For one brief, hopeful moment, Earle believed that he might make it out of his predicament alive, but then she stopped smiling.
As far as murderers go, Trixie was exceptionally polite, remembering to say, “please,” and “thank you,” while she was tying him to a kitchen chair, and when she asked him where he kept his chef’s knife.
Trixie’s concern for his comfort was complemented by her offer to get him a glass of water before securing his mouth with pink zebra duct tape. Even her insults were ladylike.
His wife would appreciate Trixie’s effort to keep the gore to a minimum. The painter’s tarp on the floor was a nice touch.
When Trixie turned off that ersatz Southern charm, her deadly intent was all too evident. There would be no killing him with kindness, Earle knew this was going to hurt, and hurt a lot.
A fit of hiccups brought on by Earle’s hyperventilation brought out Trixie’s last act of kindness, sort of. She ripped the tape off his mouth, the adhesive taking a third of his mustache with it.
“Can’t have you dying on me before I get a chance to kill you,” Trixie smiled at her joke. “Asphyxiating on puke is such an awkward way to cut out.”
Earle coughed up blood where he bit the inside of his cheek.
“Stop that! I’ve gone to a lot of effort to keep this room as pristine as your wife left it,” Trixie leaned in, shaking her well-manicured, OPI “Gimme a Lido Kiss” red lacquered finger in Earle’s face. “Ah, hiccups cured.”
She tried to stick the tape back over his mouth. Earle, only able to move his head, twisted side to side, hampering Trixie’s attempts to re-muzzle him.
“You’re only going to make this worse,” she said, finally reapplying the tape.
Rummaging through the kitchen drawers, Trixie found the weapon she needed.
“You still don’t know why I’m doing this, do you?” Trixie sat on the edge of the table, legs and arms crossed.
Earle shook his head again, his eyes betraying his fear.
“It was the Craigslist ad,” Trixie said. “Your wife, Laverne, placed a ‘help-wanted’ and I responded. Good money too. I get a bonus if I don’t make a mess.”
Seeing Earle’s confusion, Trixie felt a little sorry for him.
“She didn’t tell me why she wanted you offed, only that the job needed to be done before 6 p.m. today,” Trixie said, rising from the table. “Well, best get this over with.”
Unfortunately for Earle, Trixie wasn’t just a murderer for hire, she was also dyslexic, a circumstance that proved a life-saver for Lester, Laverne’s actual husband who lived at 1345 Skyline, and not 3154 Kinsley.
Unfortunately for Trixie, Laverne wasn’t happy about the mix-up and refused to pay her.
Fortunately for Lester, Earle’s wife was who he was having the affair with that got Laverne worked up into a homicidal frenzy. Lester quickly obtained a divorce after Laverne and Trixie were both convicted of conspiracy to commit murder.