The purple puffy pouch rested against the stapler. Some of the air already deflated causing it to slump more than stand. Not that she had filled it with air or anything really to make it puffy, it had just kind of closed that way. Inside was a small token of affection, one that Margret was sure she would never quite be ready to share. Just like those little oysters, the time has come, she thought to herself.
She dragged her mouse, the wire tangled behind the keyboard, to the furthest corner of her screen and pushed down on the red “X” in the corner. Porcelain skin, jarring yellowish eyes, with a mass of chocolate covered cherry brown hair melted across the screen as her painfully slow internet responded to the request. Margret had been surprised to learn that certain sites could take up so much memory, even on the newer laptops. It was the worst on her old PC.
She had told her boss, softly alluding to how much more she could achieve with an upgrade, but since she wasn’t allowed to work from home he wouldn’t upgrade her internet or her personal machine. He had made a point to note the excellent job she managed to do between her office hours and extra efforts after hours with her current equipment. To help with the memory, her boss had told her to set a weekly reminder to clear things like cache and history and restart her machine.
Little did he know that every Wednesday, she would clear her browsing history, restart her computer and hope that it survived the rest of the week. It was only Tuesday, and right now, Margret had bigger oysters to shuck. She rolled her eyes as the image of a walrus and a carpenter filled the background of her mind. Thin lines, black on tanned drawing paper, that moved to the cadence of the story. Stolen art work, she would later find out, and this bitch still used it as her cover photo from time to time. Margret had read it over and over again, each line seeping further into her soul like a cancer. Like the vacuous woman who made it part of her personality.
Margret humphed as she picked up a large cardboard box from next to her desk and placed it on her office chair. She grabbed her purse and car keys, jostling the box back into her arms, and made her way out of her office space, through her house, and out to her car.
“Shit,” she muttered as she closed the door to her back seat. The box had just fit next to the car seat exactly as Margret had estimated. That should have been enough to make her smile, the satisfaction in knowing her planning had been precise, but she had forgotten the most critical puzzle piece inside of her office. This being an unpaid day off had been hard enough to her pride and her pursestrings. Margret would be dammed if it was all for naught.
A quick glance at the time on her cell phone made Margret forget her annoyance and focus on the task at hand as she dropped the phone with her keys in the cup holder. Hastily, she ran away from the car as the door slammed shut and back toward the house, her thin, strangely blonde hair folding in the wind behind her.
As Margret burst through the door and directly into her office, Belle, her fat, gray haired beast of a cat, waddled into the foyer. Her eyes like searing laser beams on Margret. The front door whooshed closed behind her. Margret swiped the lone, puffy bag off of the stapler with one swoosh of her arm, and ran back through the hallway – the thud of the door still echoing in the hallway. Belle hissed, and scampered toward the kitchen and out of Margret’s way.
It had taken less than two minutes and yet she felt too far behind schedule to make it. Margret started the car and she peeled out of her driveway, with each breath, she reminded herself that it didn’t have to be perfect. Just close enough. Oddly similar to hand grenadines – hopefully with more nuance and subtlety.
Margret aligned her breaths with her thoughts. Each breath in she looked at the clock. Each breath out, she returned her gaze to the road. Seconds crawled by like eons and yet, at the last possible second, she remembered the stop sign at the end of the block. She had barely left her house, and yet she was at the end of the street.
The puffy purple pouch flopped forward into the cup holder as she jammed on the breaks. The hood of a car rolled into view on her right, barely visible over the top of the hill. Margret knew she should wait for the car to pass her side street, while normally she would, today was just too important. She couldn’t. Her foot pressed down onto the accelerator, the tires screeching as she whizzed through the intersection.
The houses blurred, and as she eased off the pedal, they returned to individual homes once more. In front of her a familiar backside swayed, the tips of chocolate shavings danced to the rhythm in her steps. Who made a commemorative post to homemade shorts? Worse, who posted their ass in the homemade shorts on the internet? That bitch, Margret scoffed to herself.
She swallowed her hate like cold burnt coffee, bitter and acidic, as she pulled up next to the woman, over a decade younger than herself, Margret could barely call her that. But she was. She was a woman, the same one who owned the white house with the cutest red door in the neighborhood. Margret forced a smile as the house disappeared from her sideview mirror.
“Ohhh,” she exclaimed as the window opened up next to her, “Bethany! Hiya!”
The woman pulled her headphones loose and turned to face Margret’s car; the sun reflecting like a fairy farting star dust off her porcelain skin.
“Oh, hey,” she said; a fake smile plastering itself in surprise.
“How are you? Are you going for a walk?”
Bethany pulled her smile in, nodding. “Yup. What’re you up to?”
“Oh, you know,” Margret said waiving her arms about. “Errands. For the kids. Well, it’s my son’s birthday and the teacher said I could drop off the treats as long as I did it for lunch time and as long nothing from a list of like a thousand things was included. So funny to see you! You guys have been here like a year already, right? We’ve only run into each other a few times. Things are going well then?”
