Eat It

Beverly was a small woman with arms that bent like bird bones at her sides. She stared down at her lap, chewing her bottom lip with two top teeth that were jagged and almost broken at the edges.

"I don't know anything," she said softly.

"You don't know anything about your husband? The man who we just found in your basement with a fish hook in his mouth and groin?" the detective asked.

She shook her head. "I know Ron. We were married weren't we. Forty three years."

The detective tossed two photos onto the metal table between them. One was of Ron on a boat, holding a large mouth bass and smiling. The other photo was of his body as they'd found him. Slumped over in a fetal position, two large fish hooks piercing him. Blood pooled under his body, soaking the dirt floor of their unfinished basement.

"Quite a contrast," the detective said.

Beverly peered at both photos. Her gray eyes were as flat as a doll's.

"He was always on that boat. Ever since he started winning those tournaments."

She pointed to the first picture. "You know he had a portrait done of that damn fish? Spent a thousand dollars on it but couldn't give me so much as a dollar for a new hairdo or new shoes. He wouldn't even buy us a new tv set. Ours still had the built in VCR. The man was a prime example of accismus. That was his vice."

"Is that why you killed him Beverly?"

"I never said that. I never said I killed him. Maybe it was one of his competitors. There was some talk of Ron cheating. Putting weights in his fish. He was never a good fisherman before. Never good at anything really. Just sat on the couch all day, watching gangster movies on that old tv set. Sometimes I'd put a dollop of salt in his coffee to see if he'd notice. He never did. The man had the taste buds of a frog."

"I can't help you unless you tell me the truth," the detective said. "You need to tell me what happened. I know you couldn't overpower him on your own. Did you lure him into that basement and smash his head open so he wouldn't struggle? Did you have help?"

Beverly smiled. "I see that fish portrait wherever I am in the house, you know. Its beady little eyes follow you. Sometimes I could hear the bass talking but it sounded far away like it came maybe from the river or the ocean. It said, "the most important thing is to build more" and "how splendid it would be... to swim among the stars".

She'd thought that a lovely idea, to swim in starlight. She'd read it in a book once. Or the fish had spoke it to her. One of those was true.

"Crazy is not going to work here Beverly. Are you trying for an insanity defense? No one is going to buy it. We found cyanide in your house. When we find it in his blood we'll have you cold."

"Is that the one that smells of bitter almonds? Ron barely touched that pie," she said, staring at the picture of Ron on his back. His blood had never looked so red. When he'd cut himself shaving or busted his knuckles on her face, it had always seemed to ooze out in a black sludge.

She wondered if there would be big screen televisions in prison. But she'd be gone then at least. Far from the house and the talking fish. Free maybe. She thought she'd like to try being free.