THE POT BELLY PIG’S PORTENT

Paige stepped out the lobby door, happy she was finally being released from the bowels of hell, also known as the Los Angeles County Jail. Looking directly at the sun, she squinted, blue eyes shimmering like a pool. Paige had just spent the last ten months in the worst place and time of her existence, however, this was the first day of the rest of her life.

The cliché was as old as time, but it was the perfect description of her feelings, she thought as she hailed the taxi from across the street. Paige was unable to truly believe she’d experienced so many things in the past year. She had just been acquitted…of murder. The judge had ordered her immediate release. The jail’s ‘immediate’ being several hours after she’d returned from court.

Finally, after being re-fingerprinted, collecting her purse, $200, the only money she had, her apartment key, and driver’s license, although she had no car, she was free. This was procedure for all releases, according to the jailer, and it had taken its toll on her.

Attempting to relax, Paige laid her head back on the seat, after giving the cab driver her address. As they started on their way to her new abode, a one-bedroom apartment in a tolerable part of town, she thought back to the events which had led her to this point; a widow at the age of 33, recently vindicated for what the press had deemed a “blatant and transparent scheme” to murder her husband.

The headlines had read “Husband Alleged Unintended Victim of Short Story Plot.” Paige, thinking about the beginning of the nightmare, unable to suppress a violent shiver, closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to travel back in time…

Paige stepped into the law office of Baker, Holmes and Chazin wearing a cobalt blue, silk, Chanel dress that clung to her body like a second skin. Her makeup, applied minimally, was flawless. Her long, blonde hair had been straightened to remove the natural, deep wave. Her shoes, also Chanel, were four inches and the creamiest crème color available. The shoes only served to accent her legs, which were forever, according to the modeling agency for which she worked. Paige had on one thin, gold necklace, a Movado watch and a pair of two-carat, yellow diamond earrings. She was carrying a Grace Kelly crème, alligator purse, which matched her shoes to perfection.

As she approached the reception desk, Paige, in her most demure voice, said, “Hello, I have a 10:30 with Mr. Chazin.” The words flowing from her mouth like silk.

“Umm, Okay, let me call him. I mean your name please,” the receptionist stammered, obviously taken by Paige’s beauty, as most people were.

“Paige Rossman,” she replied, smiling coyly. She knew her beauty made people nervous and this lady was no exception.

“I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. Please have a seat,” the woman said to Paige, barely audible.

When Carl Chazin stepped out of his office to greet Paige she was flipping through a magazine, pretending she didn’t notice him. “Miss Rossman?” he said, tentatively stepping towards her.

She could sense his disbelief in the fact she was the woman who had called seeking counsel on a possible sexual harassment suit that involved being dumped by the suitor. When Paige had initially called him, she’d told him how her boss had made advances toward her then dumped her after she had given in and slept with him. Paige had cried and wanted to know if she possibly had a lawsuit? She was certain, now that he’d seen her, he would believe her boss had made the advances, dropping her was the part that probably seemed questionable.

An appointment had been set for Mr. Chazin to speak with her in person, and here she was. Paige stood up, stretched her full figured 5’9” (6’1” with the heels), batted her pool blue eyes and extended her hand. “Mr. Chazin, thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. I am so grateful. I just don’t know what to do. I’m distressed beyond imagination,” Paige whined and purred at the same time, hoping to garner Mr. Chazin’s sympathy.

Later that evening, Carl and Paige were at a hotel, making love as if there was no tomorrow. The sexual harassment suit long forgotten. Three months later they were married in a private ceremony at city hall.

Paige knew Carl thought he’d made the catch of the millennium. He doted on her every minute of every day. Paige had stopped taking modeling gigs as soon as they were engaged, which had been two weeks after their first meeting in Carl’s office. He gave Paige everything she wanted and more. They lived in a beautiful home, had a maid and Paige spent her days shopping.

Six months into the marriage, Paige was bored out of her mind. While perusing the magazine aisle she noticed a short story writing contest being advertised. She’d always wanted to try her hand at writing and this seemed the perfect opportunity.

Paige embarked on her endeavor of creating a fascinating, murder mystery. Deciding to do in-depth research, to ensure the story would be as authentic as possible, she ordered books and articles on different ways to commit the perfect murder. She purchased a gun, poisons, along with lab animals, and began experimenting, wishing to develop a plausible tale. Carl was supportive, often suggesting unusual methods for the murder, too. Seemingly playing along with her need to ‘do something other than be a housewife’.