The sun, either by reflection from her skin or just the way she was standing, illuminated those yellowish eyes. Demon, Margret thought to herself. Long lashes fanned out as Bethany blinked. For a moment she just stared at her before answering. “Yeah, it’s crazy. Feels like we’re always running around. That’s great about the treats. Happy birthday to your son.”
“Thank you! Always running. Like now. Listen, I have to jet. But here,” Margret reached into the car and grabbed the puffy purple pouch from the console. “Take this one. Enjoy it. Not sure if they’re as good as yours but there are some gluten-free, cruelty-free, fat-free, vegan keto treats. You and Denis can share. Unless you want to save them for you, I won’t tell a soul. Bye!”
Bethany caught the pouch as if she knew it was coming. Before she could look catch Margret’s eyes, she hit the pedal and zoomed down the road. Now she waited, and hoped, but mostly waited. Bethany didn’t have to eat the treats, but she had to look at them. Margret would have, if the oven mitt was on the other hand. Especially if the rumors about her being “such a bro-bachelor before Denis” were true. When Margret had a husband take out was a blessing when he was away for business. It sounded like Bethany was the type to fall into old habits while Denis was away too. Probably ate little snacks for dinner instead of creating a feast for her man. Bethany would try them, and she would have to say they were killer!
Margret laughed as she stopped at the end of the road. She was no longer moving, but the shinny ball of Bethany was getting smaller. Margret was sure she was walking back toward her house, probably to put the treats away. Maybe she would even try one before her walk. That would be even better. Everyone who knew Bethany knew walking was her thing. Same route, same time every day. It would speak volumes, to Margret at least, if she delayed her walk for a snacker.
It would take 10 minutes to get to the school, she didn’t have to be there for another 45 minutes. Margret went to the center of town. After the car was in park, Margret picked up her phone pulling up Denis’ Facebook page. His last picture was posted 3 hours ago. It was one of him and his co-workers outside of a casino in Atlantic City. He wouldn’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. Bethany would definitely be indulging. Lonely, probably in every way a woman like that could be. Margret closed the app, her phone, and gave herself a once over in the review mirror before getting out of the car. She looked like the perfect soccer mom, even if they weren’t typically single. Not everyone got a Denis in this life. Margret felt the wisps of her hair tickle her ears as she shook her head. She gathered her tote bag and made her first stop by the library to return a stack of overdue books.
The librarian was touched by the little goodie bag Margret gave her along with the $3 in fines. A clear cellophane bag decorated with baseballs, bats, and gloves stuffed with trading cards, bubble gum, sunglasses, and baseball stress balls. “You made one for each kid in your son’s class?”
“I did,” Margret said, “the gum took a little convincing, but his teacher said it was okay. Billy wanted to make sure that you got one too. He’s a cutie that kid of mine.”
“He certainly is!”
Margret left the library feeling happy. Another person her goodie bags would leave an impression on, this time one that would be favorable should it ever be needed. She made a quick stop in the Dunkin’ across the street, sure to grab a coffee for her son’s teacher plus a frozen coffee for herself. As she got back into the car, Margret looked at the clock. She would be arriving just on time.
~~~
Denis didn’t worry about much, maybe the occasional market crash or the virus that caused a global shut down, but for the most part his focus was in the moment. Wally needed a to see improvement on the team, Denis scheduled the training. The dog needed to go out, really needed to go out and was sniffing around her favorite indoor accident zone, Denis took her out. Bethany wanted to see some new village she read about on the internet, Denis emphatically said next year! Thus resetting the clock and giving him a chance to finish reading the sports article he was reading before she bound into the room like a calamity in motion.
He had just posted the picture of him and his teammates huddled outside the hotel casino. “Another great conference with the always-amazing team. Even managed to find the perfect little something for @bathyanne. #moneymanagersconference #myteamisbetterthanyours #myjobiscoolerthanyours #headedhome ” Usually he would have done a separate post tagging Bethany as a cutesy jester, but this would definitely cause a social media frenzy and hopefully her attention. He hadn’t heard from her for at least two days. Not even to share a dog video with him. It wasn’t like her.
Denis started his car and put their home address into Waze and tucked the phone into its holder. He knew the drive to AC and back by heart, but he didn’t know traffic patterns and that was something he cared to avoid. Once he was on the parkway he let his speed and thoughts drift. He and Bethany had a massive fight before he left, but she had still been speaking to him. Good night phone calls, texts about the dog. Denis looked around, there weren’t too many cars on the road and Waze hadn’t mentioned any cops so far. He clicked on his messages app, scrolling back up past the few times he had tried to reach her when he saw it. A text he somehow had missed between working and the after hours excitement of the conference. “Exhausted, not making it for our good night phone call. Your mother figured she’d stop over since apparently I now cover your weekly dinner dates with her when you’re away??? I know she probably meant well, but anyway… I’m beat. Good night, Denis.”
