It’s a private investigator’s bread and butter: is the wife cheating? She’s a platinum blonde with perfect measurements and not an iota of fat on that gorgeous body. But how smart is she? Her husband thinks something’s up.
I tail her to work where she is an assistant manager at a supermarket. Through the front window I can see her moving from register to register. She’s efficient, but it’s her looks that are noticed; silvery hair and a confident strut on finely honed legs bared to the thigh. Most of the male shopper’s, even the older guys-vets on Viagra I heard someone once-undress her with their eyes. I can tell from my vantage point in the parking lot. I know human nature. I’m a trained detective, aster all.
Do I wait here? Or go inside for a closer look? She might disappear for a quickie with the butcher, or jump that high school kid bagging the groceries. No, it’s too risky. I’ll stay in the car.
Which proves wise. She doesn’t leave her post in front until her scheduled lunch break. I’m told she gets an hour - rank has its privileges-and it’s back on the tail, as she drives through the plaza and across the street to a hot dog joint with good food but high prices. She’s with a female co-worker and I think for a second-lesbians?-but no, I dismiss it is too easy a solution. The husband is convinced she’s cuckolding him. He’s a quiet man, but prone to violent outbursts. I’ll have to be careful with what I find out.
Both women order platters-my mark goes for a chili cheese dog. While she’s waiting, she gabs with the counter help, a gentleman about my age, but taller, probably the manager or even the owner. It looks like they’re flirting, I see her head rolling back in a laugh, but then their trays come and both women sit in a corner booth. I’m getting hungry myself, and I’ve had what she’s having,so I order the same using the drive-thru. I pull into a convenience store nearby and eat with my eyes on the restaurant.
Nothing happens at lunch or for the rest of her shift, and I follow her home lazily. I drive past and go to my office. There’s paperwork and billing to be done, which I finish quickly-efficiently is the proper term-and go home myself.
I expect my wife to be there, preparing dinner, but she’s not. There’s a note, her friend Jane is in the hospital with sharp abdominal pains. That’s just like my wife-she’s always there for others. She’ll be back “when she can.”
I heat up the frozen meal, and have a beer while watching a ball game. At ten I go to bed myself.
Sometime later my wife slips in bed next to me.
“How’s Jane?” I ask softly.
“I woke you,” she says.
“I couldn’t sleep,”
“They removed her appendix. She should recover.”
“You could have called.”
“I forgot with all that was going on.”I reach over and kiss her cheek.
“I’m tired, hon,” she says.
I sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
The next day I’m back at the supermarket. She has a later shift, though it doesn’t change her work attitude. She hits the hot dog place for lunch again, chatting with the same manager. She’s supposed to work till ten this evening, but I see her heading for the doors an hour earlier than that. Once outside, she hurries to her car, and off she goes at a good clip. I have no trouble following her, though, keeping at least a car between us. I have to run an extremely yellow light to maintain my tail, but all in all our trek from one end of town to the other is without incident.
I can’t say I’m surprised when she pulls into the motel at the town line. Her husband had his suspicions after all. The motel has no pool, but he sign poking up like an oversized phallus brags of waterbeds, hot tubs, and adult movies.
She drives past the office and around a curve where there are more rooms, these facing a thick line of woods. I park and get out, running by the side of the building, to peer in back. She’s out of her car. And I can’t help but notice how beautiful her legs are and how shiny her silvery hair is.
She is greeted at a room door by someone I’ve been before. It’s the gentleman from the hot dog restaurant. But is he really a gentleman or just some piece of scum? She jumps into his awaiting arms and their lusting almost excites me.
I don’t stick around to see the motel door close. I’ve done my job. The husband was on the money. Personally, I’m surprised by who she was with, but the outcome, when you do this line of work enough, is never much in doubt.
I skip the office and go home to an empty house and a message on the machine. My wife is with Jane again-complications from the surgery. There’s some chicken-cooked before she went to work-in the fridge. I avail myself to this along with two beers during the ball game.
I go to bed alone once more.
It’s after midnight when my wife comes to bed. But I haven’t slept at all.
“Sorry, I’m so late,” she whispers.
I’ve been waiting for her. I move fast, straddling her mid-section. For a moment she thinks I’m getting frisky, but when I clasp my hands around her throat she begins to buck in panic. I weigh much more and holding her down is easy. She tries to reach my backside with those incredible legs, but she hasn’t the angle to kick me off. I grip tighter and she struggles and this nonsense goes on for a good minute or two before the life drains from her eyes, which are hidden behind streaks of the most gorgeous platinum blonde hair I’ve ever seen.
Goodbye sweet wife.
