ramped up too quick. "I take my lunch at quarter to one. Today it's a ham and cheese sandwich with an orange." She patted her large purse. "I brown bag."
"Could you be talked into saving the sandwich for later?"
He treated her to Sam's Deli, and by the end of the week she didn't even bother bringing her brown bag. He started showing her his design sketches for Grace's one-of-a-kind pieces, and asked for her opinion. Her suggestions proved so helpful, he asked her to leave Brower & Sons and join up with his business, 50/50 ownership.
She was honestly flabbergasted. Not because she doubted her talent, but she'd never met a man so willing, downright eager, to share genuine power with a woman, regardless how brilliant.
And Kate was well aware of her brilliance--the whole state of Oklahoma had been too small to contain it.
They got the necessary paperwork drawn up and certified, and there you had it.
Mr. Brower let her go with no hard feelings at all. "You're a great gal, Katie bird," he said with a fatherly hug. " And you work darn hard. No one deserves it more than you."
Now, why couldn't my Papa have been like you? she thought. I mighta turned out better.
She had her proposal not long after their business partnership began. Lars adored her, and their business partnership proved a more than substantial boon for Grace Jewelers.
Kate waited a year before mentioning how much she'd love to get a home away from the city, maybe a vacation home someplace . . . different. She'd heard there was red dirt in Arizona. Red. She wasn't sure she believed it.
"Lars, sweetheart, have you ever seen red dirt?" she asked one evening while they were curled up on their little love seat enjoying a quiet evening in front of the fireplace. Lars liked a cozy home.
It was the holiday season, so the shop was louder and more hectic than usual. An ideal time to nudge his imagination toward a calmer corner of the world.
"Hm?"
"Like they have in Arizona?"
"No." He eyed her over the top of his book. "What's happening in that head of yours, Kate? I can tell there's an idea whirring around in there."
"We have so much money now, darling, and land is always a good investment. I was thinking maybe a little getaway home?"
He took no convincing at all. She could have said she wanted a home at the bottom ocean, and he would have scoured the earth for someone who could figure out how to do it.
They(she) chose a small, isolated stucco home. Desert charm, surrounded by red dirt. So it is real.
Even though it was only a vacation place, and a 20 minute drive from the tiny spec of a town, she still managed to make a few friends, and they all cautioned her to be wary of scorpions.
"If you see one, just move slowly away from it, especially if it's got its tail up and curled towards you."
Lars trusted his assistant manager enough to run the store alone, so their first trip to the new home lasted three months. They wanted to break it in, and get a real feel for the area. It was the middle of their second month when she saw her first scorpion. It looked strange, sure, but scary? Please.
Honestly, people are so skittish.
She ignored her friends' advice and circled the thing as it circled her; a proper showdown. For some reason, she wanted to provoke the bizarre bug (and when Kate wanted something . . .) so she stepped toward it with an aggressive stomp. Predictably, it lunged. Her pulse didn't even hitch. She just lifted her boot and dispatched the so-called threat, scraped her shoe off on a rock, and headed back to her new stucco prize. As she walked, it struck her for the first time how little she had in common with normal people. They might as well be space creatures.
She smelled something cooking the moment she stepped inside. Lars was sitting by the fireplace turning the spit. Flames crackled and flared beneath a rain of chicken fat.
"I don't really know what I'm doing," he said with a sweet smile. "Am I turning it too fast?"
She sat down next to him, laughing gently as she placed a hand over his. "Only a little. Here." They finished cooking the chicken together. Kate tried to let go of his hand a few times, but he'd always speed up again after a few minutes.
Lars may not have been a great cook, but he was a sweet man. Gentlemanly and considerate. He was such a fine catch, Kate remained Mrs. Simmons for several years longer than she lasted as Mrs. Sleaze. But eventually, the time came. Kate felt it in her bones.
She didn't want him to suffer, or spend his last moments knowing the truth. It would break his heart, if only for a few seconds, and she didn't want that for him.
No poisons. No drowning.
Being so removed from town, they owned a Colt revolver. Their nearest neighbor, the Hernandezs, lived a whole mile away, so Mr. and Mrs. Simmons thought it best to have a gun on hand. Lars wasn't fond of guns, but he'd be damned if anyone or anything was going to harm his wife. Not on his watch.
