One Deadly Sister
By
Rod Hoisington
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 978-1-4524-2615-0
Copyright 2010 Rod Hoisington
This novel is available in paperback at online retailers
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. N11g21r11
Sandy Reid mystery series
by Rod Hoisington
One Deadly Sister
The Price of Candy
Such Wicked Friends
Chapter One
When Ray Reid phoned his sister in Philadelphia and told her he was in a Florida jail on a murder charge, she told him to go to hell.
She slammed down her phone, shoved the book off her lap, and got out of bed. Nervy bastard. He can’t really be doing this. Why didn’t he make his one phone call to a friend or a lawyer for Christ’s sake?
Sleepless now, she clicked on the eleven o’clock news: something about an assassination in Florida, some politician. She heard her brother’s name.
She picked up the phone then tossed it back down—she didn’t need this. He had ignored her distress call years ago, and they had lived on different planets ever since. She stared at the phone. It rang startling her. “I told you to go to hell.”
“You didn’t tell me anything. Are you in some kind of trouble, Sandy?”
“Joanna, is that you?”
“Yeah, worked late as usual, just got home. I wanted to warn you, some media types phoned for you at the office. You’ve had calls from Fox, some producer at WCAU-TV, and—get this—I talked to Gretchen Henson at CNN, in person. They wanted your home address and cell. Luckily, I was the only one in the office. They got nothing from me. What’d you do, kill someone?”
“Maybe my brother did. He got himself tossed in a Florida jail. How’d they trace me so fast?”
“I thought you told me your brother is dead.”
“He was, now he’s trying to resurrect himself. He wants me to go down there and help him. He mentioned some problem with a woman.”
“You going?”
“And screw up my great job up here? Not likely.”
“Well, good luck with the media. You’d better figure on extra mirror-time in the morning. If they’re not at your door with the cameras at dawn, they soon will be. Let me know if I can help.” And Joanna said goodnight.
Back in bed, Sandy turned off the bedside light, and jerked the covers over her. Damn him upsetting her like this, she thought. Should go down there just to watch him suffer. It was no use; she was too irritated to sleep.
She turned on the light, found her phone, and scrolled down to his call. He answered on the first ring. She snapped, “You managed to get yourself on the national news and now the media are after me. Thank you very much.”
“Sandy! You called back, great to hear your voice.”
“You’re guessing it’s me, you forgot what my voice sounds like. Did you happen to give out any info about me down there?”
“No, well—maybe, the detective asked if I had any family. I said just a sister in Philadelphia.”
“Damn it, why did you give them my name?”
“I didn’t see any harm. I tried to show I was a straight guy with nothing to hide.”
“My employer was called already. Raymond, I work for a classy law firm with a spotless reputation. I could lose my job if the media disrupts the office.” She understood it wasn’t his fault if some jerk cop down there leaked her name to the media. She cooled off just a bit. “How come you rate a phone in jail, anyway?”
“The police took mine for evidence to examine the directory to see who I’ve called and who’s phoned me. They gave me this disposable loaner.”
“It’s tapped Raymond, the old loaner-cell phone trick. Watch what you say.”
“They think I’m calling my mob mouthpiece in Philly right now. Anyway I’m innocent.”
“Innocence is beside the point. Suspicion is your problem.” She tried to sound unconcerned. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to ask how I’ve been the last few years?”
“Oh yes, how are you Sandy?”
“You see, I get this call from some guy who says he’s my brother. I heard my brother moved to Florida, but it can’t be him because he never calls me. As much as I’d enjoy his being in trouble, there’s no way he’d be so ballsy as to phone me. You’ve got the wrong number, buddy.”
“Sorry. I’m not very good at keeping in touch.”
“Are you going to pretend you actually do call me now and then?”
“Didn’t I phone at Christmas?”
“Yeah, two years ago, you wanted someone’s address. The TV says you murdered a senator. So, you work there as a hit man?”
“No, I landed a good job down here with a stockbroker doing what I did in Philadelphia. The dead guy was a state senator running for governor. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. You see I met this woman at a party, and we went back to my place—okay, so maybe I have a tiny bit to do with it. But I wasn’t the one who shot him. Can I tell you about her? I didn’t know her age then.”
“No thanks.”
“I’ve barely moved in down here and don’t know anyone.”
“A lot of folks would look forward to spending the last few days of their life in Florida. Where are you located?”
“Park Beach, a small town on the east coast. Someone killed their favorite son and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The town wants my blood. There’s a big commotion outside right now from all the TV people. The police are crowded around the windows here at the police station gawking out. They’re heroes for getting a dangerous character like me off the street so quickly. The state attorney doesn’t bother to say alleged, just refers to me as the perpetrator. They’ll probably skip the formality of a trial. I need someone to find out what’s going on, someone to rescue me.”
“That’s what attorneys are for.”
“In this little town my attorney will turn out to be the prosecutor’s brother. A jury here will enjoy hanging me.”
“I promise they won’t hang you, Raymond, they use lethal injection in Florida. Now if I lose my job because of your mess, I’ll come down and strangle you myself. They’re probably outside my apartment right now setting up a satellite TV truck. I can’t wait for my boss to see me on the morning news.”
“You ever get your law degree?”
“See what I mean. You’ve no idea of my situation. They could have your little sister kidnapped in Baghdad for all you know. I still work for Walde & Walde, the criminal defense law firm. Ran out of money for my law degree. Paying off student loans. Work outside the office. I’m the paper-trail girl, all crime cases including murder. I do the legwork. I run around the tri-state area, search through public records, find witnesses, and take their statements. I find out the things the prosecution doesn’t want found out. Love it.”
“That’s precisely what I need.”
