NOT REALLY MURDER

By Karen Lewis

Ever since the idea had taken root in his mind, Greg Deeson was unable to think of anything else. It was the perfect crime. Yet – and this was the beauty of it – it wasn’t really a crime at all. Certainly, not really murder. I mean, he hadn’t done anything illegal, nor did he intend to. All he had to do was allow events to take their natural course. Then not only would he be free of his cumbersome wife, Elsie – who had become a hopeless liability – but he would collect on her life insurance policy as well.

            It had all begun slightly over a week ago. They had been spending a few days in their travel-trailer at the lake. Elsie had been off visiting their neighbour Ruth when Greg, who had been relaxing with a newspaper, suddenly noticed a strong smell of gas. Upon investigation, he’d discovered a leak in the furnace pipe.

             Alarmed, he immediately went outside and switched the lever on the propane tank to the Off position. He must tell Elsie right away. This could be lethal, especially for her, with no sense of smell. It was then that it hit him. Why tell her?

            If he didn’t and she came up here alone – as she often did – she would switch on the gas, totally oblivious to the danger. It would be all over for her by morning, and he’d be a million dollars in the black.

            Not an unpleasant way to go either, Greg concluded, mulling over the details. After all, now that their family was grown up, she had outlived any usefulness she might once have had.

            What he could never forgive – and why should he? – was being trapped into marriage by a mistaken sense of duty. She’d forgotten to take the pill, she claimed. Well, he should have jolly well told her to go fly a kite. But hell, it was a small town, and pressure had been brought to bear by their respective families.

But it wasn’t until he started having an affair with Rita, that the depth of his discontent swelled to the surface. After all, he was still a good-looking man, although he could stand to lose a few pounds. Elsie just didn’t turn his crank anymore, hadn’t done for years.

Elsie returned on that fateful day – the one on which Greg decided to kill her – looking flushed and happy. She’d been helping Ruth make a Halloween costume for her 8-year-old son, Danny. “He’s such a cute little fellow,” she enthused. “And looking forward so much to the big night.”

            Greg grimaced. He had no time for kids, especially Danny. He was a spoiled, badly behaved little brat.

            Greg, who was always careful to smile and mumble something friendly to the child when there was anyone around, would shove pass him roughly with a scowl when no one was there. Danny, with his child’s intuition, watched him warily. This, he decided, was a bad man. Someone to be afraid of.

            “There’s something wrong with the range.” Elsie exclaimed. “I can’t get it to light.”

            “I switched the gas off, honey,” Greg explained, wearing his most pleasant expression. “I thought we could leave early and have lunch along the way. Give you a break from cooking.”

In the cramped office of his taxi company, Greg had a clear view of Rita’s Coffee Garden across the street. Since Rita had taken over the café, its popularity – thanks to her business acumen – had soared. She certainly was a looker, with her bright eyes and curly blonde hair.

Rita represented everything he admired most. She was ambitious, (ruthless, some would say) industrious, and had pots of money. In other words, she was “successful.” And with a woman like that he could really go places. Why together, they would soon own the entire town.

            Glancing around his shabby office, Greg bristled at the injustice of it all. If he had only met Rita all those years ago instead of Elsie – who was really just a parasite – he would be a millionaire today.         

He visited Rita at her apartment at the usual time, after parking his car a discreet distance away. This was not a big city where no one cared what you did. He knew only too well, that there was a nosy pair of eyes behind each twitching curtain. Firecrackers exploded in the distance as the kids geared up for Halloween.

            “I’ve missed you,” Rita whispered, her eyes bold with promise. Greg wasted no time in showing her the sentiment was mutual. It was impossible not to compare Rita’s hard, wiry body with Elsie’s sagging breasts and cottage cheese thighs.

In his quest to gain prominence and respect, Greg had become a member of the Chamber of Commerce, sat on the board of various charities, and played golf. His ultimate ambition was to run for public office. The Mayor’s chair, would be a good start.

            “I’m collecting for the new homeless shelter.”

Greg winced. It was that horrible do-gooder Maggie Wilson. He’d heard her voice in the outer office as she’d solicited a donation from his dispatcher.

He wanted to tell her to fuck off. Why should hard-working people have to support a bunch of lazy no-good bums?  There was no valid reason for being homeless.

But she would have it all over town in a heartbeat. He flashed an insincere smile which showed off his uneven dentures and fished in his pocket.

On the day that would finally set him free from Elsie and make him rich to boot, Greg rose early. “Why don’t you go directly to the lake after church, and I’ll follow as soon as I can?” he suggested in his warmest tones. “I want to start winterising the trailer.”