A sunset walk by herself was a strict habit Kate made sure to establish a full year in advance of the final act. Cops are trained to spot lies, so she figured she ought to go out of her way to make sure most of what she told them was true.
Eventually she picked a date, and planned it down to the last detail. She hadn't taken such care with anything since their wedding. The irony was not lost on her.
When the day arrived she put all the jewelry she'd brought to Arizona with her in a black velvet pouch, and put the pouch in a leather satchel before going on her evening walk. She wasn't worried about Lars noticing the missing jewelry in the few hours before they went to bed. He never went snooping in her jewelry box.
Even the satchel was a pre-established habit. When she walked, she picked up pebbles and rocks along the way. No particular reason, just a quirky habit. She liked pretty rocks. Neat lines of her silly 'treasures' could be found all over their property.
It all came down to establishing reliable habits. The devil's in the details.
She went on her walk as usual, and returned as usual, with only one slight alteration. She found a spot near a prominent bloom, dug a shallow hole with the toe of her shoe, placed her jewelry pouch in the hole, and covered it with rocks. A temporary burial mound. She walked another half mile before heading back, gathering rocks along the way as usual. She didn't fasten the satchel.
They went to bed a few hours after she returned from her walk. Kate knew her husband. Once Lars fell asleep, it took one heck of a ruckus to wake him, so she only waited 15 minutes after he nodded off before getting on with it. Even gave him a little shake just to be sure.
She took the Colt out of his bedside drawer, backed up far enough to keep blood from splattering on her, and shot him. A clean shot to the head. Just to be sure she shot him again, then quickly ransacked the house. She took the satchel to their bedroom doorway, and flung it aside, the rocks scattering like marbles, then ran the mile and change to the Hernandez house as fast as she could, working up a good cry as she went.
Maria's husband got on his fastest horse, and took off to fetch the police. They arrived in just under two hours.
It seemed like a clear cut robbery. Wife was gone on her walk, they shot the husband just to avoid the complication, and swiped the jewels. Not a large amount, but every piece was high end work. Elegant. Regal. The kind of stuff that'd turn a pretty penny on the black market.
"I went on my walk like I always do, and when I got back . . . " sob, "the house was," sob, "My Lars! My poor Lars!" It was exhausting.
When the police told her about the missing jewelry, she clutched her wedding and engagement ring with a pained sigh. "At least they didn't get this. That's all I care about." Weep into handkerchief.
Then a slight-framed, dark haired cop asked her a worrisome question. "Why would they shoot him with his own gun? Wouldn't they have brought their own?"
Buy time; keep sobbing.
One of the other officers came to her rescue. "Mighta been all they had was knives and the gun was just easier? Opportunistic grab?"
The inquisitive one stared at her,
his eyes sharp and piercing. He reminded her of a hawk. "Folks tend not to leave their guns out in the open. Where was yours kept?"
Kate knew what the sly bastard was getting at. A break in theft says 'stranger,' and how would a stranger know where they kept their gun?
Time for her first outright lie of the evening. (thus far her 'story' amounted to a series of omissions) "It's normally in Lars's drawer next to the bed, but I thought I heard someone outside the house the other night. We didn't find any footprints, but Lars decided to keep the gun out, so he could grab it real fast just in case," sob, "in case--he was always so cautious." Total breakdown.
Several men left their desks to gather around and comfort her. Quite the White Knights. Only the one still reeked of doubt.
"You think you hear someone sneaking outside the house just one night before, and you still go for a walk, in the evening, alone? You don't even bring the Colt with you?"
Shut. UP. Kate suppressed the urge to glare at him. "I don't, I'm, oh my stupid habits! I always go for a--" Weep. Dab eyes with handkerchief, "and I never bring the C-C-Colt."
The hawk opened his mouth ready to ask another question.
She was already brainstorming ways to fill in details he may ask about when another cop stepped in to save her from his insensitivity. "For god's sake, Colby, back off the lady! Can't you see she's frantic?"
Officer Colby relented, but he kept his shining eyes glued to her as several of his co-workers helped her stand up and walk to the front