Chapter Six
Mack shook the hand of the final departing church member and hurried back to his study. Instantly Mary Lou was in his arms, covering his face with kisses. “You did a beautiful job, my husband. The way you tied Bobby's death to the hope we have in the resurrection was perfect. People all around me were weeping and I was a bit teary-eyed myself."
He held her tightly for a long moment before he spoke. “I need to find Adele and do what I can to comfort her. Those fundamentalist preachers have it all over me at times like this."
“What do you mean?"
“They simply pass off a tragedy as being God's will."
“The God you and I know would never will a sniper to kill a good man like Bobby Elliott."
“I know, but one who is grieving, like I know Bobby's wife is, craves answers—needs to believe that there was some reason, some purpose in the tragedy—that some good may come of it. I don't have such words of comfort to offer."
“Just knowing that you care is a great comfort, Mack."
“Adele is at the hospital?"
“No. As soon as the service was over, I came back here and called Charlotte Memorial. She just left. They think she is on her way home."
“Then I need to be there to meet her."
“Sandy and Tim told me they were going directly to her house. They'll be there when she arrives. You need to eat something, Mack. You skipped breakfast this morning. I have a roast in the oven. Let's go home, get a bite to eat and then visit Adele. We can take slices of the roast and some rolls for her to snack on."
“You're going with me?"
“Of course. As hysterical as she became when Bobby was shot, I may need to give her a sedative. Besides, I care about Adele too."
* * * *
George crawled behind the steering wheel, cranked the engine, but did not put the car in gear. “What did I say that hurt you so, Maggie?"
She did not respond.
“Whatever it was, I'm sorry."
There was still no response. He slipped the gear into reverse, backed up from under the basketball goal, moved the gearshift to drive and crept out of the parking lot.
“I'll take you home. Then I'm coming back to the restaurant. I think I'll fry some chicken, make biscuits and maybe a couple gallons of tea to take to Mrs. Elliott."
“Did you know them?” she asked.
“I knew who they were. That's about it. I'm not sure I ever met Mrs. Elliott, but I have run into Bobby a few times."
“Why do people take food or send flowers to people who are grieving the loss of a loved one?"
“I don't know. There's not much anyone can do to help in times like these. It's just a way of saying we care."
She nodded.
“That's where she lives,” he said.
“I thought that was the entrance to the Dollars’ house."
“Other side of the road."
She glanced through the rear window. “Oh,” she said.
“Thank you."
“For what?"
“For talking to me."
She shook her head. “I feel like such a fool."
“I don't understand."
“The last few days have been, well, the best days of my life. I felt like I was living in a fairyland or something. I have a good job, a mansion to live in and a boss who treats me so wonderfully. I got a little possessive. When I realized that you have an interest in this Dottie woman, I became jealous. I felt like she was a competitor trying to take you away from me. I'm sorry, George."
“I shouldn't have mentioned her."
“Not true, George. It was foolish of me to think that you have no interests outside the restaurant. I need to get a life."
The motor hummed as the recreational complex loomed into sight. “Maggie, I don't know what to say. I'm confused. You asked me if I love you. You asked if I wanted to have sex with you."
“I was off base, George. I'm sorry."
“I think I owe you an answer. I like you, Maggie. I like you very much. You know that. Having you around has taken ten years off my life. I feel like a young man again. Do I love you? Yes, I do. But not in the way I loved my wife."
“Like a daughter?” she offered.
“No. Not that either. I can't explain it."
“You don't have to."
“Do I want to have sex with you? Yes.” He stared straight ahead, but felt her looking at him. “It will never happen. I'm old enough to be your father. It will never happen with Dottie Frank, either. She hates my guts, and with reason. Oh, one day she will let me buy her out, I'm sure, but she will always blame me for putting her out of business."
He pulled into the circular driveway, pushed the lever to park and left the motor running. She popped lose her shoulder harness, opened the door and looked at him.
“I'm flattered that you want me to help you recapture some of the joy you used to experience with your wife, George. I know you loved her deeply. I'll do what I can. I'll take the managerial job you offered me and we'll make a success of the restaurant and motel together.” She smiled her special smile. “I'll see you at the restaurant in a few minutes and help you prepare something for Mrs. Elliott. I want to change clothes first."
“I'll wait for you,” he offered.
“No. I want to take my Blazer. The church bulletin said there is to be a meeting of the Dot Volunteer Fire Department and Rescue Squad at three. I want go to it."
“You want to be a fireman?"
“No,” she grinned. “A firewoman."
* * * *
“Drop me off at the diner,” Dottie said.
“Why, Mom? I thought you were going to have lunch with us,” Billy protested.
