A Murder by Mistake

By Lyn McConchie

I decided to kill my husband about a month before our tenth weddding anniversary. It wasn't that I didn't love him. I did. In fact I adored him. I always had. But he was seeing someone who was everything I wasn't. If he was like that then it'd be no use killing her. He'd find another woman. So I was going to kill him. It might stop the pain.

"Hey, Jenny, tell Margie I'll pick her up from Jenson's at six."

"Where'll you be until then?"

"I have to go back to the office for a couple of hours. Don't forget to let Margie know, okay?"

I wouldn't forget to let our eight year old daugher know that. I would also spend a while wondering if he knew just how transparent his excuses were, or didn't he care?

I was the only child of two young parents who were killed in a car crash when I was two so I have no brothers or sisters and I don't remember my parents. What I do remember is never quite belonging anywhere. My aunt and uncle raised me in their big white farmhouse along with two foster children and six of their own. The foster children came and went. There was always two but mostly not the same ones for long.

I found I was picking up the phone as I glanced at my watch. Jack had been gone fifteen minutes. Easily long enough for him to have reached his office. The phone rang hollowly. The sounds almost as hollow as my breaking heart. I counted, after eight rings the answaphone cut in. I cut off the voice and dialed again. If Jack was there he would know it was someone trying to reach a real person. If he was there he'd pick up the phone. No one did.

I replaced the receiver very gently. I could feel tears in my eyes and it hurt so much. Ten years, a daughter and I still loved him. How could he do this to me? I hadn't let myself go. I'd never been really pretty but once a friend of my aunt's told me I could have more than that. I was slender, with good bones she said. Once I was over the clumsy stage I could be elegant. I'd loved the sound of the word. Models were elegant. Women who were rich and dressed by Versace were elegant.

I grew out of the clumsy stage at sixteen and went to her. Before she married she'd been a model. She taught me how to chose the right clothes, the right way to wear my hair, makeup which complemented the look. She'd been right. I was elegant but underneath I was still the child who felt she belonged nowhere in particular. I left High School, did a couple of courses and joined a firm. I worked my way up there to a good job as coordinating administrator.

It was at the firm I'd met Jack. He came in to sell them a new security system. Since the system would be installed all through the building they called me in to show him around, discuss access and times when his work wouldn't interfere too greatly with ours. I liked Jack. He was only a couple of years older than I was and easy to talk to as the boys at school had never been for me.

The door clicked. "Jenny, we're back." I was caught up in dishing out dinner. Later as we sat back I kept my voice casual.

"How was the office, quiet?"

"Quiet enough. I got the figures done for the Williams estimate and dropped them off. They'll probably ring in the morning."

Margie was doing her homework, Jack had become engrossed in a game on TV. I sat by him seeing nothing. I think I'd fallen in love by our second date. But all my insecurities warned me not to let him see that. Men didn't like girls who got too serious too fast. So I went out with him; to restaurants and movies, to the occasional game, and to just walk in the park. It was on a walk in the park he asked me to marry him. I said yes and forgot my coolness.

"Jenny, is everything okay?"

"What?"

"You've been awfully quiet tonight."

"Just thinking. We've been married almost ten years." I made my voice playful. "Maybe you'll be tired of me soon."

Jack's face went serious. "Never. I thought you were the one for me after our first date." He grinned suddenly. "After our honeymoon I knew it."

Had it been then? Was my sudden revealed hunger something which told him he had me now. That do what he would I'd never leave him? I'd been hungry for him, for everything. His kisses, his touch. But most of all for his love. I tried not to cling, to keep things cool outside bed, and I trusted him. Oh, God! I'd trusted him! It was that which thrust additional daggers of pain into my soul. I'd trusted him with Linda who'd come to the farm when we were fourteen as another foster child and stayed to become my best friend.

Of course she had the prettiness I lacked. She was cute, blonde, blue-eyed and with a sweet curving shape. The boys all went mad over her. I think they were a little in awe of me, but Linda they just plain liked. She was quick with a joke and unlike those of some of the girls her jokes never hurt. We were inseparable through the remainder of school. We got jobs in the same place but she left to become secretary to the father of a boy we'd known in school. Later she married the boy. I was her bridesmaid as she was mine later, when I married Jack.

I lay quietly in my bed, Jack's breathing beside me said he'd already fallen asleep. What would be the best way. There was the drive to work, perhaps the brakes could go out on the hill? Food poisoning was a possibility. A very unpleasant smile twisted at my mouth. I might even catch them both with that one. My heart wrenched at me. This was Jack I was thinking about. Could I bring myself to do that to him no matter what he and Linda were doing to me?