            “Sure thing, honey,” Elsie agreed. She was always so obliging; he’d give her that. After the service they kissed goodbye on the church steps. Such a devoted couple, those who didn’t know any better smiled, clucking their approval.

            Now as Greg sat in his poky office, smoking and glancing at his watch, he was terrified that something would go wrong. It all seemed so easy. Perhaps too easy? Was there something he had overlooked? He chewed away at the inside of his mouth, pondering what the fates could possibly do to thwart his plans. The whole thing seemed airtight. All Elsie had to do was turn on the gas…

            The time dragged by with maddening slowness. He poured himself a shot of Scotch and tried to relax. Elsie should have arrived at the trailer by now. He followed her movements in his mind’s eye. She would have switched on the gas upon arriving. It was cold up at the lake now, and the trailer would be freezing. The furnace would start up, and the gas – which Elsie could not smell – would come leaking out…         

            The incessant ringing of the telephone from the outer office, usually such music to his ears for it meant business was brisk, now began to jar his already jangled nerves. What could go wrong? What could go wrong?

            At 10:00 p.m. he left the office for the day, chasing away a group of teenagers who were setting off firecrackers. “Get outta here, before I call the police,” he warned.    

He also made a point of mentioning to his dispatcher that it was now too late for him to drive up to the lake. “I’ll get an early start in the morning,” he added.

            At home, he knocked back a bottle of Scotch and chain-smoked. Was it all over by now, he wondered? It certainly should be. Either way, it was going to be a damned long night. Its outcome would affect his whole future…and Rita’s.

            At first light, he bundled himself into his car and set off for the lake, edgy with anticipation. What would he find there? For he knew only too well how kismet could throw a spanner into the works. Shades of the “best laid plans of mice and man…etc.” But oh surely this time nothing would go wrong? “Oh please,” he importuned any deity that might be listening.

            The freeway was starting to fill up with commuters as the morning rush hour began. Greg raced along, dodging in and out of traffic. He had always been an aggressive driver. Then a thought suddenly struck him that made him slow down, his usual high colour draining.

My gawd, what if Elsie had been babysitting for Ruth? What if Danny had been staying with her in the trailer? But then, the kid would surely smell the gas, now wouldn’t he? Not that he cared what happened to Danny. But something like that would be bound to cause more publicity. Everyone got so damned emotional over a child. He remembered the time at the lake when Danny had almost drowned.

The stupid kid had swum out way further than he should. Heaven only knows he’d been told enough times not to. But he’d been deliberately disobedient as usual. Teach the little bastard a lesson, Greg had decided.

“Get Danny, Greg…get Danny…” Elsie, who couldn’t swim, had been hysterical. “He’s gone way too far out.”

All in good time, thought Greg. He was in no hurry to reach him. By the time he finally did, the child was floundering badly.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to obey, in future,” he muttered, dragging him out of the water.

 The eagerness Greg felt when starting out for the trailer, now turned to reluctance and fear. Pull yourself together, he admonished himself. Think positive. Everything will have gone according to plan. Soon he would be playing the part of the bereaved husband, at least for a while. Just until it was “appropriate” for him to marry Rita, that is.

He approached the trailer gingerly. Fear gripped at him like pincers. Despite all his brave thoughts, Greg was a coward and faced with the result of his actions, realised the enormity of what he had done. What if they could prove he’d known about the leak? That would make it premeditated murder. One could be convicted on circumstantial evidence.

With trembling fingers he unlocked the door, opening it warily. He was met by the overpowering smell of gas. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief. Then leaving the door open wide, stepped inside, trying not to breathe.

The bedroom door was ajar, and from where he stood he could see the bed had not been slept in.

“Damn,” he cursed.  Where was she?

Then he noticed the note, propped up against the sugar bowl on the table. He grabbed at it angrily, the sight of Elsie’s untidy scrawl flaming his fury even more. She felt sick, she explained, so she was going to spend the night at Ruth’s.

“Goddammit,” Greg raged, disappointment and the stench of gas making him feel weak-kneed. He gripped the table for support. Still, there was always another time. Like next weekend, for example. He began to gasp for air, choking on the toxic fumes as he staggered towards the door. Turning off the gas at the tank outside was now the only thought in his mind.

But he was destined never to make it.

And the last thing he saw before oblivion struck was Danny’s mischievous face and the firecracker he tossed into the trailer before running away…

 Bio: Karen Lewis is the author of the Detective Neil Slater mysteries; the Wolstencroft the Bear series for children; and the award-winning play "Hit and Run." She lives in Vancouver, Canada