That unfamiliar sense of worry filled his chest. He reached for a piece of gum as he called his mother.
“Hi babe.”
“Hi mom.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good. Driving home from AC. Work conference.”
“Cool.”
“Have you talked to Bethany?”
“Not today.”
“Have you talked to her at all this week?”
“No, but I did stop by earlier in the week.”
“Was everything okay?”
“Yeah. You weren’t here for our usual dinner, and I know Bethany doesn’t eat when you’re not home. I just stopped by and made her a pizza.”
“She eats mom.”
“A salad or a bowl of veggies isn’t dinner.”
“Okay, she was okay when you left though?”
“Yes. I tried to help clean up but she wouldn’t let me.”
“That’s okay.”
“She’s not mad I stopped by right?”
“Oh no, she appreciates it. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye babe.”
Denis ended the call. A cartoonish nightmare of his mom making her greasy, thick crust, extra cheese pizza most likely with a layer of sausage, meatball, and/or pepperoni on top in Bethany’s very white, very clean kitchen played before his eyes. He only hoped his mother hadn’t tried to use one of her decorative tea towels as an actual dish towel. It would have been enough to blow him off for two days; the fight, his mother – hopefully it wasn’t the brand new one she picked up on their trip to England. Bethany had wanted to buy two, but Denis said one would be fine. He should have just bought the second one. Of course, it had to be his mother who would fuck it up. Definitely didn’t bode well in his argument that his mother didn’t meddle in their lives.
Long stretches of highway dragged on as Denis sank into his worry; yet somehow, he had missed the exit, swearing it had been at least a half a dozen exits away. He had barely been able to enjoy the everything Yankee podcast playing through the speakers. He would be home soon enough, and while he wasn’t looking forward to arguing with Bethany, he was hopeful about the prospect of doing it over a home cooked meal. His stomach growled at the thought of his favorite casserole ready and waiting for him.
Denis tuned into his podcast, and shut out any more thoughts of Bethany or his mother. Though the casserole stayed on his mind and in his grumbling tummy. When he pulled into the driveway a cloud formed over his mood. Bethany’s car was still in the driveway, right where she had parked it the day before he left. He tried to remember if she had gone grocery shopping last week or within the days before his departure. Even if she didn’t have the ingredients for his favorite casserole, she would have made him something.
He parked his BMW 5-Series. Grabbed his things from the car and made his way to the front door. Denis jostled his things around to get his keys ready. As he leaned against the door, his arm pressing down on the lever, he tumbled forward. His suit jacket slipped from under his arm as the door opened without the key. Miss Let’s Get The Most Expensive Security System had left the door unlocked. Thankfully, he had bought her the less expensive doorbell camera for Christmas instead. He would have to watch the footage later to see how long the door had been unlocked.
Denis kicked off his sneakers and threw everything else he had onto the living room coffee table. He swore under his breath as he stepped on one of Nyla’s chew toys. The sharp yelp jarring against the silence of the house. He wondered if they were on a walk. A whimper and the distinct squeak of Nyla’s 10-year-old crate filled the silence. Denis’ heart beat to the quickness of his steps. As he rounded the corner, Denis’ rhythm came to a stop.
Nyla was curled up in her crate, door wide open, her eyes looking of sadness and terror. He called her, but she wouldn’t come. He was stern, and she cowered back more. Denis walked into the kitchen, his eyes glued to Nyla’s. He tripped and stumbled forward. He caught himself on the kitchen table. As he steadied himself, he turned back around to see what had tripped him this time. Probably one of Bethany’s slippers.
No. It was a leg. Bethany’s leg. Still attached to her torso, her arms. . . her face pressed into the tile floor. A purple pouch next to her.
~~~
Officer Cameron tucked his vape back into his pocket. Interrupted by the voice of Officer Roger, “how is he?”
“Not great. His cousin used to be the chief of the fire department. I gave him a call before calling the next of kin.”
“It’s not the woman with him?”
“No. It’s his mom. The cousin is going to go by her and then come here.”
“So who is the woman?”
“Margret something. Family friend. She used to date him or his best friend. Not sure. She lives two blocks over. Was driving by as they were taking the wife out. She hasn’t left his side since. She was the one who gave him the space blanket.”
“I didn’t realize we had those heavy duty ones on hand.”
“We don’t. It was in her car. . . She’s a helicopter mom or whatever. He was a second away from babbling.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Better than having an incoherent husband I guess. You were able to get his statement already?”
“Yeah.”
“He came home, the dog was in the crate, she was on the floor.”
“Allergic reaction?”
“Won’t know for certain until after the autopsy but that’s what it looks like.”
“What was she allergic to?”
“What wasn’t she?”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, and she was a health nut. All kinds of shit I don’t know what it is in the cabinets.”
“Autopsy should be helpful. Otherwise, it’s gonna a nightmare bagging and tagging it all.”
“Tell me about it. . . .”