The day had started as any other, husband and wife unaware of the day’s impending catastrophic end. Carl came downstairs, smiling, asking Paige, “Honey, did you fix me a glass of juice?” His normal question of the morning.

Paige smiled, kissed her husband and pointed to the counter next to the cage where her pot belly pig was waiting to have his dose of poison. Carl picked up one of the two glasses of juice, gulping, thirstily.

He instantly began foaming at the mouth and reaching for his wife. Paige let out a horrific scream, realizing her husband had drunk the juice laced with the poison. The maid, Lupe, came running into the kitchen. She found Paige bent over Carl, crying and screaming for someone, anyone to call 911.

Paige was brought out of her reverie by the taxi driver announcing their arrival at her destination. She looked at the apartment complex. It wasn’t the best, but far from the worst, Paige thought.

Approaching the building, she gave a sigh. Half relief, half weariness. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and flipped the light switch. Paige was happy to see, at least, a refrigerator. Other than that, the place was void of furnishings.

She closed, bolted the door and headed for the kitchen. On the counter, lay a small, black notebook. Wondering why, and who could have possibly left it, Paige dropped her purse on the counter and picked it up. As she approached the refrigerator, she opened the notebook, finding a single key, taped to the inside cover, and familiar hand writing on the first page. “Our favorite place - #511. Paige smiled, placed the black notebook in her back pocket of the jeans she was wearing and, hoping it wasn’t empty, opened the refrigerator. At the same time she eyed the bottle of Dom Perignon, she heard the clapping behind her.

“You look horrible,” Cassandra said when Paige turned around.

“Not as horrible as my husband looked when he was in the throes of death,” Paige retorted, smiling.

“Wouldn’t Mom be proud of us? How many sisters, separated at birth, find each other twenty years later, come up with and execute the perfect murder, get very wealthy and look this good doing it?” Cassandra asked, twirling around, and then pulling two champagne flutes from the otherwise bare cabinet. The women’s resemblance, once seen together, was uncanny. They were both stunning. The only difference being Cassandra had auburn hair, hazel eyes and was two inches shorter than Paige. She was wearing an incredibly beautiful brown sweater dress that accentuated her curves, ridiculously tall, thigh high, suede boots, rendering her three inches taller than Paige, and her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Looking stunning as always.

“None, other than us, that is,” Paige said as she poured the champagne.

“Here’s the deal Babes,” Casandra started, interrupting herself to take a sip from her glass, “the insurance company paid the full $12 million about four months ago. It didn’t take much convincing, seeing we could never be connected to one another. And, since he was murdered, or should I say accidentally killed, by his current wife, and not me, the investigator released the money after a short inquiry.” Cassandra stopped, took another sip of her champagne and gave Paige a cunning look, then began again, “Your money is in a safe deposit box at a very discreet, Swiss bank, our favorite spot,” Cassandra said smiling, “minus the half million I spent on your villa in the South of France, fully furnished, with only the best. You’ll be impressed. A car, my treat, and a surprise, awaits you as well. Our flights leave in three hours. I’m headed to Africa, where I’ve set myself up nice too. After we enjoy this champagne, what do you say we blow this rat hole?”

Paige grinned happily, “No words, besides ‘not guilty’ ever sounded so good. You have to be the best sister in the world, criminally insane too. Really, who the hell tracks their twin sister down after twenty years, constructs a diabolical murder of her soon to be ex-husband, who by the way she sets up to marry said found twin, secures a six million dollar double indemnity life insurance policy on the ex and never breaks a sweat? Not to mention you ensured, by bribing the judge, I would beat the charge. Damn, you’re good. I never want to get on your bad side.” Paige laughed and gulped the rest of her champagne down.

An hour later they headed for the front door, both tipsy after finishing the whole bottle of Don Perignon. “I have a confession,” Cassandra said. “I didn’t actually get you acquitted. You did that. My ace in the hole fell through. We never had the judge in our pocket as planned. You deserve all the credit, you should have been an actress,” Cassandra said cautiously.

Paige gave Cassandra a glaring look, and then smiled. “I can’t be too mad. What if I had been found guilty? Never mind,” she said, not letting Cassandra answer the question. “No more what ifs. I’m filthy rich! Care to share a taxi with Ms. Short Story Murderess?” Paige asked, as they stepped out the door.