Chapter 28

Debbie had arranged to meet Genevieve for lunch and clothing shopping. Two days in a row seemed a bit much to Debbie, but she presumed this would be an intensive training course, and maybe she could quickly obtain her BS degree (‘Bitchy and Snooty’), the voice inside her head said with a sarcastic tone. When Debbie arrived at the mansion, she discovered that Genevieve’s housekeeper was off that day dealing with a family matter and would not be back until the next morning. The wheels in Debbie’s head had begun turning the previous day, and she knew this day would present her golden opportunity. She could not afford to wait however long it would take for Genevieve to be alone again.

They went out to lunch, taking a short walk to a lovely and ridiculously expensive French restaurant that was tucked away in an old Victorian house in Merion. A very exclusive location, and from the greeting they received, a restaurant frequented by Genevieve.

Debbie began the conversation, thanking Genevieve for taking such an interest in her.

“Well, dear, you know this is all for my son. I am not doing this for my health, or yours.” How can you be such a bitch? she thought. Couldn’t she appreciate Debbie’s efforts, or her comments? “If you improve yourself, Jeff will be happier.”

“He seems happy enough now,” Debbie said.

“Yes, for now,” she replied. “However, no point in having this conversation. After lunch, we’ll go shopping and find an appropriate suit for you to wear to my luncheon next week - a few more of my friends for you to meet. I cannot have you dressing like a slob any more. And by the way, it would not hurt for you to lose a few pounds. What are you, a size 12? I’m sure my friends thought you were heavy.”

Debbie had already lost ten pounds, and Jeff liked her body just the way it was, soft and curvy, he told her. She did not reply. She guessed that Genevieve had always been too thin - emaciated, in fact, and expected everyone of a certain ‘status’ to look that way. Genevieve watched Debbie eating the “Boeuf Bourguignon” she had ordered, and sneered as she finished everything on her plate, a little too quickly. Genevieve picked at her own “Quiche Lorraine,” leaving more than half of it, and saying she was full.

The lunch and the hour of shopping dragged on and on. Genevieve selected a dark blue tailored suit for Debbie, with the help of the store owner, a woman her own age who was perfectly put together and made Debbie really feel like there was little hope of rescuing her appearance.

They walked back to Genevieve’s home and Debbie thanked her, leaving quickly with her new suit and taking a taxi home. The whole time, she had been formulating a plan in her mind, half listening to Genevieve. Debbie had tucked her house key and a few dollars in her pocket, and left her purse in the guest bathroom.

When she got home, Debbie hung up her new suit, made herself a cup of tea and went through her plan once more. She gathered the materials she would need - some thin strips of fabric, a pair of surgical gloves that she had on hand for cleaning, and her sharpest pair of manicuring scissors wrapped in a paper towel - which she put into a plastic supermarket bag, tucking it behind the umbrella stand at the front door so that Jeff would not see it.

She picked up the house phone. “Mrs. Sadlers. I’m sorry to bother you. I seem to have left my purse behind. I recall having it in the guest bathroom. Would you mind checking?”

Genevieve took the phone along. “Yes, it’s here. You can get it tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I have some very important phone numbers in it. I’ll come by a little later today - just after dinner, if that’s okay.”

“Well don’t make it too late. I plan to go to sleep early this evening,” Genevieve said.

Debbie was buzzing. The first step of her plan was under way. She began making dinner, even though Jeff would not be home for two more hours. Now she had to be sure that Jeff would leave shortly after dinner. He had interviews scheduled, as he was working on a big story that was a memorial tribute to the three musicians who had been murdered. He would go straight from his interviews to a concert he was reviewing.

Everything went like clockwork. Jeff came home at 5:30. They had dinner. He spoke about the investigation and his story, but still seemed out of sorts. She told him about the lovely time she had with his mother, and added that she was sorry to have been so negative about his mother’s offer to help her.

“I’m glad you feel that way, sweetheart. That will make everything much easier with her.” He seemed genuinely relieved to hear this news. At 6:30 he jumped up to leave. “I’ll be home by midnight. Will you be awake?”

“I have a lot of organizing to do. I’m sure I’ll still be up.”

Debbie waited five minutes after Jeff left, put on her jacket, grabbed the bag she had prepared, and went to the bus stop. Ten minutes later, the Number 44 arrived, and she got on quickly, taking a window seat near the back. She was deep in thought, reviewing every detail of her plan, when she saw her stop approaching.

She walked the few blocks to Genevieve’s house and rang the bell. Genevieve appeared at the door with Debbie’s purse in hand. That’s not what I had in mind, Debbie thought.

“May I come in a minute? I could really use the powder room.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, making it clear that this was not to be a long visit.

