The Case of the Newlywed Murder
Husbands came easily to Chantel Fletcher. Money, not so much, which is why she found herself in the backseat of a St. Isidore police car, handcuffed, sitting on the hardest bench seat in the world, chewing on her lip, muttering, “Goddamn kids, mother fucking goddamn kids.”
“What? You say something?" Officer Ray Woodham asked from the front seat, not bothering to look back as he took his sweet time typing an arrest report into the computer connected to his car’s dashboard.
“Nothing, fucking nothing,” Chantel muttered in response. “Fucking nothing.”
Husbands came so naturally to Chanel that Harvey Lucas was her third. Money not so much that Chantel owed about $400,000 to some guys who felt that there were not enough blowjobs in the world to cancel out that debt.
Harvey was married; was married, that’s key, to Chantel’s best friend in the world, Suzie. Once Chantel realized her ex-husband, Jerry, wasn’t about to give her another dime, and Harvey had a $2.5 million life insurance policy, all Chantel could say was, "Sorry, Suzie." And too bad for Suzie; it didn’t take long, or many free blowjobs, to convince Harvey that life would be better with Chantel.
Four months after promising to love until death did them part, Chantel decided it was time for a change.
“Harvey has to die,” Chantel whispered to her daughter, Lynette, over a couple of quarter-pounders at the St. Isidore McDonald’s. “Can Jason make that happen?”
Jason was Lynette’s boyfriend and a “stupid motherfucker,” Chantel would tell anyone who would listen from now on. But before she wound up in handcuffs Jason was just an ex-con who knew how to use a cheap gun, that Chantel bought for him at a street corner in St. Isidore, to turn out the lights on Mr. Harvey Fletcher.
“When the policy pays off, I cut you and Mr. Jason in for half. That’s $1.25 million,” Chantel explained to her sixteen-year-old daughter.
“He can do it,” Lynette said, smiling around her quarter-pounder. Of course, realizing that Jason was so dumb he thought a quarter-pounder at McDonald’s was bigger than a one-third pound hamburger from A&W because the number four was larger than the number three, Lynette knew Jason would never receive his fair share.
Getting Jason to believe that a fourth of Harvey Fletcher’s life insurance policy would be better than a third of it should be a fucking no-brainer.
It should have all been a no-brainer, but instead, here sat Chantel Fletcher in the back of a police squad car, while her daughter and that dumb fuck Jason sang their song to police detectives in the comfortable chairs of the St. Isidore Police Department headquarters building.
“Hey, Chantel,” Officer Ray shouted from the front seat. They had a history. Chantel had tossed Ray a few freebies back in the day.
“Harvey’s life insurance policy for $2.5 mill? It turns out he never changed the beneficiary. You guys were only married for four months after all. Well, since he didn’t change the policy, guess who gets the money?”
Chantel would have told him the answer to that question if she couldn't have stopped her heart from lodging halfway up her throat. Instead, Chantel waited for the worst words she would hear for the rest of her life.
“Suzy, that’s who. Ha! She gets it! He never took her off the policy. He never put you on it. Ha!”
Now, Officer Raymond P. Woodham turned his head around to look at Chantel.
“Which means of course, that the former Suzy Fletcher is going to be $2.5 million richer, all thanks to you!”
And then there's the story of Mary Eileen Sullivan...a woman who only killed the ones the didn't love...
The Coffee Shoppe Killer...available wherever book are sold including Rod Kackley's Crime Stories Bookstore.