Murder My Love (11 page)

Chapter 11

One night in late October, autumn brewed a miserable storm. The region was pelted with an unrelenting rain. The temperature had dropped precipitously. Linda had been working late, and by the time she was able to drive home patches of black ice began to form in the hollows of the country road leading back to Zephyr Cove. In one of the hollows about a mile from home, her car swerved, spun out and left the roadway. It came to a stop when it hit the base of a tree. She struck her head on the steering wheel and for a moment was stunned. She was confused. As she regained her senses she could not be certain whether she had been side swiped by another car. She could see the hood of her car was crumpled but not the full extent of the damage owing to the darkness of the night. Linda stepped out of her car and realized it was not drivable. She walked the last mile to her home in the cold mist, fell into bed without supper and hoped she could remember what had happened to her. The next day she asked Rita to drive her to see where she had spun out and what had happened to her vehicle. The car was crumpled like an accordion, damaged beyond repair. The car was towed to her home and deposited in her driveway. She submitted a claim to her insurance company and awaited payment. The United Auto Insurance Company proposed to settle her claim for substantially less than what she thought her car was worth.

Incensed at the arbitrary decision, Linda made her way to Hartford to personally plead her case. She was intent on meeting with the claims adjuster whose name appeared on the rejection letter. She believed that a personal touch might yield a better result. Walking briskly into a glass and steel skyscraper, she encountered the receptionist.

“Where can I find Alice Chicciarelli?” she inquired.

“Third floor, left side as you get off the elevator.”

As the elevator doors opened on the third floor, a sea of cubicles greeted her. She found her way to the proper one and introduced herself. She anticipated a contentious conversation, but was pleasantly surprised by how well she was greeted. There seemed to be an instant chemistry. It did not escape Linda’s attention that Alice was stunningly beautiful. She began by explaining the circumstances of the accident. She had prepared a story and was reciting it as a student would in grade school. Paying little attention, Alice sat back and absorbed the natural beauty of the woman before her. Linda had not finished when Alice interrupted her.

“Have you had lunch?”

“No.”

“Care to join me? There’s a terrific place right around the corner from here.”

Their friendship was sealed in that moment. They found reasons to meet and have lunch. After several occasions they graduated to dinner. They had much in common and many mutual interests. The conversations were never wanting for topics of mutual interest. At the end of dinner one evening, Alice invited Linda to spend the night with her at her home, rather than drive back to Zephyr Cove. She accepted. Their evening together was like two tablets of Alka Seltzer in a glass of water. The effervescence of their lovemaking was like the bubbles that co-mingle, rendering their origin indistinct. Months of meeting intermittently led to the inevitable questions.

“Why don’t we live together?” asked Linda.

“Where?”

Linda went on to tell Alice that she had applied for a job at Community Hospital in West Warwick and that her application was accepted. She had met with the head of Human Resources who ushered her around town and showed her a home she could afford to rent. They toured the house at 172 Elm Street. Linda placed a deposit with the realtor that day. At their next meeting Linda showed Alice the house and invited her to share it with her. Alice replied that she would, as soon as her lease terminated, but she wanted their on-going relationship to continue while they were living separately. Linda was delighted with the arrangement.

As the liaisons between Linda and Alice grew more frequent it became difficult for Linda to explain her absences to Rita. At first she excused it by telling Rita she had to work late. Then the lies escalated to include that she had to travel for her job. But it became impossible to explain so many weekends away from home. Linda had no alternative but to tell Rita that she had found another lover. But first she told her she found another job.

“Where?” she asked.

“West Warwick. At the hospital.”

“Why?”

“The pay is much better.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“That’s not possible.”

Linda knew intuitively that Rita would be devastated. She knew because she herself had been “dumped” by former lovers and understood how the loss would affect Rita. She did everything in her power to gently tell Rita that their relationship had ended. She prepared her remarks carefully. She chose her words with precision. She modulated her voice to ease the pain. Her good intentions were fruitless. Rita became hysterical.

“How could you do this to me?” she wailed. “I gave myself to you. You have no right to leave me.”

Rita ranted on for an unseemly amount of time while Linda sat stoically, purposefully not responding. Any more words from her mouth at that time would have been incendiary. Hadn’t she already dropped a stick of dynamite into Rita’s life?

When the flow of tears had ended, Linda arose from her chair and went to give Rita a hug. Rita pushed her away. It was a forceful push, almost threatening. There was malice in her eyes. Linda saw it and became fearful. She resumed her leave of Rita’s house and as she reached the door she said,

“I’m sorry, really I am. But I have to move on. I have needs that you can’t possibly fill. I’m a vital woman and I need more excitement in my life.”

Had it ended there it might not have precipitated the events that ensued. She looked squarely at Rita and said with derision, “And frankly, you need more experience.”

