The cabin is all one room. A kitchen area, a living room and a bedroom. The earthy scent of her draws him in.
Venus pulls off her clothes and tosses them on a chair. She lays back on the bed and slowly raises her arms over her head, exposing dark hairy armpits.
With his body covered in oil and mud, Hunter slides on top of her. And when they kiss, his body melts into hers.
CHAPTER 13
VANESSA
HUNTER’S PULLING UP in the driveway. I want to kill him, but I can’t. Too risky. The spouse is always the first person they suspect. He’s coming in. Act normal.
I pour two glasses of red wine while he’s unlocking the front door. I know he wants white, but I don’t care. I move toward him with both glasses.
He’s not even looking at me.
I take a sip of one glass and hand him the other.
He furrows his brows and takes the glass back to the kitchen. “Think I’ll have white.”
Of course he wants white. I was on the roof. Watching him chug all that white wine in the pool. At one point, I thought he saw me. But I hid behind one of those armless statues that look like that ugly sculpture those creeps from the University gave us.
Hunter comes back with a glass of white and I check out his pants. Completely deflated. And I know why. After the spa, he and some Neanderthal woman ran off to a dumpy little cabin. I peeked through a window and watched them fuck like animals.
Just when you think you know someone, you don’t. I thought I could trust Hunter. I’m having his goddam baby. Now someone must die.
I’m just not sure who. I need to think this through, carefully.
Hunter’s trudging up the stairs to get into his swim trunks. A repeat performance of last Monday when he couldn’t get it up. Now it all makes sense.
I take my wine outside and sit at the table by the pool. Hunter comes down in his swim trunks and gets in the water. He’s worn out. Poor thing.
He drinks white wine and gazes into space, probably thinking about the Neanderthal woman.
I glare at him and calculate the myriad of ways I can satisfy my urge to kill.
CHAPTER 14
VANESSA
HUNTER BREAKS HIS pattern and goes to Spa di Venus on Tuesday. And then he goes again on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Yet he’s never mentioned the spa. He’s lying. To me. His wife. And I believe in the death penalty, even if the State of California doesn’t.
The man knows I’m pregnant. We decorated the nursery together. When I first announced it at the barbeque, he seemed stunned, then pleased. My dad was thrilled. Hunter’s the one who should have been ecstatic. The swine.
Meanwhile, this baby is growing inside me. She’ll have to grow up without a father because Hunter will die before she’s born. But hey, I grew up without a mother and I turned out all right.
It’s Saturday and Hunter’s still asleep. I’m in his office downstairs. He doesn’t know it, but I put that new baby monitor we bought in our bedroom so I can hear when he wakes up. I have the contents of his wallet spread out on his desk.
There’s his stupid Spa di Venus membership card and another card that says Rayna Ross, Appointment Manager. Well Miss Rayna Ross, I think we’re going to become very good friends.
I pick up the phone and call. Rayna answers.
“I’d like to make an appointment, please,” I say in my sweetest voice. “As soon as possible.”
Rayna explains that the spa is only open ‘til noon on Saturday and closed on Sunday, so the first opening would be on Monday.
“Who’s your best masseuse?” I ask, knowing Hunter would do the same.
“That’s Venus, the owner,” Rayna says.
Silence.
I am seething.
Her name is Venus.
I know I’m not sounding so sweet anymore, but I choose my words carefully. “I’d like to make an appointment with Venus on Monday.”
“I’m sorry,” Rayna says. “Her next opening isn’t until August. The fourteenth. At, let’s see, three o’clock. Would you like me to put you down?”
“Fine,” I say. “And if she has any cancellations between now and then, be sure to give me a call.”
“Your name?”
“Suzanne Smith,” I give her my number. “I’ll pay cash.”
I hang up.
Now for his credit cards. I type American Express in the browser. Ah ha! He saved his password on the computer. Such a trusting man.
This card tells me everything I need to know. The first payment for one massage and the second payment for an annual membership were both purchased on the same day in June. And then last Monday, he upgraded the annual membership. That’s when he started going every day. I hit print.
A moan comes through the baby monitor. Hunter’s getting up. He’s turning on the shower. Probably jerking off to Venus the Neanderthal.
I fold up the evidence and tuck it in my pocket.
The urge is rising.
The urge to kill.
CHAPTER 15
VANESSA
MY PLAN IS fool proof. But it’s requiring more patience than I have. I can’t make my next move until I meet Venus, the Neanderthal.
For the past month, Monday through Friday, I drove by the spa at exactly five thirty to make sure Hunter was there. I returned home to hand him a glass of white wine the moment he made his entrance. Each time, he barely noticed me. And after I examined his deflated crotch, I had to rub my belly to soothe my daughter’s worries.
I know my baby’s a girl. I can feel it.
Now August fourteenth is here. I put on black workout tights and a white sports top. I braid my hair and shove it under a black sunhat and then slide on my shades. I look sexy, unlike that Neanderthal, who’ll soon be sorry she put her filthy hands on my husband.
