The Miata rounded the semi-circular driveway and stopped by the front door. The glove compartment popped open and a .38 caliber gun was retrieved. The silver barrel gleamed in the sunlight. The chamber was flipped open, then snapped shut. The gun was placed in a small, black, beaded handbag.
“You had better be home,” the woman said. “I’m gonna get ya good, ya wretched wench. See if I don’t.”
She stepped out of the car and stood for a moment as she glanced at the house’s exterior through a pair of shades. One hand shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. She closed the door with force and walked to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and heard chimes from within. Faint footsteps approached the door and the deadbolt clicked open.
It delighted the woman to see the surprised look on Vivian’s face when she opened the door.
How could anyone not be surprised? the woman thought as she suppressed a smile. She knew the advantages of being young, as well as being sinfully slender. She had always known it helped to be attractive with her blond hair, blue eyes and perfect, unblemished complexion. She inwardly enjoyed the fact that the cool pair of shades perched on the bridge of her well-chiseled nose gave her features some character. She wore a tight, one-piece, black outfit that made her feel more sexy and alluring than she normally did. The long shoulder strap connected to her handbag gave her appearance a finishing touch.
“Yes?” Vivian said.
“Oh,” the woman said. She paused a moment while she curiously eyed Vivian up and down. “Uh, you wouldn’t be Rose Hutchins, by any chance, would you?”
Vivian immediately became suspicious.
“Who wants to know?” she asked.
“I do.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Looking for Rose Hutchins.”
“This is getting nowhere,” Vivian said.
The woman opened her mouth to speak when Vivian interjected with a raised hand.
“I don’t have the time or talent to play games. Please leave or I’ll call the police and have you escorted off the premises.”
“Well, if Rose Hutchins isn’t here,” the woman said, “then where is she? Apparently, you know something about her, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here for this long.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me who you are or what your business with her is.”
“I thought you couldn’t have been her. After all, you do look awfully young to be ol’ Rose Hutchins. But then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were Rose Hutchins. There are such things as collagen injections and face-lifts, you know.”
“Well,” Vivian said, “I’m forty-four years old, even if that’s none of your business, and for whatever reason you’re here, whatever the nature of your business or relationship with her is, I can honestly tell you she hasn’t been here for quite some time. You’d do well to find her at Forest Lawn, which is about eight or nine miles east of here. You can find information online and a map will set you in the right direction.”
“Oh,” the woman said, “I see. Well, then, you must be Vivian Hutchins.”
“And just who are you?”
“I’m Christine. Christine Hutchins . . . your baby sister.”