While You Were Out
by Pamela Karavolos

The letter was addressed to Tony. Bills came with regularity and my family inundated us with cards and letters. But, in the 3 months that we'd been married, Tony had never received any personal mail.

I tried not to be nosy when Tony came home from work and shuffled through the mail on the kitchen island. I watched him from the corner of my eye while I peeled potatoes. When he flipped to that envelope, he froze and then slowly opened it. I splashed water into the saucepan and then turned to put it on the stove.

Tony was staring at the letter, his face white and stricken.

“Is everything okay?”

Tony looked up at me, “My mom died,” he said flatly.

Tony's mom. She was a story in and of herself. I had never met the woman; Tony had not even invited her to the wedding. In the little Southern town where he had had grown up, and where his mother still lived, white and black didn't mix. Tony said that when he'd told his mother that he was engaged to a black woman, she had ranted and raved that she would never accept me as his wife. So Tony shrugged, assured me that I was marrying him, not his family, and married me anyway.

“What happened?” I moved closer to Tony and held out my hand for the letter. Tony crumpled it up and shoved it into his pocket.

“The letter didn't say much.”

“Oh, when is the funeral?”

“They already buried her.”

“What? That's absurd. Who would do that?”

“Mom. Anyway, I need to go down and check things out.”

“Okay, when did you want to leave? I can arrange to get out of my classes.”

“No, I have a chiropractor's convention next week in Atlanta that I just can't get out of. I'll drive down tomorrow and straighten things out and then go on to Atlanta Sunday evening.”

“Oh, okay. You know, the week after next is Spring Break. I know we'd originally planned to spend it on a cruise as a second honeymoon, but I'd be glad to cancel the trip and help you clean things up.” I offered.

“Okay.” Tony hesitantly agreed. “I hate to say this, but it'll be a relief to get it done and out of the way. I don't want you to be disappointed, though. It might be a while before I can schedule another week off.” Tony warmed to the idea. “And, you know, this might be where we can use some of your trust fund. I know Mom couldn't take care of the house these last few years, we'll see how much it'll take to fix it up to sell.”

“You don't want to keep the house?”

“No.” Tony smiled suddenly. “My home is here, with you.”

I felt a warm rush of pleasure that lasted until the moment Tony pulled out of the driveway without me.

I did laundry and wandered around the house, lost in my own thoughts. When Tony came into my life almost a year ago, I had just about given up on men. Every man I met seemed focused on getting a ring on my finger and a key to my trust fund. Then, on that rainy day, Tony slipped and fell coming into the coffee shop where I worked. He hadn't even asked for my last name until our fourth date. Then, when I told him, he'd laughed and made some joke about me being related to the cosmetic queen. I'd had to admit, then and there, that she was my grandmother. I was working to put myself through college, not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

Tony had been impressed and a little put off by my claim to fame. He didn't call me for a week or so. I had almost written him off, when he came into the coffee shop with a single red rose and an apology. We were married six weeks later, on Tony's one condition. He stipulated that we live within our joint incomes and save every cent of the interest from my trust fund for the family we hoped to have when I graduated with my master's degree next year. He didn't want anyone to think he'd only married me for the money. Of course, I happily agreed.

Thinking about that money, and Tony's suggestion to fix up the house, I suddenly had an idea. While Tony was busy in Atlanta , I would have the house fixed up. It would be a surprise gift for Tony and wouldn't ruin our existing plans. Without second-guessing myself, I picked up the phone. Succinctly, I informed the school that there had been a death in the family. I was going to take this week off in addition to Spring Break. Then, I made another call to my lawyer. After much wheedling, I was able to convince him to let me sign the papers one week in advance of my birthday so that I could access the money and start repairs on the house.

Then, I sat back to wait for Sunday afternoon when I could drive the hour and a half to Tony's hometown, population 300. Since we had never been to the town where Tony had grown up, I had to rely upon an internet search and computer-generated map to his little hometown. I was pleased to also be able to print one out with directions to the house.

I already knew where the keys to the house were. On Tony's spare key ring hanging in the laundry room was an unfamiliar set of keys. When I had asked, he had admitted that they were the keys to his mother's house. He had kept them “just in case.”

So, Sunday finally came. I drove to the house quite early in the day. The house wasn't even in town, it was on a rural route south of town up an unpaved lane. Unfortunately, Tony's little red sports car was parked in front. I drove on past, hoping Tony had not been looking out a window at that moment.