“The firm’s going to reimburse me for tuition, so I can get back into law school. When I pass the bar, a lawyer position is waiting for me. Is that dreamy or what?”
“Yes it is. Now, that first night with the woman from the party was no problem, but then she wanted to meet me again at a motel. Somehow, I just ignored the entire age thing. When she showed up in that tiny thong, I should have known something was going on. But I was too eager.”
“Excuse me, you were asking about me. You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I heard you, sounds great. The second time we were at a motel. But it’s not what you think. I don’t mean it was the second time at the motel. I mean, the second time we got together was the first time at the motel. Then I talked to the murdered guy. Before he was murdered, of course. The police didn’t understand at all.”
“Imagine that.”
“I’ve got a big problem Sandy.”
“If you’ve no friends to call when you’re in trouble, you have an even bigger problem. Everyone needs someone they can phone at 4 a.m.”
“You’re right—this call isn’t going too well is it?”
“Raymond, where were you when I was in trouble?”
“Good grief that was ten years ago, more. Can’t you get passed that?”
“Yes, I should get over it but I haven’t. I’ll work on it. You sit there in jail, and I’ll work on it.”
Silence.
Was she gone? “Sandy, you still there?”
“Are you convicted yet?”
“I was afraid you’d hung up.”
“The longest conversation with my brother in my entire life, and I should hang up?” Her voice had softened somewhat. “Other than being arrested and facing execution, how do you like Florida?”
“Dad and I loved your humor,” he said. “We’d fall off our chairs and mom never got it. I should phone you just to get a laugh.”
“You’re talking about earlier, before you finked me out to the cops for supposedly doing drugs.”
“I didn’t report you, mom did. She called some teen hotline. That started it.”
“Geez Louise, you ratted me out to mom and I landed in juvie rehab!”
“Wasn’t like that. I was leaving for college and my little sister was doing her best to ruin her life. I was worried about you. I thought if mom was aware of what was going on, the family could talk about it. But she imagined you acting out scenes from Reefer Madness and she wigged out, called Juvenile Hall or someplace.”
“Okay, so I was kind of bent, did a little grass, maybe some pills. Nothing heavy. I tried some junk because it was new. Something to do.”
“You couldn’t wait to be eighteen. I was afraid you’d never make it. You stole from mom’s purse, tried to be a mall chick, boosted junk, smoke, and drank. Even stole a car and wrecked it.”
“I didn’t steal that car, but I did wreck it—not on purpose. Butchie Cooper couldn’t make out with me so his smooth-talking old daddy thought he’d give it a try. He thought I’d be thrilled and express my gratitude if he let me drive his brand new shiny silver Buick. So, I drove his brand new shiny silver Buick. The crash part was somewhat thrilling. He lost interest in me fast. Anyway, I was just a kid. Old lechers must look out for themselves.”
“You tried to win acceptance from some trashy older girls or whoever your model was.”
“You were my model. I was dying to be like my big brother. You were so cool, so self-assured, and so independent. I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could be just like you.”
“I was in a fog half the time. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You dated all the cool ones.”
“No, I didn’t. I had one girlfriend my entire junior and senior year, and she dumped me at the prom—actually, she dumped me on the way to the prom. She got out at a stoplight and into another guy’s car.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought you were so totally with it.
“I guess I’m not the person you imagined.”
“Raymond, why didn’t you come visit me in that so-called juvie rehab center in West Chester they sent me to? They were releasing kids three months early if somebody bothered to show up and claim them. Mom couldn’t deal with any of it. Try counting every hour for three months. Three extra fucking months, Raymond! Three more months doing shit work and trying to keep creepy counselors off me, because you couldn’t be bothered to stop by and sign me out. I showed your picture to everyone there: this is my big brother, he’s really great, he’s going to come and get me out of here just as soon as he can.”
“I never dreamed it was that way.”
“Buddy you don’t know. Someone should investigate that place. Some psychology grad student set it up with a grant. It was a sham. No rehab going on there. I did ATP just once. That’s what the girls called, ‘Assume the Position.’ This one counselor took a special interest in me because I was the new stuff. That’s how they talked, ‘Did you get some of that new stuff?’ On my first turn, I stood up and kicked him hard. He couldn’t move fast enough with his pants down around his hairy ankles. I missed but I never had to touch him. After that, whenever he looked at me that way I’d chomp my teeth together. He left me alone, but made it tough. That’s what your little sister was doing while you skipped down yellow brick road.”
“A nightmare, you’re really hurting.”
“Every now and then when I’m out on my job, waiting in some law office or something, I’ll use my laptop to keep track of the bastard’s whereabouts. He moved to Delaware, but I know exactly where he lives, even driven past his house. I know his wife’s name, kid’s names, and know where he works. If I ever get my law degree, I’m going after him—payback time. I’ve made that vow to myself for the other girls. It’s there in the back of my mind. Sort of like on my permanent to-do list: start cooking, learn French, and nail that counselor.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I knew you were in that rehab place and I made no effort to visit you. I was in college and facing a bunch of junk in my own life I believed was heavy. I’ve thought about you in that place over the years, but it was too late. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been avoiding you, trying to block it out, hoping I’d never have to deal with it. We’ve talked since, over the years, you never mentioned any of this.”
“Geez, you talked about the weather and asked how my car was running. Every time we spoke, all you could think of to say was how’s my damn car. You probably don’t remember the color of my hair, but you know about my cars. Do I wear glasses?”
“What?”
“Do I wear glasses, yes or no?”
“Glasses? Yes, ah no, I don’t think so.”
“I rest my case. You’d walk right past me on the street. Somehow, I have it my mind that there are things you should just know about your sister. That’s a stretch for you isn’t it.”
“I’m sorry Sandy, but there are years between us. It’s not like we were joined at the hip.”
