Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

Ann stood in the doorway staring at her sleeping daughter and debated whether or not to wake her up. It was tempting, just to get back at her for coming home so late last night and worrying her half to death. But she relented when she saw how peaceful her daughter looked all snuggled up with her head buried underneath her pillow. She turned and quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.

She crept down the stairs and went into the kitchen, wrote Amy a quick note, then gathered up her things and headed out the front door. It was noticeably cooler than it had been the day before and the sun was shining brightly as she got in her car and started it up. As she was backing out the driveway, it suddenly dawned on her that she’d forgotten to call Mr. Ogilvy about fixing the floodlight in the backyard and made a mental note to call him the moment she got back home. The supermarket wasn’t far, only a few blocks away, so Ann drove slowly, taking in the quiet peacefulness of the neighborhood on a Sunday morning.

Ann waited for a traffic light to change then made a right onto High Street. She reached the supermarket in another three blocks and pulled into the parking lot, relieved to find that there were only a dozen or so cars parked outside. Since moving to Columbus, she’d gotten in the habit of doing her grocery shopping on Sunday mornings since it was rarely crowded then. Shopping had a certain therapeutic value to it, she had learned long ago. It helped to get her mind off things that were troubling her.

She went inside, grabbed a shopping cart, then spent the next half hour or so meandering through the aisles. When she was finished, she headed for the least crowded checkout line and waited.

There were only a couple of customers ahead of her: an elderly woman with a nearly full cart, and the man standing directly in front of Ann, who had only a few items. She’d seen the man before, last week in fact, and she remembered him because he was wearing the exact same thing he’d worn last Sunday-a gray wool suit and no overcoat. Her hunch was that he had just gotten out of church and had stopped by to pick up a few things before going home. He was strikingly handsome, she had to admit; tall, muscular build, with neatly styled longish blonde hair. His eyes were green, she recalled. A very dark, rich shade of green as stunning as it was unusual. He was probably about forty she guessed, and appeared fit and youthful with his trim, athletic physique and bronze, tanned skin-no doubt the result of numerous trips to a tanning salon.

The elderly woman was unloading her cart and taking her good old time about it. Ann heard the man in front of her sigh impatiently. She observed the handful of items he’d placed on the conveyer: a pound of ground chuck, a package of hamburger buns, a jar of pickles, a head of lettuce and a six-pack of Coke. Glancing over at the express lane, she wondered why he didn’t simply go over to it instead of putting up with the old lady like this, and then noticed that there were a half dozen people standing in line there.

The checkout girl was quickly losing her patience as she was being forced to wait while the elderly woman took each item out of her cart, one by one, and set them on the counter for her to scan. The woman was old, granted, but far from feeble. Ann deduced that she was the type of ancient hag who seemed to wear her general contempt for the world on her sleeve and was thoroughly enjoying what she was doing. She saw the twisted smirk on her face each time she leaned over her cart to retrieve the next item. She could almost envision the old lady sliding in behind the wheel of her ‘68 Oldsmobile when she was finished here and purposely driving fifteen miles an hour all the way to her home just to tie up traffic.

The man sighed again, and began tapping the lid of the pickle jar nervously with his fingers. Although his back was to her, Ann could almost see the subtle scowl on his handsome face as he waited his turn. Suddenly he glanced back, apparently to see how many more people were being held up by this woman. He smiled a little when he saw her, shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness, and turned around again. Ann had smiled back at him, unable to resist the temptation. His demeanor was quite charismatic.

When the woman had finally placed the last of her groceries out on the counter to be scanned, she took out her well-worn billfold and produced a wad of one-dollar bills then started counting them out. When she had at last counted out the thirty-eight ones she needed, she fumbled through her change purse to cover the sixty-four cents and handed the coins to the checkout girl, snatched her receipt, then went on her merry way. Ann began taking her groceries out of the cart as the man stepped forward to be checked out.

“Sorry for the wait, sir,” Ann heard the checkout girl say to him.

“That’s quite all right-it wasn’t your fault,” the man replied good-naturedly. His voice was deep and pleasant, with the slightest trace of an English accent.

“Nine fifty-three,” the girl told him.

Ann watched as the man handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Out of ten?” she said. “Thank you sir. Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” he replied. He picked up his bag and headed for the door.

Ann resumed taking out her groceries and noticed that the man had forgotten the six-pack of Coke. The checkout girl noticed it at the same time. “Sir! You forgot-” she shouted, but the man was already out the door.

Ann hesitated a second, then peered at the checkout girl. “I’ll take it out to him.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” the girl said, relieved.

Ann swooped up the Coke and ran out the door. She spotted the man just as he was about to get into his car. ”Sir!” she called after him.

He turned around as Ann continued running toward him. “You forgot this,” she said, holding up the six-pack of Coke.

The stranger smiled at her and said, “Oh, thanks! This is what happens when you’re in a hurry, I guess.”

When she drew up to him, breathless, Ann handed him the Coke and said, “I’m sure that woman in front of us wasn’t much help either.”

He grinned. “Hell could have frozen over in the time it took that old biddy to get those groceries out of her cart!”

Ann laughed and said, “I’d better get back inside.”

He seemed disappointed. “Thanks again, uh…”

“Ann.”

“Thanks, Ann. It was very kind of you.”

Ann nodded, then turned to leave.

“Wait a second, Ann.”

She turned back around. “Yes?”

“This may sound terribly forward of me, but I’d really like to repay you somehow for your kindness. Like dinner, perhaps?”

Ann suddenly felt uncomfortable. She replied, “That’s not really necessary…”

“Jerry. Jerry Rankin. I’m sorry-that was very rude of me putting you on the spot like that, and I see now that you’re married. Please accept my apology, Ann.”

Ann glanced down at her wedding band then back at him. He seemed genuinely embarrassed and in fact, ashamed of himself for hitting on her. Ann realized that she could simply let him go on thinking that she was married and that would be the end of it but for some reason, she didn’t. “I’m divorced.”

Instead of looking relieved, Jerry Rankin frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ann. I’ve just recently become a widower and have a pretty good idea of what you must be going through. My life hasn’t been the same since I lost Marie… it’s been a very difficult adjustment to make.”

Ann felt a wave of pity. “I’m sorry too, Jerry. I might as well be honest with you-I was the one who wanted the divorce- but it hasn’t made it any easier to ‘adjust,’ as you put it.”