He wiped his tears and looked at me. Something shifted behind his eyes. They darkened in an instant.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
And there it was. The act was gone.
I stood. “Do you even know who she is?”
“I met her at a bar. I think her name started with a V.”
“Anyone see you?”
“No.” He let out a short chuckle. “I left before she did and followed her here.”
I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath.
“You clean her,” I said. “Wash her body, her hair, swipe under her nails. And use gloves, for Christ’s sake.” I gestured around the room. “I’ll take care of this.”
He stood and headed for the kitchen. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out a pair of pink rubber gloves. He slipped them on, then clicked his tongue.
“Pink goes well with my eyes.”
I rolled my eyes and walked to the windows, lowering the shades with my sleeve to protect the plastic from fingerprints.
“You have another pair,” he said, winking as he knelt and started dragging the body toward the bathroom.
I moved to the sink, grabbed the remaining gloves, and pulled them on. I took the bleach and poured it over every bloodstain on the tiled floor. The sharp scent burned my nose, but I didn’t have time to cover it.
Water ran in the bathroom as Zeke washed her body, and I stayed on my knees, scrubbing the mess he left behind.
I promised myself that if I ever felt the urge to kill, I would make sure the person deserved it. Sometimes, even when something was wrong, the mind searched for something good to justify it.
The water shut off.
I knew he was finished with her.
The living room was almost clean. I dragged the table off the carpet.
Zeke entered, carrying the woman in his arms again.
I pointed to the carpet that covered the floor near the sofa. He lowered her, and together we rolled the carpet tight around her body.
The woman lived right next to the Ozark woods. Burying her there would have been easy. Clean. Logical.
But the moment Zeke picked up a single puzzle piece from the pile on the table, I knew he would leave something behind.
He always did.
“What’s the number for V?” he asked, twisting the piece between his fingers through the rubber gloves.
“Twenty-two,” I said.
He took a pen and wrote the number on the puzzle piece.
“Like a tombstone.”
I rolled my eyes as I finished cleaning the last of the mess.
“We have to go before sunrise.”
