Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 35, No. 4, September 1974

Woman of Ideas by Joann S. Scheb

Of course Melissa was right. She always was. This time she was very right. He would make certain of that...

“All right!” Melissa snapped. “All right! What are we going to do now?”

Harold sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I guess we’ll just have to sit here and wait until somebody comes along.”

“On this God-forsaken road?” Melissa was incredulous. The road was, indeed, a Godforsaken, back-country Georgia road, and, thinking back, Harold couldn’t remember passing or being passed by another car in the forty minutes or so they had been on it.

“Maybe there’s a house—” he began.

“Do you see a house? Do you see any lights? Do you see anything?”

Harold saw trees. There were lots and lots of tress, and there was enough moonlight to see that there wasn’t much else except the stretch of lonely road that curved and dipped around and over the hills ahead and behind them.

“Try to start it again,” Melissa said. “Don’t just sit there doing nothing!”

Harold knew it was useless, but he turned the key in the ignition. The starter made a feeble, groaning sound, but nothing else happened.

“We’re out of gas, Melissa,” Harold said. “I know we’re out of gas.” There was no point in reminding her that he’d been warning her that the tank indicator was nearing the empty mark for the past hour and that she had rejected first one gas station and then another. The first had been the wrong brand, the second on the wrong side of the road, the third was dirty-looking. There was no point at all in reminding her. Melissa was always right.

“Harold, you are absolutely the most helpless man I have ever known,” Melissa said. “I don’t know what ever made me think you could get me to Florida and back.”

Harold said nothing. It hadn’t been his idea. At home, at least, he could get away from her eight hours a day.

“How far is it to the next town?” he asked.

Melissa had the map in her lap. It had been her idea to get off the turn-pike and follow this lonely state road, then pick up the turn-pike later. She had figured it would save about twenty miles.

Now, she pushed the map under the dash lights and bent her flabby figure over it. “Let’s see,” she said, running a stubby finger along the blue line. “That last town must have been a good six or seven miles back. That means the next one is about twelve miles from here.”

Harold looked at his watch. “It’s ten minutes past ten now,” he said. “Let’s see. At a mile every fifteen minutes, it would take about three hours to walk into town—” Harold was an accountant by profession, and little mathematical problems like that were a part of his conversation. He could figure them out while he talked.

“Harold!” Melissa said. “Why don’t you just go back to the town we already passed? It’s only half as far.”

“But nothing was open, Melissa.”

“Well,” she said. “Somebody would just have to get open. After all, we’re stranded.”

“Oh.” Harold hadn’t thought of that, but he guessed it was a good idea. He didn’t like it, though. He couldn’t imagine himself pounding on someone’s door and demanding that they get up out of bed and sell him some gasoline, but he supposed it could be done.

Maybe Melissa would do it. She never minded putting other people to trouble.

“Well,” he said. “Should we get started?”

“We?” Melissa almost shouted, her whiney voice rising a full octave. “You expect me to walk five or six miles? In these shoes?”

“Well, I could get some other shoes out of the suitcase...”

“Harold, you’re out of your mind!”

“Maybe we could sleep in the car,” he suggested hopefully.

“Harold, I am not sleeping in this car.” She was a large woman. It was difficult for her to get comfortable in a bed, much less a car.

“All right, Melissa. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“And leave me here all by myself?”

“Melissa,” he said patiently. “I can’t very well stay if I’m going.”

“But anybody could come along here and rape me and rob me and murder me.”

“I’ll lock you in,” he said.

“Windows can be broken!”

“I don’t know what else I can do.”

“You never know! You never have any ideas of your own!”

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I didn’t mean to run out of gas.”

“Well, you did. So I guess the only thing you can do is go back to that town and wake somebody up and get them to bring us some gas.”

“Do you think I should have some money?”

“Of course you should have some money!” Melissa picked up her pocketbook and found a five dollar bill for him. “Now, hurry. It’s getting cold.”

“Yes, dear,” Harold said.

“And Harold. Wear your gloves.”

“Yes, dear,” he said again.

“I swear, if I weren’t around to tell you to breathe, you’d never think of it for yourself! And remember, Harold. Hurry. Anybody could come along here and break in and rape me and rob me and murder me!”

“Yes, dear,” he said one last time, and then he got out and locked the door and started walking back down the narrow road. “Rape me and rob me and murder me,” she’d said. Ugh! he thought. Who’d want to?

But when he stumbled over the sign-post, he knew. It was an old post, rusty and dirty and nearly five feet long. It had apparently been knocked down some time ago.

Harold wasn’t a big man, but he hefted the post in his gloved hands and walked slowly back towards the car. After all, he thought, Melissa was always right. Anybody could come along, break into the car and rape her and rob her and murder her. But not necessarily in that order.

She sat with her head thrown back on the back of the front seat, her eyes closed. She was apparently asleep.

Harold sucked in his breath. The post was very heavy, but he felt a new kind of strength surge through him as he lifted it and took aim.

She never knew what happened. The post smashed through the glass and caved in her foreheard in one motion. Harold opened the door, and she fell out onto the ground. He hesitated, then decided that robbery and murder were enough, and, lifting the heavy post again and again, he let it drop on her skull three more times before he reached into the car and took her pocket-book from the seat.

After all, he thought as his gloved hands took the money out of her purse and slipped it into his pocket, anybody could have broken into the car and robbed her and murdered her.

^VHe tossed the pocketbook into the bushes and started walking back toward the town again, and for the first time in twenty-two years, he was glad that Melissa had so many good ideas.