A conman targeting women for insurance schemes is outwitted and caught by a woman who sees through his plan and works with the police to bring him down.
Copyright © Priya Florence Shah
The café buzzed softly with clinking cups and murmured conversations as Ruth Gardner sipped her latte, glancing around for her date. She adjusted her scarf, eyeing the door as Charles Delaney strolled in, looking exactly as he’d described himself — silver-haired, warm smile, a hint of rugged charm.
“Ruth,” he said, stepping up to her table and flashing a practiced smile. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
“Oh, I’m not one to wait around,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. She extended her hand, catching the faintest flicker of surprise before he covered it with a grin and took a seat across from her.
They exchanged pleasantries over cappuccinos, each word from Charles seemingly tailored to flatter and reassure. His voice was as smooth as his tailored suit, and Ruth found herself charmed, against her better judgment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone so… attentive.
“So, Ruth,” he said, leaning forward. “Why the world of antiques?”
She chuckled. “Because old things last longer than new ones. I suppose I have a soft spot for things with stories.”
“Then I must be lucky,” he smiled. “I’m old enough to be an antique myself.”
She laughed, a real laugh, and it surprised her. “Are you, now? Well, we’ll see if you’re a priceless artifact or just some dusty old relic.”
Charles grinned, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I assure you, Ruth, I age like fine wine.”
“Yes, well,” she replied, finishing her latte. “Wine can spoil if not handled right.”
***
Over the next month, Ruth and Charles fell into a rhythm. He texted good morning messages, sent roses to her shop, and took her out on elaborate dates. But something gnawed at her, a whisper in the back of her mind that wouldn’t let her fully relax.
One evening, after an expensive dinner where Charles had again hinted at marriage, Ruth decided to test him.
“So, tell me about your family,” she asked, swirling her wine. “Surely, someone as charming as you didn’t escape unscathed from matrimony?”
“Oh, no. No kids. No ex-wife to speak of, either. I’ve always been more of a… lone wolf,” he said with calculated sadness in his eyes.
“How romantic,” Ruth murmured, but she felt a twinge of unease.
She decided to run a background check, just for peace of mind.
***
That night, Ruth found herself reading a stack of horrifying information, sitting alone in her small, dimly lit office. As her cat meowed by her feet, she absently patted its head, trying to process what she’d uncovered.
“Charles Delaney” was no more real than a soap opera character. His real name was Mark Collins, and he was no retired professor — he was a professional widower.
Her hand shook slightly as she set down the printed report. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “The man’s like a fox in the henhouse.”
The next morning, she headed to the police station. She found herself sitting across from a detective who introduced himself as Detective Monroe—a man with a skeptical, tired face but kind eyes.
She laid out everything: messages, emails, even receipts from dinners Charles had taken her to.
Detective Monroe looked over the stack, one eyebrow arching higher and higher.
“You know, Ms. Gardner, we’ve been watching him for years. But you’ve given us exactly what we need.”
“Well, then,” Ruth said, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s catch ourselves a wolf.”
***
Charles had noticed a slight change in Ruth. She was warmer, more attentive than ever, as if she were finally ready to take the plunge he’d been waiting for. It was the perfect moment for his plan to move forward, he thought, smirking to himself as he bought two plane tickets to “a beautiful cabin by the lake.”
Ruth feigned excitement, even letting out a giddy laugh when he handed her the ticket. “Oh, Charles, a surprise getaway? You really do know how to sweep a woman off her feet.”
“Only the best for you, darling,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hand. “I want this weekend to be unforgettable.”
***
The weekend arrived. As they drove down the winding road to the secluded lake, Ruth could feel the tension rising, Charles occasionally glancing her way with a peculiar intensity.
As they neared a sharp turn, he slowed down, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes, breathtaking,” Ruth replied, her gaze on the lake ahead.
The stillness was broken by flashing lights. Charles’s eyes widened as two police cruisers came speeding up behind them, sirens blaring.
“Are we being pulled over?” he asked, a strained smile on his face.
“Oh, I think so,” Ruth replied coolly, hands calmly folded in her lap. “Shouldn’t be a problem, though. Just pull over, Charles.”
The officers stepped out, Detective Monroe among them. He approached the car, nodding politely at Ruth. “Ms. Gardner, I assume you’re alright?”
Charles’s face turned pale as he shot a frantic look between Ruth and the detective.
“Care to step out, sir?” Monroe said, barely masking his satisfaction. “We have a few questions about your… marital history.”
Charles stumbled over his words, starting to protest when Ruth leaned in close and whispered, “It’s over, Charles. Or Mark… or whatever name you’ve been using. They know everything.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came. As they cuffed him, Ruth stepped out of the car, brushing her hands together as if shaking off a bit of dust. “Well,” she said, looking at Detective Monroe, “I think that’s a weekend I won’t soon forget.”
***
Back in her shop a week later, Ruth resumed her usual routine, dusting off artifacts and chatting with the customers who came and went. News of “The Black Widower” had hit the papers, and Ruth had even received a few interview requests. But she wanted nothing to do with fame.
She hummed as she rearranged a vintage clock on a shelf, glancing over when Detective Monroe walked in.
“Detective,” she greeted him, smiling. “What brings you by?”
“Just wanted to say thanks,” he replied, tipping his hat. “It’s not often we get to put a true villain behind bars.”
Ruth shrugged, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “Well, sometimes it takes a thief to catch a thief. Or in my case, just a woman with a strong intuition.”
They shared a laugh, and as the detective walked out, Ruth returned to her shop, at peace with herself and the small yet potent victory she’d won.
***
Black Widower
Demons of greed rule him
Desire for money is everything
Love, hate, jealousy, and sin
Haunted by her protection
He plots to marry and murder
Get insurance and fake woo
Then overpower and unalive
Because men are Black Widows too
***
