19-Oct-2018
Desperate Housewife Gone Awry
The woman—a throwback of a 50’s television show complete with a vintage dress and bright red lipstick—clapped her hands. “It’s wonderful!”
I turned off the Kirby vacuum and smiled. “As I said, it can shampoo carpets as well as clean hardwood or tile floors.” I glanced around the spotless living area. “Although, I must say that you’re not giving me much of a challenge here.”
The woman, Stacey, laughed. “Oh, Mr. Owens, you are so sweet.”
She seemed mildly interested, but I was sure if I could really dazzle her she would buy. “Is there someplace that you haven’t cleaned lately?”
“I’d be embarrassed to show you.”
I turned on my southern charm and grinned. “What about under a bed?”
Her glistening red lips formed an O, and I knew I had her.
“They’re often neglected, but the hand cleaning attachment will make it easy for you to keep all of those hard to reach places as sparkling as this room.”
Stacey giggled. “Why Mr. Owens, I do believe you are attempting to sweet talk me.”
“I’m just trying to make your life more manageable, ma’am.” I winked. They almost always fell for the wink.
“Well then.” She stood. “Follow me.”
By the time I’d unplugged the Kirby and started after her, she was through the kitchen and half-way up the winding stairs that led to the balcony above. I tried to keep my eyes off of her swaying hips, but she made it difficult as her knee-length skirt gave me a glimpse of what lay beneath as she ascended.
I easily pulled the heavy vacuum up to the next floor and down the hall to where Stacey waited. She gave me a dazzling smile and motioned to the first door.
“You sure you’ve got a challenge for me in there?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Owens.” She brushed her hand along my arm as I went by.
It had been a while since I’d encountered a desperate housewife, but I wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. Especially with a woman who looked like this one.
A twin bed covered with a meticulously arranged blue and white comforter and matching pillows, lay along the far wall. Wood dressers in rich colors sat on the other walls. Light streamed in through sheer curtains, revealing that even the corners of the carved dressers didn’t harbor dust.
I looked at Stacey. “You’re teasing me again.”
“Oh no.” She brushed by me, this time trailing her fingers down my back. She sat on the end of the bed and crossed her legs. “Have a look. I assure you it needs some work.”
My pocketbook needed the sale, but my body was starting to wonder if its needs came first. I took a breath and got on my hands and knees. I lifted the bed skirt.
Dust lay thick on the off-white carpet, and darker spots marked items on the floor. I looked up—ignoring the fact that she’d swiveled her legs around to my side of the bed—and smiled.
“Is this a sufficient challenge for you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I got to my feet, found the plug and then popped open the front of the unit. I retrieved the hose and hooked it up. Stacey watched me, her eyes exploring every move I made and every inch of my body.
I cleared my throat. “With this, you can easily get under the bed.”
Stacey nodded. “I can see that.”
“You have a few things under there,” I said. “I’d rather not try to suck them up. May I move the bed to retrieve them?”
“If you like,” she said as she stood. Her lips spread into a smile. This time her fingers trailed along my chest down to the button on my pants. They stopped, and she stared at me.
I ordered myself to focus and stepped away. Before I could give into the yearning, I grabbed the bed and pulled one corner away from the wall.
A pencil sat nestled in the crack between the molding and the carpet. A purple notebook lay not far away, and the tip of what looked like a butter knife glinted in the light. I reached down and retrieved both the pencil and the notebook. When I straightened, I found Stacey standing close. Watching.
“Are these yours?” he asked.
“Oh, probably.” She took the items, and when her fingers touched my skin I shivered. “What else is down there?”
I swung the bed a little farther and frowned. Spots of rust covered the butter knife. I didn’t recognize the pattern on the handle. A dark spot about the size of a basketball stained carpet underneath the knife.
“There we go,” I said. “I can help with that.”
Stacey leaned over to get a better look, the front of her body pressing against me. “I wonder where that came from.”
“Probably a juice box,” I said. “Let me vacuum this and then I’ll clean it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Stacey said.
I straightened and looked at her. “It’s my pleasure.”
She stayed pressed against me. Her fingers traced down my arm and found the knife. “You really shouldn’t bother.”
“Ma’am, I’m sure we can—”
Stacey ripped the knife from my grasp. Before I could react, she pulled the comforter off the bed, then pushed me back onto it.
I caught a single glimpse of the bare mattress underneath. A rust-colored stain the size of my torso covered the middle.
“What is this?” I asked, but Stacey straddled me. Somehow her scant weight kept me pinned in place.
She leaned down, her lips an inch from mine. “I don’t much like salesmen, and I haven’t killed anyone in a while.”
Before I could reply or react, a sharp pain blossomed in my side. Blood poured from the wound, and I suddenly understood that the stain on the carpet was blood. Blood that had seeped through the mattress.
I was going to die.
