I pinched my eyes shut, fighting back tears.
“Yes, of course I do,” I said, unable to hide the shake in my voice. “I miss doing that.” Tears tickled the corner of each eye. It felt so good to hear my daughter, my Delaney, again.
“I wish you were here, too, but your dad and Sam and your brothers need you now. We’ll have our cakes later.”
“Love you,” Delaney said again. I thought about the picture on her phone, the inevitable conversation we’d have to have when she got home …
But for now, I just wanted to enjoy my daughter not hating me.
“I love you too, Laney Bug. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I clicked end and clutched the phone to my chest. Finally, I could let the tears spill over, but then my phone buzzed, vibrating against chest.
This time it was Pam.
Don’t forget to check out the dating site! I want all the deets when you do!
I groaned. The irritation I’d felt earlier fluttered back, but then instantly dissipated. Maybe it was the high from Delaney’s call or the traces of liquor … but, for the first time, I wondered if joining the site might be fun.
It couldn’t hurt, could it?
And I’m sure they had good intentions when they set me up a profile on the site.
Michael had moved on with his new family. And Delaney … Delaney was getting older and developing love interests of her own.
Apparently.
I have to start dating again some time. Maybe there’s no better time than now.
Inside my purse, I found the crumpled piece of paper with the username and password on it.
Should I?
I could imagine Pam beside me saying, ‘Hell yes, you silly bitch. Do it!’
Delaney had swiped the wine, but she didn’t know about the stash in my bedroom. I unlocked the tiny metal safe in my closet. Beside the handgun and cash, there were two miniature bottles of whiskey. I grabbed a cold Coke and tumbler from the kitchen, then sat down at the computer with my drink. Nervously, I added the whiskey and logged onto the site.
After a few long swigs, I mustered up enough courage to click “publish” on my new dating profile.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter 5
NOW
What’s the worst that could happen?
Well, I’ll tell you what. Dead bodies. Two of them. And not a clue what to do with either.
At the kitchen table, I gripped my glass of whiskey, swishing it round and around in my hands. This time, there was no Coke. Just me and the glass and the whiskey.
Although a stiff drink was highly needed now, it wasn’t a good idea – I had several tasks to complete, and one involved driving.
The dead man’s car was still parked outside. I couldn’t see it from the kitchen in the dark, but I could feel it there – a warning pulse, sending shivers up and down my spine.
I must get rid of that car.
For once, I was glad that Delaney was staying the night with Michael.
Which means I have all night to fix things.
I still hadn’t located the man’s ID, but I’d found the keys to his sleek ride tucked inside the visor. The registration and insurance in the glove box identified him as Robin Regal, a name that meant absolutely nothing to me.
But there was an address—and that itself was slightly familiar. Robin Regal lived on Grant Street, in what I guessed was an apartment in the business district of Madison.
I know his name now, but who is he exactly?
I’d never been to his house, but I knew the area.
How did he get here, and why did he come?
I’d gone on several dates over the last few weeks, but not with this man, and not with anyone from my own town of Madison.
He wasn’t a friend of Michael’s, not someone I knew from work.
There was nothing to connect us.
Nothing except for the fact that his body’s here and his car is sitting out front.
If it was just him, maybe I would have called the cops, but the other body. That was the one that really troubled me.
That is the one I’m responsible for, I know it.
I peeked through the side of the blinds. My neighbor Fran usually went to bed around nine or ten which meant I had about an hour to make plans.
It had been years since I’d gone down to the grimy old cellar underneath our house. But slowly, I descended the steps, the slaps of my bare feet echoing grimly in the hollow space. Using the flashlight app on my phone, I shone it around in the dark. The dank space smelled earthy and was filthier than I remembered. Cobwebs clung to the corners, glistening eerily in the dark, and my heart skipped a beat as a cockroach scuttled across my bare foot.
I held the phone out, looking for more creepy crawlies. I had no doubt they were there, those beady eyes and fat, bulging bodies hiding in the rafters, watching me from the musty black corners of the room …
My light hovered over three black shapes in the corner.
Three long bags were propped against the wall – Michael’s old golf bags. There was a time when he just had to have them, but just like his interest in me, his obsession with golfing waned, then fizzled out completely. Now I was stuck with his clubs, taking up space, collecting dust in every crevice of my life …
One by one, I laid the clunky, black bags on their sides, and started unloading the clubs. They clanked on the concrete floor, hopefully scaring away any nearby critters.
When all three bags were empty, I tugged them up the stairs, one by one. Even empty, the thick, glossy leather was heavy. Back in my room, I laid the bags on the floor beside the bodies.
What seemed like a good idea at first now seemed silly. Each bag was over five feet, Robin Regal was nearly six.
This isn’t going to work.
Nice plan, Ivy.
My face paled, my stomach twisting in knots, as the realization kicked in: if I wanted to fit the bodies into the bags, I’d have to cut them into pieces to do it.
Chapter 6
BEFORE
His name was Richard. Six foot four, two hundred pounds – I felt like a tiny bird standing next to him at my height of five foot five.
I won’t lie – I was fully expecting him to look older, heavier, and less attractive than the photos on his dating profile. But Richard was surprisingly better-looking than I could have imagined. The conversation was a little dense; he mostly talked about boats and motor-cross sports as he poked at the mozzarella-cheese-stick appetizer he had insisted I “had to try”.
“That sounds like a lot of work,” I remarked, between bites, listening to him describe the tedious process of rebuilding the motor in his Yamaha Raptor 660.
Truth be told, I didn’t know anything about four-wheelers, and I didn’t really care to either. But it was refreshing – eating dinner with a nice, handsome man and discussing something other than robo-calls with Pam and Jerry at work or arguing with Delaney or Michael at home.
As he described his plans for adding new pistons and rings, I tried to imagine what he looked like naked. He was in shape, chest muscles flexing under his soft grey t-shirt. And below the table he was wearing a perfect-fitting pair of stonewashed jeans.
How long has it been since I had sex?
And I’d never had it with a random guy, someone I wasn’t dating.
His eyes were chocolate brown, his lashes long for a man. I rested my chin in my hands, listening, all the while thinking about those eyes and how they would look peering down into mine while he fucked me …