Debbie stayed in the powder room for about ten minutes, thinking, and when she came out she pretended to have a stomach ache. “I’m not feeling too well. Probably a little stomach bug. Would you mind if I sit with you for a while?”

“Oh, all right. A few minutes will be okay. Should I call a cab for you to go home?”

“Not yet. Do you think that Maria could make me a cup of tea?

Debbie wanted to be sure that nobody else was in the house.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten. Maria is not here today. But I’ll make tea. Rest a few minutes.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” Debbie said.

With Genevieve out of the room, Debbie went over the details one final time. The door to the wine cellar was between the living room and the kitchen. Debbie would have her tea, get ready to leave, and then remember that Jeff had asked her to pick up a bottle of his favorite wine that he was storing in her cellar. He hadn’t really, but she knew this would work.

Genevieve came back with two cups of tea on a tray, and four plain shortbread cookies. She was impatient and not pleased to be entertaining Debbie, but she made small talk. “Thank you for lunch, and for shopping with me this afternoon. I love the suit, and I’m sure Jeff will too when he sees it on me.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, if you are finished, it’s time for you to leave. I have things to do, and I’m looking forward to an early night. What about that cab?” Debbie was relieved that Genevieve no longer had a full-time driver. She had until a few weeks earlier, when her driver had retired. He hadn’t yet been replaced.

“No thank you,” Debbie said. “I want to walk a little first. I’m not ready to get into a car yet. She walked toward the door. Oh, I almost forgot, Jeff wanted me to pick up a bottle of his “Les Forts de la Tour” Can you tell me where to find it?”

“I’ll get it for him. I do hope it will be for a special occasion,” Genevieve said.

“Jeff says it’s the wine he loves best,” Debbie replied. “He says it’s a wine to die for.” Debbie had stuffed the gloves and strips of fabric into her jacket pocket, and quickly put on the gloves. As Genevieve approached the door leading to the cellar, Debbie suddenly grabbed both of her arms, pulling them behind Genevieve and pinning her against the wall. Debbie was very strong and had no trouble overpowering her mother-in-law.

“What are you doing?” Genevieve screamed. Debbie had never heard her scream before, and liked hearing the panic in her voice. All the hatred she had accumulated for this woman over the past two years came bubbling to the surface.

“I’m giving you what you deserve, you horrible, evil bitch,” Debbie said, pulling out a strip of fabric and tying her arms behind her back. Genevieve struggled to get away, but the weight of Debbie’s body had her pinned. With her side pressed against Genevieve’s back, Debbie reached down, tying a second strip around her knees, and a third around her ankles. Holding Genevieve firmly with her right arm, Debbie opened the door with her left hand.

“You’ll pay for this. You’ll go to hell. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, and Jefferson will despise you. Is that what you want? Let me go, and I’ll never tell him. I promise you. Let me go!”

“Do you think I care? Hell couldn’t be worse than the hell of the past two years with you. No! Without you, it will be just like Heaven! Jeff will continue to love me, as he always has.”

The staircase to the cellar was very steep, and the steps were hard concrete. The floor at the bottom was concrete, painted in a deep red cellar paint. Debbie switched on the light, and said “Goodbye Genevieve,” before flipping her up and over her extended leg, so that she would, in effect, fly over Debbie’s leg and tumble down the steps, landing head first at the bottom. From the top, Debbie could see that Genevieve’s head had hit the cellar floor very hard.

There was no sign of life, and Debbie waited a few moments before descending the staircase. She removed her shoes in case there would be footprints, and walked downstairs in socks she had brought along and quickly slipped onto her feet. She was a little nervous, mostly about what to do in case Genevieve had survived the fall. She had nothing to worry about. She checked for a pulse and there was none.

Debbie pulled the small scissors from her pocket, cut the three strips of fabric from Genevieve and put them into the bag where they had been earlier. She noticed blood on the floor, under Genevieve’s head, and was surprised to see that it perfectly matched the color of the paint.

Then she considered how to arrange Genevieve’s arms and legs so that the fall would look like an accident. She had never seen a dead person before, and was momentarily sickened but immediately stopped herself from vomiting. She waited to see if she would experience any feelings of guilt, but there were none. No, this is a good thing. A wonderful thing. The end of Genevieve; the beginning of real life for Debbie and Jeff.

Genevieve had fallen on her right side, with both arms tied behind her back. Debbie decided it would be unwise to lift Genevieve’s shoulders and pull her right arm forward, as the changing pattern of blood could be evident to anyone examining her. Debbie thought it would be safe to move Genevieve’s left arm over her waist and bend it at the elbow. She bent her knees and carefully pulled her right leg out, straighter than the left one. Staring for a few moments before she was satisfied that it looked completely accidental, Debbie then looked around to make sure she had left nothing behind - no footprints, no fabric, nothing at all.

