As good as dead…
This is the first paragraph of my next Detective Kate Turner novel, As Good As Dead.
I’ve thought many times and of just as many ways to kill my husband. Poison in his evening martini? Beat him to death with his nine iron? Once I aimed a loaded gun at his head while he dozed on the couch. The Sunday paper was spread on top of his chest, moving up and down with the steady rhythm of his breathing. I still wonder what stopped me from pulling the trigger that rainy afternoon.
Ah, I know what you’re thinking, but please don’t judge me. After all, you haven’t walked a mile in my stilettos.
On the last day of my life as I know it, I rise at 4:00 A.M., as always. By the time the love of my life rolls out of bed at 5:15, I’m showered and dressed in my running shorts and T-shirt, hair slicked back in a ponytail, makeup on— just the way he likes. I’m preparing his eggs when he enters the kitchen dressed in the white shirt I ironed the night before. The shirt is as crisp as his navy-blue trousers with their creases that could slice cold butter. I catch his scowl as I slide the over-easy eggs onto the plate that’s been warming in the oven.
My heart clenches. I skirt the counter, plate in my mitt-covered hand. I’ve carefully timed the eggs, and they should be perfect. It’s imperative that the proper amount of yolk seeps out when he pierces the delicate skin. That’s the first thing he checks when I set the plate on the table. The yellow goo, as I think of it, runs out, forming a pool he likes sopping up with his toast. Looks fine to me, and hopefully it does to him, too, but something caused that scowl.
Please, God, on this, of all mornings, things need to go smoothly. I’ve dotted all my i’s, crossed all my t’s. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
My heart jackhammers. This is my one and only chance.