I circled back and headed back to the nearest city where I could rent a hotel room and hire the help I'd need to fix up the house.

First thing Monday morning, I drove back out to the house. Standing out in front, it looked abandoned. To say it was dilapidated was putting it mildly. I could hardly believe that Tony's mother had lived in the house in the state it was in. But, perhaps the inside was in better shape. I carefully made my way up the rotten wooden stairs to the front porch. The key slipped easily into the lock and the door opened noiselessly. I giggled, half expecting the theatrical haunted house squeak.

The inside of the house was marginally better than the outside. It was furnished, most of which was covered with dust sheets. And the electricity and heat still worked. I reached over and flicked on the light switches, dimly illuminating each room as I went. It was dingy, but clean. Tony must have been busy all weekend getting this done.

I made my way into the house, room by room. There was an eerie whine that echoed through the house. I assumed it was some electric fixture, perhaps the refrigerator. At the end of the hallway, there was a room with a closed door, the whine seemed to be originating from there.

I opened the door cautiously and then stepped back, appalled. The room was a disaster. The furniture was tossed around, lamps broken, and the smell. I recoiled and almost closed the door when I heard the whine again. Holding my hand over my nose, I stepped into the room, avoiding piles of feces and vomit. The whine came from a dirty yellow dog, little more than a puppy, lying on the floor by the closet.

“Poor baby,” I exclaimed.

The dog wagged its tail, its whole hind end getting into the action. It must have been trapped here for a few days, from the looks of it. It seemed leery of me, but with coaxing, it followed me out of the room. Before I shut the door, I noticed a phone and attached answering machine lying against the wall by the door. The red message light was blinking rapidly. I reached down and pressed the message button but there was no response. I left the machine flashing out its SOS and closed the door with relief.

Tony obviously hadn't been back in that room. Though why the puppy had not barked, or that Tony hadn't explored to find the source of the whine, was a mystery. I shrugged. Perhaps, alone with his sorrow, Tony simply hadn't noticed.

I found the kitchen and got a bowl of water for the dog and foraged in the refrigerator. There was some lunchmeat and cheese that Tony must have brought. I fed the dog and pulled a notebook and pen out of my purse to begin making a list.

It was like my own personal “Karen's” episode of While You Were Out, the popular television series where people hired a decorator to come in and revamp a room in the owner's absence. Only this was on a much bigger scale.

Everyone I called knew exactly where the Old Ferguson place was, so they arrived promptly to give me estimates for the work. Most of them took a second look when I told them that I was Tony's wife. But when they saw the color of my money, the color of my skin didn't seem to matter as much. I also made them promise to keep the work they were doing secret. I didn't want to take any chances of spoiling the surprise for Tony.

It took four days for the roofers, the floorer, the painters, and the plumbers to do their magic. I had even arranged for a dog run to be built out by the unattached garage for the dog I had appropriately named Buster.

Everything was done except the last of the linoleum going into the bathrooms and the cleaning up of the room at the end of the hall. I had hired a company whose specialty was cleaning up the aftermaths of deaths. They had packaged up all the personal items in the room in several boxes, which I had carried out to the garage to have Tony look through when he felt up to it. There hadn't been much, but I was sure he'd want to keep the family bible and other keepsakes.

“Ma'am,” A voice hailed me as I came back into the house.

“Yes?” I turned.

“We found this hanging inside one of the floor registers.”

This was a dozen 35-mm film canisters. Each of them had been attached to the same three-foot piece of string by catching the string under the lid of the canister.

“How odd,” I remarked as took the string from him. The worker went back to the floors and I opened the film canisters. In each, there was either a roll of exposed, undeveloped film or jewelry; rings, earrings, and necklaces.

Tony's mother must have thought she was hiding away valuables this way. “Well, I guess it's better than keeping money in the freezer.” I thought to myself. Sorting through the jewelry, there was really nothing very valuable. It looked like jewelry that a much younger woman would wear. My grandmother would have made a disparaging comment about Tony's mother's taste.

By noon on Friday, I was ready to leave. The house looked like a new house. Oh, wouldn't Tony be surprised!

I met Tony at the door Friday evening, almost bursting with the secret. Tony was quiet, not his usual self. When I asked, he said he was just tired from the week and the drive. He went to bed almost immediately.