“I'm sure it won't be as good as yours, Dottie, but I have a hen in the oven,” Tracy said. “Surely it'll be edible."
“Honey,” she said. “Don't be so defensive. You're a good cook. I want to fry a chicken, bake a tin of biscuits and maybe prepare a gallon or two of ice tea for Adele. It's the least I can do."
Billy parked in front of Dot's Diner and shut off the motor. “We'll help and then go with you to pay our respects to Mrs. Elliott."
Dottie flipped the light switch and turned on the deep fat fryer. “Did you see that little tart sitting in church with the old bastard?"
“I thought she was sweet,” Tracy said. “And did you hear her singing the hymns? She has the voice of an angel."
“The devil has angels too, you know."
“Mom!” Billy chided.
“Don't you Mom me,” she said. “Mark my words, she's up to no good. Pranced down the isle and joined the church like she owns the place."
“She seems pretty nice to me,” Tracy insisted. “Billy and I shook hands with her after the service. She's working for Mr. Bennett and staying at his house until she can find a place of her own."
“Likely story,” Dottie hissed. “You can bet your life she's screwing the old fool."
“Mom!” Billy chided again. “Even if she is, which I doubt, what difference does it make to you?"
Dottie glared at her son. “I don't give a damn what the old goat does."
* * * *
Borders turned onto the Lumbermill road. “It's murder, now,” he said.
“Such a tragedy,” Leora replied with a sigh. “That Eddie Crow and his wife joined the church this morning. You think he's the one who did it?"
Borders shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it—no motive."
“But he had a recently fired rifle."
“True, but there's nothing to link the rifle to the shooting. The deputy's report said Crow claimed he was shooting rats. The report noted that the front yard was grown up and could be rat infested."
“What do they know about this Eddie Crow?"
“His story checks out. He and Greta have jobs at the new restaurant and motel. They came here from Charlotte where Crow worked as a cook and Greta was a waitress at the old Cup and Saucer. Prior to that they worked at a restaurant in Fayetteville."
“What about his wife, Greta?"
“She's probably not his wife. There's no record of the marriage, but they could have gotten married in another county or even another state I suppose. She was a hooker working the military base in Fayetteville until Eddie met her some way. She seems to have cleaned up her act—no arrests for the last three years anyway."
“Still, he's the only suspect."
“I talked with him a little after the service this morning. They've rented a cottage on Schoolhouse Road. He said they joined the church because they want to become a vital part of the community. He told me he was going to join the choir and the fire department too. Seems like a nice guy."
“A model citizen,” she summarized.
“Looks that way."
* * * *
As she began clearing the dishes Greta said, “Eddie, please let me go back to wearing panties and a bra when I'm in the house. Remember how you used to like seeing my panties glued to my labia?"
“Where did you learn such a big word, bitch? I like watching your naked ass waddle around here,” he replied as he wiped grease from his lips with a paper napkin, “and your tits jiggle real nice when they aren't tucked inside bra cups."
She lifted her breasts and looked at them. “You said yourself I was beginning to droop. They look better in a bra. I could cut the tips out of a bra so my nipples would poke through. You'd like that. And besides, grease splattered out of the pan when I was frying the pork chops and burned my left boob."
He laughed. “Bring it over here. I'll kiss it and make it well."
She obeyed, but as he roughly ran his thick tongue over her flesh she mumbled, “It ain't funny. It hurts."
He pushed back from the table. “Put ’em on if you like,” he said. “But if I don't like it I'll stick that damn boob in a pan of sizzling grease."
She picked up the remaining dishes and took them to the sink. It's not worth the risk, she thought.
“Before you wash the dishes,” he said, “wrap up the rest of the pork chops in aluminum foil. I'm gonna make a trip to the poor widow Elliott and express our condolences."
“Want me to go with you?"
“Naw. I'm just gonna stay for a few minutes. I'll pat her on the back, tell her it was God's will, and be on my way. I'll make some excuse for your absence."
“You murdered him, Eddie—not God."
“Yeah, but how do you know God didn't tell me to do it? The bastard had it coming for what he did to me, and so does the Dollar bitch."
“If you say so, but the boy didn't do nothing to you."
“The sins of the mother are visited upon the sons..."
“What?"
He waved her away. “You wouldn't understand."
She handed him the wrapped chops. “I cut the bones out. They'll make good sandwiches if you'll stop by the Dot Grocery and pick up a package of rolls. Tell her I'm sorry."
“Yeah, sure. Look, I'll probably be gone most of the day. I'm going to that meeting of the volunteers at the church this afternoon."
“Is it okay with you if I take a nap?"
