My Novel

Killer Deal – a Rose Montgomery Mystery
by Judy Kane
Chapter 1

I hung up the cell phone. I’d spent all morning looking at houses for Beth and Ken, my current clients, and now they’d cancelled their appointment for Saturday. Well, I could always say that I hadn’t been wasting my time, instead I was keeping up with the market. Checking out what’s for sale out there. But the reality was that I needed to sell a house and if Beth and Ken weren’t going to look on Saturday, it wasn’t going to happen. Damn.

Oh well, I’d have to try to make the best of what remained of my day.

I pulled into the parking lot of Sergio’s Office Supply. I’d pick up the printer cartridge I needed then head home and finish printing my newsletter. I should mail it in the next day or two. Better aim for today. Maybe it was a good thing my client had canceled. Now I’d have the rest of the day to get my newsletter out.

As I walked into Sergio’s, I veered left toward restrooms. As usual, I needed to go to the bathroom. Of course, I was here for the ink cartridge, but without the restroom, I’d have had to stop at home first.

Annoyingly, because of my capacity challenged bladder, I know just about every public toilet for miles around; and frankly, I pick the stores I go to because of the appearance and, hopefully, cleanliness of the facilities.

I reached the door leading to the restroom hallway, and leaned in to push it open. I lunged forward as the door fell away from me. Then I was knocked backwards into the doorjamb by the man who’d yanked open the door from the other side. “Watch what you’re doing.” He snarled as he strong-armed past me.

Great, I rubbed my lower back. Another thing to make my day difficult. No, challenging, not difficult. Challenging I could struggle against. Difficult and I was screwed. I walked down the hall, past the mens room, then around another corner before finally reaching the door to the women’s restroom. I went in. I prefer the handicapped stall; it’s larger. But today that door was closed. I opened the only other door, put the paper seat cover out, and sat down.

I let out a sigh as relief flooded over me. I didn’t know why I’d waited so long. Why hadn’t I used the restroom at the last house I’d stopped at? Oh yeah, the dirty dishes on the kitchen table, the overflowing dog-food bowl, the damp towels on the floor, and the quantity of mildew around the edge of the tub. I don’t know how people expect to sell a house that looks that bad. Heck, even though I’d been desperate, I wasn’t willing to use the bathroom in it!

I took a deep breath, and a strange odor hit my nose. I sniffed the air. It smelled like right before a cloudburst; a weird, metallic smell. It must be the floor drain. Those things can really cause a stink. I looked down and saw a dark path running from the other stall toward the drain. Had someone spilled a drink, maybe a coke? But it was darker, thicker. I shivered and goosebumps ran up my arms. What was going on?

I leaned forward and looked under the partition. My stomach clenched. A hand, porcelain white, with long, slender fingers, and blood-red nails, dangled on the other side of the partition.

“Hello?” I got up, shakily pulled up my pants and stood there. No one answered. I had to do something. I needed to check the other stall. I needed to wash my hands. But if this woman needed help … Oh shit. My germaphobic upbringing won out. I opened the door, quickly washed my hands then went back to the door of the other stall.

“Hello?” I tried again. “Are you okay?” Please, please answer. I don’t want to have to find out what’s on the other side of that door.

I pushed on it gently, and the door swung open slowly. I could almost hear the squeak of the hinges. I saw red paint sprayed on the far wall, and the back of a body lying across the toilet.

I screamed and stumbled back against the stall door. She was face down over the toilet; her long, straight, ash-blond hair falling toward the floor. From the sleeves of her white blouse, her hands hung, one on each side of the toilet. Her legs, in faded jeans, sprawled out behind her ending in blood red tennis shoes.

“Oh my God …” I ran to her. I needed to get her off of the toilet, onto the floor. Maybe I could stop the bleeding, maybe I could save her. I wrapped my arms around her, and pulling her up. Her head lolled back onto my shoulder and her weight shifted, taking me to the floor under her. “Help,” she sighed.

“What happened?” I settled her onto the floor, trying to figure out what I could do to help her.

I needed to check her pulse. I touched her arm. It was cool, clammy; not warm like an arm should be. I pushed my fingertips into her wrist, searching for a pulse; but there wasn’t one there. I looked toward her neck and saw the knife sticking out of her chest.

I needed something to stop the bleeding. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed some toilet seat covers. Kneeling back down, I pulled the knife out of her chest, prepared to try to staunch the bleeding with the seat covers. But there wasn’t any bleeding.

Then I saw her eyes. Vacant, staring, dead.

I scrambled to my feet, backing away from her, until my back was against the tiled restroom wall. Staring at her. I looked back at the toilet and saw the blood filled bowl. Oh my God, it was blood on the wall. So much blood.

I ran out the door, down the hall, toward the store. I flung the door open to the store open and looked around for help. I heard a scream. A woman, staring at me, pointing at me. Screaming at me.

I looked down at my blood soaked sleeves, the knees of my pants, the knife in my hand. “What have I done?” I said as I heard the knife clatter to the floor.

Copyright 2010 by Judy Kane