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  He dropped off the muffins at his house, retrieved the snow blower to push from Bridget’s, and finally shed his damp outerwear back in his kitchen. Gregg followed his wife’s low tones and discovered her in the living room, bundled under an afghan, chatting with their daughter, Emily, at Florida State. He snagged the office extension and joined the conversation until his daughter clicked off.

  Julia tossed the cordless phone onto the coffee table as he returned. “Why do we live in Maine? Can you imagine walking around in seventy degrees? I’m going stir crazy.”

  He winked and sat down beside her. “I know how we can liven things up.”

  His wife’s brow dipped beneath her full bangs. “What do you mean?”

  “While I was clearing Bridget’s driveway, she invited me to stop in afterwards and pick up some muffins. But when I did, she was busy arguing with Dennis on the telephone, so I made a little detour.”

  Julia blinked rapidly as Gregg described the corset, fishnet stockings, and other goodies drip-drying in Bridget’s tub.

  “I can’t believe that happened,” she blurted. “How awkward.”

  “Tell me about it. Did you know she had all that stuff?”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “No. We don’t get that personal.”

  “You two take walks together almost every day, at least when the weather’s warm. I wouldn’t have thought you had any secrets.”

  “This isn’t Sex in the City. We talk about our kids. Books and movies. Politics.”

  “Well, you missed out on some juicy conversations. You’d look great in one of those outfits. How about we pick one out at the mall this weekend?”

  “Are you serious? I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? If you’re embarrassed, we could buy it from a web site.”

  “I’d look ridiculous.” She pushed off the afghan and rubbed her stomach, hidden under a Florida State sweatshirt. “I’m not skinny like Bridget.”

  “Hon, you’ve got a gorgeous body. You’re beautiful.” Sure, she’d gained a few pounds over the years. So had he. He’d lost hair, too, and what remained held more gray than brown. But Julia still looked damn good.

  She flipped back the long dark waves she’d started having professionally colored six months ago. “That’s sweet to say, but I’m not comfortable dressing sleazy. Besides, you know how Dennis is. He probably forces her to dress up.”

  Gregg slumped forward, cupped his chin in his hands. He could have predicted Julia’s tepid reaction, but that hadn’t stopped him from hoping. “I thought with Emily away, we’d enjoy our privacy, but nothing’s changed. Sue me for wanting to spice things up.”

  “So it’s all my fault? When was the last time you got me flowers or wrote a love letter? You’re never romantic or spontaneous, but you expect me to dress like a hooker?”

  Gregg dropped back against the cushion. He opened his mouth, closed it. He used to send her roses and leave her ‘I love you’ Post-Its just because. Now he reserved such gestures for Valentine’s Day. He hadn’t realized she missed them. “You’re right. I got lazy. But, you could be more romantic, too. The only notes you leave me are ‘to do’ lists. I’ll try harder if you will.”

  Julia lowered her head and kneaded a crocheted lump on the afghan. She raised her chin. “Okay. Maybe I can find a satin negligee that we’ll both like. Something sexy, but tasteful.”

  “Tasteful,” Gregg muttered. “Great.”

  Apparently, slutty wasn’t an option. Since he’d slacked off on flowers, he couldn’t push it.

  Julia popped up from the couch. She averted her blue eyes. “I’ll make coffee and we can try those muffins. I hope they’re chocolate chip.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and Gregg fumbled with the remote control on the end table.

  Dennis Severin might be a bastard, but he was a lucky bastard.

  ***

  The next evening, Gregg discovered his house dark. He rested his briefcase on the floor and flicked on the kitchen light. No dishes stacked in the sink, nothing cooked in the oven. Blackness engulfed the office down the hall. He’d parked behind Julia’s Toyota, so he thought she’d be home. She could have walked to visit a neighbor, he supposed. Or maybe she’d gotten sick?

  Gregg jogged upstairs and opened the bedroom door. Julia was huddled in a fetal position on the bed, the only sound the whirring humidifier near the closet.

  Her head tilted up and Gregg switched on the lamp. “You okay?” he asked.

