Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (2 page)

4.

“YOU LOOK INCREDIBLE,” Milo says, when she enters the bedroom.

“Try not to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve seen me naked. It gives me the creeps.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“I’ll get over it. I hope. Eventually.
If
you stop staring at me like you’ve got some sort of secret knowledge. People pick up on that shit.”

“I’ll be cool.”

She studies him a moment. “You don’t look so good. You sure you’re up for this?”

“I’ll get it done.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“You’re positive he’ll come home before going to the party?”

“One thing about Jake: he’s a creature of habit.”

“What time do you think he’ll get here?”

“Six-thirty, seven at the latest. He’ll come in the kitchen, eat some chips and dip. Then he’ll come back here, use the bathroom, take a shower. He’ll take his time. You heard him on the phone. He intends to show up late for Lemon’s party. You know Jake: he’ll want to make the grand entrance.”

“Too cool to be on time?”

“Exactly. Speaking of which, you’re still planning to come, right? After shooting him?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Anything else I need to know?”

“Make sure your cell phone’s on. Make several calls to different friends while driving to the restaurant. But especially call Jake.”

“Why?”

“It’ll establish what time you left the house, and prove you went to the party before Jake left Harry’s Bar.”

“Harry’s Nickel.”

“Whatever.”

“How will it prove that?”

“When the police investigate the shooting you’ll be the prime suspect. They’ll check your cell phone records, see who you called, and chart your course by the cell towers that picked up your signals.”

“You sound like a cop.”

Milo shrugs.

Faith says, “Any chance they’ll figure it out?”

“I doubt it. You have a bunch of witnesses who’ll testify you were at the party. And everyone knows I’ve been at my mom’s house all afternoon. My car’s there, and my cell phone. You’ll call me at seven-thirty, my mom will answer. You’ll talk to her a few minutes, and she’ll promptly forget all about it because Alzheimer’s a bitch. I’ll kill Jake, ride my bike to mom’s, grab my phone and car keys, drive to the party. If the police try to check out my alibi they’ll get nothing from mom. When they check
your
phone they’ll see you called me at seven-thirty, and you’ll verify we had a conversation, and you reminded me of the time.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t.”

“The reason most people get caught is they trust the wrong person to do the killing. In your case they’ll check to see if you’re having an affair. You’re not, right?”

“We’ve been through this. I’ve never been unfaithful.”

“And you haven’t met anyone you’re interested in.”

“Not yet.”

“And you’re not paying me, so there’s no transfer of cash from your accounts.”

“Right.”

“And you haven’t bought any insurance on Jake in the past five years?”

“Nope.”

“And you haven’t been fighting?”

“Nope.”

“He’s never hit you?”

“No.”

“Never cheated on you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So there’s no motive for you to kill him, and no motive for me to kill him.”

“Correct.”

Milo pauses. “Tell me again why you want him dead?”

“I’m sick of him. He disgusts me. And he’s cheating on me.”

“Cheating? But you just said—”

“I said not that I know of. Meaning, I have no proof. But a wife always knows.”

Milo gives her a look. “Are you sure about that?”

“No. But I know he’s cheating.”

“How?”

“He’s way too full of himself lately.”

Milo wonders how she can tell. As far as he’s concerned, Jake’s been full of himself from day one. It’s one of the reasons Milo volunteered to kill him. At the time, she thought he was joking. She was upset. He asked if there was anything he could do to cheer her up. “Yeah,” she said. “Kill my husband.” He said, “I’d love to.” She laughed, he didn’t. She said, “You could never kill a man.” He said, “You might be surprised. All my life I’ve wondered what it would feel like to take a person’s life. I never acted on it because I was afraid I’d get caught. Not to creep you out, but I would definitely do it. For you.” She said, “Okay, you’re officially scaring me now.”

But the following week she brought the subject up again. He couldn’t do it on his own, he said, but if the two of them were in on it together, he’d have the confidence to make it happen. He didn’t mention he had a huge crush on her, or that he hoped to leverage the murder into a sexual relationship. “Just say the word,” he said, and never thought she would.

But here they stand.

Faith says, “Are you going to make it look like a robbery? Because there are things I don’t want you to take.”