She went back upstairs, leaving the light on and the door ajar. On the way up, she swept each step with a small broom she had seen Maria use once. The broom hung on the wall near the top of the stairs, and was used whenever the wooden stairs became dusty. Debbie determined that the extra precaution couldn’t hurt, just in case a thread from a sock might have become detached. She walked up the stairs backwards, sweeping each step below as she came upstairs. She hung up the broom, removed the socks, and put them into her coat pocket. Now she had to get rid of evidence that anyone had been in the house at the time of Genevieve’s ‘unfortunate accident.’ Still wearing the gloves, she went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands with the gloves on. Then into the living room. Two cups and saucers on a tray, one small plate, and a milk creamer. Debbie had a moment of mild panic when she wondered where the trays were kept, but she quickly saw another identical tray on the counter, and placed this tray on top of it. Then she washed and dried both cups and saucers and put them back into the cabinet, and did the same with the creamer after spilling out the remaining milk and rinsing the sink until it was clean. It was a Royal Doulton set, with beautiful little flowers on it. “This is mine now,” Debbie said aloud. It was the first time she realized this significant fact. She smiled to herself. The kitchen was perfect. No sign that anyone had been in it during the evening. Debbie decided to leave all the lights on, exactly as Genevieve had left them.

She walked around the living room, very slowly looking everywhere. On the sofas, the coffee table, by the door. This room was perfect as well. She double locked the front door, as Genevieve had always done when she closed it. She picked up her purse from the coffee table and was still holding the plastic bag with the fabric and scissors. She put the scissors into her purse. She knew she had to leave through the back door, since it would lock automatically behind her, then through the back garden and out through the gate. It was her luck that no keys were needed, or that would have complicated her exit.

Fortunately for Debbie, it was dark and nobody saw her leave. She had dressed in black and her jacket was black. She was still wearing the surgical gloves when she slipped quietly through the back gate. She held it until it closed without the bang that type of gate often made. She had never used that exit but knew exactly where she was. She put the gloves into the plastic bag, and tied the two handles of the bag into a tight knot, first squeezing out all the air. She shoved the bag into her coat pocket and would deal with it once she was out of the area. When she got home, she would remember to remove the socks from her pocket and put them in the laundry hamper.

In a moment, she was on Raynham Road. What a coincidence, she thought. There had been a highly publicized murder just around the corner years earlier. A wealthy socialite named Rhea Foster was murdered in 1981. Her husband had arranged it so he could be with his long-time mistress. But he had been caught. Genevieve must have known all about it, as she lived right around the corner, even then. Too bad they could not have talked about this. Debbie quickly disposed of the entire thought, and the coincidence, since Genevieve had simply fallen down the stairs. Three minutes later, Debbie was back on City Line, where she was glad to see her bus approaching. She crossed the street quickly and jumped on, smiling sweetly at the driver, who did not notice her.

Twenty-five minutes later, she was downtown. Jeff had a chamber music concert to review and would be home at midnight. It was 8:40, and Debbie was glad to have the time to herself. She knew she had done a good deed - for Jeff and for their marriage, but there was only one way she could think of to celebrate.

She pulled out Simon’s card from the zippered pocket of her small purse. She found what she believed to be the last pay phone in the city of Philadelphia, took out some change, and dialed his number. She was surprised when he answered. “Hello, Simon. It’s Debbie, from the Pub.”

“Well, hello Debbie. I was wondering when you would call me. Hoping, of course, but not counting on it.”

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“As it happens, I’m completely alone - just watching a movie on TV.”

“May I come to your place?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Where are you now?’

When she told him her location, he laughed. His apartment building was a few blocks away, at 9th and Bainbridge, a converted school building opposite a playing field. “Apartment 306,” he said. Debbie had been absorbed in thought, and had taken the bus too far, putting her closer to Simon’s place than she would have been. Debbie remembered the plastic bag in her pocket, and tossed it into a garbage bin on the street corner.

She was a little nervous about possibly being seen entering Simon’s building, but there was no doorman - just a buzzer entry system outside the building - and she went in without seeing anyone in the lobby. She took the elevator to the third floor. Simon was standing there when the elevator door opened. She had forgotten how handsome he was, but had not forgotten how he felt. He put his arm around her. Quickly, he took her down the hall and into his apartment. She glanced around, happy to discover it was nicely furnished. For some reason, this was reassuring to Debbie.