“But I thought we were at least friends. Don’t you get it? We were born friends. You just don’t want to connect with me.”
“When I get this behind me, I’m going to make it up to you. Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you? How about I just forget you?”
Ray said nothing.
“I know you’re in a deep hole down there, and I don’t mean to minimize it.” The irony of him now being the one in trouble didn’t escape her, but maybe she was being too harsh. Nevertheless, it was unfair of him to ask. “I can’t leave, Raymond. I’ve worked hard for this job and I’m not going to screw it up.”
“You’re right, don’t screw up your job. Somehow I thought….”
Then sounding upbeat, she said quickly, “Hey Raymond, hope things turn out all right for you down there. Bye now, I’m gone.”
“Wait! I know I’ve been a lousy brother and don’t deserve your help, but there’s no one else.”
“I’ll phone at Christmas,” she said. The line went dead.
Ray sat on his bunk and tossed the silent phone from hand to hand. He was tempted to smash it against the wall. What was wrong with him, he wondered, how dare he ask her for anything? So she’s out of it. Couldn’t blame her.
Was there someone else he could call, someone he hadn’t screwed up with his indifference? Certainly, no one down here, probably no one up in Philadelphia either. Sounded pathetic when he thought about it. He didn’t think of himself as friendless. He was well liked by his co-workers and wasn’t unsociable. It was just that he enjoyed his solitude, and didn’t spend much time thinking about friends. Friends just appeared in his life from time to time. They happened, he didn’t seek them out.
He stared at the other bunk in the cell. The bulk of an old man in rumpled clothes was lying there dead drunk on his back snoring, with his head hard against the wall. “Looks like we both could use a friend. I don’t know anyone else in your goddamn town,” Ray said aloud surprising himself. The man didn’t stir.
The jail cell felt airless and hot but Ray started shivering. He looked down again at the worthless phone. He was drowning. The phone in his hand was like a lifeline with no one holding the other end.
Chapter Two
Ray Reid had moved down to Florida from Philadelphia to start a new job in Park Beach, a small ocean side town, three weeks earlier. Moved to get away from the scene of his divorce, start new. His ex-wife had once told him she was attracted to him because he had a great job and a nice house. When they split, she accused him of being one of those nice guys who would never make a success of anything.
Nothing much to move down with him. She took everything, even kept his dog. He did manage to rescue some of his history books and string quartet CDs from the curbside trash in front of the house he had paid for.
His new employer, a Florida securities broker, E.J. Bradford & Co., needed a back-office manager and that was Ray’s specialty: running all the numbers and seeing that the firm handled the buys and sells properly.
The job had started well and his associates liked him. Nothing very threatening about Ray, an everyday forty year old, never quite made it to six feet, with short brown hair already thin at the temples. His face was “okay”—at least that’s how a girlfriend in college once described it. Another girl told him his black-rimmed glasses were unquestionably a date-loser. He’d always worn that kind, they fit fine and weren’t expensive.
Each day after the market closed an attractive young stockbroker at the firm, Meg Emerson, would stride to the back office, still charged with energy, and chat with him to calm down after her hectic day. Meg was a sales whiz, the number one producer in the office. All the sales reports crossed Ray’s desk, so he knew she grossed twice as much as her boss. She could afford to dress in a fabulous manner, but he noticed she favored a conservative look and wore her blond hair short and straight. She pushed the upper limit on the height-weight charts, although she didn’t seem concerned.
Ray was ten years older. He thought she had a wonderful mind. She wasn’t afraid to discuss serious subjects like art and antiques. There were several younger, better-looking guys around the office, yet for some reason Ray was the person she wanted to talk with. She never missed a day.
It was Meg who invited him to the party that started it all. She just gave the party—he couldn’t blame her for his meeting Loraine there.
When party day arrived, Ray was still settling into his new apartment. He needed to paint the place, and shop for a lamp, a screwdriver, and a can opener. He had little interest in going to a gathering of strangers and doing his wallflower routine while planning a polite escape. Not his idea of fun. Nevertheless, he did go. Meg had been so insistent.
Meg gave him a warm greeting at her door, including an unexpected kiss on the cheek. A look around the room convinced him he had made a dreadful mistake. This wasn’t his crowd at all. The room glittered with classy people laughing and clinking glasses. She had suggested jacket, no tie. Her guests, however, seemed dressy to him. Meg wore a black linen cocktail dress with a breathless plunging V-neck.
Ray came dressed in the same jacket he wore to work every day, and a lightweight turtleneck. He felt about as stylish as a dishtowel. If somehow he could ever get out of there, he’d never leave home again.
Her beachfront condo apartment on the barrier island was impressive. The building sat on the narrow island between the ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway. Consequently, she had an expensive view from each end of her condo.
“Realtors call it a front-to-front,” Meg explained. “Instead of a rear wall there’s a second balcony.”
The layout amazed him. Some of her guests were on the ocean side balcony, almost the size of Ray’s entire apartment, looking down at the beach and out to the Atlantic. A more normal-sized balcony was at the opposite end of the expansive living room. From there, guests had a view of the waterway, a cove dotted with undulating boats on moorings, and on across to the lights of the city on the western horizon.
She had decorated her home in subtle shades of high-level income. Although Ray was aware she had some money, he never suspected the engaging young woman who stopped at his desk every day enjoyed that manner of lifestyle.
Meg wanted everyone to meet him and after graciously zigging and zagging the crowd for his wine, she introduced him around to get him started. He saw no other co-workers present, not even her boss; all these prosperous people must be clients or friends. The cordial group welcomed him to Florida and made the polite newcomer-fuss. Not so bad, in fact the evening turned out well. Or so he thought at the time.
