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Looking at her, Aaron felt the urge to blacken it again.

“I cannot believe I let you drag me here.”

“You promised.”

“A man should not have to keep the promises he makes to his wife. In another nation, you’d be property. Worth about three goats and a swine. Perhaps less, an ugly sow such as you.”

Rebekah turned away.

Aaron set his jaw. A proper wife did not turn her back on her husband. He clutched at Rebekah’s shoulder and spun her around.

“I could have you stoned for insolence, you worthless bitch.”

He raised his hand, saw the fear in her eyes.

Liked it.

But Rebekah did not finch this time, did not cower.

“I will tell my father.”

The words made Aaron’s ears redden. Her father was a land owner, known to the Roman court. A Citizen. On his passing, Aaron would inherit his holdings.

Aaron lowered his fist. He tried to smile, but his face would not comply.

“Tell your father—what? Any husband has the right to discipline his wife.”

“Shall I open my robe to show him the marks from your discipline?”

Aaron bit the inside of his cheek. This sow deserved all that and more.

“Our marriage is our business, no one else need intrude.”

“And that is why we are here, Husband. I will not tell Father because you consented to this. It is the only way.”

Aaron spat again, but his dry mouth yielded little. The line moved slowly, the sun baking their shadows onto the ground behind them.

As they approached the river, Aaron’s throat constricted from thirst.

But this river was not fit to drink. Shallow and murky, the surface a skein of filth.

“Perhaps I should tell your father that his daughter has been seduced by a cult.”

“My father knows. He was cleansed a fortnight past.”

“Your father?” Aaron could not believe it. Her father had clout and status. Why would he jeopardize that by fooling around with fanatics?

Aaron stared at the river, confused. Another person waded into the center. Unclean, smelling of work and sweat, someone’s servant.

The man known as the Baptist laid hands on the zealot’s shoulders and plunged him underneath the scummy waves.

Then the Baptist yelled in a cracked voice, about sin and rebirth and Jehovah. A few seconds later the servant was released, gasping for air.

“He has been saved,” Rebekah said. “John has cleansed his soul.”

Aaron frowned. The man did not look saved. He looked muddy and disoriented.

“You are a fool, Rebekah. This talk of souls and one god is illegal and dangerous.”

“It works, Aaron. I have heard the tales. Healing the lame. The sick. Purging anger and hatred from men’s hearts.”

“I will not let that fool dunk my head in that putrid water.”

“Good day, Father.”

Aaron followed her eye line, turned.

Rebekah’s father Mark smiled at Aaron, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“There is nothing to fear, Aaron. The stories are true. At my baptism, I felt as if released from bondage. I felt my soul shrug off the chains of sin and soar like a bird.”

Aaron stared into Mark’s twinkling, smiling eyes and calmed a bit.

“I am not afraid, Mark.”

“Good. You are next.”

Rebekah and her father stepped onto the bank with Aaron. The warm water lapped against his toes.

“Am I to go alone?”

“We are family,” Rebekah said. “We shall all go together.”

She took his hand, a gesture that she had not made since their wedding day. As a unit, they waded over to the man called John.

“Are you ready to cast aside sin and be reborn in the glorious love of your Father, Jehovah?”

Aaron looked at Rebekah’s father. The older man smiled, nodded.

“Yes,” Aaron said. A quick dunk and it would be over.

John put his hands upon Aaron’s shoulders and shoved him downward.

The water was hot, alive against his skin. Aaron’s shoulders were pressed down to the bottom and the muck parted to accept him.

He held his breath, straining to hear the words John would speak.

But John spoke nothing.

Aaron shifted, placing a hand on John’s thick wrist. He gave it small squeeze, a signal to begin.

The wrist did not yield.

Aaron felt another hand upon him, and then a weight against his chest.

He grasped at it.

A foot.

Alarm coursed through Aaron. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes, peered up through the murk.

John held him firm, Rebekah hunched beside him. Her eyes were venom, and it was her foot that pinned down Aaron’s chest.

Aaron tried to twist and thrash, but he had no leverage. A burst of precious air escaped his lungs, bubbling violently up through his field of vision in an endless stream.

This crazy cult was going to murder him.

He reached out his hand, grasping at Rebekah’s father. He could not allow this.

Mark caught his wrist, held it tight…and pushed Aaron deeper into the mud.

Aaron screamed, sucked in a breath. The water tasted sour and burned the inside his lungs as if they’d inhaled fire instead. He pried at John’s fingers with his free hand, and a moment of clarity flashed through the chaotic panic in his mind.

This was not John the Baptist. He’d seen this man before. He was a servant of Rebekah’s father.

The crowd by the river. They’d all been Mark’s servants.

And through the weighty distortion of the water, he could hear them cheering.

The following four stories were all written for the magazine Woman’s World. Every week it publishes a 1000 word mini mystery, in the tradition of Donald Sobol. The story provides the clues to solve the crime, then the solution is explained. I wrote four of these for Woman’s World before finally selling one. This one was a reject, but was later published in the magazine Twisted Tongue. Can you solve the mystery?

It was a textbook kidnapping, or so they thought…

B
illionaire David Morgan didn’t look anything like he did on television. His distinguished face appeared worn and tired, and his piercing blue eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“I just want her to be okay,” he said, for the hundredth time.