“No. People get in trouble when they try to stage a crime. I’m just going to shoot him, wipe the gun clean, put it back in the drawer, and leave.”

“It’ll look like a hit.”

“I doubt a hit man would use the victim’s gun to kill him. But in any case, if there’s no motive, and no evidence, it’ll be hard for the police to build a case against either of us. Just stay strong, freak out when they tell you he’s dead, and don’t say anything that could implicate you.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘I can’t believe someone shot him!’”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if they tell you he was shot. But they probably won’t. So try to pretend you know nothing about it.”

“What if they ask me to come to the station?”

“Tell them to set it up with your attorney. And Faith?”

She looks at him.

“You can shout, ‘Oh my God!’ or scream the word, ‘No!’ several times, or say those things quietly, while crying, but add nothing else, and don’t overdo it. Because if you say things like, ‘That’s impossible!’ They’ll ask you why it’s impossible. If you say, “But I just
heard
from him!” They’ll ask you what time, and what you talked about. They’ll try to engage you in conversation, but don’t fall into their trap.”

“What should I say?”

“Stare at them blankly, as if in shock and say nothing. Their best shot at tripping you up is the moment they tell you he’s dead. They’ll study your reaction and pepper you with questions that seem harmless, but can hang you later.”

“I can’t just tell them to talk to my attorney the minute they tell me Jake’s dead.”

“No. But you’re well within your rights to be in shock. If you’re in shock, it makes sense you can’t be responsive. If you feel stuck or cornered, simply pretend to faint. But don’t answer any questions. Offer no details. Confirm nothing.”

“Won’t that make them suspicious?”

“Who gives a shit?”

“Good point.”

“Okay,” Milo says. “You better get moving.”

“Apologize.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize.”

“For what?”

“Spying on me.”

“Oh. Look, I’m really sorry about that, Faith. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I’ll try.”

She turns to leave.

Milo says, “Don’t forget to call my cell at seven-thirty.”

“I’m not an idiot, Milo.”

“Sorry. You know me. I’m anal.”

He follows her to the garage, waits a few minutes to make sure she’s gone, then heads to her closet and goes through her underwear drawer.

5.

IT STARTED WITH the wives.

Faith, Gracie, and Wren were high school friends turning thirty. Lemon and Lexi were recently married workout buddies, twenty-four. The three met the two at yoga, and became close as sisters within months. The shopping dates, luncheons, and golf outings turned into birthday celebrations and vacations, and by then the husbands were involved. It was one of those rare situations where everyone got along, and it continued, because when you’ve got a group of ten, and two of the couples have kids, there’s always an excuse to get together.

It takes Milo twenty minutes to go through Faith’s dresser drawers and bathroom cabinets, and another ten minutes to look through her prescriptions and feminine products. He makes a mental note of her perfume, makeup, and hair products. Not because he anticipates purchasing these items for her in the future, but because…well, just because.

He’s not a pervert.

At least, not the way she implied. In other words, sure, he’ll stare at a beautiful naked woman if he gets the chance, but he has no interest in trying on her bra and panties, or anything like that.

Except that it’s on his mind now, the disgusting things perverts do. Milo wonders what type of satisfaction they could possibly derive by wearing women’s underwear.

He’d look it up on the Internet if he had the time, or had a computer handy. He could use his phone, of course, if he’d brought it, but it’s a pain trying to find and read things on such a small screen. How much easier to just try on the panties and bra and see if he can figure out what all the fuss is about.

Does he have time?

He puts the gun on the floor of Faith’s coat closet, where he hid earlier, and works the killing out in his mind. The best plan is to shoot Jake while he’s in the shower. There’s a good chance Jake will have his eyes closed or be facing away, which will make the shooting easier. Also, the shower walls and running water will help contain the blood spatter, which should prevent a number of potential crime scene problems.

Of course, when he pulls the shower door open there’ll only be three walls to contain the spatter, and Milo will be standing a few feet away. Since he can’t afford to let an errant droplet of Jake’s blood land on his coat or collar, he decides it makes perfect sense to be completely nude when he shoots his friend.

Milo removes his clothes and checks himself out in Faith’s mirror. Then remembers watching her doing the same thing a half hour ago.

