Prompt

Who Killed Mrs. H?

Inspiration challenge: form #3 — flash fiction

This is the third in a series of stories inspired by something I saw on my morning walk. You can read the first in the series here. Unsure what form my story should take (poetry, flash fiction, etc.), I decided to use as many different vehicles as I could and see what emerged. What about you? Has something you’ve seen or experienced inspired you? How many ways can you tell your story? — Denise Shelton

January 2019

The investigation began almost immediately. There were two bodies in the wreckage of the burned house: a 97-year-old woman and her 61-year-old son. They found them in the basement garage. The woman’s car was parked a few blocks away. In speaking to the media, the authorities used the phrase “suspicious circumstances.”

Neighbors supplied the following information:

• The old lady was bedridden and lived alone
• Her son, who lived out of state, was visiting for the holidays
• The son visited several times a year and used his mother’s car when he did
• Home health aides who usually assisted the woman were absent during her son’s visits, as he took care of her himself

Questions:

• What were a bedridden old lady and her son doing in the garage on a cold January night?
• Why wasn’t the car at the house?
• Was this a tragic accident or something more sinister?
• Did the son kill his mother and get trapped after setting the house on fire?
• Was this a murder/suicide, or was someone else responsible?

The coroner provided evidence that a third party was involved. The woman and her son’s bodies had zip-ties and duct tape on them. Her cause of death was smoke inhalation. His was strangulation. The scene had all the earmarks of a home invasion.

February 2019

Amanda couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation she’d overheard at her ex-boyfriend’s house. “Sonny Boy? You’re late with your half of the rent, again.” “Aw, Mom. It’s New Year’s. They’ll give us some slack.” “A lot, you know! This isn’t the first time. You want us to get evicted?” “He wouldn’t do that.” “Oh, yes, he would. Have you ever wondered why Miriam from across the hall doesn’t come over for coffee in the mornings anymore? She got evicted a couple of months ago. They threw her stuff in the street the day before Thanksgiving.” “Really? Shit. Man, that’s cold.” “That’s what I’m telling you. Your father was just as bad. Do you have any idea how many times we had to take off in the middle of the night? I can’t do that again. I won’t. I’m too damn old for this shit. You’d better put that rent money in my hot little hand before the week is out or, whether or not I end up out on the street, you sure as hell will.”

It kept nagging at her. This horrible murder, the old lady burned alive next to the body of her son. Who would do such a thing? She never thought of her ex as dangerous. A loser, sure. Why else would she break up with him? He was pretty hot otherwise.

Sonny was 37 and still lived with his mother. His mom was the one who got up and went to work every day, changing bedpans and wiping withered asses at an age when most women were doing nothing more strenuous than changing a grandkid’s diaper. But this, this was the work of a monster. Had she missed the signs? Was he more dangerous than she’d ever imagined?

Sonny was acting weird. Weird even for him. He was dressing like a bum. Barely able to get out of bed. He was disappearing for days on end. His mom called the police once, saying she was afraid he was suicidal. But then she called them off. As if the cops cared, anyway.

The fact was, his mom had worked for that old lady, more than a year ago now. She remembered her telling them about the beautiful things in the house, and what a shame it was the old lady’s son lived so far away because she was alone so much of the time. Senior care was expensive even for well-heeled folks like them. It dawned on Amanda that if you were going to rob somebody, the old lady was a sitting duck.

So one day, she got her nerve up, and she flat out asked him, “Did you kill those people and burn down that house?”

He was quiet for a long time. Amanda didn’t press it, just let it lay there between them like a rotten piece of meat. Before long, he got up. He thought she didn’t see, but he scooped up her cell phone and put it under a pillow.

After a while, he said, “I baked cookies. Said I was a friend of the family. He let me in.”

©2020, Denise Shelton. All rights reserved.

You can read the first and second stories in this series here:

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