He led her right into his bedroom, and they wasted no time with conversation before slipping into his unmade bed. With Jeff in his “mood,” he had not touched her for two days, and Debbie was ready for whatever would happen with Simon. She was surprised to find that she was more spontaneous with Simon than she normally was with Jeff. She loved this rare moment, being anonymous. Simon did not know her surname or anything about her. He simply thought of her as a sexy woman, and he wanted her. How amazing is this turn of events? Debbie thought. I’m totally a swan now. No more ‘Ugly Duckling Debbie’. She knew nothing at all about Simon - where he came from, what he did for a living, whether or not he had a girlfriend. She didn’t have a clue how old he was, although she thought he was about her age. She had been on the pill since her marriage, and thought she probably should have asked Simon to use a condom, but this added element of danger made her excited rather than nervous. This seemed a small danger compared with the act she had just committed.

Simon exclaimed, “This was all that I had imagined, and more. I hope I will see you again, Debbie. Now will you give me your phone number?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But you will see me again.” She put on her clothes and left. She had been there less than an hour, and she realized that in the last four hours her life had completely changed. She had eliminated her mother-in-law and taken a lover. Although she was inexplicably drawn to Simon, she had no intention of ever leaving Jeff. Now they would have all the money they would ever need, and Debbie was sure that Jeff would inherit Genevieve’s house. They could live in her mansion, or sell it and buy one of their own. Jeff would never know what really happened, and Debbie was certain that he would be much happier without his evil, controlling mother.

Debbie realized that it was perfectly possible to have a husband and a lover - she was more than up to the task. Now that she wasn’t working, there would be plenty of time to see Simon a couple of times a week and be home in time for Jeff. Besides, she hadn’t really murdered Genevieve - Genevieve had simply fallen down the stairs and died, she thought. And she had definitely deserved to die, if only for her treatment of Debbie--and for her endless control of Jeff and their money. Debbie’s part in her death was already beginning to fade from her memory.

Debbie took a hot shower when she got home, and there was still more than an hour left before Jeff would be home. This time, she did not feel like she was washing off any shame or guilt. Justice had been done. Simon was her reward for doing such a good deed. And she would space out her encounters with Simon so that they could not get tired of each other. She wouldn’t try to control him. If he had a girlfriend, that would not bother Debbie in the slightest. Next time, she would let him know that she was not a jealous woman. She would happily share him.

Finally, Debbie thought, her true self had come to light. The boring old Debbie is gone, left in the boxes in her locked-up room. She put on jeans and a T-shirt, as though she had been at home all evening, and began organizing papers that had piled up during the week. She looked in the mirror to see if there was an obvious difference, but nothing was evident. When Jeff came home, he seemed a little better than he had been in the morning. He noticed her, and held her in his arms. “Darling, I’m so sorry I’ve been inattentive to you. Can you forgive me?” Now I have everything, Debbie thought. “Of course,” she replied. “I could never really be angry at you. I love you.” She kissed him, thinking what a day it had been. Two hours earlier she had been in the arms of her new lover. Now her little secret was a bigger secret. She knew that Jeff did not have an inkling. Catherine, no stranger to having more than one sexual partner at a time, had told her some men just knew. She had lost more than one good boyfriend that way. But Jeff wasn’t sensitive or intuitive in that way, Debbie thought. He would never find out unless she decided to tell him, which she couldn’t imagine doing. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he said. He was genuinely sorry for the way he had acted.

If only she could tell Catherine everything that had happened. Debbie wanted to brag to her, but she decided to keep it all to herself. Catherine was too unreliable. Maybe if it came up, she would confess her relationship with Simon, but she would never confess to pushing Genevieve down the stairs, even though the excellent idea of ‘bumping her off’ had been inspired by Catherine’s joke. No, for now, Debbie’s life was as full as it could be. She was on top of the world. She had never been so happy. Only having a baby could make it better. She would tell Jeff that she was ready to think about becoming a mother. How ironic, she thought. The day Jeff’s mother was gone, she would tell him she was ready for motherhood. But he wouldn’t know about his mother’s death for another 12 hours, not until her housekeeper Maria would return from her day away and find her in the cellar. By the time she and Jeff got into bed that night, Debbie had convinced herself that Genevieve’s life had been ended by a terrible accident. She would cry quietly at her funeral, and she would be the perfect little wife to Jeff.

He had not exaggerated about “making it up to her.” He had slipped a bouquet of roses into the bedroom, and put them on her side of the bed. “That’s so romantic, Jeff. I love you so much,” Debbie said, putting them in a vase on the night table. She held him tightly and kissed him passionately.

“I love you too. I’m so sorry I haven’t been nicer these past few days. Thank God we found each other.” They fell into bed and held each other very close. She was relieved when he fell asleep.