“No, it isn't. Get the dishes cleaned up and then clean out the spare room. You've put that off long enough. That room stinks to high heaven. I can't stand to go in there."
“Okay, Eddie.” She suppressed a smile. “I haven't noticed a smell, but I'll scrub it down real good for you."
Hot water was still filling the sink when she heard Eddie slam the front door. Good riddance, she thought.
While washing, drying and putting away the dishes she felt like she was in prison. Her thoughts turned to escape, but where could she go? What would she do? For a while she made a good living as a prostitute, but her thoughts kept returning to three soldiers and a dark ally in Fayetteville. She needed money of her own—money Eddie didn't know about.
She went to the kitchen closet and extracted a bucket, rags, furniture polish, a dust mop and the vacuum cleaner. She set everything down outside the door to the spare room and braced herself for the cold chill she expected. It didn't happen. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or disappointed.
Greta stepped inside the room and inhaled deeply. She smelled no offensive odor, but the room was more of a mess than she remembered. Eddie has been in here, she thought, but he must not have found anything of value. She picked up litter, stacking papers neatly on the dusty desk and returning books to the bookcase. She pulled open one of the file cabinet drawers. It was half full of manila folders. She found the other three drawers the same. She opened one of the folders. The contents seemed to be a child's book report. She shuddered as she remembered her own school days.
Greta plugged in the vacuum cleaner, but before turning it on she said, “Ain't you in here, Lady?” There was no response—no cold chill. She laughed. “Guess I should have said ‘Aren't you in here, Lady?’ since you was a schoolteacher.” She pushed the button and the vacuum cleaner motor sprang to life with its harsh whir.
When she finished, she put away the cleaning materials and returned to the room. She knew Eddie wanted everything thrown out, but she just couldn't. She decided to cram all the books together on the bookcases, making room for whatever he wanted to put there, and jam all the papers in the file cabinet. She could tell him that the books might be worth something to a collector and the papers too. Before Eddie threw them out, an expert should examine them.
As she rearranged the bookshelves, she wondered what stories the volumes contained. She wished she could read better. Books contained so many big words she did not know. She gave up trying to read them when she was in the fifth grade. She moved her neat stacks to the filing cabinet and, when she was finished, the gray metal drawers were tightly packed.
“Lady,” she said as she sat down at the desk, “I told you this morning I would go through your things this afternoon. Where are you?” She tensed for the cold chill, but she found herself perspiring instead. She wiped a puddle of liquid from under her sagging breasts. One by one she opened the desk drawers and, to her dismay, all but the last drawer was crammed with more papers and spiral bound notebooks. The last drawer contained a single notebook.
She went to the basement to find a box and was pleased to see the cobwebs were gone. She looked behind the furnace at the spot where Eddie threatened to keep the kidnapped boy and perhaps his mother. She tried to visualize the torture chamber Eddie threatened to build. The chill ran down her spine.
“What the hell do you expect me to do about it?” she asked. There was no reply. She started back to the basement steps and saw a perfect sized box. Now why didn't I see that when I first came down the steps? she asked herself.
Back in the spare room that once was the schoolteacher's study, Greta emptied the desk drawers. When she picked up the notebook from the last drawer, she idly opened it before tossing it into the box. On the first page, in a neat and flowing script, was written, “To Someone.” She turned the page and slowly read:
I am an old lady and death cannot be far away. I have no relatives to whom to leave my estate, and certainly my life has been so unexceptional no one would ever want to know about it. Yet, I feel compelled to write. Perhaps someday, someone unknown to me now will read my words, and perhaps something I have yet to write will be significant to that person. If it turns out that these words are not just the musings of a senile old lady, then Someone, this message is for you.
Greta placed the open notebook on the desk. She searched the bookshelf until she found a dictionary. She pulled the desk chair out and jumped as her naked posterior made contact with the cold vinyl. As quickly as her limited familiarity with dictionary use allowed, she looked up “unexceptional,” “compelled,” “musings,” and “senile."
She placed the open dictionary on the desk and continued to read from the notebook, laboriously looking up at least one word in every other sentence.
My name is Ida Jenkins. I have lived in Dot all my life except for four wonderful years spent at Woman's College in Greensboro, North Carolina. As a child I primed tobacco like everyone in Dot, tended the fires while the tobacco was cured and listened in awe to the auctioneer's chant as the golden leaves were sold. For over forty years I was a teacher at the Dot Elementary School. Many of my former students are still living in Dot and when I hear them speak, it pains me to realize how badly I failed to teach them proper English.
