Vengeance a la Mode

Bright sunlight splayed across Daphne's back as she rolled a blob of pie dough out into a flat circle.

"It's got to be apple, that's his favourite," she said aloud, wiping the gathering sweat from her brow and leaving a streak of flour in its place.

The day was sweltering, the air stifling, and the radio blaring the same set of ragtime songs. Daphne didn't mind the repetition, she'd grown a liking for swing music ever since she found out her husband hated it. The same went for drinking gin, updo’s, and wearing anything with marigolds on it - like the dress she currently donned. Ted was severely allergic to them, and was less likely to touch her whenever she sported the yellow flowers.

She rotated the dough and continued rolling, all the while tapping her high-heeled foot to the beat of the music. Ted would be home from work soon and she needed the pie to be ready in time for dessert. Her days had more or less fallen into the same routine: Clean, do laundry, walk to the store, perhaps some socializing on the way back home, then she'd prepare dinner. In the beginning, Ted would take her to the bedroom most nights, and after about five to ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, Daphne would be left to her own devices. Over time, she had learned ways to reduce the frequencies of these nights, "I've an awful headache," or "I'm having my monthly." To the point where he now spent most evenings out.

Such nights were her favourites. She would play vinyls of whatever music had been in her head that day, kick up her feet, and sip a glass of ice cold gin with a slice of lime. Daphne was no simpleton, she had her suspicions as to why Ted had been more absent of late. But the longer she said nothing, the longer she would have these small freedoms, and she was loath to give them up now.

Daphne placed her dough into a pie plate and trimmed the edges before sliding it into the refrigerator. She flattened the other half of the dough in much the same fashion before laying it on a baking sheet which also went into the fridge. Next came the apples. McIntosh, bought from the fresh stock at Parker's General Store that morning. The scent of them surrounded her as she smoothly wielded her knife. She built up a steady rhythm and let her mind wander to a specific occurrence from two days prior. While seemingly innocuous at the time, it had set off a sort of cascade event within Daphne.

On said rainy Tuesday evening, Ted had come home drunk, stumbling through the front door and knocking over Daphne's favourite lamp; a mess Daphne had had to deal with. He'd tossed his coat on the sofa before crawling up the stairs without so much as a 'hello', and fallen into bed. It wasn't Ted, himself, that had rung the alarm bells in her mind, but his jacket.

Daphne started on the next apple as her mind replayed the moment everything changed.

Daphne sighed heavily as she swept up the remnants of her lamp and dumped them into the rubbish bin. Then she placed Ted's shoes by the door and went to the couch to grab his coat. On lifting it, she was instantly hit with the smell of whiskey, cigars, and sex. She gagged, almost dropping the jacket. But then, something caught her eye, or rather the lack of something caught her eye. Ever since Ted had bought his tan trench coat, it had always borne his lapel pin; a large, gold coat of arms that he kept spotless, a gift from his father. But now it was missing, leaving a glaring absence in its wake.

Daphne hung the jacket up and leaned against the doorframe. She thought the loss of the pin peculiar - and knew she would surely hear about it in the morning - though figured it would turn up sooner or later, likely at the bar Ted had been drinking out of business. Daphne turned out all the lights on her way upstairs, opting to sleep in the guest room, knowing Ted could get handsy when sleeping off whiskey. In the morning, he came stumbling down the stairs, complaining of a splitting headache. Daphne merely served breakfast and coffee, waiting for him to mention the pin. But he never did, not even when he donned his jacket and left for work.

"Curious," she hummed to herself.

She opted to go to the store right after she finished her coffee, and bumped into her blonde-haired neighbour on the way home.

"Good afternoon, Nancy," Daphne dipped her head in greeting.

"What? Oh sorry, Daphne, I didn't see you," Nancy seemed flustered.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Daphne.

"I... well... no, I-I think I'm not," stammered the blonde as she wrung her hands.

"Why don't you come over for a cocktail and we'll talk?" suggested Daphne gently.

"A-alright," nodded Nancy, straightening out the apron she still wore, having wandered out of her house in a daze.

Daphne led the way to her place, quickly putting away the food before fixing them some gin martinis. After a few sips, Nancy calmed, and finally fully met Daphne's eyes.

"I-I think my daughter's gone and lost her virginity," the blonde's voice was ragged.

"Not little Linda, she's only fourteen! What makes you say that?" asked Daphne.

"Well, I..." Nancy took another fortifying sip, "James and I were gone from the house yesterday evening until late, one of Dotty's parties, you see."

"Of course," Daphne rolled her eyes.

"So Linda was home alone. But, when I went into her room last night, it had a funny smell about it, a bit like whiskey, cigar smoke, and..."

"Sex?" prompted Daphne, suddenly unable to do anything but clench the edge of the countertop.

Nancy blushed profusely, "How vulgar… but true. I thought I was imagining things, but then this morning I went to change her sheets and there was blood on them."