There was no reason to denigrate the love making of a woman who had only recently found her sexual identity. It was an unnecessary cut. But the words spilled from her mouth spontaneously, incautiously and mean-spirited. She had found a new and vibrant lover and wanted to sever her relationship with Rita completely. She had been on the other end of a relationship and knew that dragging out the ending was beneficial to no one. Rita picked up the nearest object, a glass candy dish, and threw it at her as she screamed hysterically, like a woman possessed, “Get out of my house, you bitch!”

For Rita, the weeks and months following the breakup were empty, barren, devoid of meaning or joy. Each day was endlessly monotonous. The children were subjected to a river of tears, hysterical recriminations. If they hadn’t already clearly known of their mother’s relationship with Linda, her behavior left no doubt. When their father had left home she had been impassive. Now she was inconsolable. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. The youngest, Sheila, made every attempt to console her mother. She listened. She stayed home and kept her company. She tried to make her mother understand that relationships were sometimes fragile. She begged her to move on. The best revenge was to establish a relationship that surpassed the first. Sheila seemed to have more wisdom than her years should allow. All her advice fell on deaf ears. All Sheila heard was the cry for vengeance. Rita wanted to get even with Linda but she hadn’t a clue how to go about it. She couldn’t conceive of anything that could hurt Linda in the way she herself was hurt, to be left emotionally crippled. The emptiness was suffocating her.

In a moment of utter frustration at not being able to reach her mother, Sheila blurted out, “Why do you care for her? She’s a slut.”

Rita bristled. She had no idea what her daughter was trying to say. She had convinced herself that Linda was true to her and her alone. While she was devastated that her lover abandoned her, giving credence to her being promiscuous would diminish what they shared, “How dare you call her a slut!”

Sheila was torn. She had opened a can of worms and didn’t know how to reseal the lid. She had no alternative but to speak the truth. “Mom, she came on to me!”

Chapter 12

The anger did not subside when Linda Greenwell moved away. It intensified. It became directional. It consumed Rita’s every waking moment. It led to obsessive behavior and paranoia. On weekends Rita drove to West Warwick, to Elm Street. She told herself that all she wanted was to see if she could, by chance, meet her former lover. Perhaps, she would be in her garden or tending her yard or washing her car. Perhaps she could stop and say a few words. Perhaps to tell her she was no longer bitter. Perhaps to convince her she had made a mistake in breaking up with her. The truth was she hoped she could get a look at the new woman in Linda’s life. She wanted to know what kind of person had displaced her. She took photographs of Linda’s home. She took photographs of her new lover’s car. She studied it thinking that one day she would see her driving around town in it. She needed to know if it had been her looks that drove Linda away. She never believed it was her own possessiveness that destroyed their relationship. She made several such trips. All ended in futility. She never got to speak with her former lover; and all her phone calls went unanswered.

Her anger was fueled like a bellows to a furnace fire. Her overriding emotion was consummate frustration. There was no one she could confide in, no one upon whom to vent her spleen, no one to replace her Linda. Frieda was a rock but in matters of love and sex she was at sea. Conrad was a friend but he was too young to understand her grief. Besides, he was so promiscuous he could hardly relate to her monogamous relationship with Linda. At least, she believed it had been monogamous. But Conrad could be useful after all. He traveled about the state and often went into Massachusetts. He could be the perfect person to acquire what she needed without the purchase being traced to her. She concocted a plan that, in her mind’s eye, was foolproof. Her plan unfolded when she visited him at the beauty parlor and told him to stop by her house on his way home. She had a favor to ask. He demanded to know why she couldn’t ask him then and there. “It’s personal. I’d really appreciate if you could be there,” she cooed. Conrad complied by saying he’d be there just as soon as his last appointment left his salon.

Rita was home alone when he arrived. She ushered him into her kitchen and sat him down. She had been drinking. A half empty bottle of wine was sitting on the counter top. Next to it was a glass nearly empty. Conrad had never seen her drink alcohol. He was confused.

“What’s the matter, Rita?” he implored.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing’. I’m not a child anymore.”

The remainder of wine was downed in a single gulp. She looked at Conrad and said, “I want you to buy me a gun.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Don’t you ever talk to me that way!” she screeched. Within seconds of her outburst, she collected herself. She became calm, even-tempered. She knew what she needed and screaming at Conrad was not the way to get it. “Conrad, sweetie,” she began. “Look around here. I’m home alone in the middle of nowhere. All the kids are gone and Sheila will leave as soon as she graduates. I need something to protect myself.”

