A Tale of Murder

"Dan Sanders, you are under arrest. The charge is murder, first degree." The detective told me.

All I could do was sit there and stare at him. Then he walked to the door, opened it. A couple of very large men came in and led me away.

My close to perfect happy life had just came crashing down around my ears.

The cell they put me in was cold, there was a cot and a toilet, that was about it.

I sat down on the cot carefully, the bullet hole in my left shoulder hurt like hell, my bandaged arm hung useless.

Then I thought about Melody. The last image of her was of her standing there, a look of shock, horror on her face.

"If only I had locked the door when I got home?" I told the police, weeping.

"But that probably would have made no difference, one of us would have answered if the two men had simply rang the door bell." I added.

They were all looking at me, I decided to shut up.

+++

The tale I told them was that I had just hit the button to turn on the TV when the door opened.

Instantly I realized this was serious trouble as I turned and spotted the pistol.

My instinct from my military training kicked in, I went straight for them.

I didn't make it.

On TV, when the hero is shot in the shoulder he reaches up and grabs it, groans, and then continues on to kick some ass.

In real life, down you go. For a moment I was frozen in shock, then something was jammed over my face, I saw Melody for an instant, I will never forget the look on her face.

When I came to, I saw her lying on the floor. Her face was bloody, I knew she was dead.

I was trying to crawl to her when suddenly there were men around, restraining me. They handcuffed me, lord did that hurt.

+++

"Doesn't look good." The lawyer told me, shaking his head days later.

"I didn't do it, there were two men..." I started to protest.

"I believe you, but the police tied this up nice and tight so far. Your wife was shot at point blank range. They say you shot yourself, then used chloroform to put yourself out. The call to the police was from your cell phone, your DNA was all there was on it."

"Same with the gun, it has your DNA on it and they found it right by your side. Odd part is the latex gloves, they found those partly burned up in the wood stove like you tried to get rid of them but the fire went out."

"We didn't even have any latex gloves, those guys must have..."

"I know, I know. We have to do some checking, there are a few things here that don't ring true." The man waved his hand.

+++

Evidence piles up, some pro and some con. My DNA was on the little 38 caliber Smith and Wesson pistol, purchased with my credit card and my ID.

But told them I had not purchased any pistol, and that was the truth.

The bullet they took from Melody matched, as did the one they took from my shoulder.

The claim was that I had shot Melody, then myself to make it look like a home invasion. They claimed I had tossed the gloves into the fireplace, called in the anonymous report of shots being fired, then gassed myself?

But the little free standing wood stove had been acting up, I knew the metal chimney was partially blocked and I had plans to pull it down that very weekend.

A few pieces of the gloves had survived when the fire went out, which it would do if all of the drafts were not left wide open. Plus they were the kind that are powdered inside, and that kind of powder apparently did not burn well.

There were the remains of three of them and what was residue from a fourth one?

Plus DNA on the pistol, but they claimed I had been wearing the gloves?

Enough to cause doubt, my lawyer used that to get me bail. The house was up as bond and I was allowed to go home.

The prosecutor's claim that I was a clever killer fell on deaf ears, the judge didn't buy it. After all, why try to burn up the gloves, logic suggested I just leave them somewhere to be found because if the fire had not gone out, there would be no evidence of them at all.

My lawyer talked really well, I was grateful for that.

When I got home, I looked at the dark mess still on the carpet and the mess remaining in the house from when they had searched it.

I spent the night in the garage, where I had a small side room with a single bed we used for rare guests.

The next day I hired a crew to come and clean up, replace the carpets.

"I still think you did it, but we are dropping the charges." They told me several months later.

Way too many things did not quite connect, with those gloves being the big one. Had I cleaned out the stove pipe the week before like Melody had asked me to, odds are high I would still be sitting in a jail cell.

But I hadn't, deliberately.

Then there was the little firearm. Why bother with gloves when it appeared I had purchased the thing a couple of weeks before, registered to me at my address?

Wearing gloves but with my DNA all over the pistol, and never bothering to wipe it down?

Then how did I manage to shoot myself in the shoulder but leave no powder burns?