Two white wines later, after he had met a dozen mostly interesting people and forgotten their names, he noticed a woman with long red hair talking with a group out on that huge ocean-view balcony. Her back was toward him. The ocean breeze was seriously teasing the hem of her short green dress and that caught his attention. The somewhat tall woman in her somewhat short dress showing great legs was pleasing.
When she turned, he saw she was older than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t certain just what gave him that impression. Her features seemed a little sharp, but he liked her face. There was a bangle on one wrist, otherwise he saw no jewelry. Her body needed no adornments, she stood erect, and her shape was trim. Whatever her age, she was confidently attractive.
His eyes wandered around the room but kept going back to the redhead, green dress, and legs. He stood with his wine glass trying to appear casual and watched her mingle. She seemed to drift nearer to where he stood. Minutes later, she was much closer and held her gaze on him. Him? She came over and introduced herself, Loraine Dellin. He fumbled a few words expecting her to ask why he had been staring, but she started right in with party talk.
She made drawn out comments about what was good and what was a shame. She frequently reached over and touched his arm to emphasize a point he usually didn’t get. All very polite and clever. It was easy going, he just smiled and nodded, grateful for her casual rambling that kept the conversation running without his input. Silence would mean death.
The wine tasted good, he felt comfortable, and was now enjoying the party. She stood quite close to him and with heels was eye to eye. It was enjoyable having this attractive woman standing right there with those pale green eyes focused on him. Her face showed deep lines around the eyes, but that didn’t seem important. He was careful about looking down; she couldn’t have known just how loose fitting her neckline was. There seemed to be quite a bit unconstrained down there.
She wanted to know about him. “So, you’re down here alone, no wife, no kids, no attachments?”
“Just a sister up in Philadelphia, we don’t keep in touch much.”
She asked how he knew Meg.
“We work at the same firm,” he explained. “Nothing exciting, my office is buried in the back.” He tried to sound smooth but his mouth was dry and not working well. She nodded approval and said she happened to have an account with his firm.
After a few minutes, she stepped back. So, that’s it, he guessed, now comes the polite “nice chatting with you” part. Well, it had been nice. Coming to the party had been worthwhile after all. He certainly had received more than his share of her attention. He assumed she was parting to resume mingling, but she just reached to the table for a canapé. She didn’t seem to notice her breast brushed hard against his arm.
Events moved fast from then on.
Abruptly, she whispered something about leaving the party. He thought she meant later and alone. She meant right then and with him. He went over and thanked Meg for the invitation. She apologized for not getting free to talk with him and suggested he stick around. They could talk after the party. But Loraine was already waiting by the door so he supposed he’d better go. Meg appeared troubled.
As soon as they got outside, Loraine grabbed his arm and started to walk fast. “Let’s go.”
“You want a ride home?” he asked.
“Anything to drink at your place?”
“My place? Uh, wine?” He should explain his new apartment was barely furnished.
“What kind?”
“Not sure—it’s white.”
“How cute, it’s white. Christ. Is it at least fresh? Never mind. Your place will do. Where’s your car?”
“That’s mine over there, the green one.” He pointed.
“You’ve got to be joking. We’ll take mine.”
She started off and he hurried after her. Understanding women wasn’t one of his strong points.
At the end of that night with Loraine, there was no doorstep affection, no exchange of phone numbers, and no promise to meet again. He gave her an awkward little grin meaning such casual sex was unusual for him. She, no doubt, had already figured that one out.
And that was it. That’s what he thought.
She phoned a week later on Saturday morning. He was making instant coffee and his biggest problem was whether he could get by that day without shaving. Regrettably, he answered the phone.
She wanted to meet him at the InnTowner motel. Sounding frantic and insistent she hung up without explaining. At that point, he didn’t think she was actually nutty, only a bit off, and he could live with that. Normal women weren’t within the range of his experience anyway.
Why the call? Wasn’t their night together supposed to be just a party thing? Of course, one-night stands do happen all the time—well, not to him. Perhaps he’d been better in bed than he thought. Deciding on a Saturday morning rendezvous with a woman wasn’t difficult even if it meant changing out of his sweats and sneakers. He didn’t want the relationship to go anywhere, but would he like a second go around? Sure. Counting the months before the divorce and the time after the divorce, he had a lot to make up for. And there was available and willing Loraine perhaps phoning for an encore. Whether a woman desires only a one-night stand had always confused him.
He realized his fantasies might be getting ahead of him. This could be one of those “be careful what you wish for” deals. Why else the troubled voice? Likely, she wanted something else from him, wanted him to do something expensive or stupid, maybe both. But the least he could do, he decided, was to show up and see what she wanted. Wouldn’t most people say, don’t ask too many questions, just go?
At the motel, he found her in a poolside setting lifted straight off a Florida postcard: a lounge chair by a palm tree, a green bikini, sunglasses, and a floppy straw hat. She even had the requisite one-knee-drawn-up pose.
She didn’t look bad. The unforgiving bikini provided no place to hide physical flaws but presented no problem for her body. The bikini top was crowded but borderline respectable. The scanty bottom, however, belonged on some topless rollerblader down at South Beach. Loraine had put it all there to be looked at.
The pool area, circled by the small three-story motel, wasn’t crowded. November was warm but still too early for many snowbirds. A young mother waded with her three children at the far end. Across the pool, two women sat on the edge talking and dangling their feet in the water. A balding, overweight man had strategically located himself in the center of the pool in line with Loraine’s legs and enjoyed what he considered his good luck. A bikini can unlock a lot of imagination. She seemed to notice but ignored the sneaky peeks.
After greetings, Ray sat on the edge of a lounge chair facing her. Up close for the first time in daylight, he noticed the lines across her forehead. Her nose seemed more pointed, and she was even older than he had supposed at the party. He chalked it up to the wine then and the bright Florida sun now. She had tied her red hair back. Oversized sunglasses hid those unflinching pale green eyes.