I spent that evening alone, watching the news. I had been so busy this past week that I hadn't even turned the TV on in the hotel room. However, nothing new seemed to be happening. It was the same news you saw night after night, drive-by shootings, robberies, suicides, murders, and missing women. Incredibly, the latest missing woman, Tawny Summerton, came from a little town near Tony's hometown. She had gone missing on Saturday after having a fight with a mysterious boyfriend. Her family didn't know who the boyfriend was. Only they suspected he was married, as Tawny had been heard to say that she was going to expose the man's double life. At the moment, she was just considered missing, but foul play was also possible. A number to call was given on the screen under the picture of a smiling blond with a little yellow lab puppy in her arms.

Saturday morning, Tony awoke full of energy and good spirits. So, when I broached the subject of going out to his mother's house on Saturday instead of waiting until Monday, Tony seemed enthusiastic.

“It's quite a mess, but mostly cosmetic. The only room I couldn't bear to go into was Mom's bedroom, but it can't be all that bad. Heck, we might be able to salvage a couple of days of that second honeymoon after all.” Tony winked at me.

The look on Tony's face when we pulled up in the driveway was priceless.

“What the. . .” He stammered and looked at me.

I giggled. “I came down last week and got a head start.”

Tony seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion as we walked toward the house. “What have you done?” He murmured, more to himself than to me.

I answered anyway. “Oh, I had the roof repaired, the house painted, inside and out, and new flooring put in.”

Tony unlocked the door and we began touring the inside of the house. Tony walked around as if in a dream while I was bursting with pride. When we got to his mother's bedroom, Tony's eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, as if he couldn't take it all in. He looked out the window and spotted Buster.

“And,” I added quickly. “We have a dog.”

“A dog,” Tony croaked.

“Your mom must have had a puppy. When she died, it got trapped back here. What a mess he made. I named him Buster as he had busted up the room.”

We went out to where I had put in the dog run. Buster bounded out to greet us. Then, the dog who had enthusiastically greeted every stranger who had come to the house last week, snarled and growled at Tony. Buster came over to me, but when Tony approached him, Buster backed away and barked.

“Looks like your dog is a bit jealous,” Tony tried to make light of it.

“I guess.” I shook my head, puzzled.

We went back into the house and Tony went to the bathroom while I made sandwiches for our lunch. When lunch was ready, there was still no Tony, so I went in search of him. I found him replacing the heat register in the floor of the bathroom.

Tony jumped when he sensed me behind him. “I'm just checking to make sure they glued the linoleum down properly. If they didn't, the water and humidity can make it bubble.”

“Oh, well, lunch is ready.”

Tony followed me out and we ate lunch in near silence.

“You do like it?” I finally worked up the nerve to ask. “You aren't mad that I did this without you?”

“It just seems so different, and I guess I keep wondering what Mom would have thought of it all.”

“Oh,” I felt so insensitive. “Speaking of your mom. I had her personal items packed in some boxes and put in the garage. They are out there if you want to go through them.”

“No, not right now.” Tony turned to me and smiled. “You did a really great job. I'm just a bit overwhelmed at how much you accomplished. What do you say we celebrate and go out tonight and grab a really nice dinner and see a movie.”

“Sure.” I agreed, pleased that Tony had praised my work.

The evening was lovely, although I was surprised when we drove back to eat at a small Italian restaurant near our house. “But they have the best lasagna.” Tony had laughed when I protested.

We got back to Tony's mother's house after midnight .

“Wow, it sure is dark out here.” I shivered. “I'd hate to stay out here at night by myself. We should probably have some floodlights put in before we put it on the market.”

“Maybe,” Tony replied absently.

We slept in Tony's old bedroom. I thought I would have trouble sleeping, but I dropped off to sleep almost immediately. Then, around 3 am , I woke up alone, wondering if it was the dog barking that had woken me. I waited, thinking Tony had gone to the bathroom. But, when he didn't come back in 20 minutes, I went in search of him. I looked out the window and saw a light on in the garage. Tony must have had trouble sleeping and went out to look through the boxes. “Poor guy,” I thought as I pulled on my robe and went out to see if I could lend some emotional support.

Through the half-open garage door, I could see Tony searching through the boxes. He seemed to be looking for something in particular. He would pick something up, throw it on the floor, and then snatch another item out of the box. When he got to the answering machine, he tried to pry the flap open with his fingers, but it was jammed shut. In a fury, he threw the machine against the wall, and then dropped his head to his hands. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that I was spying on his grief. I crept back to bed and Tony came up about 20 minutes later. We both lay for several hours, each of us pretending to sleep.