  Her swollen eyes stared dully at him. She’d been crying. No, sobbing.

  “Something awful happened,” Julia whispered.

  Gregg thought of his little girl in Tallahassee and his stomach belly-flopped. He curled his fingers around the bed post. “Is Emily all right?”

  “Emily’s fine. It’s Bridget. She’s…she’s dead. I found her.”

  Relief weakened his knees. Thank God. Not his daughter.

  Bridget. His wife’s best friend, the mom of Emily’s high school classmate. All the band competitions and block parties they had attended together. All the years Bridget bought Girl Scout cookies from Emily and made them coffee cake for Christmas.

  Shock numbed Gregg from head to toe. “I don’t understand. She looked fine yesterday. Was it a heart attack? Accident?”

  Tears spilled down Julia’s puffy red cheeks. “She was strangled.”

  “You mean, she was murdered? On our street?” Gregg paced to his bureau and back. One of his wife’s earlier statements registered. “Hold on. You found her?”

  “We…we had plans to discuss our book club agenda. She didn’t answer the door.” Julia spoke in shaky fits and starts, forcing out the words. “I went home. Left her a message. She never called. I…I got worried and used my key.”

  “You have a key?”

  “We exchanged them to water plants and leave the mail when we go on vacation. She’s… she was the most reliable, organized person I know. Bridget wouldn’t have forgotten our plans, and if something came up, she would have cancelled. She had low blood sugar, and I knew she’d been alone all night, so I went to check on her.”

  Julia rolled onto her back and crooked her elbow over her eyes, as if to block the vision imprinted in her memory. “When I got there, she was lying in the bathroom with a fishnet stocking wrapped around her neck. It had been squeezed so tight. She looked…grotesque. Not like Bridget at all.”

  “Jesus.” Gregg sank onto the bed beside his wife and massaged her trembling hand.

  What the hell had happened? He hadn’t heard of a serial killer on the loose, and burglars armed themselves with guns and knives, not provocative pantyhose. “Hon, why didn’t you call me?”

  She sat up, hugged her knees. “I spent all afternoon with the police. They asked me about Dennis.”

  “Do they think he killed her? He’s not due back from his business trip until tomorrow, is he?”

  “I think they suspect him anyway.”

  Gregg thought back to the Severins’ telephone argument. He hadn’t overheard much, other than Bridget venting about her husband’s bossiness. Until then, Gregg had never heard her stand up for herself against Dennis.

  “Was the lingerie still hanging in the bathroom?” he asked.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Maybe it’s not coincidence that she hand-washed it while Dennis was out of town,” Gregg said slowly. “What if she wasn’t dressing up for him after all? What if he came home early, saw the bathroom, and killed her because it proved she was having an affair?”

  Julia’s spine tightened. “I can’t believe Bridget would do that.”

  “We know Dennis has a temper. Remember the time a neighborhood kid hit his passenger-side mirror with her bike, the way he screamed?”

  “Bridget did tell me that he has terrible road rage,” Julia murmured.

  Gregg withdrew his handkerchief from his trousers pocket and dabbed his wife’s teary cheek. “If she was cheating on him, I hope Dennis doesn’t k
now who it was, or the guy’s got a death sentence.”

  Julia licked her lips. “If he’s guilty, the police will arrest him. Right?”

  Gregg shrugged. Dennis might be an asshole, but he was no fool. As vice president of a marketing company, he’d had plenty of practice exercising his brain. “They have to find him first.”

  ***

  One-by-one, Gregg stacked plastic containers on the kitchen counter. Chicken parmesan, ziti, salad, rolls and carrot cake, all from Julia’s favorite Italian restaurant. He removed the last item in the bag, a bottle of red wine. There. That should cheer her up.

  Gregg hung his coat in the closet and slid a library DVD out of the pocket. While You Were Sleeping, starring Sandra Bullock. Light, funny and romantic, sure to encourage a smile. Julia hadn’t smiled in three weeks, and this morning her depression had magnified. Her book club would meet that night, for the first time without Bridget. He’d taken the afternoon off work as a surprise.