I didn't even think they'd liked each other that much. Jack always said all that bounciness made him tired. He preferred my quietness, my serenity. I bit back a giggle savagely. Not much serenity in my thoughts tonight. But whether he liked her or not he'd been meeting her. I'd had no idea until an acquaintance made a point of mentioning it and giving me one of those 'poor woman, the wife's always the last to know' looks. I smiled at her. I wasn't the poor woman, she was. The sort whose husband probably did stray and she assumed it of everyone else. But perhaps she had planted something. I found myself more conscious of Jack's comings and goings. Then I saw them myself. Jack and Linda just coming out of the travel office. She was hanging on his arm, laughing up into his face, looking so happy, as if she belonged where she was.

I opened my eyes to stare at the clock. I must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of my thoughts.

"Jenny, will you pick me up for lunch today? We need to talk about the renovations to the house."

"Of course, when?"

"About half past twelve. I should have the builder's plans by then."

We'd been thinking about adding an extra room for almost a year. I'd quailed at the noise and the mess it would cause but it would be pleasant once it was done. A big family room with an outside entrance as well as house access. A place for Margie to bring friends in a few years and not feel too overlooked. Jack kissed me affectionately and bolted for the door.

"Have to go, I'll be late in a minute. I'll see you at lunch."

I stood staring blindly after him. How could he pretend so well. I'd never have believed he'd betray me and with my best friend. I bent forwards over the pain then. Maybe once he was dead it would stop. A burglary? No. I could never bring myself to hurt him directly even if it would be quick. The imagined feel of an iron bar sinking into his skull revolted me. It would have to be something I didn't have to do directly. Which brought it back to the car--or food poisoning. Something like that.

The phone rang, startling me. I grabbed for it. Please God, let it not be Linda. It was my aunt.

"Isn't it about time you came out to see us again, dear?"

I usually took the train out to spend a night with them several times a year. It had been--I counted--my aunt was right. I hadn't been for almost four months, an unusually long time. Margie stayed overnight with one of her girlfriends when I went to the farm.

"I'll come out in a few days. It's just that we've been so busy lately what with planning to add on the extra room and Jack's work."

"What about coming next Thursday, dear. If you stayed the night maybe Jack could bring Margie out for the weekend and you could go back together on Sunday?"

I agreed. If nothing else it would be a good excuse not to see Linda over a weekend. I thought she might be starting to wonder if I knew. Lately the way she looked at me had been worried. I put down the phone as a thought came to me. Jack often drove Margie around to her different activities. I'd have to make sure if I did something to the car, he'd be the only one in it.

I flashed on the accident. Jack lying crumpled, bloody, his voice forever silent. How would I live without him. He was the only one I'd ever loved whole-heartedly. I sobbed once, dryly. But then, I'd believed I was the only one he loved. And Linda, my friend for more than half my life. I'd comforted her when her second baby was stillborn. Held her time and time again as she wept out the pain. Where was she now my own pain was unbearable? Maybe it should be her I killed?

I left to meet Jack and look over the building plans. Somehow I'd done the housework without noticing. I did a lot of that since I'd seen Jack and Linda at the travel agents.

"Look, if we angle the room this way it would..." I concentrated.

Afterwards I wandered aimlessly through the nearest mall. In a crowd I could think my own thoughts. I drove home slowing down as the car rounded the last sharp bend and crested the hill. I pulled over into the layby there to look back down the road and consider. I could fray the brake cable. If I used a file and just rubbed it back and forth surely it would look like an accident. It wouldn't help Margie if I was caught.

"Are you all right, Lady?"

I turned to look at the man who was standing by my car. "Thank you. I was just admiring the view."

"Oh, okay." he stared out over the swooping curves of the road and down the long angles into the valley below. "Sure is pretty. But I guess if I lived up here I'd want real good brakes."

I felt my heart accelerate. Did he suspect? Was that some kind of a hint? I calmed myself, taking deeper breaths surrepticiously. Don't be a fool, Jenny. How could he guess? Why would he think some housewife sitting quietly at the top of a hill looking at the view is planning to murder her husband? The man drove away and I followed after a few minutes more. He'd had out of town plates. He probably wouldn't still be in town when Jack had his accident.

I put off doing anything for the next two days. Let us all have one last time at the farm together before Margie lost her father and I lost the man I still loved. I think I hoped that somewhere in those few days something would happen to convince me I was wrong. Then on the Wednesday afternoon I found I wasn't. I'd gone to see a friend on the other side of town. She'd been in hospital so I took her grapes and a book. Afterwards I might drop in on the builder to take another look at the plans for our new room.