Why call in the police from my own cell phone, found in my shirt pocket?

Yes, easily enough to create reasonable doubt.

Then there was that fingerprint. The one they take when you present your ID to purchase a pistol?

It wasn't mine.

The one other thing that closed the deal was the deposit bag. I took all the cash receipts home on most Fridays and put them in the safe I kept there, to deposit Monday on the way in.

That was around $10,000 every week in over the counter sales, my boss gave discounts for cash to avoid the credit fees and he would not take a check at all.

I tried several times to convince him to make night deposits but he would not hear of it since once years before some teller had ripped him off.

All of that was a pain in the ass to deal with but Ben was the boss so I did as he asked.

For some reason he trusted me, because I knew all about his accounting methods and I was sure he had no clue. Some of that trust had to do with me changing the accounting so it could be kept track of, of course I also had total control over that, also.

That night deposit bag had vanished. They checked my own accounts, other purchases, came up with nothing. They even ran the business books much to the boss's chagrin but of course that all checked, too.

Paper trails are hard to follow when no such paper exists.

It had to be an inside job, a frame up since the pistol was purchased in my name.

Ben's poor employees all got practically strip searched, nothing.

I waited for them to come up with the fact that Ben was fucking my wife but they never did.

"Way too convoluted a deal here for a lousy 10 grand, but you are free to go." The detective growled at me.

I knew that he thought he knew, but he couldn't make it stick.

+++

They say the husband is the last to know, but that is not always true.

At least not in my case.

Melody and I met at a party, introduced by a couple who more or less set things up so we would meet.

They knew Melody and they knew me, and they thought we were a perfect match.

They were almost right.

We hit it off that night, famously. That led to dating, in less than a month we were exclusive.

Sex came along in the normal course of events, by our fourth date we were necking rather heavily and feeling everything through our clothing.

"How about I stay the night?" Melody whispered in my ear. I had my hand up the front of her blouse at the time, my fingertips poking around down the front of her bra as she stroked my rather obvious erection through my slacks.

That was a wonderful time, Melody was not shy at all and in my bedroom she did a little strip tease for me.

Then stark naked, she pushed me back onto my bed and undid my slacks, letting out a soft groan as her fingers found my erection.

My own hands found the soft blond down at her pubes, my middle fingers stroked her damp lips, sliding inside.

Such a wonderful sensation, investigating the warm soft insides of a beautiful woman.

Melody had several intense orgasms while I was doing that, and several more after I finally entered her.

She never left my house after that except to gather her things.

Marriage, four long years of happy followed.

My job paid fairly well so we were secure. I managed the warehouse, keeping track of inventory and deliveries.

The only bad part was the once each month delivery to one account that meant an overnight trip. I had wanted to just ship the product out but the boss had a truck and I was on salary so he thought it was cheaper to just send me.

"I can pay you a few bucks extra and a room, that way no pressure to get back." He told me.

I added that up and with fuel and all the rest there wasn't a hell of a lot of difference but he would not budge on that one point.

His name was Ben Harrington, a tall and good looking guy not yet 40, curly mass of blond hair himself. It seemed that regular as clockwork he had some gal in his office.

Always blond, too.

Just once Melody came by the warehouse, she met Ben that time. She looked good but then Melody always looked good.

"Yum yum!" He told her with that devil may care grin as they shook hands.

Melody's face flushed with pleasure but I didn't think anything of it.

Later after she left he poked me in the arm.

"You lucky son of a bitch!" He grinned at me.

It was just a couple of weeks later that Ben asked me to make the first delivery run, it was a Tuesday.

I whined and complained but Ben was adamant.

Finally I gave in, called Melody and told her what was up.

I explained I would stay overnight in Seattle and make the run back to the warehouse the next morning.

"It's just going to be once or twice a month and I guess I will be on the clock so it's more money too."

"OK, honey. I will be fine. Then when you get home Wednesday I will have a nice dinner ready."

"OK." I said.

"Then after you can fuck me, if you really want to, that is. My tight little blond pussy is all wet just thinking about giving you a hard on!" She whispered that in a sexy voice.