He felt this calm poolside scene didn’t match her frantic phone call. “What’s this all about, Loraine?”
“I enjoyed last week at your place. I’m glad we hooked up.”
“Yes, it was fun. I never expected a follow-up call.” He started to relax, must have overreacted. How bad could the situation be? She was there lounging about poolside as carefree as a puppy. “You sounded as though you needed help. You didn’t mention this poolside event and the green bikini.”
“Chartreuse. Do you like it Ray?”
“I just decided it’s my favorite color.”
“First time I’ve worn it. It’s a thong in the back. Want to see?” she teased.
“No! Stay still. Don’t move anything.” So much skin made him uncomfortable. He glanced around quickly to see who else was taking an interest. A young man with a towel around his neck appeared, from somewhere, and sat a few chairs away. Ray guessed soon another man, and then another, would show up to enjoy a look at the pool. He began to think he had given her too much credit for being clever.
“Can’t wait to go to the beach,” she said as though reading his mind and confirming his judgment.
She seemed completely cool now, not agitated as on the phone. He tried again to get her on track. “Your phone call, what’s up?”
She was quiet for a moment then, “I do need your help. Maybe I’m in trouble.”
“Okay. Before you start a public disturbance, can we end the show here and talk in your room?”
“Well, just let me tell you. Ah….” She appeared serious now. She sat up and arranged her beige see-through beach shirt around her shoulders. Then she blurted out, “My best friend was raped.”
“My God! That’s what this is about?”
“Happened in her apartment, night before last.”
“They catch the guy?”
“Oh, we know who did it, Sonny Barner, her boyfriend. Her bastard boyfriend.”
“Date-rape? How is she?”
“Beat the hell out of her, blackened one eye. I told her to call the police. She was shook. Kept mumbling about maybe it was her fault; maybe she teased him—all that cliché crap. Next day she was still hurting, still curled up.”
“Rape by a boyfriend tough to prove, he-said she-said. Is she going to let him get away with it?”
“The next day she decided to call the cops.” she shrugged. “But by then it was too late.”
“Why?”
“Because I had already shot him.”
Chapter Three
Ray scanned the circle of windows that looked down on the pool, certain the entire town was watching and had heard what she said. At first, he could only stare, giving her a look a father would give a child. He grabbed her arm. “To your room, now—fast!” She led the way up the steps to her second floor room.
The motel room was dimly lit, heavy drapes drawn. She blocked his hand when he reached for the light switch. “Don’t spoil the mood.” She tossed her sunglasses on the nightstand, kicked off her sandals, let her hair fall loose, and got onto the bed. She adjusted the bikini and leaned back casually against a mound of pillows. “I liked your dimly lighted bedroom when we made love at your place last weekend.”
“I didn’t have a lamp.” He leaned against the desk, away from the bed. That was as close as he dared. Was she wild enough to kill a second man? “Now call the police!”
“Don’t shout. I’m sorry now I killed him, but it’s not as if anyone knows I did it. Nobody even knows I was there.”
“Well everyone knows I was here. You had us down there chitchatting about your bikini. Call them now.” In a high-pitched voice he said, “Yes, Officer, that’s the man who was sitting by the pool with the bikini murderer.”
“No! I don’t want to get involved.”
“A bit late for that, Loraine.”
“What I meant was they don’t know I’m involved.”
“Did you give a second thought to getting me involved? I can’t believe this. Of course, they’re going to catch you. You didn’t kill a stranger, you knew this guy. You’d be a suspect in any case. Just as I’m now a suspect because I know you. Know you? Hell, I slept with you. I slept with a murderer.”
“Do you have to use that word? Well, what do you want?”
“I want the clock turned back. I haven't been here, you haven't seen me, nobody has seen me, and I haven’t been out of my apartment all morning.” He wanted to shake her by the shoulders. “And I want you to put on some clothes.”
“In a minute, I’m still a little warm.”
“So, what happened?”
“Well, Tammy Jerrold is my girlfriend and Sonny Barner is one of her men friends. She’s popular if you get my drift. When I went to Tammy’s place, Norma Martin was already there. Norma’s her best friend, after me of course. We saw Tammy and felt so sad for her. You should have seen her. Norma told her to let it go. She and Tammy are truly a pair, shuffling men back and forth. But I couldn’t stand it. Men shouldn’t do that. I was mad.”
“You went after him.”
“I got his address and went to his house to tell him off. I figured it’s the least he had coming. Didn’t want him to get away with it by claiming she agreed or something, you know. Well, he got mad at me. Can you believe it? The rapist, or whatever you call him, gets mad at me. He told me to get the hell out of there. We started arguing and when I didn’t leave he got his gun out.”
“You stood there, he pointed a gun at you?”
“Yeah, but guns don’t bother me, grew up with them. You should have seen the expression on his face when I just grabbed the damn thing. Bastard was shot with his own gun. Now that’s some sort of poetic something.”
A wild story but it described self-defense. Ray felt slightly better.
“I know all about guns. My daddy had guns.” She pointed to a small box resting on top of an overnight bag against the wall. “That one’s about as small and light a .38 you’re going to find. Feels good to a woman. Don’t bother with peashooters, that’s what daddy called .22s, not enough smack. Take a look.” She pointed to the glossy cigar-box-size carton sitting in plain sight.
Ray was startled. “The gun’s in there?”
“No, no, that’s a different gun, that’s my gun. Bought it yesterday. Was going to use it to shoot him but got scared. As it turned out, I didn’t need to buy it anyway.”