"Her monthly, perhaps?" Daphne's hope was vain.

"No she finished it a week ago," the blonde shook her head, "And it was such a small amount."

"Did you find anything else?" Daphne felt the colour drain from her face, her martini momentarily forgotten.

"Just this," murmured Nancy, extracting something from her apron pocket and placing it on the counter between them, "It was buried in the sheets."

There, glinting merrily in a mockery of Daphne's marriage sat Ted's pin, just as shiny as always. Daphne hastily downed the rest of her drink, her hands shaking with anger and disgust.

Nancy soon excused herself, having decided to make an appointment for Linda with the town physician.

The second her friend was gone, Daphne raced to the bathroom, emptying her stomach contents into the toilet. She sat on the floor, the cool tile somewhat easing her flushed skin. She felt sick. Not just to her stomach, but fundamentally sick. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together, and Daphne was seeing a very dark picture. Ted had done plenty in their marriage to set her off, but this... this was an entirely new level. Thus, she concocted a scheme, there, on the bathroom floor. And it came into fruition the very next day.

Daphne returned to the present moment, quickly realizing that she'd long finished slicing the apples and was holding her paring knife in a death grip. She dropped it onto the counter then proceeded to mix the fruit with cornstarch before packing it into the previously lined pie tin. She took the other disc of pie dough and began meticulously slicing it into lattice strips, picturing each cut as one step closer to exacting her revenge. She painstakingly arranged the strips atop the apple filling until she was satisfied with the appearance. Lastly, she carefully placed dots of butter and brushed the crust with eggwash before sliding the whole thing into the preheated oven. She winced at the heat the appliance emitted, still feeling the day's humidity accruing on the back of her neck. She'd planned on reading more of her current novel while waiting, but couldn't bring herself to do anything more than pace.

Time passed quickly and soon enough, Ted returned home as the pie was cooling and dinner was being pulled from the oven.

"Have a seat at the table," Daphne nodded toward their already set places, "Supper is ready."

Ted grunted in response before taking his usual chair. As they ate, he barely looked at Daphne, opting to read the newspaper rather than converse. He only broke his silence long enough to say, "I'll be out with Johnson again tonight."

Daphne nodded, hands clenched into fists beneath the table to avoid giving herself away. She cleared the dishes and cut two pieces out of the beautifully golden apple pie, plating them perfectly. She glanced toward the living room before grabbing the lapel pin and shoving it into the centre of one of the slices. Then she inhaled deeply, holding her breath until she'd pulled a clear bottle from the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. Using a baster, she injected some of the liquid into the same slice that held the pin, hardly daring to blink.

Lastly, a scoop of vanilla ice cream for each, then she placed Ted's plate in front of him and tucked into her own, watching him from the corner of her eye. It was four bites before he suddenly cried out as his teeth crunched on something. He pulled the pin from his mouth, looking utterly bewildered, "Daphne, what in the hell is this doing in here?"

"You dropped it, Ted," she calmly took another bite of pie.

He swallowed hard, shovelling more dessert into his mouth so he wouldn't have to respond. But Daphne wasn't letting up now.

"Odd where it turned up," she swirled her glass of wine as she brought it to her lips, "In Nancy Bellemore's apron pocket."

Ted coughed, eyes watering as he thumped on his chest.

"Even more so where she got it from," Daphne's eyes flashed.

"Probably fell off on the street," Ted slid his chair back and abruptly stood.

As he headed for the living room, Daphne noted his unsteady gait, "Not quite so," she called after him.

He stepped on his ankle funny and crashed onto the coffee table, splitting it in the process.

Daphne perched on the arm of the chesterfield and watched him struggle to sit up, "Would you like me to tell you? I suspect you already know," she said quietly, her tone holding a seething anger Ted had never heard before.

"I-I lost it at the bar!" he shouted, his face blanching, "It fell off while walking home!”

"Then how did it end up in young Linda's bedsheets?" Daphne arched an eyebrow.

"Hell iffff I know..." Ted trailed off, gasping as his hand clutched his abdomen, and breaking out in a cold sweat.

"You've always been an awful liar, Ted," Daphne moved to stand in front of where he knelt on the floor, "And now is no different."

"W-what dijoooo putinthapie?" his words were slurred, his eyes clearly unfocused.

Daphne bent low and whispered in his ear, "Just an extra helping of justice, you disgusting, swinely excuse for a man."

"N-nooooo but... I..." Ted slumped to the floor, his vision filled with marigolds.

He tried to keep his focus, watching Daphne turn on the radio, the room suddenly filled with a jaunty bop.

"Looks like you can't hold your arsenic as well as you did Linda, or the others," said Daphne quietly, walking back over and staring down at him in utter loathing.

And then Ted's eyes closed for the last time, amid the wretched sound of boisterous swing music, a suffocating heat, and the sight of embroidered marigolds.