THE SUNDAY SHORT STORY # 2

TWENTY PIE AFFAIR

by Lars F.X. Higginston

The timer on the small shelf above the oven pinged, signalling that the last of the pies were done baking. John put on his oven mitt and opened the oven door, extracted the tray and placed it on a cooling rack. Susan looked on approvingly. "We've done it, John, thank you so much !" John smiled, glad that Susan's first visit to his apartment in three years had gone so well. She had only recently renewed contact with him after the messy end to their relationship, one that began at the office and ended in tears. In spite of misgivings, John had accepted her offer of renewed friendship and was happy to lend a hand to Susan's charity bake sale. They had worked all day and had produced twenty perfect pies of all kinds. "Just like the old days, eh Sue?"

John was referring to how, years ago, they had spent so many fall and winter evenings in each others' kitchens, methodically cooking their way through recipe books. They seemed so content, that is, until Donald Laurence had been hired by the firm where they both worked. Donald and Susan seemed drawn to each other almost immediately and John soon came to realize he was losing her. Within eight months of his first appearance on the scene, Donald and Susan were married. The awkwardness in the office between the three was obvious to all, and shortly thereafter, John found another job.

Now she was back in his life and the liking for one another had survived the painful break, so John was pleased to offer Susan his help on this mild November Sunday, a warm reminder of days past. Besides, he loved baking - alone, or with someone else. John had never married, but was content with an affair with a woman from Louisville, Sharon, whom he had met at a conference. Sharon was married, but enjoyed the contrast John offered to her strict and controlling brute of a husband, who seemed ignorant he was a cuckold. John and Sharon would meet occasionally - maybe twice a month as schedules allowed. It was enough.

Susan gazed happily at the twenty pies on the kitchen table, then smiled adoringly at John. She went over to where he was sitting and carefully sat on his lap. "Yes, just like the old days", she said as she put her arms around his neck. "Just like the old days..." Susan's kiss sent a shock wave through John's body like a warm but fast-moving tsunami. Their mouths were together for what seemed like minutes before he broke away and said "we'd better get those pies packed up and in to your car".

Later that evening, John looked at his watch, it was about midnight. Crouched outside Donald and Susan's sprawling ranch-style home, he was glad the night was quiet and overcast and that he could not be seen by anyone - not that there was anyone about in such an isolated cul-de-sac. From Susan's visit earlier in the day, John had learned that Donald was returning late from a road trip and should be arriving any moment now. Even through the latex glove on his right hand, he could feel the grain of the sturdy wooden table leg he had picked out of a trash can. He gave it a reassuring squeeze as he watched Donald's BMW pull into the driveway. John's body tensed as he saw Donald wearily get out of the car, open the trunk and remove a suitcase. Raising his body into a half crouch, John prepared himself to spring from his hiding place behind the box hedge and assault the man who had made such a mess of his world. But he froze in place as he watched Donald pull out his key, unlock the front door and disappear inside. He couldn't do it. The chance had passed. Dejectedly retracing the steps of his secret shortcut back home, he discarded the heavy table leg on a pile of junk a few yards from the railroad viaduct he had passed under only hours before. He thought about Susan for the last time.

As the table leg came crashing down on the back of John's skull, it made more of a noise than Stan had expected. Without even checking if another blow was needed, he crouched and scanned the dark horizons all around the underpass. Nothing. Stan rose up and prodded the inert body with the toe of his shoe. Nothing. John had died instantly. Looking all around him again, Stan carefully placed the discarded table leg that he had picked off a junk pile only moments before inside a large, rusty steel barrel just next to the little-used viaduct. Then, he reached in the dead man's back pocket and pulled out his wallet. In it, he found the usual stuff, plus some woman's photograph and $350. "That'll help offset most of my expenses", he said to himself. He then stuffed the money into his pocket and casually tossed the wallet onto the corpse.

On the flight back to Louisville, Stan rehearsed the story he would tell to his wife, Sharon, as to why he was away for two days. It had taken that long to find John's apartment and begin his stake-out. He was losing any hope of extracting his revenge when, on Sunday afternoon, he finally saw him. It was the same man in the picture that had mistakenly fallen out of his wife's purse onto the table at the restaurant. It had been a hard job to get the truth out of Sharon, but she eventually confessed and promised it was all over. Now it was. Recalling the moment he first spotted him, Stan remembered looking at his prey through the binoculars and wondering what in the world was in all those boxes that he was carrying out to that woman's car.

Lars F.X. Higginston is currently serving 25-to-life at the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Frankford.

He works in the prison bakery.