I was almost up to the builders office when I saw them. Jack and Linda. Just coming out of the office there, Jack with a roll of the plans in one hand. I drove by, my face averted. Even if they saw me they wouldn't know I'd seen them. I left the car when I erached home and got to the toilet just in time. I vomited as if I was trying to bring up my heart. Then I washed my face and waited for my family to come home.

"I picked up the latest set of plans, Jenny." Jack was unrolling them on the table after dinner. "They've added the minor changes we agreed on. Here, look."

I looked, I couldn't see anything, it was as if a mist was in front of everything, the plans, my hopes and dreams, and Jack's beloved lying face. That was it. One last weekend at the farm, two days worth of memories, and he'd be dead. I'd fix his brakes, make sure I arranged for Margie to have something she had to leave for early. I'd drive her there myself. Then Jack, on the way down to work would be alone.

"What do you think?"

"Wonderful, just as we wanted."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. When will they start?"

"In about a month."

I turned away as I spoke. "That should be fine." Like hell it would be. He couldn't even remember our anniversary. That was when we should be celebrating ten years of marriage. Instead I'd be coping with builders, sawdust, the sounds of saws and hammers, and a perpetual demand for cups of coffee. Not that it mattered, what did any of it matter. I was going to kill Jack, the builders wouldn't be building any new room here, and the rest of my life would be emptiness.

I caught the train with a comfortable ten minutes to spare. I always took the train. I usually went on a Thursday and very often even before Margie, Jack had come down for the weekend to drive me home again. It was a habit by now. On a mid-morning weekday too the train was normally half empty. I had a carriage virtually to myself. There was only a couple at the front. I took a seat at the back of the carriage and settled in. I'd bought a paper to read but the first thing I noticed was the date. The 10th of May. Exactly a month until our tenth anniversary. I sat there, the paper up before me while I fought back tears. Then I tossed it away.

The train stopped at the next station. After that it would be a long unbroken run of over an hour before it reached the next stop and ten minutes after that, the small station where I would find uncle Ben waiting. I glanced at my watch just as the carriage door clicked open and a woman got in. We were on time, it was half-past ten and a bright sunny morning. I glared bitterly at the sunshine, how could it make the country out there look so beautiful when inside me everything was gray and raining.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"

What was wrong with the stupid woman. The whole carriage was almost empty and she wanted to sit by me? I'd been raised polite though so I moved my overnight bag and jacket. I wasn't going to look as if she was welcome. That was beyond me but let her sit here if she wanted. I only hoped she'd be quiet. I was hardly in the mood for conversation. I felt a small hot flare of rage when she spoke again.

"Going to spend a few days in the country?"

"Yes."

"That's nice. I used to spend a lot of time out on a friend's farm when I was your age."

She waited, looking at me until I found words dragged out of me. "I stay with my aunt and uncle on their farm."

"On a farm." She seemed to find satisfaction in that. "Do you have cousins there?"

"Yes." Let her get the message and shut up! She didn't.

"How many?"

"Well, there's six but usually there's only a couple home at a time now..." Suddenly I was talking. I'd never see her again, she wouldn't know me or my family or my problems. I studied her as I talked. She'd be in her forties, her clothes were plain, just a sweater and skirt, old moccasins on her feet. No makeup and--that was odd--for the first time I saw she had no suitcase, not even a handbag. Maybe she kept a few items in the skirt pockets? She was quite good-looking though. The same fine bones I had and long dark hair sliding smoothly down her back.

"So your aunt and uncle took in foster children? I think that's a good thing to do, if they're the right sort of people. So often people who foster aren't." I knew what she meant, I'd heard that sort of story from my aunt over the years and I agreed. "Did they take only boys, or did they take girls too? Did you like any of them?"

And then I was telling her about Linda who'd become my best friend. Linda who'd betrayed me. Tears I refused to shed burned my eyes

"She was my friend."

A gentle hand closed about my twisting writhing fingers. "Dear, do you know the question about how long is a piece of string?" I gaped at her, pulled out of my pain by bewilderment.

"What?"

"It depends on the string, because, you see, a piece of string has two ends."

I must have looked as if I was wondering about her sanity.

"No, dear. I'm not crazy." Her smile was quite sane as she waited.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean maybe you've been looking at things the wrong way around. You saw your husband with your best friend. Tell me, if Linda had seen you laughing and walking down the street with her husband what could you have been doing?"

"Not having an affair." My voice was a snarl.

"Exactly. What could you be doing though?"

