A New Unfinished Story - Crime Fiction part one

... She missed the jewel. It rained for another week and the oozing mud dragged the vital piece of evidence with it. The bad weather continued and eventually the ring was covered by so much soil that it was lost forever. Or was it?

***

On the 5th of March, 1997, Bob Randall decided that it was time to shoot his wife. That would teach the bitch, he thought. A couple of rounds into the brain and she'd be as dead as a drowned dingo. What Bob didn't realise was that his wife was mirroring his thoughts. "Marital bliss" had ended almost as fast as "I do" was out of the newlyweds' mouths. 

Sarah Randall hated her husband with a passion. She saw the way he flirted with the pretty barmaid, cracking jokes and laughing too loudly. She was also well aware that at one point he had attempted to hire a hooker who turned out to be a very well-dressed transvestite. She saved this private knowledge for the perfect moment to humiliate him.

On the other hand, Bob found Sarah to be an utter bore. She was never willing to experiment in the bedroom. His little infidelities on the side were nothing in his eyes. Every man had a right to explore their prowess. Besides, he had needs.

Bob was also constantly irritated by little things Sarah did. She always buttered her toast just so. Every colour of her make up was always lined up in perfect order. She spent hours (and thousands of dollars) on her appearance yet Bob saw no difference. No improvement, she was still a wrinkled, past-her-prime, bitch.

The couple had managed well though. In front of friends, they were a picture of togetherness and harmony. Behind closed doors, they were always at each others throats. Divorce, as is usually the way with obvious solutions, was never considered. It seemed expensive and a waste of time. Besides, who would get Ralph, their loyal terrier?


Murder. Much less of a hassle.


May came around and still neither Randall had made a move. Winter was just around the corner. Winter meant the yearly ski trip. 

"Dear, should we invite David and Laura along?" Bob asked.
"Oh yes, that sounds like a lovely idea!" Sarah agreed.
And so it went on. They chatted about which dog-sitter to hire (while thinking of a suitable weapon); all the way to which hotel they would stay in (how many shots would be really satisfying?) 

Eventually, the day of the trip arrived. Like a thief, it had snuck up on them. Bob had only pretended to book the hotel and Sarah rang up her friends to give them a dire warning. They were soon to see the end of Bob.

Both had illegal guns and ammo hidden in their separate sock drawers. Both had fake suicide notes with fake signatures. Both knew the Day of Death had arrived!

"Rise and shine, Honeysuckle. I've made us pancakes before our big trip." Bob gently shook Sarah. She woke and was immediately annoyed that she had even drifted off at all on such an important morning.  She looked at the clock - 4:00 am.


Breakfast was a forced affair for both of them. The usual tango outside the bathroom as each made way for the other to use it. This extreme politeness went unnoticed by either of them as both were blinded by bloody thoughts. After many "After you's" and "No really, I insist's", both jumped. A loud gunshot shattered the peaceful morning. Bob and Sarah raced to the window as two, three, four more gunshots reverberated around the neighbourhood. 


Neither noticed the irony.Fear and guilt were mirrored in each others faces. This was the first time that their thoughts had been so in-sync. 


Sarah reached the window first. Her breath condensed on the glass as she kept up an excited commentary of what she could see while Bob failed to jostle her aside for a better look. 


"It's number four! A man in all black is running out the front door! Is that a gun in his hand?? Oh no, he's driving off in an unlicensed car! I wonder if dear old Agatha was shot?" 
"Give me a look!" Bob shouted. Sarah moved out of the way for him but by then there was nothing to see. Bob expelled an angry sigh but Sarah had already run out of the front door. It was still dark outside so she grabbed a torch. As was typical for the town it had been raining so she donned her "sloshies" (a pet name she gave her gumboots and something else that annoyed Bob).