Uber drives me to the spa. I don’t want my flashy car sitting in the parking area in case Hunter leaves work early. I can’t predict his behavior anymore. The man is out of control. I get out of the Uber and slam the door. It’s show time.
Inside, I spot a young girl sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Probably Rayna. I ignore her and wander around the wall space, studying spa products that are for sale. I locate the oils and mud that Hunter had smeared all over his body when he humped the Neanderthal. I wave to Rayna. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Smith.”
Rayna asks if I want a membership. I say no. She explains that one massage is two hundred dollars, but it’s only one fifty if I come every week and only one hundred if I come five days a week. She needs to shut up. I already know this. I have Hunter’s credit card records. I hand Rayna two hundred dollars in cash and she points me to a room where I’m supposed to put on a robe.
“Then wait in the mineral bath for Venus.”
Oh, I can hardly wait.
I follow her instructions and I’m sitting in the stupid mineral bath for what seems like forever. I’m still wearing my shades and sunhat in case Hunter shows up early and ruins my plans. A little guy comes over and hands me a glass of white wine. It looks like water. I take a sip and set it on the edge of the pool. This explains why Hunter switched.
Finally, the Neanderthal appears. I pretend I don’t see her even though she’s standing right in front of me. She says, “Mrs. Smith, I’m ready.”
Mrs. Smith. I guess she notices my wedding ring. It is hard to miss. And if the bitch thinks she’s getting one from my husband after she destroys my marriage, she’s sadly mistaken.
I get out of the pool and put on the white terrycloth robe. The Neanderthal towers over me. She’s not even pretty. She looks like that other Venus. Venus di Ville or whatever that statue in our dining room is called. I call it Man with Boobs. I’m stunned at Hunter’s poor taste.
“Follow me, please,” Venus says.
We finally get in a little room with no windows. No telling what all goes on in here. The only light comes from gas flames burning in sconces along the walls, like a brothel.
“You can hang your robe
here,” she says.
The only reason I comply is because I know that soon her only clients will be prison inmates. I pull off my hat and shake out my long braid. I fold up my shades, place them in the hat, and hand them to her. She sets them aside on a chair.
“Please lay face down on the table.”
I smile sweetly and bury my face in the hole.
The Neanderthal doesn’t say a word. She smears something warm on my back and starts rubbing. Some weird kind of cult music starts up and the whole time she’s rubbing me, I’m thinking about how fantastic it would be to chop off her arms. Then she’d really look like that Venus di Whatever statue.
Try massaging my husband with arm stubs, bitch.
Not soon enough, the massage is over. My body is covered in oil and mud. I need to get out of this pigsty. The Neanderthal tells me to shower across the hall and then closes the door behind her. I sit up. So that’s her M.O. She’s practically silent and that forces her clients to want more from her.
In the shower is a big bottle of Lavender Body Wash. It takes forever to scrub off all the oil and mud the Neanderthal smeared all over me.
After I dress, I put on my hat and sunglasses again in case Hunter shows up. I meander through the house like I’m trying to find my way back to the front and I pass a room where spa supplies are kept. Cases of them.
I hit my Uber app and order an SUV.
Three men are soaking in that nasty pool now. I wonder how many of them have gotten covered in mud and then fucked the Neanderthal. Swines, all of them.
At Rayna’s desk, I pick up a brochure. “What spa products do you sell?” I ask.
She perks up. “Did you like the oil and mud Venus used today?”
I hate it when people answer my question with a question. “Never mind,” I say. “I’ll look around.” You imbecile.
At a display shelf labeled New Products, I look over the items without touching them. A man comes in. He smiles at Rayna and then passes on through.
Rayna is doing something on the computer. I search for men’s stuff in the New Products section. Mint Shaving Gel and Musk Deodorant. Perfect. Now to get rid of Rayna.
I turn and say, “You know, I do like the products Venus used today. I’ll take the Citrus Rosemary Oil and the Mud Body Rub. Oh, and some Lavender Body Wash.”
Rayna points and says, “Right over there.”
“No, these are gifts. I want a case of each.”
Rayna’s eyes light up. “Excellent. I’ll be right back.” And just as I’d hoped, she rushes off.
I pull a latex glove from my bag and slip it on. One by one, I place three Mint Shaving Gel jars in my bag. And then three Musk Deodorant bottles.
I whip around the desk and check out the computer screen. A list of today’s appointments.
Still wearing the latex glove, I place my hand on the mouse. In the navigation bar, under Masseuse, I click Venus and up comes a list of her appointments. A man at nine o’clock, another man at eleven, a third man at one, Suzanne Smith at three, Dr. Hunter Flynn at five. I’m the only female. The Neanderthal gives a forty-five minute massage and leaves an hour after for mud fucking.
I click Billing Info and under the names of today’s appointments, all the addresses appear. All except mine, Suzanne Smith. The beauty of cash.
I whip out my phone and take a screen shot. Under Venus I click All Clients and hit the Billing Info tab. I take a screen shot, scroll and take another. After navigating back to today’s appointments, I stuff the phone back in my bag.
Rayna is pushing a cart over the stone floor. I step to the side of the desk and drop the latex glove back in my bag.
