MAD KILLER

I’m going to shoot her. She is such a bitch, mean, nasty, ornery, selfish.Melinda is also beautiful, talented and rich. Liking her is too much trouble for me. I’ve tried to be friendly, give her advice when asked, knowing before hand she will laugh at my suggestions.

A plan is beginning to organize for me. I remove a new scrap pad from my desk drawer, one of at least twenty I get free in the mail. Charities want donations and I want them to leave me alone. Bribery isn’t necessary for me to give to whom I deem worthy.

My hand quivers as I start a list of necessities to shoot Melinda. I boldly write her name on the top line and quickly realize I can become the chief suspect. White out, white out. Use a fictitious name. Helen will work. Mental pictures of Melinda , sobbing, begging me not to kill her, excite me, encourage me.

First- NEEDS. Apply for a hand gun license. That would be stupid. I scratch it out. Find someone on the street, maybe a junkie who has an in and wants money. A little star goes next to that. *Be careful.’There are shooting ranges, teachers. Check the phone book, the web. My list is getting too many cross-outs, warnings. I put a match to the list and begin again, neatly, in order of what, when, how.

Page 2. ‘Watch the witch. Check out her routines, her friends. I can’t imagine her having any and scratch that out too.

Page 3. I’ll need an iron-clad alibi. *Read good old detective stories. Follow Law and Order. Make notes. My morning stirs my mind.Getting caught will require a good attorney. A court appointed one won’t be good enough. On my list I add, ‘talk to Jack.’ He had two traffic tickets and a speeding citation. His lawyer got him off with no classroom time, no fines. *Jack Thompson 215-62-1342.

I’ll need a disguise. Get Nice ‘n Easy, dark blonde, #914. Cut my hair short and jagged. Buy comfortable shoes with no tread design, in case I have to run. Make a separate list of people who don’t like Melinda. Carla, Mel got her fired; Joni, Mel slapped her for being blunt about her tight skirt; Lennie jilted her. My scrap pad goes into a fresh desk folder. What should I label it? ‘Kill Melinda Plans’. I smile at that nonsense and call it ‘Taxes 2008.’ ‘Relax, Lady. This is serious stuff. Go out for lunch. Stop in Borders for mystery books. Look on the Sale table.’

Nordstrom’s lunch room lures me. It’s almost noon and the wait line is long. None of these ladies has anything to do as important as what I plan. They yak while I have no choice but to wait ½ hour. One small table for two opens up and I am the lucky winner. My regular Cobb salad, iced tea and Danish order goes in. From my purse I remove a fresh note pad, cheap Papermate blue pen and ponder. ‘Think, think, buy cotton garden gloves, no prints on the gun.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I look up right into Melinda’s lovely face. ‘What luck, to find you here, Robin. May I join you?’ Before she dies, I might as well be nice. ‘Sure.’ She calls the waitress and duplicates whatever I had ordered as she was sure it had to be good. We wait while she brags about the six honor students she is sending to Rome to study for a year and the cruise she and her husband will take next fall. They are as ordinary to her as my describing the lovely Majorca glass bowl I gave my mother for her birthday.

‘Robin, I’ve always liked you. You have given me some excellent ideas that worked out well. This happenstance is perfect. Next Wednesday I’m having an intimate tea at my house, just 6 ladies and myself, making the lucky 7th. You know Martha Gold and Sherry Harland. They’ll be there. Please come.’ She hands me a white card from her purse with her name, address and phone printed in simple form. This is great. I need those numbers for my list. Melinda picks up the bill and shoos me away with a wave and warm smile. ‘See you Wednesday.’

What was I thinking? I like her. At home my first stop is at my desk where I remove the folder ‘Taxes 2008' and put it thru the shredder. I do a double take when I look where my folder was and there it still is. I scream out loud. ‘Yikes, I shredded my real tax papers.’ The murder plans are still filed. I grab it roughly, shred it, call my accountant to send me a duplicate of my 2008 taxes.

I look in my closet and decide on my pale blue suit with a navy blouse to wear for Melinda’s tea