Ray turned on the desk lamp and carefully picked up the new gun box by the corners. On the top was a multi-color picture of a small revolver nestled in the folds of an American flag. Printed across were the words Ladysmith Special. Cautiously he opened the box, handling it by the edges. Inside he saw a small revolver, only about six inches long, wrapped in plastic and nestled in Styrofoam. It appeared the gun hadn’t been fired, never even unpacked.
“You say this gun has nothing to do with the shooting. Where’s the actual murder weapon—as they say?”
“Guess it’s still there, beside Barner. Should we go get it?”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Why did you bring that new gun with you here?”
“Would look funny if they found it at my place, I’d have to explain.”
“The police could be swarming your place right now.”
“Don’t need it now. Maybe I’ll take it back to the store for a refund. What do you think?”
“You shouldn’t go anywhere near that store ever again.” He realized the police would construe any advice he gives her as conspiracy.
“What should I do with it?”
“Get rid of it, I don’t know how. It screams out premeditation.” He thought throwing it off a bridge would be smart, but he didn’t say that aloud, didn’t want her to repeat those words to the police.
“You could get rid of it for me.”
“No thanks, I never saw this gun.” He gave the box a symbolic push away with his fingertips. “Why did you phone me? You got me involved in this mess by calling me here and confessing a murder. Now I need help too. What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, I thought we fit pretty well after the party, and you seemed to like me.”
“So, you called me over for old times’ sake to see if I might want to get involved in a murder?”
“Well, can’t you help? Aren’t there certain things you’re supposed to do in these cases?”
“Yes, get a lawyer.”
“Don’t know any lawyers. Tammy sort of knows one. She smashed into a couple of parked cars last year. She gave this lawyer a trade, that’s what she called it, for helping her out. No, I mean don’t we have to do things about the body, the gun, things like that? Should we move him?”
Ray gave her an eye roll. “You’ve really screwed me up. You’re forcing me to call the police.”
That seemed to surprise her. “Hey! That’s not right. Don’t do that. I was in trouble and believed I was calling a friend. I wouldn’t have phoned you if I thought you were going to turn me in. You’re not involved.”
Ray sat shaking his head. “I now have criminal knowledge of a murder, and I’m helping you—to some extent. That makes me an accessory after the fact.”
“I don’t know about that stuff.”
“Well the police do. Sorry, you’re giving me no choice. As soon as they arrest you, they’ll come after me. No question about it. The only action I can take now is to report it before your arrest, before my name comes up. I have to appear open and cooperative.”
“You don’t like me.” She squirmed on the bed and folded her arms across her chest.
He didn’t think she understood. “You’ve a good case of self-defense. You were angry about the guy raping your girlfriend, very understandable. You were so infuriated thinking the bastard might get away with it that you went to his place to tell him off. He had to pay for what he had done. He pulls a gun. Luckily, he’s the one that got shot and not you. The defense rests.” Again, he had conspired with her by opening his mouth and giving her a feasible script to run with. He could hear her telling the police, “But officer, that’s what he told me to say.” He was getting in deeper.
“What do we do now?”
“What do we do? We say goodbye. That’s what we do. I’ve listened to your story, now I’m calling the police to report what you told me. I’ve no choice. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to avoid police questioning, thanks to you.”
“You’d turn me in? That’s a rotten thing to do.”
“Hello! You got me over here and displayed me to the world. There are a dozen witnesses outside that door ready to testify we met here. If you’d whispered your secret to me out on the street somewhere, I’d have a choice but not now. Don’t you get it?”
“But no one knows I was there. I can get away with it if you’ll just keep your damn mouth shut.”
“Well, you won’t. Murderers always fail to notice something. For one thing your prints are on the murder weapon.”
“No, don’t think so. I grabbed his hand not the gun.”
“You just told me you grabbed the gun. Which was it, his hand or the gun? You see the police will jump on little things like that. Your DNA is on his body if you struggled. I don’t know. Or they’ll find out you bought a gun. Something. Where did you get his address? Tammy gave it to you, didn’t she?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Police will find out she gave it to you. Bingo, you’re tied to Barner. You need to call Tammy. She has to report the rape. Going to her doctor would be good even if too late for treatment. Photos of her bruises would be great.”
“The doc will find old bruises.”
“Really!” That stopped him. Who are these people? He hadn’t considered that kind of reckless lifestyle. “Tammy into drugs or something?”
“She’s into showing off her boobs.”
That didn’t answer the question. But drug use would explain the loose sex and the destructive behavior. Toss drugs into this mess and proving rape would be impossible, he thought. And a trial for Loraine would be disastrous. If drugs are involved, the police will not only question him, they’ll test him for drug use, and tear up his apartment. No question now, he should run the other way. “Okay, forget the medical exam. But, you do need evidence to support your story of why you lost it and went after him.”
“I don’t get it. Why is Tammy reporting the rape so important? I still shot the bastard.”
“If there’s no rape why did you shoot him? The rape has to be there. The rape is what set you off. The rape is why you went after him. The rape explains everything. Have you tried to reach her?”
“She didn’t answer. Don’t know where she is, hiding I guess.”
“Well, keep trying. Once she reports the rape then your retaliation becomes justified in the minds of most people. Some will even consider you a hero for avenging the wrongdoing. You’ll be the darling of the feminists. You’ll be on TV. You can write a book.” He tried to keep it light, but she didn’t seem to get it.
“It’ll be tough with the police,” he continued, “but your attorney will handle that part. You’ll be all right, self-defense with no premeditation. They might even acquit you—but not without a reported rape.” He didn’t entirely believe everything he was saying.
“Will you at least help me find Tammy?”
“You mean will I delay calling the police and implicate myself?”
She started crying. He moved to the bed, sat beside her and tried to calm her. “With those legs you’ll look great on the witness stand,” he said trying to make her smile.