The ploy was perfect. He became penitent, almost cowering. He retreated into himself, at first shrinking as a child about to be punished. As much as he considered her a friend, he was equally intimidated by her reprimands. She was the embodiment of his stern father, especially when she was angry. He wished he were never in her company when she was in a hateful mood. If he could, he would leave Zephyr Cove, but he had neither the will to do it, nor the resources, let alone the confidence. Rita was the only friend he had and he dared not jeopardize the relationship for fear of being completely isolated. His life was abysmal enough. His connection with Rita was the only thing that could be construed as a relationship and it hung by a thread. His customers were friendly but not friends. Rita’s children tolerated him but they were not part of his life. Nor was he ever a part of theirs. When she turned on the charm, he was helpless. So he told Rita that he would ask among his acquaintances where to buy the gun she desperately wanted.

As Conrad was leaving, Sheila entered the house. She saw her mother in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine. Rita asked her to sit down. She had a task for her to complete. Rita opened the door to her pantry and took out a sugar tin. She opened it, extracted a roll of ten-dollar bills and gave it to her daughter. Sheila held the money at arm’s length and asked,

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to go to Bennington and rent a car.”

“We have a car,” she protested.

“It’s a piece of crap. I need a reliable car for a trip I’d like to take.

Sheila looked at her mother quizzically. She knew enough not to challenge her any further. She asked her when she wanted the car and Rita quietly said, “Soon, when I tell you.”

It was less than a week later that Conrad called Rita to tell her his good news. He met up with a friend in Worcester, Massachusetts. They had met several times in a sleazy bar and ended their evenings in a cheap motel. His new found friend introduced him to an individual who said he could accommodate Conrad’s request. A price was quoted over the phone and agreed upon. The mysterious individual arrived at the bar within minutes. He was dressed in black and sported a white fedora. There was a diamond stud earring in his left ear that caught the light of the revolving crystal chandelier. He wore several layers of gold jewelry around his neck. Hanging from one of the neck chains was a gold medallion. In the haze of the strip club it looked as large as a dinner plate. They exchanged few words.

“Do you have the money?” he asked.

“Do you have what I want?”

“Yeah. Meet me in the parking lot, by the pink Caddy.”

Conrad exited the bar alone and waited near the Cadillac. The man came out a few minutes later and motioned to Conrad. He opened the trunk and the exchange was made. Conrad could not inspect his purchase. The night sky was dark as pitch. Besides, he had no idea what to look for. He held the gun with both hands and stared at it. Little did he know that he had purchased a .38 Smith and Wesson Special, a weapon with a short barrel. He asked the man, “What kind of bullets does it use?” At that, the man laughed gutturally. He slapped his thigh and continued to laugh as he walked around to the driver’s side of his car and got in. He rolled down the window and said, “It takes .38 caliber ammunition, Rube.” As he sped off, Conrad could hear him yelling, “Ammunition.”

The fateful day began as most days, uneventful. She told her daughter and Conrad that she was going to West Warwick to see Linda. Rita made is sound like she had called Linda and had arranged a meeting. All she wanted was company for the trip. She needed a rental car because it was so important to her that she see Linda, she dared not rely on her own beat up car. Rita arose with the sun. She showered and put on makeup, taking particular care to put her hair in rollers. She wanted her hair to be tightly curled. She imagined that her prey would take notice and extend a compliment. She imagined how Linda would swoon at the sight of her, how she would beg to be reunited. The images of a reunion reverberated in her mind until she believed them to be true. Rita roused her daughter, Sheila, and asked that she be ready for their trip. Having driven so often to West Warwick, she was confident of the time it would take to arrive at 172 Elm Street, especially on a Sunday when traffic would be light. The timing was critical. She knew just when Linda would most likely be home. Breakfast was eaten in silence. When Sheila left the table to go to the bathroom, Rita opened the door to the pantry. She took out an object wrapped in a towel and placed it in her tote bag. Sheila had no knowledge of her purchase or of Conrad’s complicity in it.

Mother and daughter walked to the rented automobile that was parked behind the house. “You drive,” Rita suggested.

“Do I have to?” she pleaded.

“Please, do it for me. I’m too nervous. I want to look my best when I see Linda.”

Sheila took the driver’s seat. Rita sat next to her in the front seat. They arrived at Conrad’s house within minutes and beeped the horn. Seconds later he appeared, descended the steps and entered the rear seat of the car on the passenger side. He said nothing. The car sped off. During the first half hour of their trip not a word was spoken. Sheila and Conrad were half asleep. Each was consumed with thoughts that played over and over in their minds. Conrad thought about how stupid it was of him to have purchased a pistol. He wondered if he would ever be in trouble with the law for having done so. Rita had not confided in him what she intended to do with the gun. Having one for protection seemed like a stretch, but he had no alternative but to accede to her wishes. He could not imagine her doing anything that required one. He slunk down in his seat trying to be smaller than he was, hoping to vanish from the earth, praying he hadn’t become part of a nightmare.

