Meticulous Malice: Malice, #2

By K'Anne Meinel

Alice has a routine that only she follows and she tries not to be too predictable outside her home, leaving few clues for anyone who might be following her...is someone following her?

Murder requires technique.  It also requires meticulous planning and genuine care to detail if you're going to do it right, correct?  Random acts of violence are not Alice's style; however, when forced, she can play along.

Meticulous Malice delves deeper into who Alice really is.  Let's play the game by HER rules…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadoe Publishing
• Release date: Mar 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781505387636

K'Anne Meinel

K’Anne Meinel è una narratrice prolifica, autrice di best seller e vincitrice di premi. Al suo attivo ha più di un centinaio di libri pubblicati che spaziano dai racconti ai romanzi brevi e di lungo respiro. La scrittrice statunitense K’Anne è nata a Milwaukee in Wisonsin ed è cresciuta nei pressi di Oconomowoc. Diplomatasi in anticipo, ha frequentato un'università privata di Milwaukee e poi si è trasferita in California. Molti dei racconti di K’Anne sono stati elogiati per la loro autenticità, le ambientazioni dettagliate in modo esemplare e per le trame avvincenti. È stata paragonata a Danielle Steel e continua a scrivere storie affascinanti in svariati generi letterari. Per saperne di più visita il sito: www.kannemeinel.com. Continua a seguirla… non si sa mai cosa K’Anne potrebbe inventarsi!

Book preview

METICULOUS MALICE

Book 2

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Alice closed her laptop after making certain it shut down completely.  She knew very few people in the world could break the encryption code it would take to get into the computer.  The regular password and thumbprint were to keep out the amateurs, but you could never be too careful.  She was a creature of habit on certain things and these habits were automatic and deeply-seated.  She had to finish what she started, and shutting the computer down completely was one of those habits.  Her cell phone rang and she picked it up.

Hello?

Hi, Alice.  I have those test results you asked for.

‘Bout time, she griped good-naturedly.

Hey, I put off city work to get your results for you, he returned defensively.

With the amount of money I and others pay you, you should, she said with a slight smile as she looked down at her manicure, deciding she needed to add more polish.

You’re sure that money is safe? he quavered with unease.

She grimaced.  She wasn’t fond of cowards, but she needed his expertise occasionally so she put up with his slow results and his constant worry.  Yes, I told you, they will never be able to track it.  You have enough put by to retire on comfortably.

Well, I better not say much.  They may be monitoring the phones.

Instantly annoyed, she asked, Are you calling on your cell or a landline?

My cell, but I saw–

She interrupted, You watch too many CSI shows.  Unless you’ve raised red flags to arouse their suspicions, there is absolutely no reason for them to go to that expense, her voice was a warning despite the reassurances.

He immediately calmed down.  She had brought him many ‘clients’ and the amount of his portfolio in offshore accounts was impressive.  He couldn’t afford to anger this client.  There was something about her.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something told him not to piss her off.  There was nothing about the petite blonde that physically intimidated him, but still there was something....  He always got the impression she could and would do his job better and more thoroughly, or that she knew the results before he had a chance to even run the tests.  He never understood why she needed them done, but with the amount she and others paid him under the table, he wasn’t going to begin asking questions.  He knew better by now.

Just drop the results in the normal way, she told him impersonally, her mind already elsewhere.  Maybe she would spend some time on her manicure.

Are you sure you don’t want me to deliver them personally? he asked, hopefully.  He loved seeing her in person.  She was worth the look and he always hoped she would take a personal interest in him.

No, I’m going out of town, she told the lie without hesitation.  By saying it so quickly and succinctly, it lent credence to her statement.  He was always trying to have more of a relationship than she was willing to give.  Wasn’t the money enough?  She sighed.  Someday, she might have to eliminate this relationship and she didn’t want him knowing where she lived or what she did with his test results.  The P.O. box where he mailed them in the anonymous county mail envelope would be enough.

Disappointed, he said, Well, call me if you need help interpreting any of the–

Okay, goodbye, she interrupted, knowing that he would blabber on indefinitely if she didn’t stop it now.  She disconnected the call.  Getting up from her desk, she looked out over the balcony to her living room.  It was fastidiously clean and in order, but then she wouldn’t have had it any other way.  Some might find her taste in furniture futuristic, but she found it orderly and functional, and it required a minimum of cleaning.  She could dust, vacuum, and clean the room in twenty minutes flat; she had timed herself out of boredom one day.  Her entire apartment never took more than an hour unless she decided to disinfect the bathrooms.  She was a neat person normally, but occasionally the bathrooms needed extra attention.

Thinking about the rest of the day, she wondered how she would pass the time.  The cleaning had been done yesterday and her work required a minimum amount of her time; only periodically during the day unless the market was wildly fluctuating.  She could access some of her business accounts from her smart phone and unless needed, her laptop was opened but once a day, ritualistically, every morning after she got up and ate breakfast.

Most mornings she got out of bed and pulled the blanket and sheets back to air the bed for the twenty minutes it would take for her to bathe.  She hated showers, but loved to soak in a tub.  It warmed the bones and her delicate bones were frequently cold.  Even washing her long, blonde hair took barely any time at all.  Shaving was no longer necessary since she had had laser treatments to remove the excess hair on her legs, feet, toes, and underarms. She had tried waxing and shaving, but hated both, and having the money to do what she wanted, she had justified the expense.  With blonde hair, laser surgery took a little longer.  They had told her something about the pale, blonde follicles or some bullshit.  She figured the technician just wanted to see her repeatedly for these two-hour stints until all the hair was removed permanently.

