Blaster

To her credit, she told me the truth. "I found out a week before she died, by accident. When I confronted her, we had a strange conversation. She told me she had found her true soulmate, and she was going to leave you before the month was out. Angie told me she was trying to find a way to keep the house, and for the first time in the conversation I laughed, telling her no judge in the state would give it to her, and besides, I reminded her of the prenuptial agreeing to split everything down the middle, except the property. She looked at me and almost grinned, telling me she had a way. We didn't talk again, and now she's dead. What's going on?"

"All I can say is she may have gotten tangled up in something she couldn't control, and it bit her on the ass. I've always liked you and Mom, and I'd like to stay in your lives somehow, but if it's too difficult..."

She jumped into my arms, kissing me hard. Didn't look for that today. "Mom will lean on you even harder, now. It was just me and Angie, and now it's just me. And if want my opinion, you married the wrong sister."

"What!? You were fifteen when we met!"

She giggled. "Shoulda waited. Anyway, I'm all growed up and everything now. I know you need to mourn and come to terms with what Angie did, but when I'm sure you're in your right mind, you're taking me to dinner."

She laughed at the shocked look on my face. "Okay, with that out of the way, Mom doesn't know about Angie. I think the way she died makes her suspect, but we need to let her keep the image of her a good daughter intact. It would serve no purpose to tell her."

"Agreed. I like your Mom too much to cause her pain."

The cops released the body two weeks later, determining she expired from a gunshot to the head, from the .380 automatic found on the scene. It was burned pretty badly, but they ejected the magazine and found Brad Burn's fingerprints on the shells, despite all the rounds exploding from the heat. The week after that I got the life insurance. I felt bad for taking it, but rationized the whole fiasco was not of my making. If she'd stayed faithful it wouldn't have mattered and she'd still be alive. I never meant for her to die, I wanted her to live a long, regretful life, but it was not to be.

It took almost a year before I got the check for the house. It was enough to build a really nice one back, on the other side of the property. I kept the buildings intact, using it for my business address. I had it wired for security, something I was glad I hadn't done before.

They dropped the investigation six months after the incident, writing it off as a criminal enterprise gone wrong. They had no evidence I was there, and I had a solid alibi between the motel management, the farmer, and the waitress at the diner, so I was off their list.

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So then, I got away with murder. Well, not quite murder except for the asshole. The security guards could be put down to self defense, but incinerating Brad Burns' junk would have gotten me a prison sentence. As for Angie, I felt bad she had been killed. I'll always wonder what made her decide she had a better offer, I had a feeling from what I learned about the family it would have ended badly.

The Senator finally got caught with his finger in the cookie jar. He resigned, leaving his party to scramble to find a replacement four months before the election. His party lost the seat by a big margin.

Hal came by one day to tell me a bunch of teens in the area were creating mischief, telling me to keep an eye out, and keep the cameras on since I was gone a lot. He caught me on weed patrol. I had managed to beat the Kudzu back to my property line, and I checked it every two weeks. My Dad used to say "Rust never sleeps, Kudzu always creeps."

He admired the Blaster. I'd made a few improvements, the biggest being a spare trigger in front. If you pulled it the gas came on instantly, without having to turn a valve. I'd also refined the nozzle until it could reduce to a three quarter inch beam. It would go through a piece of quarter inch metal if it were close enough in about thirty seconds. If it was steel, it took longer. Of course, Dale had to use it, grinning as the flames leapt out. "Man! You could sure fu..."

He stopped, stared at me, and grinned before he handed it back to me. "You ought to get that patented. You could make a lick. Remember to keep those cameras on."

I did, and he caught the kids vandalizing my tool shed. I thought about what he said a lot over the next few days. Then I redesigned the Blaster, strenghtening it to it resembled a flame thrower more than a weed burner, and then applied through the lawyer I'd hired. After six months I was notified it was pending, meaning I could manufacture them, so I produced a hundred, and tested the market.

They sold so well it was time to open a factory, so I rented an industrial building, hired twelve people for the line, and two office staff, and we were off to the races. We were assembling roughly thirty-five a day, and had a eight month long backlog. I was exhausted, and went into the office, complaining.

My office staff grinned. "I told you it was gonna happen. It's time to turn your lawyers loose and talk to some of the big boys that have been sniffing around. You don't need to sell it, just make a licensing agreement to protect yourself."

Gail laughed. "Mom's right. Want me to call Jack?"

"Yeah."

Nine months later we had a deal worked out where I got a pretty hefty percentage off every one manufactured. We covered our asses, marking every box with a warning: "Intended for home and agricultural use only." It was a really detailed disclaimer, in print large enough to read easily. Production took off as the interest grew, and now you could find it in every home improvement store, hardware store, and online. The company that leased the rights asked us to keep the small factory, as an experimental shop. The people we'd hired were happy to keep their jobs, as well as the office staff.

Now that I had money, I looked around and found a bigger house on sixty acres, with barns, shops, pasture, and woods. The house was four bedroom, really big bedrooms, and came with a three car garage that had an apartment over it. It took eight months and a ring, but Gail moved in with me, then spent some money sprucing up the apartment. I was onboard with moving Mom in, she was getting older and we really didn't like the idea of her living by herself.

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Our baby's cries woke me. I was in a cold sweat, dreaming about Angie. I never told anyone, especially Gail and Mom. That secret would go to my grave.

Gail just mumbled while I got up and changed our son, feeding him, burping him, and rocking him back to sleep. smiling the whole time. Gail had told me earlier that he was going to get a little sister in about seven months, which made me very happy. I couldn't help thinking they would have been Angie's if she hadn't got tangled up with the asshole. I'd searched my brain for years, trrying to see if I'd missed any clues, but I had been completely blindsided. We'd made love the night before I left, twice. It occurred to me it was probably a goodbye fuck, to ease her conscience.

I was awake now, so I set the coffeemaker and turned on the computer. I'd sold my old business, and about as far as I traveled now was the three miles to our shop, although I had to attend biyearly meetings with the company that held my licenses. Gail always went with me until the baby came, and now she split it between her and Mom. Mom was pretty sharp and more trained in business, and she caught things I would have missed totally.

A few years ago I'd discovered reading sites, many featuring cheating wife stories. One had a subgenre, "Burn The Bitch," about unrealistic forms of revenge against cheating spouses. I grinned, even though it was totally by accident, I had literally burnt the bitch Then the coffemaker beeped, and I poured a couple of cups while Gail stumbled out of the bedroom in a ragged tee and panties, her baby bump just beginning to show. She never looked more beautiful.