Sex and Murder Magazine

By Penelope Mermall

Both children liked identifying bugs, collecting rocks, playing tag, and looking through picture books. Yet Miss Simpson fretted over just how well these two got along. After all, was it normal for children to sit quietly beneath a tree and ignore the ice cream truck’s persistent jingle? Was it normal that neither child pleaded in that annoying way to go to the beach, the zoo, the playground? Or that Ruthie no longer threatened to hold her breath until Miss Simpson promised to bake her famous double-chocolate peanut butter cake?

Ruthie was almost eight and Reno six and a half when they met up mid-July after Reno’s caretaker suddenly quit and Miss Simpson was approached to watch both children. The boy’s high-strung mummy, a country club friend of Ruthie’s mother, was greatly relieved when Miss Simpson said yes. She was paid handsomely.

Miss Simpson did not object to taking on Reno, and discovered that caring for both children was easier than caring for one. Before Reno’s arrival Miss Simpson had to brush Ruthie’s long golden hair in slow swooping strokes every morning, play endless board games, card games, hide and seek, and twice a week visit Mr. Wellworth’s collection of unusual bird feeders and bird houses so Ruthie could see hummingbirds, robins, blue jays, cardinals and other creatures gather on his great lawn. And when Ruthie’s father moved out and took up with Miss Dubrow on Willow Wood Way last year, she clung to Miss Simpson like a newborn kitty to a teat, demanding the caretaker lie with her at naptime, her breath tickling Miss Simpson’s neck like a teasing feather.

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The caretaker sat beneath a flowered patio umbrella and watched the children chase one another around the well-groomed property like playful squirrels, then stagger like two drunks before collapsing to the ground, hands and legs akimbo. Ruthie got up, skipped to her playhouse and brought out an armload of stuffed animals, carefully placing each one on the grass in a circle while Reno energetically twirled and performed somersaults. Ruthie then carried out a box of children’s dishes, setting a pink cup and plate before each animal and served them pretend tea and cookies. When all was complete she looked up and waved at Miss Simpson, who smiled stiffly at the flapping little hand.

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Ruthie and Reno prowled the grounds with butterfly nets, capturing orange and black monarchs and viceroys that sailed dreamily over the abundant flowerbed. Ruthie taught Reno the difference between the similar colored beauties and demonstrated how to safely transfer a butterfly from the net into the glass jar topped with punctured aluminum foil. When Ruthie was five Miss Simpson captured for her a very pretty yellow butterfly and placed it in a sealed, screw top container. The next day Ruthie found the butterfly at the bottom of the jar and shook it several times, but the butterfly would not move. Ruthie continued to shake the jar until Miss Simpson took it away and pulled the wailing child by the hand into the bathroom and dumped the dead butterfly down the toilet bowl. Stop crying, the caretaker ordered, there’s plenty more where that came from.

One lazy afternoon Miss Simpson decided to take the children to the beach. Ruthie, who feared the calm lake and always clung to Miss Simpson’s safe hand, skipped off with Reno down to the water where they jumped, kicked, and filled the calm air with laughter. Ruthie and Reno collected glossy gray stones up and down the water’s edge and raced back to show the caretaker. Miss Simpson barely glanced at the stones and returned to her thoughts. On the walk home Miss Simpson watched her charges run ahead with clasped hands and pictured Reno falling on broken glass.

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In September Ruthie and Reno clung to each other like baby monkeys. Ruthie would soon return to a private girls’ school close to home, and Reno to an exclusive boys’ school upstate. Miss Simpson did not accompany Ruthie on her first day of school as usual, informing Ruthie’s mother of a nagging cough and slight fever, but assured them both she would resume duties the following Monday. Miss Simpson used that week to look through stacks of pictures she had taken of Ruthie over the years, tracing an index finger over the contours of the child’s face and body.

Sunday night Miss Simpson got into bed, pulled the sheet up around her shoulders, closed her eyes and pictured Ruthie’s radiant face glowing like a full white moon.

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The caretaker waited outside the Girls’ Eastwood Academy and at 3:00 sharp the girls poured out the double doors. Miss Simpson spotted Ruthie holding hands with a pony-tailed brunette and called out her name. The girls were swinging arms as they walked towards the line of school buses when Ruthie heard Miss Simpson and dropped her friend’s hand and ran straight into the welcoming arms of her caretaker. Miss Simpson removed the child’s heavy book bag, straightened Ruthie’s collar, and together they headed home through the bird filled wooded state park.

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That evening the police found Ruthie’s nude bruised body by the reservoir, her mouth stuffed with pink panties and dead butterflies.

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Miss Simpson was fixing tea when she heard the knock. She opened the door and the two suited men entered. Detective Ryland was served chamomile tea, though his partner declined. As the steam rose off the pale yellow liquid in his cup Detective Ryland asked why she killed Ruthie. Miss Simpson stared at him in silence, then banged her fists down hard and rose up like a towering shadow as she leaned her heavy body across the table and said, “a mighty hand swooped down and ripped the joy from my heart.” The caretaker then began to laugh, her fleshy folds jiggling loosely beneath her housedress, her open mouth a dark forbidden sea. Detective Ryland walked over to Miss Simpson and positioned her arms behind her back; Detective Fromm snapped on the handcuffs. The two detectives stood on each side of the caretaker and led the laughing woman away.