Floyd grinned for as far as he knew Shelby hadn’t found out he’d cleaned out her account. However, he must move on. He’d had survived the last twenty years by knowing when to leave the women, there was usually more than one, for he did have an appetite for sex-starved women. The name he had chosen had come from a deceased person who would be about his own age had he lived. Just making up a name had drawbacks with modern technology soon tracing names with no background.
New Zealand had the advantage in that births and tax returns were not linked with deaths. The real Floyd Willis had died from a heart attack and not as the result of an accident. Again, accidents resulted in news media accounts that could be traced back easily, whereas death from so-called natural causes were usually unreported.
The doorbell chirped. He frowned for he was not expecting anyone, shrugged and ambled over to the door. He recognised the woman standing there looking quite wet in a long raincoat for it was raining outside. But how did she find his address? He hid his annoyance and turned on the charm.
“Oh hi Sweetheart,” he said. “Come on in out of the rain. I was about to call you but with all the staff off work, well you know how it is?”
“Bastard!” she spat, “Thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?” She reached across with her right hand beneath her raincoat held out by her left hand. Oh hell she had a shotgun there!
Within seconds it was aimed directly at him. She was still a few metres away and out of reach. Her expression showed a grim determination that made him hesitate. Somehow, he knew that if he attempted to rush her, it wouldn’t work. Her hands were steady and a finger was across both triggers.
He moved his hands wide and attempted to talk his way out while frantically working on a plan to overwhelm her. If she forced him to go inside he could perhaps use his feet to trip her up. Even if she pressed the triggers, the chances were that the shots would miss him. She was quite petite and all he needed to do was to grab one arm.
“Just take it easy, Sweetheart,” he said. “It’s not what it seems and I can explain everything…”
“No Floyd or whatever your real name is.Your time of ripping off women is about to end.”
She was grim and again he noticed that the shotgun aimed at him was as steady as a rock.
His coolness disappeared!
“Don’t!” he screamed. “Just lower the shotgun and … ” He was now almost blabbering. “You were the one I loved, Sweetheart… there was nobody else..”
“Shut your mouth!” she whispered. “I know everything you fool, even about this house you conned from Elsie’s family.” She grimaced. “That was her name wasn’t it? Did you sleep with her, too, a woman thirty years older than yourself?”
A faint light of hope flickered in his mind. If he could keep her talking!
But it was too late! He saw the flash from one barrel, micro-seconds later heard the boom that was followed by excruciating pain as he was flung back through the door and landed on his back. He screamed as he clutched his shredded blood-stained shirt. It was his blood pouring out from his shirt.
He heard a second report followed by nothing…nothing at all!
“Bastard,” she said yet again.
*
He looked dead but that was what he deserved! She knew not to touch him with her hands but kicked him sideways with her boots so the door could be closed. It shut, she turned and walked away up, rather than down the driveway. Her escape route was planned out the back beyond the garage where a small gate led to a pedestrian lane with high wooden fences to the properties on each side. Moments later she reached her car, placed the shotgun across a canvas sheeting on the back seat and drove away.
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