Melody could give me a hard on right over the phone when she started that stuff.

For the next year it became a ritual, once or twice each month I made the run up to Seattle, dropped off the product, then spent the night in the Four Corners motel.

The place was a bit of a dive but also only $45 per night, Ben wouldn't pay for for anything fancy.

I thought about just making the long drive back.

By the time I unloaded and did the paperwork, then got a bite to eat and made the long drive it would be early morning.

It got so the clerks almost expected me, they were calling me by my first name. The one named Jerry told me he had some phone numbers if I wanted company but I turned that down.

More than once as I walked to my room some woman would open their door and smile, one even opened her blouse to show me her tits.

Like I said, a dive.

The female clerk that worked there I saw from time to time, she was perhaps just barely 20 or so and a stone fox. She was a long haired blond, tall and slender from riding the bike I always saw chained up outside.

Her name was Candi which I thought was a bit much until she explained that her folks named her Candice.

Once after I checked in she leaned over and asked me if I wanted some company later.

She really didn't act like a hooker, I guess I showed some surprise.

"Hey, I ain't for sale, honey. It's just you are cute and I could use some fun."

"I like you but I can't, I am married." I held up my right hand to display the gold wedding band I never took off.

"Hell, Danny. You are here and she is there and I won't tell." Candi giggled.

"Sorry, I just can't." I told her.

There was no way in hell I would ever cheat on Melody. Marriage meant vows, that was something that was important to me. My Dad had gotten himself caught dipping his wick, so I ended up with just my Mom growing up and I resented him for that.

That was never going to happen with me, that was for sure.

I just could not ever touch another woman, not like that. I also knew that Melody was totally faithful. Of course I knew she was not a virgin when we met, neither was I. But she told me all about her one experience, how it had been something she really did not enjoy way back when she was barely out of high school.

I told her all about my own experiences, too. There had been just two, both times had not been what anyone could call right?

Melody and I were always completely open and honest with each other, it was something I treasured.

Our relationship was pure, priceless. I was proud of my beautiful wife.

+++

I was on the freeway 30 miles north of Portland when the truck felt funny. The usual throb of the big diesel engine became louder, then I saw the red light on the dash flick on.

I made it to the side of the freeway and stopped.

I tried several times to restart the engine but it just made a solid clicking sound.

Using my cell phone, I called for help. Then I called the house to tell Melody what was going on.

It rang 10 times, no answer. I called again, thinking I must have miss dialed, it rang 10 more times.

"That's odd?" I thought as the big tow truck arrived. Normally there was no need to call the house on the overnight trips, it was just the run up and then back the next day, no point really.

Still, I expected her to be home. I decided maybe I would get her a cell phone, even though she said she didn't like them.

I got the delivery truck towed into a shop, went down and rented another truck and moved all the cartons into the rental. I tried the house several times again, no answer.

Then I tried calling Ben, no answer there or at the warehouse either since it was already after hours.

By one in the morning, I gave up and went to bed.

Where in the hell was she? She did go visit with her girl friends once in a while but never out until after one in the morning.

She couldn't be out drinking because she didn't drink at all.

I suddenly had a sinking feeling.

The next day I delivered the cartons, drove back and turned in the rental. I rented a car and headed home.

I was upset now so I didn't try to call.

Ben was at the warehouse, I explained what had happened and he went to work making arrangements to get the shop truck repaired.

He wasn't happy, a big Cummins diesel engine was over 20 grand.

That evening at home Melody looked perfectly normal. As usual, she had a fine dinner prepared, and later like always she began to show all the signs of wanting to make love.

For a brief period Melody did make me forget about being suspicious. I wanted to ask her where she had been the night before but I didn't.

+++

Ben came in a couple of weeks later and asked me to make the Tuesday run up to Seattle, I nodded.

"Later!" He told me and left. I watched his bright red Corvette peel out of the parking lot, then I picked up the phone and called the client in Seattle.

"No problem, we have a couple of weeks on hand so that's fine." They told me when I asked if we could delay the shipment.

