THE DEVIL’S LUCK

The skies wailed. Long,forlorn tears that dampened the spirits of everyone in Spencerville. Everyone, except Ms. Turpin’s murderer, who had been hard at work on her. He had arranged her limbs so she would look peaceful,unperturbed, in sharp contrast to how sadistically he had violated her with a yet to be determined weapon. He had then sanitized the scene so evidence wouldn’t link him to the deed.

That was detective Goa’s preliminary conclusion after a few observations. Ms. Turpin was lain in the middle of her living room hands clasped, clothes neatly arranged, her face made up like she was going out for the night. The M.P. estimated she had kicked the bucket at least 24 hours.

More like someone kicked it for her.

Struck with the urge he plundered his pockets as the CSI cameras flashed.

Where was it? He was sure he’d used it this morning.

“Can we bag the body detective? A female CSI asked

“Bag eerr……….”

“It’s in your breast pocket’ she pointed out ’……. as usual”

“Oh , thanks “ he smiled taking his pen out of his suit’s side pocket “ Bonus points for thinking I was going for my cigarettes”

“Yaay lucky me “ She replied turning away.

Goa scribbled in his jotter. It helped gather his thoughts when he was working on cases.

This time he started with two words.

Make-up

She was wearing orange lipstick. It was not a common choice for young women these days let alone a 50year old.

He scribbled two more words

Clean, neat

Too neat. He took another one of several looks at the crime scene. Nothing seemed unusual. No signs of struggle or of forced entry. Heck, not even a strand of hair was out of place on the victim’s head. It was almost as if the body had just appeared in the living room. Someone had gone to great lengths to stage this scene. Several thoughts whirled in his head however, one appealed to him most.

He scribbled. A word.

Psychopath

“ Damn, this sicko better not have done this to someone, somewhere else. It would really mess up my weekend.” But even as the words came out of his mouth his gut told him that was likely the case.

A stone’s throw away the Dinklages watched from their porch as Ms. Turpin was wheeled out on the gurney by paramedics. Herman, her feisty brown colored Persian, meowed after her trying to get her attention. Feeling pity one of the paramedics lifted him into the ambulance. The doors shut and it took off down the street sirens blazing.

Peter Dinklage, an imposing building contractor found his wife Amira’s hand squeezing it.

“I can’t believe it sweetness “he said watching the crime scene investigators coming out of the house

“That she is dead?

….that we don’t have to hear the bat’s singing anymore“. Ms. Turpin seldom did more than let everyone know how much she loved Italian opera, unfortunately she was the only one who thought she was great at it. They had been neighbors for 1 year and had found her as enjoyable as a bout of diarrhea.

“Will you keep your voice down the police are still here” Amira warned a smile dancing at the corner of her lips.

“ Come to think of it poor thing never did get along with most of us neighbors”

“Stuck in the 1960s” Amira chipped in.

“ And now she’ll be singing Pavarotti to the other bats up there”

“Oh crap” Amira said feigning horror. ”None of us better die anytime soon”.

They burst out in laughter.

It was cut short by the sound of a UPS delivery truck parking by their sidewalk.

The driver a balding thirtyish looking man gave them both a stiff smile and exited the vehicle parcel in hand.

“Think the UPS delivery guy just heard us” Amira muttered to her husband. Her voluptuous bust heaved within the confines of her form fitting dress.

“ Please the last time I checked it wasn’t a crime to laugh” he whispered back.

Sharply dressed and bespectacled the UPS man quickly made his way towards them. The parcel he held was about the size of a Gamebox.

“Pardon me maam , sir , have a package for yer.”

“Oh wasn’t ’expecting any…..today that is ” Peter replied reaching for it.

“ Nice to have a little sun after t’ rain.” He continued looking up at the sky ”I hear the missus up in that house died. She live alone?

“Yeah she did. She was murdered” Amira cut in looking at his name tag. Jonas

“ No way “ Jonas breathed “what a shame”

“345 Mayfair lane. Ahhh Wrong address” Peter announced looking after studying the package.

“That’s Ms. Turpin’s house” Amira cut in “ she’s the one who died….and its dated this morning. Odd”

“Coincidence” Peter corrected resisting the urge to shake it. Might be something fragile.

Amira took a glance at Peter. Wouldn’t hurt to see what’s in the parcel “ We could take the parcel for you…..

“….Isn’t returning to the sender policy in this situation? Peter cut in gazing steadily back at her.

I know we didn’t get along but going through a dead woman’s things is just plain low.

Amira rolled her eyes.

“ Ahh pardon me must’a made an error. I’ll return that. Thanks y’all have a nice day” he smiled retrieving the package.

Jonas allowed himself a wry grin as he climbed back into his truck and started the engine.

Plan B had just failed.

Plan A had been to drop the package at Turpin’s house, that would have meant his face being seen by the police. Someone would have marked it. It was much too early in the game for that to happen.

There was however no denying how beautiful it would have been to see the faces of everyone at the crime scene twisted in agony as he triggered the device from afar.

Death by biological agent it seems would have to wait.

He smiled and waved at Peter and Amira as he pulled away from the sidewalk.

Count yourselves lucky you wretches. Ms. Turpin didn’t get that kind of luck