The Divorcee Murder Club

Setenta Y Uno ~ 71

                  There have been many nights where I’ve laid awake with Angie next to me, thinking about the ways I’d love to torture Jeremiah in my mom’s basement. But that didn’t go so well when I had Richie down there. Nevertheless, I imagined it being slow, where I’d make him feel every inch of pain. Torturing Richie would have been nothing compared to what I would have loved to do to Jeremiah.

But this? 

It happened too fast.

We climb down the stairs to meet Franky as she closes and barricades the library door with a chair, and I don’t think either of us has had a proper chance to comprehend Jeremiah’s twisted body on the floor. Angie crouches to inspect him but doesn’t touch him.

“I... I think he’s still breathing. Should we call an ambulance?”

“Fuck no!” Franky says. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest it after the shit he’s put you through.”

“I don’t know!” Angie throws her hands in the air. “We’re in the middle of a party with a shit ton of people. So, it’s not like we can bury him.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I say.

But Angie is panicking and struggling to breathe as she gets to her feet and paces with her hand to her chest. “I hated the fucker and wanted him dead more than anyone, but seeing him actually dead? Fuck. What have we done? There are too many people here. We’ll go to jail. I can’t go to jail! Not when I’m about to get Ana and my freedom back.”

The color in her face drains, and her knees buckle, so I lunge to catch her before she falls. 

“Shit. She’s really losing it,” Franky says.

“Yeah, well. Wanting someone dead and seeing them dead are two different things.”

Angie blinks rapidly, trying to refocus on me, but she’s still slightly disoriented as she rubs her forehead. “What if the termination of my conservatorship goes to shit now that this asshole is dead?”

“Baby, don’t think like that.”

“I’ll never get Ana back. Shit. We fucked up. There’s too many people here.” She begins hyperventilating.

“Hey.” I cup her chin. “He was assaulting you. I will never ever regret tossing his ass over that railing.” 

“There’s gotta be a spot we can shove him for now,” Franky says with hands on hips. “I can stage a fire.” 

“No!” I bark.

“What? The Sisters probably have this mansion insured up the asshole.”

“Fine. Fuck it. This party is boring anyway,” I say. 

Franky bends to hook her arms under Jeremiah’s armpits.“Let’s drag him behind one of these shelves for now. When I set the fire, it’ll look like he got trapped by the flames.”

“Franky,” Angie gasps. “What about evidence? DNA?” 

“Nothing I can’t hack and scrub from databases.” She shrugs.

“Alright.” I nod and look Angie in the eyes. “It’s going to be ok. No matter what, Augusta won’t let us go to jail. We have a deal. Plus, you heard Franky. She’ll take care of the technical side.”

Angie wipes her eyes. “I just don’t feel good about this…” 

“Come on, girl,” Franky says. “Have a little more faith in us.”

A few minutes later, we leave the library so Franky can start a small fire that will slowly catch, which she claims will look like an electrical one. I take her word for it, and Angie and I head for a utility closet she saw further down the hallway. A little duct tape will mend my cast together for now, and as long as it remains hidden under my sleeve, nobody will know. With Angie’s help, we repair it as best as possible and go back to the garden to pretend like nothing has happened. She grips my hand the whole way and doesn’t want to let go when we step outside.