“Oh, let me get that,” I say all cheery. I push the cart around closer to the door. “How much?”
Rayna is typing on her computer and says, “One thousand, three hundred sixty five dollars and seven cents.”
I count out fourteen one hundred dollar bills. Barely a dent in my cash stash. I hoard cash. It’s like my own private insurance policy. A woman never knows when she might need to make a highspeed getaway.
Rayna tells me she’s not used to dealing with cash and that she’ll have to get change.
It’s already four thirty and Hunter’s appointment is at five. I reach for the cart and tell her to keep the change. Rayna grins and jumps up to open the door for me.
The Uber driver is waiting outside. I look up the road and Hunter’s black Fiat is coming. I open the passenger door and yell inside at the Uber driver, “Load those boxes in the back, now!”
The driver rolls his eyes and gets out of the car.
I slide in and slam the door. While the Uber driver puts the three boxes in the back, I hear Rayna say, “Dr. Flynn. Come inside.”
Hunter’s probably fucking her too.
The urge is rising.
The urge to kill.
CHAPTER 16
VANESSA
THAT WAS CLOSE. Too close. I stare out the window in the back seat of the Uber. I was careful before I met Hunter. That’s what love does. It weakens you.
When I first met Hunter, I actually had feelings for him. I can’t believe I fell for that crap. He told me I was his goddess and who wouldn’t want to be a goddess to a man like Hunter? Even when I told him I was a virgin, he respected that. He never tried to have sex with me before our wedding day. Instead we talked about everything. Well, not everything. He did most of the talking and I listened.
I listened when he told me about his mother. His poor mother who couldn’t bear the pain of being married to a lying, cheating man. Who couldn’t divorce him because she believed her wedding vows were sacred. And how she became addicted to pain pills because she was living in a never ending hell.
And while Hunter spent the entire evening crying about his dead mother, I spent the evening planning my next kill. I don’t cry. I take revenge.
Now Hunter is turning out exactly like his father. A liar and a cheater. And I’m in the same situation as his mother. But rest assured, Hunter Flynn, I do not have a self destructive bone in my body. I commit homicide.
I am a professional killer. Professional killers are different. We don’t hear voices. We’re on a mission. And my mission is justice.
After that man raped and suffocated my mother, the police never found him. And there was nothing I could do. I was four. But after I graduated from nursing school, I went on a mission to rid Napa Valley of its rapists.
I executed my first three kills perfectly. All registered sex offenders, rapists to be exact, and that was public information.
With each kill, I followed my target for months. Learned his habits, his patterns. And then I’d plan my kill in his home when he least expected it.
Rapists have one common trait. They can’t sleep unless they’ve fucked their brains out. That’s why they hang out in bars. They’ll either find someone to rape or they’ll drink themselves unconscious.
Before I kill, I like to chat with my targets. Have a nice conversation. Get to know them.
I follow them into a bar and give them a wink. After we’re talking a bit, I spike their drink with grain alcohol. Two hundred proof. And when they pass out, I lean over and act like I’m trying to help them stand up. That’s when I take their keys and leave them there for the bartender to deal with.
The very next night, before they realize they’ll never find their keys and they should probably change the locks, I go into their house and hide. They never bring anyone to their pigsty, so I wait. I wait until they’re snoring to inject them with more pure grain alcohol. I use a needle so fine, they can’t feel it. Being a pediatric nurse has its advantages. I calculate, per their weight, the right amount to make them semi-conscious. I wouldn’t want them to miss all the fun.
And just like that rapist did to my mother, I tie them down with duct tape, cover their heads with a clear plastic bag and pull the white string tight around their necks until they scream and gasp for air. But there’s no air inside that plastic bag. I must admit, w
atching them take that final breath is satisfying. And last, but not least, I snap a photo to take to my mother’s grave. I show her how I’m making them pay.
The first three kills went exactly like that. I was never suspected of anything. But the fourth was different. Hunter’s father was my target. He wasn’t a rapist. He was a cheater. Hunter blamed him for his mother’s death, so I made it right.
But when Hunter and I were questioned, that’s when it was time to stop. Never in my life had I been interrogated for a kill. Never.
But this mission is different. More covert. I’m not killing my target. I’m framing her.
The Uber driver pulls up at my house and pops the hatch. He stacks the boxes of Spa di Venus products in my driveway and says, “Be sure to give me five stars,” and then he gets back in the car.
I run around and bang on the window. “Hey, what about these boxes?”
He rolls down the window and smirks.
“Carry them inside for me!”
“Can’t do that,” he says. “Company policy.”
I slam my brows. “Fine, I’ll give you one star and say you were rude to a pregnant woman.” I aim my finger at the phone.
He looks at my flat belly. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
My heart stops.
He grins.
The little twit.
“Fine,” he says, “I’ll set them on the porch.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “That’s only three stars.”
He gets out and stacks the boxes by the door. “Three stars it is,” he says and drives off.
I give him one. Asshole.
CHAPTER 17
VANESSA
She's Kill Crazy Page 4