She did smile but with a calculating look. She sat up, and as she leaned forward, the bikini top slipped off. She watched his eyes fasten on her breasts. She took his face between her hands, drew him closer, kissed him, and slowly ran her tongue across his lips. “I didn’t get to do everything I wanted the other night.”
“I can’t imagine what you overlooked.”
“I know you’ll help me,” she whispered. “Don’t call the cops.” She pulled his head down. He was filled with the musky scent of her drying perspiration blended with the perfume he remembered from his bed after she left his apartment last week. He pulled back and stood, yet his eyes couldn’t leave her.
She frowned, leaned back on the pillows, and studied his face. Then she reached down and pulled on the little bow at the side of the bikini bottom. She slowly raised her hips, and with a bounce, the bottom slid off and dangled around one leg. She raised the leg high, and watched his eyes moving over her body as she reached out and slipped the bikini bottom off her ankle. She laid back and twisted for a moment, as though the movement was necessary to find a comfortable position.
He gazed down at her soft touchable skin. “This teasing routine isn’t making it easier.”
“I’m not going for easy.” She reached out her hand. “Getting you going?”
Could he stop himself if she touched him? He took a step back and looked down at her. Her tan hadn’t started yet and she was wonderfully white, naked creamy white, stretched out with her long red hair flowing across the pillow.
She gave him a sweet, pouty look. “I'll let you do anything you want with me.” Her tongue moistened the pink gloss on her lips.
He was unable to focus on anything else. He felt his heart beating and a rising wave of heat.
“Come on,” she said softly, “whether we play around on this big bed for an hour or so isn’t going to make any difference to anybody.”
He had a warm growing feeling that she made perfect sense. The warmer he got, the more sensible she sounded. He wasn’t part of this situation anyway. He could do whatever he wanted. They could lose themselves in bliss for an hour and drift away from this damn situation.
She ran the palm of her hand playfully around her nipples. “I say when it comes along you gotta take it.”
She was right. He’d be an idiot to pass this up. They’d done it before, so they do it again, would make no difference at all. He’d never be in a situation like this again. Besides, he deserved it. It was the only reasonable thing to do.
“Be smart, Ray. Come closer.”
He fought back the intense feeling. He blinked hard and shook his head trying to do away with the thought. At last, he caught his breath and inhaled deeply. He backed up, still shaking his head.
His head was clearer now. It was back to business, the business of getting out of this woman’s life. He checked his watch. “Look, it’s eleven now. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll wait until three before I go to the police. That’s four hours. You can spend the time squirming around on that bed deceiving yourself about whether they’ll catch you. But I suggest you get dressed and go find a lawyer.”
Mercifully, she closed her legs, sat up, and brushed her hair back with her hand. “So, you’ll try to find Tammy?”
“Okay, I’ll try to find her and explain what she needs to do. Then you turn yourself in.” That would be one way out of this, he thought, and it might work. Once Tammy reports the rape then Loraine would feel better about coming forward. If she doesn’t, then he’ll go to the police anyway and explain what he knows.
She seemed to go along with it. “I don’t know where Tammy is now. Maybe she’s scared, maybe she ran. I’ll give you her address and unlisted phone number.” She pointed to a motel note pad. “You can nose around. Could be she left a message with a neighbor or something. What’s your cell?”
“Let’s exchange numbers.” He wrote down the information. “Her friend Norma Martin could back this up. How do I reach her?”
“Not sure, I think she’s a waitress at the Jardin Café.”
“You’ve got four hours, Loraine, until three, okay? I’m giving you four hours.”
She grinned. “Hey, if you aren’t in the mood now, why don’t we get together tonight? I don’t want this to affect our relationship.”
That senseless offer meant zero to him now—the affair was over. He went to the door and looked back at her. Still enticingly naked, her arms wrapped around her pulled up knees. He felt pity for her. He slowly closed the door and stood at the railing. Fresh air made it easier for him to think beyond the reality of her lying there so easily accessible.
He shouldn’t be seen there. He glanced around the balcony and down below at the pool area. Two maids talked at the foot of the stairs, and two other women were now poolside. He took the opposite direction down the back stairs to the parking lot. He held back and waited while an older couple packed the car next to his and pulled out.
This wasn’t how he had intended to spend his Saturday. Two hours ago, he was going to shop for a lamp, now he was behaving like a fugitive. He’d go along with it for a few hours. If he can’t find Tammy and Norma by three, then he’ll go to the police and then so long Loraine. He could hear the police saying “Come on, Reid, you aren’t really an innocent bystander, now are you?”
Chapter Four
Ray switched on the radio as he drove away from the motel. Nothing about a murder, at least not yet. Soon the media would be all over the story: sex gone awry and a revengeful hometown killing—hot story of the year. Police might already be looking for Loraine, maybe that’s why she left her house and went to the motel. When they find her, he knew he’d be next.
She had confessed a murder to him; he couldn’t just walk away as if it never happened. People saw him with her. Better to report it and explain everything before they came looking for him. What if they clear her because of self-defense, and he goes to jail as an accessory?
What he should do is stop worrying about her and drive straight to the police, but he gave her a three o’clock deadline. Waiting a couple of hours shouldn’t hurt. Find this Tammy and convince her to report the rape, then Loraine will have her justification for shooting Barner. That’s all he’s going to do, and then he’s out of it. Goodbye crazy Loraine, you’re only a one-night stand from hell.
He phoned the Tammy Jerrold number given by Loraine. No answer. Good, she had an answering machine. He left a message.
What’s next? Norma Martin was a waitress at the Jardin Café, so said Loraine. Maybe she can be Loraine’s excuse for dishing out instant justice at gunpoint. He remembered passing the Jardin Café in the sticks on the county’s far western edge. He headed there.
