with the ball, which cracked his skull. Her second lover was shot trying to break up a fight at a bar. After the third one went crazy, Shou Shou stopped letting men get close to her. And poor Belle, one of her nieces, had only ever been with a man long enough to break her heart. Marjorie never did let love in. She died before it even got close. But Marlowe? Oh, that Marlowe. That girl had a head as hard as a rock and a heart as big as the world. Her first husband ended up on drugs, and nobody had heard from him in years. This next one, the one she called Eddie, just up and disappeared out of the blue one day.

  There was another man, though, circling that girl like a shark. And that was the one who worried her most. Shou Shou had managed to convince Marlowe to create a cross-me-not barrier in front of her house, telling her that it would keep those reporters from coming up to her door. It had kept away the reporters, but most importantly, it had kept him away, too. The rains were coming soon. Shou Shou could smell it in the air. They would wash away those barriers and leave Marlowe vulnerable to him, and he was likely the type to be ready to pounce on that girl as soon as opportunity allowed him.

  Shou Shou could sense him in her spirit,
shadowing Marlowe. Marlowe made his mouth water and his palms sweat. He was a devourer, a darkness that could gobble her up and swallow her whole if she wasn’t careful, and Marlowe had always been too foolish to be careful. Of all her girls, she was the one who had always worried Shou Shou the most. Marlowe was the careless one, the flighty one too quick to follow her heart and give in to her emotions. Passion flowed through her veins like blood, and it was the passion in her that would be her downfall.

  Shou Shou had to try, though. If she could keep that protection over Marlowe and her house, and keep that girl from opening that door and inviting him in, he would leave. He had no ties here. It was only a matter of time before he knew it and moved on. But if he got his hands on her, his lips, then he would do whatever it took to own her, and her dumb ass would let him. Shou Shou had no doubt about this. Oh, he was good-looking, a sensual character, full of charm and charisma that could make a woman lose her good sense over him. He was the most beautiful of all God’s angels. Lucifer was no monster. No, chile. Not at all.

  There was no need to close her eyes. Shou Shou opened up her heart and closed off her own personal thoughts as soon as she began this chant. It was old. It had been born of her ancestors from every corner of this world: French, Pascagoula, and Songhai. She murmured in all the languages from her ancestors, calling out for help, for each of them to rain down their powers of protection over Marlowe. Shou Shou rocked in slow circles on the floor in front of those candles, channeling the power of her heritage and casting it out into the universe, guiding it to Marlowe’s house.

  He was strong and powerful. And he had her in his sights. He wanted her, and she was too dumb to see it. Dumb? Or did she want him, too? He was beautiful, the most beautiful, and there wasn’t a woman alive who could resist him. But Shou Shou held on to her hope that Marlowe would open her eyes and come to her senses before it was too late. That she would resist the magic he would weave with his mouth and hands, and turn from him. He couldn’t come inside without an invitation. And she had to be the one who let him in.

  Don’t let him in, girl! He’ll go away if you refuse him! He’ll have no choice but to leave you alone and to leave you whole!

  The power of her murmuring soon engulfed Shou Shou in a cloud of the spirit world. She and her ancestors had become one. They wondered about her.

  Why are you here, girl? they asked.

  I’m fighting for the one that I love, she told them. She is in danger, and she doesn’t know it.

  Marlowe! Marjorie’s voice came through and stabbed Shou Shou in the heart.

  Yes, Shou Shou told her. You know how she is.

  I know how she is, Marjorie responded somberly.

  We have to protect her.

  He wants her! they said in unison.

  He can’t have her! Shou Shou shouted. We have to fight for her! We have to keep her safe from him!

  Her spirit had left her body. Shou Shou wailed like an infant. He could ravage Marlowe and leave her raw if he wanted to. He could destroy her!

  We can’t let him! Shou Shou shouted over and over again until finally the ancestors grew weary and released her to her sorrow and to her body.

  All she could do now was wait and hope that Marlowe had enough common sense not to open the door and invite him in.

  Where You Hide

  THE SCENE OF THE CRIME. The only things left behind now were remnants of yellow police tape strewn about and a big, black patch of burned ground where that car had been. Plato stood, literally, out in the middle of nowhere.

  “So this is what that looks like,” he said reflectively.

  A big, wide-open mass of nothingness, thirty-seven miles from the house of Mr. and Mrs. Price in Blink, Texas. He’d pulled up a news clip of the actual scene the day it was discovered by Clark City police and used it to get his bearings. An autopsy determined that the victim had been shot in the head before being burned. It was the bullet that killed him and not the fire. So why burn a dead man?

  “To hide his identity,” Plato said out loud to himself.

  The devil’s in the details. He walked a slow, wide circle around the burned ground, surveying the immediate vicinity of the crime scene. Police had likely done this a thousand times, and if there was anything for them to find, they certainly would’ve found it by now. Perspective was everything when you’re trying to find something. Tall people see what’s on top. He squatted. Short people see what’s below. In this case, he didn’t see a damn thing.

