When I Kill You Read Free Page A

bit of time off because of Chico, and she was running out of sympathy and tired of having to find someone to cover for me. I could have said quite honestly, “I’m in a fix. I’m being blackmailed and I’m going to have to kill someone, so it’s not looking like a good day here.” Instead, I said, “Emergency dental appointment. I—ah—broke a tooth.”
    â€œWhich tooth?”
    I wasn’t prepared for that. “Um, back incisor.”
    â€œYou mean front, don’t you? Incisors are at the front.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” I lied. “Sorry. It really hurts and I’m not thinking straight. I was lucky to get this appointment. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
    â€œDo that,” Roz snapped.
    For once I chose my clothes with care. I needed to look like someone Marcia couldn’t haul around, even if she had me pinned. I decided on all black—black T-shirt, black slacks, black leather belt. No accessories.
    At five minutes to nine I nudged my old blue Honda into the supermarket parking lot. It was almost empty so it was easy for me to pick out Marcia’s car. She was sitting in it, wearing sunglasses. I rolled into the spot next to her. But she didn’t want to talk there. She started up her motor and signaled for me to follow her.
    She pulled out, turning right on Ebert. She led me straight through town. Soon we were out in the country with nothing but farmland all around us. As we drove, I tried to think of a way of convincing her to give it up. Or at least to find someone else to do her dirty work. I drew blanks. She turned off onto a county road and parked. I parked behind her. She powered down her window, leaned out and yelled, “Get in.”
    I got out of my car and slid onto the passenger seat of hers. “All right. I’m here.”
    She studied me for a moment. “Are you wearing any kind of recording device?” she asked.
    That was when I realized I was dealing with a very careful lady. First, driving out of town where there was no one to witness our meeting. Next, checking me for a tape recorder. I shook my head no, but she frisked me anyway. She handed me a pen and notepad.
    â€œYou’ll need to take this down,” she said.
    I said, “Whoa. What makes you think I’m going along with this?”
    â€œYou’re here, aren’t you?” She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her steely, pale blue eyes didn’t match her dumpy body. “You know I’m serious. You know that video will get you life. Let’s not waste time.”
    I nodded weakly. The morning was still cool, but I was sweating. Dark stains were forming half circles under my arms. Black wasn’t such a good choice of color after all.
    â€œHis name is Stanley Beekland.” She pushed a color photo at me. “Take a good look. I can’t let you keep it.”
    It was a head shot of a man in his fifties, balding, glasses, round face, prissy, small, mean mouth. The kind of face that doesn’t see a lot of humor in life. A lot like hers, in fact.
    â€œYour husband?”
    She paused a moment, then said, “Yes.”
    â€œWhy do you want him dead?” When she didn’t answer, I said, “What? He beats you? Cheats on you?” Chico had tried to slap me once and never tried it again. But he had cheated on me regularly from the get-go. And he stole from me to feed his gambling habit. I guess I was looking for some way to connect with this cold bitch.
    â€œHe’s a beast,” she said in a low voice.
    â€œCan’t you divorce him?”
    She gave me a look that told me not to go there. Money, I figured. It always boiled down to money.
    She went on, as if she were reeling off a grocery list. “He’s a man of routine. Leaves the house at eight thirty, gets to work by nine. He’s in charge of accounts at Sutherland’s Appliances. They’re on Carlingwood. He drives a