After shooing him out of the room she would have put on a bra and panties. When he sees her later tonight, at Lemon’s party, she’ll be wearing the bra and panties she put on moments after he saw her naked.

He goes back to her underwear drawer, decides on a black, lacy pair of panties, and steps into them. Since Faith is barely half his size, the fit is far from ideal.

But they feel amazing on his skin.

Okay, so silk panties feel great when they belong to your friend’s hot wife, the one you’ve always had a crush on, the one you saw completely naked moments ago. Fine, Milo can accept that.

Doesn’t make him a pervert.

Putting on her bra would definitely make him a pervert.

And he’s not one.

But again, he wonders why perverts do those sorts of things, and it’s not like he’s got anything else to do while waiting to shoot Faith’s husband.

Two minutes later he’s checking himself out in Faith’s bra and panties. He thought he’d bust out laughing, but surprise number five, he doesn’t look half as silly as he expected. He couldn’t possibly fit into her high heels, right?

Right. His feet are way too big.

But what about her platform sandals?

Milo finds a pair with an open heel. He sits on the floor and stuffs his toes in as far as they’ll go. He can’t buckle the ankle straps, of course, but he ought to be athletic enough to stand and walk. He notes that his heels extend two inches over the back and his toes don’t go all the way in, and they’re high heels after all, so he’ll have to be careful. He gets to his feet, turns to look at himself in the mirror, and crashes to the floor just in time to hear the beep.

Beep
?

What beep?

The one that sounds when the back door opens. He heard it when he came in, and heard it again when Faith left.

But why is it beeping now?

Milo wasn’t expecting it. Well, obviously he knew it would beep eventually. But he didn’t expect to hear it until
after
hearing the garage door open. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? Jake comes down the driveway, presses the remote, the garage door slowly opens. Jake waits for it to go up, then drives into the garage, parks his car, presses the remote to
close
the garage door,
then
enters the house.

How could Milo not have heard the garage door open?

Because the garage is on the opposite end of the house, you idiot!

He tries to scramble to his feet, but trips and falls again.

Not a problem. Jake’s a creature of habit, right? He’ll be in the kitchen, eating chips and dip.

Except that Jake turns out to be less a creature of habit than Faith thought. Milo realizes this when he hears Jake barreling down the hallway at a fast clip. Milo crawls on his hands and knees to Faith’s coat closet, starts to close the louvered door, and realizes he’s left his clothes in a pile in front of her dresser! He dives for them at the precise moment Jake enters the bedroom where Milo waited for Faith while she got dressed. There’s no way Milo can get back in Faith’s coat closet in time to avoid Jake. He’s lying facedown on the floor in the center of Faith’s closet, wearing her bra and panties and platform sandals and nothing else.

What to do?

Nothing. There’s no solution.

Milo grabs his clothes, covers his head, and…

…By some miracle Jake walks right past him and enters the master bathroom.

Milo scoops up his clothes, makes his way back to the coat closet, closes the door. He quietly removes Faith’s sandals, but leaves the bra and panties on.

Then waits to hear the shower running.

Except that what he hears is the TV.

Who watches TV while taking a shower?

No one.

And Jake isn’t watching it either. He’s listening to it while taking a piss, Milo figures, when he hears the toilet flush. Jake turns the TV volume higher. Milo can’t make out the words, but it sounds like a female newscaster. Suddenly Jake shouts, “Twenty-two! Twenty-two! Twenty-two!”

What the hell?

And a moment later, “
Oh my God
! Seventeen! Say it! Say seventeen!”

Jake is shouting. Milo wonders what the fuck’s going on. Suddenly Jake shrieks like an impaled banshee. “
No fuckin’ way
!” he screams. “No fuckin’
WAY
!”

He runs down the hall, then back to the bathroom, shouting, “Omigod! Phone! Phone! Where’s my fuckin’ phone?”

Does Faith want Jake dead because he’s crazy? Milo hears the TV go quiet.

Jake shouts, “Answer it!”

Apparently he’s found the phone and placed a call. The phone’s not on speaker, but Milo hears every word Jake says, because he’s pacing up and down the hall between the master bath and bedroom. Every few seconds he spots Jake through the louvered door facing a different direction.

What he realizes, eventually, is Jake, or Faith—or both of them—have just won the lottery.