  Gregg headed up the stairs. She was probably moping in bed. Bridget’s murder with her missing husband as the chief suspect had shocked the whole neighborhood, but it impacted Julia most of all. She and Bridget took walks together, gossiped over coffee, and had occasional girls’ weekends. She had lost her closest friend.

  “Bitch! It’s all your fault!”

  Gregg grasped the railing. He knew that voice. He barreled up the last few steps and through the open bedroom doorway. Gregg’s heart plunged.

  Dennis hunched over Julia on the bed, cinching a fishnet stocking around her throat. A cold tremor rippled through Gregg’s body.

  A weapon. He needed a weapon. His gaze panned the room. Books. Picture frames. Magazines. They’d weaken a fly, not a madman who had thirty pounds of muscle on Gregg.

  Dennis shouted, oblivious to Gregg’s presence. “Did you think I wouldn’t….”

  He bent closer and wrung harder. Julia pried at the stocking, struggling to loosen the pressure. Her breath puffed out in short ragged gasps.

  “Kill you for….”

  The water tank. Gregg spun toward the droning humidifier, less than a foot away. He had filled the tank that morning and it was damn heavy.

  “Screwing my wife.”

  Gregg froze. Air whooshed out of his lungs as if he were the strangling victim.

  “It’s your fault.” Dennis tugged again, held the stocking tight. “ I knew something was up with Bridget, so I came home early. I saw those whore clothes hanging everywhere and forced the truth out of her. Now I’m on the run for killing the bitch and my kid will never forgive me. Because of you.”

  A wave of raw hurt gushed over Gregg. It all made sense. The time Julia and Bridget spent together. Their weekend trips to New York and Boston last year.

  For two decades, he’d trusted her. Loved her. And no matter how hard Gregg tried, no matter what he did, Julia must not have loved him back, or else she couldn’t have betrayed him like that. Betrayal was betrayal, whether it was with a man or a woman.

  Heat assaulted Gregg’s face. His hands fisted. He hurled the DVD across the room, stalked to the bed and screamed even though Julia couldn’t answer. “You cheated on me? With Bridget?”

  Dennis jerked his head sideways, acknowledged Gregg between yanks of the stocking. “I’m doing you a favor. Give me a head start before you call 911 and you’ll never see me again.”

  Gregg met Julia’s wide panic-stricken eyes. The strangling swelled her terrified face to a mottled purplish red. She kept looking at him, silently begging. She’d stopped thrashing and clawing, her strength, her spirit, fading. A whirlwind of adrenaline pumped through Gregg.

  No wonder Dennis exploded and killed his wife. Until now, Gregg hadn’t understood.

  He’d given Julia everything.

  She’d given him nothing.

  Nothing.

  Except….

  Emily.

  Queasy, Gregg turned away from his wife’s frantic eyes. How would he face his daughter, if he watched her mother die?

  Gregg hefted the humidifier tank by its handle, a gallon sloshing inside. He swung it like a baseball bat, first at Dennis Severin’s back, then across his skull. Plastic shattered. Water burst over the bed. It was enough.

  Gregg rolled his neighbor’s unconscious body off Julia. He unwound the stocking, winced at the fishnet pattern imprinted on her bruised neck.

  Julia sat up, gasping and rubbing her throat. She choked out a series of wheezing coughs. Gregg hesitated, and then reached down to pat her back. Once the hacking subsided, he moved away.

  Tears brimmed over her lashes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I loved you.” Gregg picked up the phone to call 911 and face even greater humiliation.

  He never would have believed that Bridget’s dirty lingerie would become his dirty laundry.

  ***

  About the Author:

  Stacy Juba is the author of the acclaimed adult mystery novels Twenty-Five Years Ago Today and Sink or Swim, published in trade paperback by Mainly Murder Press and in multiple bargain ebook editions, the young adult paranormal thriller Dark Before Dawn, and the young adult family hockey novel Face-Off. She is also the author of the children’s picture books The Flag Keeper, Victoria Rose and the Big Bad Noise, and the Teddy Bear Town Children’s E-Book Bundle.

