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Aurora ‘Mama’ Whittmore poured a glass of wine, passing it to the woman opposite. “Now I am not normally one for celebrating after such a… horrible event. But our survival is deserving of a toast.”
‘Aunt’ Carolyn Brawne accepted it automatically. “Oh yes, you were really, uh, spectacular. I mean, your work with a gun is, is, you are talented at that!”
Her cloying voice was somehow soothing to Mama. Something about the way she emphasised both nothing and everything. Or maybe the way she feigned surprise with a completely neutral face at anything mildly different. Perhaps it was her demeanour as a whole – she had this classic, caring housewife attitude and dress, and yet she always spoke with a little bite underneath that cut just deep enough to notice, like a papercut. “I am used to dealing with… unsavoury types.”
“Oh, wow.” There it was. “You’re quite a, uh, powerhouse!”
In the basement, Beck Poppy’s body was unrecognisable. Babe Ruth O’Brien’s had a clean shot to the chest and bleed out alone. Butch Bootles was a mess of mutated muscle and blood, his suave demeanour and greaser-charm left in a melted puddle on the floor. All three of which Mama had been the arbiter of.
“Thank you for saying so.”
Carolyn hummed thoughtfully, swirling the wine glass before downing it in one and tilting it for another. “Oh, this pinot is just incredible. Where did you find it?”
It was not pinot. “From the lounge. I assumed the innkeeper would not mind, given the leverage we now have over her.”
Mama tasted the words on her tongue before drowning them in the wine. She liked having leverage. She never needed it – she always knew how to get exactly what she wanted without the need for extortion or pettiness. But it did always make deals a little more secure. And what with her dear brother being such a peppy snitch, one of them had to be a little shady.
For balance.
Carolyn sighed. “God, you say leverage in such an easy way.” She looked off to the side, her eyes glassy either from melancholy or drunkenness. Probably both. “Now my husband, Bob. I have so much leverage on him. I know—I know he has been sleeping with that secretary of his. He tries to keep his hands clean, but you know. Men, they, they just can’t help it sometimes.”
“Mmm.”
Mama poured the next glass for Carolyn without prompt. “We should go and… visit him.”
Carolyn raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine once again. A little splashed out onto her hand, just missing the white of her dress. “You know, that is a wonderful idea. I heard from Patricia—Patricia, she is a friend of mine who works at my husband’s ad agency—I heard from her that he is currently staying in the city with her. She has an apartment in a lovely complex in Boston.”
Crossing her legs elegantly, Mama leaned in closer. “Does the secretary know she’s sleeping with a married man?”
Thoughtfully, Carolyn hummed. “Maybe. Bob never wore his wedding ring though.”
Mama smirked. “It would be such a shame if he had left it behind for this trip. We ought to go up there to deliver it, as well as some other parting gifts.”
Mama tapped the Beck Killer Baker Rifle with the tip of a nail that was pristine from unsightly blood or gore. Carolyn nodded, humming increasingly in agreement. “You know, I think I might have found something that he might appreciate. This old wedding veil, it might remind him of our marriage.”
She clipped it on, her eyes instantly sinking into her face. Her body glowed with an unearthly green, her skin dropping in pallor and her fingers becoming clawed. Ghost swirled out from her mouth, resting their ethereal fingers on her shoulders and hair, caressing her with vengeance. Mama simply watched as Carolyn embraced the occult. “I think it might.”
“ĐØ ɎØɄ ₮Ⱨł₦₭ ₮Ⱨł₴ VɆłⱠ ₥₳₭Ɇ₴ ₥Ɇ ⱠØØ₭ ɎØɄ₦₲ ₳₲₳ł₦?” Carolyn spoke, the voices of the dead rattling around her.
“You look as beautiful as the day he proposed.”
Carolyn smiled bashfully, swatting a playful hand at Mama. “ØⱧ, ₴₮Ø₱!”
And so, they took the nearest bus to Boston, stopping off at Carolyn’s beautiful picket house to pick up the wedding ring and some spare bullets for Mama’s rifle. They wore their best outfits and went out together to get their hair done, Carolyn opting for the more practical curled updo while Mama styled hers in beautiful, vixen tresses above her shoulders.
They were in the perfect attire for murder.
Carolyn called in a favour from Patricia and found the apartment. Mama kept the rifle blended into part of her dress. They waited outside the building, tense with anticipation. Mama smiled. “Well, we ought to drop on by. I am sure he will be delighted to see you.”
Carolyn smiled. “Who wouldn’t?” She donned the veil and stepped inside.
“฿Ø฿!”
Mama chuckled and walked in after. They did make quite a good pair.