After bathing, she would dry off as much as possible, rubbing the excess water out of her locks while she made up her now aired bed.  Once a week, she changed the expensive, Egyptian cotton sheets to another almost identical set.  Buying these in bulk saved her money, but occasionally they didn’t have the same pattern.  While it annoyed her, she shrugged it off.  Getting angry over sheets was not her forte.  Quickly, efficiently, the bed looked like no one had ever slept in it.  Even the pillows were smoothed out and would look welcoming to their next occupant, whether that be her or a guest she might bring in.  Since guests were rare, she didn’t worry about it.

Quickly, she looked around to make sure everything was in order, nothing left on the floor or side table.  She went to the dresser and brushed out her hair before stepping into the bathroom again, which was down the small flight of stairs, her bedroom being on the uppermost landing of her series of lofts.  Now that her body was dry, she rolled on antiperspirant and brushed her hair again before fastening a couple barrettes to keep it back from her face.  She checked the mirror for any blemishes or imperfections that would need dealing with.  She still occasionally got them, but knew how to deal with them quickly.  Returning to her room—she swore she got her exercise from going up and down these infernal steps—she dropped the towel and changed into underwear she had bought in France.  It was sexy lingerie, but also functional: It enticed when she allowed it to be seen, it intrigued for the casual glance down her blouse, and it made her feel sexy. Alice felt attitude was everything.  Pulling on functional but classy clothes, she was soon dressed.  She cleaned off the top of her dresser with her towel.  Where she had leaned on it, droplets of water had fallen while she brushed her hair.  With a minimum amount of makeup, she was good to go for the day.

Hanging the towel in the bathroom on her way down, she turned to check out the spare bedroom.  No one ever used this room, but she felt better having it.  It gave the impression she was expecting someone, that a friend could stay anytime, but even when family came to visit, she convinced them that a hotel was a better place to stay.  Something about having this empty room made her feel comfortable, almost luxurious.  She had worked hard to achieve this kind of space and this empty room was one of her indulgences.  It made her uneasy occasionally and this was why she checked it obsessively, daily, to confirm that all was in order within.  The bed never changed, the minimalist furniture never changed, and nothing was ever out of order, but she couldn’t help checking.  Periodically, she pulled the sheets and blankets from the bed to wash them, but otherwise it always looked ready to accept a guest.  Her paranoia over this room led her to check the empty closet, making sure the hangers were one inch apart and ready to accept someone’s apparel, although they had also never been touched since she set up this room when she bought the place years ago.

She glanced at the loft office room on this second level, which contained the bathroom, the guest bedroom, and the office.  Nothing was out of order and she resisted the urge to go to her laptop and do research or check the balances of her various accounts.  That kind of obsessive compulsive behavior she was unable to resist.  She didn’t realize the rest of her own OCD.  She headed down the final steps to the main living room and then turned down a short hall to the kitchen, which was under the main bedroom loft.  Ah, her coffee was brewed to perfection, accurately timed to her schedule.  She popped a bagel into the toaster and sipped her coffee black while she waited for it to pop.  When it did, she put down the cup of java and pulled a plate from the cupboard.  She didn’t pull it before as the bagel needed to cool marginally before she would spread butter, not cream cheese on it.  She wanted the butter to melt slightly, but not drench the hard bagel and make it soggy.  Today she had indulged with a blueberry bagel.  She stood there eating it and sipping her coffee as she finished her breakfast.  After washing the plate and her cup, and checking for crumbs on the counter, she quickly dried both and put them away.  Looking around the kitchen, she saw everything was in order and went back to her office to start her day.

Now her morning ritual was complete and she had the rest of the day to do what she wanted.  She could go for a walk in the marina, use her boat, or borrow a kayak.  She didn’t want to get wet, salt-sprayed, or sweaty though, and when she glanced out the window she saw it was a gloomy sort of day.  Something Southern Californians were used to during late May, all of June, and sometimes into July.  These June glooms, as they were called, were a fact of life.

‘Going out of town’ made her think over her conversation earlier.  Maybe she should go out of town.  She opened a locked desk drawer and checked that her passport was there.  Other sets of documents were in the safe under her feet, but she had no reason to use them.  They had her face and alternate names on them, but she had rarely used them.  In fact, she checked this safe only once a month or sometimes less often.  Her obsessive checking didn’t lend itself to this aspect of her life.  She didn’t want any telltale signs leading to this safe containing false identification and enough money to start over.  Although she could access her money from anywhere in the world and had it spread out enough that no one would ever find all her hidey-holes, cash bought immediate things, where necessary.  Thinking about money brought another thought about getting out of town...it was time to open another account.

Picking up her phone, she checked her contact list and using a code only she understood, found the number she was looking for.  The code ‘Uncle Bob’ wouldn’t mean anything to the casual observer if she ever lost her phone.  She had several copies of her SD card in the safe for safekeeping.  She rarely had to add new numbers and the main numbers she kept were safe forever.

She called the airlines to get an open-ended flight to South Carolina.  To anyone who might be tracking her, it would appear she was taking a vacation to a beachside location she frequented.  She didn’t think anyone was tracking her, but it paid to be careful.  Her second call to Uncle Bob assured her another flight, but this one from a beachside quay that few people knew about.  She carefully peeled back the carpeting and opened her safe using a set of algorithms that would defeat even the most expert safe crackers.  She had known when she employed one of them to install the safe that they would someday be back to try it out, so she had added a few of her own surprises.  She was an intelligent woman and had watched and learned from some of the best people.  This safe was