  ###

  The Day the Lights Went Out

  by Cliff Ball

  Copyright © 2011

  I woke up from a really restful sleep, which is unusual for me because I’m usually groggy when I wake up. It was then that I realized my digital clock-radio hadn’t gone off, and it must be around 9 or 10 in the morning, at least from what I can tell through the daylight streaming through my curtains. I glanced over at the clock, but it seemed to be dead. I reached over, tried the radio, but nothing came through, not even static. I got up, looked for my analog watch, and the time said that it was 10:30. Since I was off today, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was disconcerting to say the least.

  I went into the bathroom, to check the sink and the shower, thankfully, they still worked. I took a shower, and then got dressed. I went into the kitchen, which was when I noticed that it was eerily quiet. I heard no buzzing of electricity, indicating that the refrigerator wasn’t running. I wondered how long my food would stay fresh. In my living room where my computer was, which is usually on standby, was silent. Finding my cell phone, I realized that it too wasn’t working, it was dead. I still had a land line, so I tried that; nothing but silence. Just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and even pinched myself, so I was definitely awake. Since the water still works, I don’t think the water pipes in my house are all that technologically advanced, that is, until I actually run out of water since there would be no electricity to pump the water to my house. I wonder what the outside world looks like?

  Stepping outside, the only noises I hear were from the various dogs barking, and the neighbors who are all outside, wondering what to do. It was then that I looked up at the sky.... it was a weird shade of reddish-blue. I thought I’d try to start my car, since it was at least 15 years old, and had only had a little bit of electronics in it. I slowly realized that the starter was probably an electronic piece, and the car probably wouldn’t start. I tried it anyway, and didn’t even hear a clicking sound indicating something was wrong.

  My next door neighbor, Dave, came over while I was mulling on what to do next. He shook my hand, and I asked, “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Somebody told me they saw a weird flash in the sky a little after 4 am, and then that’s when everything with electronics quit working. I have a 1964 Mustang, and it works fine, but my current car, that Dodge Challenger over there, won’t start at all. Do you think NASA or the government has anything to do with this?”

  “It might have something to do with those aliens that picked up one of the Voyager probes that President Foley was talking about on TV
the other day.” I responded.

  “Didn’t he say they wouldn’t be here for a few more years, or something?”

  “You know, I have no idea. Maybe they have some kind of warp speed or something, and managed to get here faster than we thought they would. Who knows for sure? But, hey, look, we’re only about 30 miles from Lackland Air Force Base; maybe we should go over there and find out.”

  “We can take my car, but it has only half a tank of gas in it. As far as I know, there are no manual gas pumps in this city any longer, so we’ll have to be careful on where we go.” responded Dave.

  We walked to his car, and that was when I noticed a few teenagers sitting on the sidewalk, acting like the world had come to an end. I guess in their view it would have, they couldn’t play their video games, couldn’t text message on their cells, couldn’t listen to music on their music players, or do everything at once on i-Pad’s. I guess some of them will just have to learn to talk to each other in person. We got into Dave’s car, he started it up, and we were about to leave the driveway, when a few of the neighbors began approaching. This prompted Dave to floor the accelerator, peeling out onto the street, and we drove off. I looked back, seeing really angry neighbors shouting and shaking their fists at us. I’m just glad Dave had the sense to get out of there quickly.

  On our way to Lackland, we saw a few antique cars on the road, a few bicyclists, and some people just walking, all towards the military base. I wasn’t sure what we would find, but I was thinking it may not be good. Did the aliens show up early, decide to be hostile, and take us out before we fought back? Did China attack us without warning? Did an EM weapon accidently explode and take out all the electronics? The possibilities were endless, and my imagination fertile, but I wasn’t sure, although we were about to find out. Twenty minutes after we left our neighborhood, we arrived at the gates of Lackland Air Force Base. Something didn’t seem right, and I just couldn’t figure out what it was. However, at the gate, an airman was trying to keep back about a dozen people, who were arguing with him.

  I got out of the car, calmly went up to the airman, and asked, “What happened for our electronics to not be working? Was it those aliens President Foley mentioned in his press conference the other day?”