Her tone demanded I think seriously about the question. I straightened in my seat, my mind beginning to work.

"I could be telling him what she'd like for her birthday. Maybe helping him pick it out." Pain closed in as my voice broke. "But I wouldn't be going away with him. I wouldn't be in any travel shop."

"Wouldn't you, dear. Not even if he planned to take your friend on a surprise trip somewhere. Wouldn't you be able to tell him where she might like to go?"

"Yes," I faltered. "But that sort of trip would cost."

"Yes, dear. It wouldn't be casual. More likely to be a trip to celebrate something special, something..."

"Like a tenth wedding anniversary." I finished for her. Lord but I'd been so stupid! It had been all the fault of Lois Gerstein. She'd put the idea into my head and I'd run with it. Everything I saw contributed until I was so screwed up I didn't know which way was out. It was like coming from darkness into light. Even if this lady was wrong and Jack had been playing around I couldn't kill him.

Her hand touched mine again. "Children who were insecure as children grow up into insecure adults. Once they love someone they still find it hard to believe they're really loved. They're quick to mistrust. Sometimes they make terrible mistakes that way. Some things you can never change once they're done."

I looked into sad blue eyes. She sounded as if she understood just how bad my mistake could have been. As if she'd made the same kind once. I nodded. "I'll wait to find out the truth."

"That's always best." She rose and I realised the train was slowing. "I get out here." Her fingertips brushed my cheek. "Be well."

"I will be even if we're wrong," I said firmly. I watched as she opened the door and went to step from the train. "Please, thank you for listening, you helped. What's your name?"

"Rose," her voice was almost a sigh. "Rose Gallagher." The door closed and the train was sliding away down the line. I looked out of the window but there was no sign of her any longer.

You can guess the rest of it. Jack came with Margie on Friday night. We had two days at the farm and it was as if I was filled with bubbles of light. A month later I knew the truth I'd believed since Rose and I shared a seat. Dear Jack. Dear Linda. They'd known I was dreading the builders and they'd put their heads together. Margie was staying with Linda, Jack was taking me to Hawaii for three weeks. The new room would be finished by the time we were home again.

We came home and I got on with life. Years flew by, Jack's business expanded, Margie grew up and married. I never forgot Rose though, from that time on I gave people the benefit of the doubt. The piece of string with two ends became a family joke about tolerance--until the day almost forty years after that train trip when I picked up a new book.

It was a collection of true-life murders written by someone Margie had known at University. She bought me a copy.

"I bought ten, it's well-written but they haven't sold a lot. I thought if I gave some away as presents and got our friends to do that as well it would help."

I sat up in bed that night, Jack already asleep by my side as I turned the pages. I came to a story titled "Murder by Mistake" and started reading. Almost the first thing I read was the name. Rose Gallagher. I read on, engrossed in the tale of a woman who'd loved her husband, believed he was cheating and killed him. Not at a remove as I'd once planned. But savagely, brutally, with an iron bar. She'd pleaded not guilty, claiming that she'd been so insane with grief over his actions she hadn't known what she was doing.

They might have convicted. But for two events. A witness, a female friend, the one Rose had believed to be the other party and who came to the stand to swear it was untrue. That all she had been doing was helping her friend's husband chose material to make her a special dress. The dressmaker had been coming to her house along with the husband who was bringing accessories for the outfit.

What was the dress for, some special occasion? Yes, said the friend, weeping. When Rose had married she and her husband hadn't been able to afford a proper honeymoon. Now they'd been married a while and had savings, he'd wanted to take Rose away for a few days. To a nice hotel with dinner dances. The dress had been for those. For Rose who loved to dance. The dressmaker had been using her as a model since she and Rose were the same size in everything right down to foot size.

The prisoner listened, her face white as bone, agonised with sudden understanding and belief. That night in her cell Rose had bitten off her long hair, plaited it into a thin rope and managed to hang herself past resusitation. She'd been pronounced dead on the tenth of May at 10.30am. I sat up a long time after that. There'd been no photo. The name was common, and if the book's description of a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes matched that of my Rose, well, the name was Irish and many women of Irish descent might have that appearance. They said nothing about the long slender hands my Rose had. I remembered the gentleness of their touch on mine.

I closed the book and put it aside. I could say nothing to anyone in case they thought me crazy. And how would Jack feel to know that once I'd planned to kill him? Rose Gallagher was a common name anyway. But in my heart I was thanking her as I drifted into sleep. If only someone had met her on a train maybe it wouldn't have happened. Perhaps that was why she'd found me. I don't know but I think I believe in angels more than I used to. Thanks to Rose Gallagher--whoever she was.