Flash Fiction Friday is something that my writing group has gotten into. This week’s FFF is up on Jason Deeds’ blog. Here is my variation on “The Police were at the door,” specially themed for Friday the 13th.
The police were at the door. I shot away from the body, looked at him and muttered “shit.”
“We planned for this.” He stood up, pulled a comb out of his pocket, and ran it through his hair calmly. “Go put on stockings.”
“We’re going to get caught,” I hissed.
He pierced me with a look. “Stockings. Now. Or it will be your fault we get caught and I will not be happy.”
I shuddered and ran upstairs to the bedroom while he closed the door to the office and latched it.
I stopped just inside the door, shaken. The stockings had to match. I remembered that much. Bra, panties, dress, headband, stockings, everything had to match. As I pulled out an acceptable pair, I heard the door open.
“Good evening, officers. What can I do for you?” His voice floated up the stairs, sounding so professorial. I wondered how he could keep up the charade so well. I was glad to be a woman; glad that all I had to do was dress the part and keep quiet. Nobody suspects a demure woman.
“Sorry to bother you, sir… we wanted to ask you some questions about a man who went missing last week. We have reports that you spoke with him just before his disappearance.”
I heard them settling in the living room, and pulled the dark stockings over my legs, hiding any evidence of being anything but the professor’s nervous little wife. I settled the wig on my head, checked that everything matched in my wardrobe, and went downstairs to play the part.
Ooooh, drama!