Love with the Proper Killer Short Story Valentine Mystery by Rose Deshaw
Love with the Proper Killer
by Rose Deshaw
Page 6 of 7
"See if I care," I told him, feeling an emptiness inside
which I told myself was missing dinner. I turned toward the
kitchen.
"But I care," a voice said from behind me. Before I could move
a hand was clamped over my mouth. Another grabbed my arm and
twisted it behind me.
"So you figured it out, did you?," the voice continued. "I
thought you'd blame that fancy boyfriend of yours but when you
called, I knew you hadn't. Too bad, baby. We could've been good
together."
"Mac? I mumbled through his fingers squeezing my lips. "Your
own aunt?"
"My own very rich aunt. Owns a string of buildings like this
but she just kept living on and on with those damn canaries and she
treated me like an errand boy. That Jerry you're so fond of just
happened by at the right time. Once I get the guy across the hall
to I.D. him, I'm home free."
I tried to break free. Mac's fingers dug into my lips. I
tasted blood. His other hand twisted my arm till I thought I could
hear the bones crack.
I bit down as hard as I could on the hand around my mouth. He
jerked away and I screamed.
"Now you'll get it like all the others, bitch!" Mac shouted.
Still holding my arm, he reared back to belt me. At that
moment something large, furry and furious with all the commotion
and noise, leaped onto his head like one of those alien creatures
that eat your brain.
It was Mac's turn to scream and he did while lethal paws
scratched at his eyeballs, dug into his scalp and took great strips of
skin off his back.
I rushed to the door and yanked it open, gasping. Mr. Jaspers
was standing in the hall. "Wild party, huh? You got a cat in
there?"
"What I've got is Mrs. Patrickson's killer. Call the police."
Leaving his door open, Mr. Jaspers went back towards the
phone. I stood in the hall, listening to the screaming. Poor
Fitzhugh, I thought. I hoped he didn't get any nasty disease from
biting Mac.
Mac was staggering around, cursing and tripping over
furniture, blood running down his face, when the police arrived
with their sirens blaring. All the tenants on my floor crowded
into the hall to watch Mac led out in handcuffs. Fitzhugh washed
his face and looked smug. It was the first time I felt favorably
towards a cat.
Next day I went to the hospital. Jerry was sitting up in bed,
one leg in a cast. "Donna," he said huskily, taking my hand in both
of his. "I was afraid I'd lost you."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" He looked pale but great, the
dark hair mussed, five o'clock shadow on the strong, firm jaw. I
told him about Mac. "The police think he's the one who's been
attacking all those women, using his role as a property manager."
I waited for him to ask about his cat.
"Oh my love. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" He was
stroking my hair and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms.
"I'm an idiot," he was saying. "I hope you aren't going to let
a little thing like a cat come between us." He kissed my neck, my
cheek, my lips. "I could give him to my mother."
"Oh, no. We've reached an understanding. I think I could learn
to like him," I murmured, "given the right teacher." I would never
tell him how close we had come to losing each other, due to my
overactive imagination.
Cupid may have been a day late this year, but the way I see
it, Jerry and I still have forever.
