Honey Sweetheart

Written for the NYC FlashFiction Challenge, Round 2 2020

Her husband’s death has left a mess of lawsuits and dangerous questions. At least her company is thriving.

A flung rock cracked the door beside Janece.

“My life savings are gone! He ain't dead! You know where he is!”

She dodged into the building and ran, shaking, into the elevator. During the climb to the 45^th floor, she practiced calming breaths.

A dark-suited man waited. He flashed a badge. “Financial Crimes Division.”  Janece scanned her keycard to open the penthouse suite. The detective held the door and leered.

“Mrs. Kawaja, there are a number of suits pending against your late husband’s company, and we need you to help us find the password to access his online transactions.” He popped a candy from a dish inside the door into his mouth.

“I’m calling my lawyers. Speak with them. Stop eating Mr. Kawaja’s candy, please.”

Spitting the candy into a tissue, he muttered, “I hate butterscotch.”

“Mrs. Kawaja, people are suggesting your husband may still be alive. If it turns out you know anything about this and have refused to divulge it, you’re looking at jail time.”

“Please.” Janece spoke softly. “I don’t know anything about his business. I’m sorry those people are suffering.” Tears filled her eyes.  “I … I do think Burke is dead. I feel it. I’m sorry.”

She firmly closed the door.

After changing, Janece flowed through three sun salutations, then poured herself some nettle tea.

Her lawyer called and asked her to send a copy of the note Burke had left when he had flown out. She read it again, then emailed a picture.

“My darling,

If anything happens to me, please have them cremate me as soon as possible. I can’t stand the thought of my dead body being your last memory of me. God willing, I will see you again soon. Love, B.

PS – Take good care of my belt! Next to you, it’s my most treasured possession.”

She repeated that Burke left one of these notes every time he flew. He was superstitious. As long as he expected it, nothing bad would happen. There was nothing new in this one, right down to the reminder to take care of the belt, his most treasured possession “next to you”. She consciously relaxed her jaw.  

Burke was a huge wrestling fan. The belt was reputedly won by Wendi Richter in a 1984 WWF women’s championship match held July 23, 1984—Burke’s birthday. He bought it when he made his first million. He called it his talisman and had a special display case made for it with an engraved key. He usually kept it in his pocket, unless he was travelling.

The lawyer asked where the key was.

“He usually left it in a cup on the trophy shelf but it’s not there.”  

The phone rang again. The lawyer, she assumed.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Kawaja. No, this is Jeff Tanner. I’m with the insurance claims investigation unit.”

“Oh. Can this wait, Mr. Tanner?”

“Afraid not. I have a few questions about Mr. Kawaja’s personal policy.”

“What personal policy?”

“Mrs. Kawaja.” The sarcasm dripped.

“Mr. Tanner, I don’t know what you are talking about and my husband just died suddenly and unexpectedly. Call me at the office.”

“Just a few questions.”

Janece sipped her tea and focused on her heart chakra. “Fine.”

“Why did your husband travel to Peru?”

“He went to purchase a business there for me… my company is expanding our product lines.”

“Your company sells…. crystals?”

“Wellness products,” she responded sharply. “Aromatherapy, crystals, nutraceuticals.”

“Right. So, your husband – with a deadly allergy to bee stings – went to buy you a honeybee farm in Peru.” She did not see that a response was required to this statement.

“And his company was some kind of tech startup?”

“He developed an algorithm that auto-invested in currency fluctuations. Burke was very smart.”

“Not that smart… investors’ money is missing, from what I hear.”

“The transactions were encrypted. Once the company finds the master password, everyone will get their money.”

“So where’s the password?”

Janece noted the change in tone. “What?”

“You know where the password is, bitch. There are BILLIONS of dollars tied up in that fucking company!”

“Who is this?”

“We’re watching you!”

She slammed the phone down.

She looked out the wall-length window framing the city skyline. She missed seeing stars. Before Burke, she spent a lot of time staring at the stars. Then she got sucked into his orbit. At least now, she had her business.

Suddenly a flashlight flickered in the office tower opposite.

DING! The elevator. A man in a long coat entered, hat pulled down, scarf pulled up. He produced a gun.

She shrieked.

“STOP. Close the blinds.”

Sobbing, she pressed the button.

“Darling.”

“BURKE! My god! You’re dead! They cremated you!”

He embraced her and then stepped back, examining her. “You’re looking good.” He pushed past her as he ran to the trophy shelf.

“I’ll explain it all. We need to run now. Whe…. WHERE IS THE KEY???”

Janece stared back, confusion on her face. “What? Burke, what is going on? You didn’t leave the key.”

“Yes, I did! I left it where I always do.” He patted her head. “Darling, this is serious. We need that key.”

Janece’s eyes grew. “Burke! Does the key have the master password?”

Burke exhaled audibly. “There is no master password. The key opens our Cayman Island safety deposit box.”

He held her shoulders. “It was all a lie. Okay?”

She pushed him away and sat down, head in hands. “All those peoples’ lives, Burke. Their savings. You faked your death?”

“Where is the key?”

“I don’t know.” Her anguished face convinced him. He began pacing.

“People are watching this place. Let’s go--now!”

“What about my business?”

“We’ll buy you more crystals, hon. We gotta go.”

She got up. “You must be starved, I refilled the candy dish. I will grab my passport!”

She heard the clink of the candy dish. Waited. Then the strangled thud.

“Our new nutraceutical, hon." She looked down at his swollen face. "Bee venom butterscotch.”  

She pulled the key from her pocket. Whispered.

“I’m no one’s trophy.”