Chapter 9 #2
Selling online, she decided, wasn’t as snap-your-fingers easy as she’d heard. There was work involved. Staging her items and taking pictures, figuring out shipping, double-checking prices, writing descriptions, and posting the items. It took her the whole afternoon.
But so what? What else did she have to do on a Saturday? Nothing. Probably nothing for the rest of her life, except continuing to dig out of the deep money pit she was in.
She reminded herself that even though her money troubles had seemed to come on her overnight, they hadn’t. They’d been stealthily sneaking up on her over time. Getting free from them would take time as well. A lot of it.
“You can do this,” she told herself. “You’re not dead yet.”
Then she thought of the scene in the Monty Python movie with the plague victim who refused to die and she started to laugh. It was more hysterical than happy, but it was the first laughter that had escaped her mouth in over a year. Maybe that was progress.
By the time she was done, her mother had enjoyed streaming half of her favorite true crime show, had a nap, and was in the process of talking on her phone with one of her neighborhood friends. “Come on over, and bring Susan, too,” she said. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”
It was true, but it was depressing to hear.
Once upon a time on a Saturday night Zona would have been going out to dinner and a movie with Gary or catching a show at a local comedy club.
Now it was home with Mom, doing nothing.
But that beat what she’d been doing only a few months earlier—crying, pacing the floor, worrying, mourning the safe, happy life she’d once thought she had.
So, Carol and Susan, Louise’s two besties, came over, insisting on bringing dinner—Carol’s curried coconut shrimp paired with Susan’s Thai beef salad. They also brought lemon bars for dessert and white wine to wash it all down.
The friends were shown Louise’s garage sale scores and raved over Zona’s finds. “Take the belt down. I’ll give you a hundred for it right now,” said Susan. She was tall and slender, with long chestnut hair (not colored, she always insisted). She would look great in the belt.
“Done,” said Zona.
“Ka-ching,” said Louise and winked at Zona.
Martin stopped by to check on Louise and was invited to join the party, and the group wound up streaming the movie classic Rear Window.
“That’s still a good movie,” Carol said as the ending credits rolled.
“But a little preposterous,” said Susan.
“Not really,” Louise said, and proceeded to tell them all about the murdering husband in nearby Los Angeles who’d made the news after cutting his wife to bits.
“Gross,” Carol said, wrinkling her nose.
“Everyone has a dark side,” Louise said, making Martin frown.
Zona laughed. “Yeah, Mom? What’s yours?”
“I don’t share chocolate,” Louise said, and everyone laughed. “Not to tell tales on myself,” she continued, “but there was a certain sea witch on my cruise who I might have wanted to shove into the pool.”
“At least you didn’t say overboard. You had me worried for a minute there,” Susan said.
“Still, it wasn’t a very nice thought,” said Louise.
“I’ve had a few like that about my sister-in-law,” Carol said.
“My old boss,” added Susan.
“But I’m sure none of you ever contemplated murdering them,” said Martin. “You ladies are all too nice.”
“I may have contemplated a few fatal ends for both Luke and Gary,” Zona admitted. “But I never would have acted on them,” she was quick to add.
“All it takes is a person being pushed one step too far and they can snap,” Louise said. “Not you, of course,” she said to Zona.
“Not me,” Zona agreed, then added, “Maybe,” and they all laughed.
But later, after everyone was gone and Louise was in bed and Zona had returned from walking Darling and was sitting on the back patio with a cup of mint tea, she couldn’t help wondering if there was some truth in what her mother had said. What did it take to push a person over the edge?
She thought again about the screaming she’d heard next door. Alec James was a strong man, a man who worked with his hands. If he got angry enough, if he gave a woman a violent shove . . .
The night was still warm, but she shivered. Time to go inside.
Come morning, with the sun shining and the neighborhood quiet, she had to shake her head over her out-of-control imagination. What percentage of the population ever committed murder like this latest man in the headlines?
She did a little phone research while walking Darling.
One obscure article she found claimed that the average person could walk past up to thirty-nine murderers in one lifetime.
Yikes! Another short blurb popped up informing her that one in ten thousand Americans were guilty of having killed someone.
It wasn’t exactly in-depth research, but that statistic felt less terrifying than the one telling her how many murderers she was bound to walk by.
When she and Darling returned, she saw that while the truck was still in the driveway next door, the red PT Cruiser was gone. Maybe its owner had decided she was in an unhealthy relationship and had left for good.
Alec James was coming out of his house. Just an average guy. Well, more like above average, the way he filled out his T-shirt and those jeans.
She called good morning and held up the full little blue poop bag. See? I am a responsible dog owner.
He gave her a friendly smile and a thumbs-up. It felt . . . weird.
Were there two Alec Jameses, the one he showed to the world and the one he kept hidden behind closed doors?
“Oh, stop,” she told herself in disgust. She had enough going on in her life and she needed to quit giving headspace to the man next door.