Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

Now, at last, she slid the bundled body down the chute. The carpet made a good solid landing, and stayed rolled up. No pink-painted fingernails showed, no pink shoes peeked out. There were no telltale hanks of blond hair.

But Minfreda took no chances. She threw plywood scraps, broken plaster, torn-out molding, and discarded ceil- ing tiles down the chute until Vicki was covered by a foot- thick pile of construction debris.

``Sorry I won't be in tomorrow, but I'm feeling just a little bit under,'' Minfreda said, and fought the urge to gig- gle again. If she started laughing, she wouldn't stop. She wanted to run through the building yelling, ``Ding-dong, the witch is dead.''

When Minfreda went back to Vicki's office, the atmo- sphere seemed less poisonous. She pulled Vicki's desk back in place, straightened her desktop, and righted the vase with the pink rose. She even refilled its spilled water. She vacuumed Vicki's rug. The office cleaning crew could be haphazard. She also vacuumed the hall and the path she took through the department, making sure there were no traces of the fight or the body removal.

When she finished, Minfreda's hands were grimy. She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was a mess. Her suit was torn under one armpit and streaked with dirt and grayish-white plaster dust. She had runs in both stockings. Her golden hair straggled down her back, and her makeup was smeared.

Minfreda washed and repaired her face and combed her silky blond hair. She threw away her laddered stockings, figuring bare legs would be less noticeable. She shook the 142 Elaine Viets dust off her clothes. She couldn't do much about her torn suit, but she had a plan to disguise it.

Now she had to write a farewell letter. Minfreda rum- maged in the janitor's closet until she found a pair of yellow rubber gloves. They made her hands feel thick and clumsy. Good, she thought. She would type more like Vicki that way.

Minfreda pulled out a sheet of Vicki's pink personal sta- tionery with her name on the top. She sat down at Vicki's typewriter and wrote:

Business is no longer relevant to my life.

I want to live! I want to love! I want to follow my heart! Call me wild, call me crazy, but call me gone. Please don't try to follow me. I want to be free.

Before I go, I'd like to set one thing straight. Minfreda should have had my promotion. I stole her ideas. I put my name on the report she prepared for Mr. Hammonds. Her original carbons on my desk are the proof. I was co-opted by the Establishment.

By resigning today I will lose my job, but regain my soul. Try not to judge me. I am leaving to be a new woman and a better one.

Good-bye and good luck.

Minfreda typed one last word at the end: Vicki. She wasn't going to attempt her late boss's signature. It was too flowery.

Minfreda bent her golden head, rereading and admiring her work. All those me s and Is. That refusal to accept any responsibility. It was so Vicki. It was so brilliant.

Minfreda typed one more letter and put it in a pink enve- lope. She took that one with her. She didn't want it found right away.

She checked her watch. It was eight thirty. The cleaning crew arrived at nine. She had to leave now, but her work wasn't done yet. She knew Vicki rented a small house off U.S. 1. Minfreda looked up the address in the company directory.

Minfreda found Vicki's purse and keys. She put on Vicki's pink coat, plus the head scarf and gloves she found in the pocket. She was glad it was a chilly night. KILLER BLONDE 143

The security guard at the lobby door said, ``Good night, Miss Vicki.''

Minfreda said nothing, which was typical Vicki. Her late boss didn't waste words on the hired help.

She drove Vicki's 1968 pink Mustang convertible. Min- freda longed to put the top down and feel the wind in her hair, but she didn't dare. She didn't want anyone looking at her too closely.

Vicki's home was in a subdivision with square houses on square blocks. It was pink, of course. Minfreda let herself in with Vicki's keys.

Inside, the place was a pulsating pink. The living room was pink and black, a sleek modern design that Minfreda liked. She thought it looked sophisticated.

The bathroom was pink, right down to the pom-pom poodle cover on the toilet paper.

The bedroom was a mad welter of pink ruffles--on the bedspread, the lamp shades, and the curtains. It was like walking into a live peony. All that throbbing color left Min- freda queasy, but the only thing she could find to soothe her stomach was Pepto-Bismol.

Minfreda kept on Vicki's pink gloves while she packed her boss's clothes, shoes, and makeup in three pink suit- cases. She also took Vicki's checkbook and savings account passbook, plus three hundred in cash she found in Vicki's lingerie drawer when she packed up her clothes. She cut up the credit cards and left them on the kitchen table, along with the note she'd typed at the office. It was addressed to Vicki's sister.

Dear Val, it said. It's time you had a little fun. I won't be needing my Mustang convertible where I'm going.

That was certainly true. But Minfreda hoped Val be- lieved her sister had taken off for Tahiti or Timbuktu. She also hoped that if Val got the Mustang, she wouldn't look too hard for Vicki.

The keys are on the kitchen table, the letter said. My rent is paid through the end of the month, and there's a first and last months' security deposit to cover any other expenses. Please give anything you don't want in the house to Goodwill.

Minfreda took an empty