I drove home, parked far down the street. I barely made it, Melody came out of the house and hopped into her little silver Honda and drove off.

Soft beige blouse, very short dark skirt, 3" heels? She sure as hell wasn't going to Safeway.

I followed along, she drove about two miles out of town and turned into a park.

I stopped and watched, there was just one way in and out of that little park.

A few minutes later came a shock when I saw Ben's bright red Corvette pull out and do a short burnout and head off down the street. Melody sat in the passenger seat.

Six miles later they pulled into the Lakeshore Motel. I saw him go around and open the door for my wife, who hugged him the moment she got out.

Ben's hands came down and lifted her butt cheeks so high that for an instant I saw her light blue panties.

Those were the silk ones I bought for her as a gift.

My entire body went as cold as ice.

"That dirty mother fucking BITCH!" I screamed to myself.

I got into my car, drove back to the shop. My hands gripping the steering wheel turned white.

"Cheating CUNT!" I kept yelling out loud all the way. At that moment, had my boss been there, something bad would have happened. I came very close to going back out there and kicking the door down.

Then I felt a strange calm flood over me. Insane rage faded into a stone cold resolve. I knew what I was going to do, no one could do that to me and get away with it.

+++

In Seattle, I made the delivery.

"I thought you couldn't make it this trip?" The man at the loading dock told me.

"Things worked out and we got back on schedule." I said.

At the Motel, Candi was working.

"Hi Danny!" She smiled.

"Hi. Hey, are you still up for that little visit?" I asked her. That wasn't planned, it was just on the spur of the moment.

"I thought you said you were married?"

"I was." I told her.

"I get off at midnight." Candi grinned.

It would be nice to say that was wonderful, but even though Candi was beautiful and sexy, I had a struggle getting things to work.

Her breasts were medium sized, nice. Her pussy was hairless, slick and sweet. Her outer lips were just a curve, when I pressed her open with my fingers her vagina opened like a flower.

She sucked on me as I licked away at her, there was no taste at all.

Finally after quite a bit of effort, Candi did succeed, and we got it done. I felt myself begin to firm up when she sucked the entire thing down her throat, it felt like she was trying to swallow it.

I never did manage a full erection, my climax was barely a dribble. Once I got into her, I slid my legs over to the outside of hers to hold myself inside.

It was all strange, unfamiliar, Candi moved her hips gently with me, not like the wild mashing that Melody did.

Sex to me with a woman I love is a magic thing, sex with just a body is like masturbating.

It was clear to me that I did not impress Candi much, she left about two AM.

"Thanks." Was all she told me.

I lay there thinking, knowing that at this very moment my wonderful wife very likely had her legs spread for my boss, Ben.

Silly overnight trips, to get me out of the way so he could take what was mine?

I was going to make them pay for that.

+++

It took me just over a month to come up with enough. Easy to do, all I did was shuffle the inventory numbers, all of those cash sales were simple to hide.

Make a sale, get rid of the shop copy, count out at the end of the day and pocket the difference.

Ben didn't have a clue of how much inventory we had on hand, of that I was completely sure.

The man I found down in a rather poor section of town looked enough like me to pass at a glance, and with a haircut just like mine he did just that.

He didn't ask me what I wanted the pistol for and I didn't tell him.

"Get as far away from here as you can." I told him, handing him the packet with $5,000 in it.

Four weeks later, I walked into my house.

"Honey, I am home!" I called out. Melody walked into the living room saw, me standing there wearing two pairs of latex gloves, the little pistol in my hand.

The look of shock, surprise on her face will always stick with me.

"Honey? What? Oh, God, no!" Was all she had time to say.

I pointed the pistol and shot her between the eyes at nearly point blank range.

Walking quickly out to my garage, I clamped the butt of the pistol between two pieces of rubber in my vice, positioned myself where I had carefully planned it and poked the trigger with a pool cue.

What was supposed to be a flesh wound knocked me flat, the bullet hit bone right at the point of my shoulder and down I went.

It took me a few seconds, I struggled up knowing I didn't have much time. I didn't even have to deal with the back board I had set up to stop the round, it didn't go all the way through.