Chapter 27
DEBBIE
I wake up early the next morning feeling oddly refreshed, even though I took a little middle-of-the-night excursion.
Cooper is passed out next to me in bed, snoring more loudly than he usually does, drool pooling in the right corner of his mouth. Unsurprisingly, he’s still out cold.
I slide out of bed as quietly as I can and hit the shower.
There’s nothing like a nice, hot shower to start the day, and I turn up the temperature as high as it will go.
Cooper always takes lukewarm showers, but in my opinion, a shower can never be hot enough.
You could drop me in a pot of boiling water, and I’d turn up the heat a few degrees.
I dress quietly, putting on another dark blouse with a pair of wide leg jeans that have recently become all the rage. Lexi seethed when I first wore them, because she felt wide leg jeans belonged to her generation, and I was “too old” to pull it off. But I actually think they’re very flattering.
The hallway of the second floor of my house is silent—both girls have another hour until their alarms go off for the day. I should be back before that happens.
I get in my Subaru, and twenty minutes later, I am pulling up in front of Kenneth Bryant’s house.
Unlike last night, the street is well lit, and there are people leaving their houses to start their day.
Still, I’m pretty sure nobody will notice my unassuming vehicle.
And it’s not like a middle-aged housewife attracts any unwanted attention around here.
The lights are on in Ken’s house as I approach the front door, my purse slung on my shoulder.
Cooper told me Ken’s always the first one at the office in the morning and the last to leave, so I was certain he’d be awake when I arrived.
He’s probably enjoying a nice cup of coffee while reading the morning news.
I press the doorbell.
A minute later, the locks turn on the other side of the door. The door cracks open to reveal a tall man with thin hair and even thinner lips. I’ve never met him, because Ken Bryant never had any interest in socializing, but I recognize him from photos. He narrows his eyes at me.
“I don’t speak to solicitors,” he barks at me.
My, what a lovely greeting. How about hello?
“Actually,” I say, “I’m Debbie Mullen.” He looks at me blankly, so I add, “Cooper’s wife.” He still looks confused, so I further clarify, “Cooper Mullen. Your employee.”
“Oh.” He allows the door to swing open another inch. “Right. Cooper’s wife. Dottie.”
“Debbie.” I clear my throat. “May I please come in?”
Ken looks like he’s considering slamming the door in my face, but after a moment of deliberation, he steps aside to allow me to enter. It’s a start.
I’ve never been inside my husband’s boss’s home, and it’s about what I expected. It’s a large living space but spartan and without personality. I’ve seen homes staged for viewings that had more personality than this house. He has a leather sofa, but he doesn’t offer me a seat.
“You probably want to talk to me about Cooper getting a promotion,” he grumbles.
“Well,” I say, “yes. My husband has been with your company for a long time, and he’s a hard worker.”
“He’s also extremely replaceable.” He cinches his tie a little tighter around his neck, and I imagine grabbing it and cinching it as tight as it can go.
“He does his job and nothing more. He brings nothing special to the table. He’s the most ordinary employee I’ve ever had, and when he goes, there will be five more candidates just like him who will work for less money. ”
“I think you’re wrong.”
He shrugs. “With all due respect, your husband quit, and I think I’m better off without him.”
I reach into my purse, sifting through what feels like an endless supply of bunched-up napkins. I pull out a pair of leather gloves, and Ken frowns as I slide them onto my hands.
“What are you doing?” he asks me. “Are you cold?”
I don’t answer his question. The gun I pull from my purse answers it for me.
“Wh-what…” he stammers, his face turning pale. “What are you doing?”
I gesture at the sofa with the barrel of the gun. “Please have a seat, Mr. Bryant.”
He clutches his chest, and for a moment, I wonder if nature will do the job for me. But then he collapses onto the sofa, and he’s still conscious. I need him to stay with me long enough to bind his wrists, then march him upstairs and into the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” he asks me again. “This isn’t about Cooper’s job, is it? Because I—”
“Stop talking,” I say in a sharp voice that silences him instantly.
I stare down at the older man, who is trembling on the living room sofa. Then I look down at the gun gripped in my right hand. Am I really going to do this? It’s one thing to cut some wires in a fuse box or poison sandwiches, but it’s an entirely different thing to…
I am about to cross a line. And once I do, I won’t be able to go back. Then again, this has been a long time coming.
I’m glad I wore black to hide the bloodstains.