Detective Starker patted his should.

“I know, Mr. Morgan. The kidnapper said he’ll call with your wife’s location.”

Morgan’s eyes released another tear.

“Are you sure they have the money?” he asked.

“We’re sure.”

Starker thought back to the money drop, and his insides burned. One million dollars in unmarked bills, left in a suitcase in a parked car. The kidnapper had warned the police that any attempts to stop him or track him would result in the death of Celia Morgan, David’s young wife.

Nonetheless, Starker had made sure there was a tiny transmitter in the suitcase, housed in the lining and impossible to detect.

But at the money drop, Starker had watched the kidnapper transfer the cash into a large plastic bag, leaving the suitcase and the tracking device behind in the parking garage, leaving the authorities with no way to find him.

Now Celia’s only hope was that the kidnapper was a man of his word, and would reveal her location.

“What if he doesn’t call?” Morgan asked, voice trembling. “When Margaret, my first wife, passed away, I never thought I’d love again. I couldn’t bear…”

His words were lost to another crying spell. Starker gave the millionaire another pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Morgan. We’ll get her. Let’s go over your list of enemies again.”

“Enemies? I told you before. I’m the CEO of one of the largest manufacturing companies on the planet. I’ve been in this business for forty years. I have more enemies than there are names in the Manhattan phonebook.”

“Does anyone stand out? Someone who felt you wronged them? Someone wanting money from you?”

“You saw the list. Everyone on it hates me. I told you before, Detective, that line of investigation is hopeless.”

“How about around your home? Fired any of the help lately? Landscapers? Maids? Chauffeurs?”

“Celia handles all of that. Wait—I did have to fire the pool cleaner a month ago. I came home from work early and found him in our living room, watching television. Fired him on the spot.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember. Celia will know…oh dear…”

The mention of his wife’s name brought fresh tears. Starker felt awful for the man.

“Where did you meet Celia, Mr. Morgan?”

“She…she was one of my house cleaners. I pretty much ignored her for the first few weeks she worked for me. But she always had a kind word, a bright thing to say. Soon, I began to linger before going to the office, chatting with her over morning coffee. I know she’s barely a third of my age, but she makes me feel young.”

The phone rang, startling Starker. He nodded at Morgan to pick it up.

“Hello? Is she okay? Where is she?”

Starker, listening in on an extension, wrote down the address for the storage facility where the kidnapper claimed he’d left Celia Morgan.

“Let’s move,” Starker told his people.

Super Value Storage was across town, but Starker arrived in record time. He led his team, and the anxious David Morgan, to storage locker 116. It was a large sized unit, used for storing furniture, and the door had a combination lock on it. One of the cops used the bolt cutters, and Starker raised the door, a chemical stinging his eyes and making him squint.

He shone his flashlight inside, revealing a terrified-looking Celia Morgan.

She sat in the dark, tied to an office chair, a gag in her pretty mouth. Behind her were two empty buckets of something called sodium bisulfate, and a large empty cardboard box that had BROMINE written on the side.

David Morgan rushed to his wife, white granules crunching under his feet.

“Mr. Morgan!” Starker shouted. “Don’t touch anything until we’ve collected evidence!”

Starker stepped in, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, removing the gag from Celia’s perfectly made-up face. She was a strong one—her mascara hadn’t even run. He then used a utility knife to cut the clothesline that securely bound her, careful to leave the knots for the crime lab to analyze.

“Celia, my love!”

David Morgan embraced his wife, and she kissed his cheek.

“I’m okay, David. He didn’t hurt me.”

Starker motioned for his team to come in, and he reached overhead and fumbled with the bare bulb hanging overhead, burning his fingers before eventually finding the pull cord and bathing the area in light.

“Did you have a chance to see your kidnapper?” Starker asked the woman.

“No. I’m sorry. I never saw his face,” she said, her clear blue eyes drilling into him. “I’ve been sitting here in the dark for hours.”

“Hours?” Starker repeated.

“Yes.”

Starker gave Morgan a final pat on the back, and then separated the married couple.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, but I’m going to have to arrest your wife…as an accomplice in her own kidnapping.”

How did Starker know?

SOLUTION:
Celia’s make up was perfect. If she’d been in that room for hours, locked up with chemicals that made Starker’s eyes sting, her own eyes would have been red she would have been crying. Plus, when Starker reached up to turn on the light, the bulb was hot, meaning it had recently been on. Thus, Celia had just gotten there, and was lying to them. Since bromine and sodium bisulfate are pool cleaning chemicals, Starker suspected Celia was in on the scheme with the pool cleaner Morgan had fired a month previously.

Another Woman’s World rejection. Though these are short, fast reads, they took a bit of thought to produce. They were a fun exercise in the mystery tradition of seeding clues.

The heist was flawless, except for one large detail…

M
arty had been watching them for over a month. The Richardsons were an attractive young couple, wealthy by chance—they had rich parents on both sides. Five nights a week they prowled the town, dressed in fancy clothes and expensive jewelry. Sometimes to the theater. Sometimes to a five star restaurant. But they enjoyed riverboat gambling the most.