Poor Tony. The unheard message on the answering machine must be bothering him. Perhaps he had called his mother and his call had gone unanswered; perhaps he was haunted by the thought that she was lying there, alone and dying, listening to his voice and unable to get help. I realized that I could at least help Tony retrieve the tape. I used to have a similar answering machine and had once had the flap jam shut. Unscrewing the bottom of the unit from the top would expose the tape. .

Around 5 am , Tony finally fell asleep. It only took a minute to find the screwdriver in the dark and to slip out to the garage. I unscrewed the top of the whole machine and almost crowed with delight when I felt the tape pop out into my hand. My delight was short-lived, hands gripped my neck and I couldn't catch my breath. Even as I struggled to breathe, I couldn't really comprehend the danger I was in from my own husband, for I recognized the smell of Tony's aftershave. The world began to fade, as did the sound of Buster barking furiously.

Then, suddenly I could breathe. I gasped and croaked, and in the predawn light realized that Buster had managed to break out of his dog run and now had Tony cornered.

Tony darted to the right, and then to the left, then, dove right though the window with a crash of broken glass.

Buster gave chase and I crept back to sit in the kitchen, nursing my sore neck and holding the tape in my hand. It was a micro cassette, so I didn't have any way to play it. But, whatever was on this tape was important enough to murder me over.

Without listening to my heart, I called the police. After trying to explain the situation, the officer interrupted me. “Funny enough Miz Ferguson, we were going to send someone out there to ask you about some film you had developed.”

I had almost forgotten about taking the rolls of film that had been found and dropping them off on my way out of town at the corner drug store for developing. “Why? What was on the pictures?” I asked.

“We were hoping you could tell us. I'll be out there in about 10 to 15 minutes. Will you be okay until then?”

I looked at Buster panting on the floor. “I think so, but please hurry.”

Within half an hour, the house and yard was crawling with police. The state sheriff took my statement, with officers from the local station listening in.

When I gave my husband's occupation as a chiropractor, one of the deputies gave a laugh that he tried to cover up as a cough.

“No, really. He works at the downtown chiropractic clinic. His name is right there on the front sign.”

“That might be, but the Tony Ferguson we know works as a shelf stocker at the local market from 9 to 3 everyday.”

I sat, stunned. “It can't be the same Tony.” I looked around at all the faces looking at me.

“He has an apartment here in town, everyone knows Tony.”

“But, why would he have an apartment here? We have a house.”

“True he's not around nights much. He works as a custodian at one of the state universities.”

“No, Tony comes home to me at night.”

“Well, whatever the story is,” the sheriff interrupted, “he tried to kill you.”

“Yes, over this, I think.” I pushed the tape across the table. The sheriff took it and it was bagged and tagged as evidence.

“What about these pictures. Do you recognize any of these women?” The sheriff slid snapshots across the table to me.

Six different women smiled up at me. “I recognize this one from the news on Friday night. She's missing, right.”

The sheriff and deputy exchanged glanced.

“Will you consent to a search of the house and property?”

“Yes, of course.”

The police questioned me for what seemed like hours, while I gave them the same answers to the same questions asked over and over. Then, the searchers came back with grim faces and the coroner was called.

“Did you find Tony?”

“Not yet.”

“Then who is the coroner for?” I stared at the sheriff as all the pieces of the puzzle came together.

They finally found Tony. He had fallen down a disused uncovered well on neighboring property. He had either broken his neck or drowned. At this point, it didn't matter to me; it was just another unanswered question.

There was some talk of charging me as an accessory after the fact. But a quick search of Tony's apartment in town changed the mindset of the police. They found the letter we had received, the one that had startled me by being addressed to Tony. It was from Tawny, threatening to expose Tony's double life. Poor Tawny, she had no idea that Tony had killed before and that she would end up paying for her silence with her death. There was enough evidence to show that I was the next intended victim; one that would have netted him millions. No wonder he had been so adamant about saving all of my money. He was counting every penny until my twenty-fifth birthday.

I spent the rest of the weekend struggling to make sense of everything and battling the sense of disbelief. First thing Monday morning, I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Downtown chiropractic,” A cheerful voice greeted me.

“Could I speak with Dr. Ferguson, please?” I asked.

“I'm sorry,” she replied. For one moment, I thought that she was going to tell me that Dr. Ferguson was dead and that my life hadn't been a total sham. “He's with a patient right now, can I take a message?”

I hung up the phone and the last illusion I held shattered and fell in shards with my tears.

The End