  Nearly three miles from here was a frontage road. If the killer had come from there, they’d have had to turn right into this field from that road and drive across it. From where he stood, you couldn’t even see the road. Plato turned slowly again, surveying the expanse and outlying areas of this place. On the one side, the nothingness continued for as far as the eye could see. Behind him was a mass of trees. He had no idea how deep that forest went or what was on the other side of it. But those trees were a good half a mile away, at least.

  Scenario one. “I’m Ed Price,” he muttered, staring out at where he knew the road was. “I need to get rid of this body.”

  Why? Because he didn’t want anyone to be able to identify it. “I’m gonna burn it,” he said, speaking the thought he speculated that Ed Price had. “But why in your own car?” Plato turned his attention back to the burn spot. In his mind’s eye, he saw the scene unfold.

  It’s late, and Plato looks up and sees Ed Price’s silver Cadillac STS driving slowly across the field with the headlights off. Price is sitting behind the wheel, sweating, his eyes wide and filled with panic. He glances in the rearview mirror over and over again. The dead man is where?

  “In the seat next to him?” Plato speculates. Nah. What if he were pulled over? What if some cop got suspicious?

  “Laid out in the backseat or in the trunk,” he concluded.

  Already dead or still alive. Ed could’ve had the other guy drive with Ed sitting next to him. No. In the backseat behind him with the gun pointed at his head. Stop fucking around with scenarios and shit that doesn’t matter. Focus. Only on the facts. Only on what mattered.

  Price is checking his list and checking it twice, going over the details in his head: accelerant, lighter, or torch. Escape. Direction? Destination. If he were smart, he’d have figured all this out before he decided to come here. Did he have time to plan? Or was all this one big-ass random feat? Had he planned on killing the dude, or had it been spontaneous? Questions. Too many. Stick to what’s relevant.

  Climb out of the car. Pull the body from the backseat or the trunk. Put him behind the wheel.

  Did he fit? Were the pedals close enough or far enough away? Was the seat adjusted for his size?

  Stop.

  Focus.

  Pour the accelerant. On the body. Inside the car. Outside the car. On the ground surrounding the car. Poof! Up in flames.

  Step back. Wait. Watch. Breathe.

  “Could anybody see?”

  Plato imagined Price frantically turning in circles, looking for signs that anyone could see the flames, the smoke, and if anyone was headed in his direction.

  “Go!” Price would run.

  Run! But where? Back out to that road? Too risky. Someone might see him walking down that road and eventually tie him to this scene. Plato turned to the forest. Where did it lead? What was on the other side? Then he turned to the wide-open nothing. Eventually, all that nothing would turn to something. And it might not be nothing for long. But would Price know that? He wasn’t stupid. If he was alive, then he’d been hiding for the last month and had the whole world thinking he was dead. This spot wasn’t random. He knew where he was going. He knew what he was doing, and someplace around here was his escape route.

  Scenario two. He smiled. “I’m Marlowe, and I’m going to kill my husband.” The only way she could’ve gotten that man behind the wheel of the car by herself is if she forced him to drive here at gunpoint or if she had help. He let that thought linger. Images flashed in his mind
of Marlowe sitting in the passenger seat next to Price. Of course, Price could’ve been a dead man in the backseat or trunk. Marlowe driving with Ed on the passenger side. If she was alone, and she forced him to drive here, would she risk sitting next to him? Or would she be smart and sit in the backseat, behind him, with the gun pointed at his head?

  No scenario that he played in his head with Marlowe as the killer made sense. So she got him here. He was shot. Burned. It didn’t work, unless she had an accomplice. Who? Ed? Why? Ed Price could be alive, and if that were the case, then it was someone else’s body burned to a crisp in that car. Money. Money made the world go round, made wives and husbands shoot dudes and set them on fire. Then he was a cad for leaving her behind. They’d have had to have planned for him to disappear. But plan for her to take the rap for his murder? He frowned. That part they hadn’t planned. At least, she hadn’t planned it. “He could’ve planned it,” he said aloud. “Set her up.”

  They’d have to get out of here together. Unless! Did she drive and follow him here? Did she wait for him to burn that car and then drive off with him in her car?

  “Things that make you go…”

  She’d tell, though. Of course she would. If he’d been her accomplice, did that mean she knew about the money? Did she know about the missing account numbers and PINs? Would he trust her with that information?

  In most states, wives can’t be forced to testify against their husbands if they choose not to. He’d heard that once in a movie. Plato sighed. She would have needed help to get a man here. Her husband was one option. But then another thought occurred. Lucy.

  No one could say with certainty that these two women didn’t know each other before Ed Price disappeared. Lucy Price was on her way to Dallas and, likely, on her way to Blink. She reported her husband missing six months ago, and the Internet barely hiccupped. Her missing persons story was a local news story at best, until Marlowe’s name came up along with evidence of the missing man’s car less than fifty miles from his second home with his second wife. But again, Marlowe’s ass was on the line. Not Lucy’s. More money? Another setup? Was Marlowe just a sucker? A victim? He wondered.