As they passed each milepost on the Interstate Highway, Rita became more excited. Every mile brought her closer to her epiphany. She recalled her life in Maine, the trips to the woods, her leering father’s eyes. In her mind, she saw his engorged member as if it was the ornament on the hood of the car taking her to her destiny. She saw George in the meadows they passed. She saw the empty fields as if they were a metaphor for her married life. And then she saw Linda. She tried to recall the good times. She tried to remember the encounters in her bed. She could not. The images went dark. She could only see Linda in her kitchen. She could only hear Linda say. “Frankly, you need more experience.” She whined, asking herself how much experience a forty-three year old woman, who just stepped out of the closet could posses? How inconsiderate of her to expect more from a neophyte. As the thoughts flickered in her mind her adrenaline bubbled. Her heart raced. Her eyes opened wide. The pounding in her chest made her feel as if she would explode.

Aware of her mother’s presence beside her, Sheila never turned her head. Her eyes were focused on the road. She had thoughts of her own. In her reverie she recalled how Linda had treated her mother. She remembered the overtures Linda had made to her. She could not understand why her mother wished to reconcile with a woman who touched her and laughed, as though she could see through her. She was young and had not yet identified with her own sexuality, but the overtures from Linda served only to confuse her. They were decidedly unwelcome and Sheila felt that Linda knew it. She believed her mother knew it. But her mother never confirmed her beliefs. The automobile sped down the highway, its principal occupant seething with hate, filled with diabolical intent, saturated with venom, ready to ignite. The other two passengers were in a world all their own.

They arrived at 172 Elm Street about twenty minutes after ten that morning. The car made one pass by the house. Rita told her daughter she wanted to be certain it was the right house. The car went around the block and came to a stop about one hundred yards from their destination. Rita got out of the car and instructed Conrad to do the same. “Come with me Conrad. You’ll be happy to see Linda again.”

He complied. Rita then instructed her daughter to drive away.

“Where?” she asked.

As calmly as she could, she said, “Anywhere! Go buy a pack of cigarettes. Buy a Twinkee! Just don’t park around here.”

“Why can’t I wait for you here?” she asked.

Rita glared at her daughter. “You never liked her, so why would you want to see her now?”

Rita took note of a flowerpot sitting on the balustrade of the porch. She told Sheila to return in a half hour and when she returned, to keep circling the block. When she no longer saw the flowerpot, to stop in front of the house and honk the horn. Sheila sped off. Rita then reached into her tote bag, unwrapped the towel and retrieved her pistol. Conrad saw it and began to tremble.

“What are you going to do?” he squealed.

“Shut up!”

They walked up the brick walkway lined with emerging hyacinths, bounded up the three steps to the porch and tiptoed to the door. She turned to Conrad and commanded him to crawl through the dog door. She instructed him to quietly unlock the front door when he had entered the house. He refused. “I’m not a dog, Rita.” He argued with her that he was a man.

“You said Linda was expecting you. Why are you sneaking into her house?” he pleaded.

“Just do as I say,” she commanded.

He tried to reason with her that all she needed to do was knock or ring the bell and she would be let in. But Conrad was not privy to Rita’s plan. She pointed the pistol at him and waved it up and down.

“Oh my god, Rita, don’t do anything stupid.”

Rita pointed the gun at his chest. Conrad slumped to his knees and, with effort, crawled through the flap door. Within seconds the dead bolt came soundlessly undone, the sound of the latch, and the door opened. Rita stepped in. She gingerly pushed the door closed with her elbow. There was no sound in the house. She surveyed the layout and saw the door beneath the staircase. She took Conrad by the arm and dragged him to it. They had walked past the swing door to the kitchen, which was closed. She opened the door beneath the staircase and they entered. She was pleased to find it was a water closet where they were out of sight. They lay in wait.

A few moments later they heard running water. It sounded like it came from the second floor. The sounds were those of someone taking a shower. By the time they were certain of its origin, the sounds ceased and seconds later someone was descending the stairs. They heard clomp, clomp, the sound of slippers landing on the stairs and fading to the side of the house, to the kitchen. She heard two people engaged in conversation. Rita’s eyes were wild with anticipation. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were cold. Beads of sweat trickled down her nose. She was in a world of her own, now oblivious to the presence of Conrad beside her. She thought for sure she would confront two women, her former lover and her nemesis. She raised the pistol and pursued the conversation to its source. Conrad remained cowering in the water closet beneath the staircase.

As she stood in the now open doorway of the kitchen, she was greeted with a sight she did not expect or plan for. There before her was Linda in a bathrobe. She had just showered and her hair was tied in a towel. Across the kitchen seated at the table was a young man in his twenties. There was no way he could be construed to be a lover, but he certainly would be a witness to whatever Rita had in mind as retribution. On impulse, she shot him. He screamed. Linda turned and saw Rita for the first time.