Ray drove from the motel across the Intracoastal Waterway Bridge to the mainland. He looked down at the waterway that divided island living and the mainland, from the Georgia line down to Key West. The waterway ran through the middle of Park Beach, leaving the barrier island and the mostly privileged on one side, and the less fortunate on the other. The Jardin Café was far out on the less fortunate side.
He drove west past the charming old section of town and through the unremarkable new neighborhoods on into the countryside. Once spread with shady citrus, the area was almost entirely cleared to make way for progress. He was west of town now, skirting the south county line, driving along a canal. Canals were frequent in this area. Not the picturesque winding boating canals that lead to the ocean from private docks positioned at the foot of vast sloping lawns behind great houses, as in Fort Lauderdale. Up here, they called the roadside drainage ditches canals. Designed to catch rain runoff but sometimes catching a vehicle that got too close to the soft shoulder on a Saturday night. People can drown driving home.
He found the Jardin Café sprawling back from the highway on a narrow and deep lot more valuable than the creaky wood structure sitting there. At one time, it was a tolerated boozing hangout named the Jungle Club for the dense woods nearby. The woods were gone now. There never had been a garden near the Jardin Café. There was a new roof and fresh paint however, mandated by the last hurricane.
The restaurant wasn’t open, sign said four o’clock. Ray drove around back where a worker was picking up trash around the dirt parking lot. He said of course he knows Norma Martin—she owns the place.
Ray’s phone buzzed, a text message, ‘im at ambasador arms 701 dont tell’.
Very good, he had left a message for Tammy and now he gets a text back. Seems she’s willing to talk.
The Jardin Café and Norma could wait. He hurried back into town, asked directions, and found the Ambassador Arms: seven floors of apartments converted to condominiums in an upscale, oak-tree-lined neighborhood. The imposing over-done architecture was now out of style, yet the charm was timeless and now priceless. Tammy must have something going for her to find refuge in this part of town.
The street door was unlocked and the inner lobby door locked as expected. He stood reading the Owner Directory, feeling conspicuous even though no one was in sight. This wasn’t the sort of building to wander around in, knocking on doors, and asking about some woman he had never met. The directory listed #701 to A. Towson. Ray pushed the button, heard the door buzz, and was in.
He stepped off the carpeted elevator onto the gleaming restored wood flooring of a wide hallway with mahogany paneled walls and costly framed mirrors. His first impression was of a renovated mansion. This was the top floor and he noticed just one other unit. Before he could knock, the door to 701 opened and facing him was an older man, tall with broad shoulders like a college athlete. Ray guessed that with the gray hair at the temples he was in his sixties. He wore jeans and a loose dress shirt with rolled up sleeves.
The man said, “I was expecting….”
“Sorry to interrupt your morning.” Ray stood there feeling stupid with no idea who the man was and no idea what to say next. He didn't dare to explain the situation and decided it wasn’t wise to mention Tammy’s name at this point. Perhaps she was inside.
The man’s face relaxed with recognition. “You’re that new guy in town. I was expecting a reporter, come in.”
Expecting a reporter? Perhaps about the rape or the murder? Ray’s mind raced trying to think of where they might have met.
“Let’s go in the kitchen. Still some coffee left. We’ve met remember? I’m Al Towson. Your name again?”
“Ray Reid. Coffee sounds good, thanks.” He followed the man across the living room with its high-coved ceiling, hardwood floors dotted with antique, oriental rugs, and heavy furniture pieces in glowing woods. He glanced around, taking in the elegance. He recognized one of the paintings on the wall, but couldn’t think of the artist’s name.
Towson ushered Ray on into a dining room adorned with splendid silk wallpaper with matching wainscoting and an ornate chandelier. Just before passing into the kitchen, Ray stopped when he noticed a large antique cupboard in the corner. Towson saw him pointing.
“Chinese porcelain,” Ray said with some excitement. “This entire cabinet is filled with Chinese porcelain.”
Towson’s eyes widened, pleased with the observation. “Well, I’m impressed. Yes, that is indeed genuine Export China, rare and expensive. Not one person in a hundred would know that.”
Towson opened the cabinet’s glass-paneled door, and took out a cup and saucer. He held out the lustrous blue and white cup and saucer. Ray folded his arms and stepped back, reluctant to touch them. Towson carried them into the huge kitchen. “The Chinese developed porcelain over two thousand years ago. These aren’t quite that old.” He smiled at his little joke, and set the cup and saucer on a kitchen counter.
Ray said, “No, not two thousand, but easily two or three hundred years old, and you have a cabinet full of them. I’m used to seeing such items behind glass in a museum.” As fascinated as Ray was by the unexpected porcelain find, unless Tammy was hiding in a back room, he was wasting time here. This man couldn’t help him. He had to politely go along and then soon leave.
Ray leaned closer to examine the cup and saucer. “I’ve studied some on seventeenth century history. He carefully turned the cup to examine it without picking it up. “As you know, trade was between China and wealthy Europeans. Mind if I tap the cup with this spoon?”
Towson gave a nod but the slight frown on his face said he wasn’t so sure.
“Chinese porcelain like this was all the rage. The upper classes just had to show off their china.” With a gentle tap, the cup rang out with a clear bell tone. “Any ship going near China tried to load up with this valuable cargo.” Ray then held the saucer high to verify that light could pass through it. “In the nineteenth century, imitation dishes flooded the world and were referred to as 'china', but they weren’t porcelain.” He set the pieces back down. “All of our grandmothers had a set of ‘fine china’, some handed down generations—God only knows what it actually was. That said, without question, Sir, you are in possession of rare and genuine porcelain.”
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-28 show above.)