It may be an apocryphal story, but I have heard that a salesman named our community. In trying to explain to his boss where he was going, he called the community “just a dot on the map.” I have seen many changes in Dot over the years. I watched our community grow. I played in the rafters when they built the two tobacco auction warehouses. I watched a rabbit trail turn into Highway 13. I saw buildings built, businesses created, babies born and whole families moving to Dot.
Then things turned around. The community began to shrink. The warehouses went out of business, as did other enterprises. Young people moved away in search of jobs. Sometimes whole families left us. I watched Pete Harlow gobble up farms at a penny on the dollar and get rich on the backs of his neighbors. Up until a year ago, not many babies were being born in Dot anymore. Those of us still living in Dot were old. We started out as a dot on the map, and it looked as if we would return to being just a dot on the map. If things continued the way they were going, in twenty years we would not have been even a speck on the map. Most likely Dot would have become merely a bedroom neighborhood of Charlotte.
Now there's hope. The despicable Pete Harlow died and left his fortune to his nephew, Tim Dollar. Tim and his darling wife, Sandra, decided to stay in Dot and they seem to be instilling into the community a resurgence of vitality. I wish I could live long enough to see the result of their efforts, but I know I will not.
I am known as a respectable spinster who devoted her life to the nurture of children. As it turned out, I didn't have much choice. I wasn't exactly ugly as a teenager, but I wasn't pretty either. No man ever asked for my hand in marriage. My mother and father died just after my graduation from college. My, how proud they were of me, but they left the farm to my brother. Like everyone else, he eventually sold it to Pete Harlow. He moved to Savannah and died a short time later. I used what little money I saved to buy a four-room frame house located right behind the school.
Of course, the old schoolhouse has been closed for many years, but there's talk of remodeling and reopening it now that Dot has begun to grow again. I have willed my little estate to the Mecklenburg County School System. Perhaps they can sell it and use the proceeds towards the remodeling effort.
If I could live my life over again, knowing what I now know, I would do many things differently. First, I'd find a husband. In my day, girls waited for the men to notice them. Today they go and get what they want. I can think of at least five young men in Dot that I could have made my slave if I had taken them out behind the barn and showed them what a woman I was. I might have still been a schoolteacher, but I doubt it. Certainly I would never have been the traditional housewife. When I was young, I was strong and adventurous. Maybe I would have started a business or perhaps I would have explored the streams and the old Dot gold mines, looking for an undiscovered vein. (I have written about that fantasy in another notebook.) Certainly, I would have children.
I'm smiling as I write this drivel, but if I believed in reincarnation, I would not want to come back as some other species. I would want to be a homo sapien female, living in the same time frame as the woman I now wish I had been. I would live a life of constant joy and adventure. I would make some lucky man very happy, and I would have many children. Instead of spending old age waiting to die, I would be out spending the gold I dug from God's rock pile.
Greta was so engrossed in her unaccustomed attempt to read that she did not hear Eddie slip up behind her. “Boo,” he yelled as he grabbed her under her arms and propelled her face forward across the desk. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as he slapped her fanny.
“I ... I've been cleaning up like you told me too,” she gasped. She heard the sound of the desk chair being pulled away and the zipper on his pants traveling south.
“Looks good,” he said, referring to her cleaning efforts.
She felt his erection against her buttocks, heard him spit into his hand, felt his penis push against her dry anus. She stifled a scream and moved her buttocks, as she knew he wanted.
“I got ’em all eating out of my hand,” he bragged. “That black bitch collapsed into my arms like I was a long lost lover. ‘Oh, Mr. Crow,’ she said. ‘It was so kind of you to come.’ Bitch has good tits. Nice ass, too. She didn't complain at all when I felt her up. No wonder Bobby married her. And the guys at the fire department welcomed me as if I was royalty or something. That gal that's working at the restaurant with me—Maggie Skinner—she joined up too. You know, she's one hell of a good-looking piece of ass. I eyeballed her good in church this morning. She must wear some kind of sports bra when she's at work, but this morning she had big knockers. I may wind up dumping you and fucking her before this is all over. She wants me bad. I can tell."
Greta felt him losing his erection. He became furious when that happened.
“Move your flabby ass,” he demanded.
Perspiration poured from her body, her breath came in gasps, but she made an effort to obey. She stretched her hand beneath her stomach, her searching fingers found his scrotum and she sighed in relief as she felt him stiffen inside her.
“What are you reading?” he asked as he stood perfectly still, making her do all the work.
She held her breath as she sensed him picking up the notebook. He read aloud from the point where she stopped.
Someone, if you exist and if the Creator allows me to come back to earth, I'll become your best friend. I'll share with you the knowledge I have accumulated and I'll help you turn my dreams into reality. Together we'll find adventure, excitement, joy, extreme happiness and wealth. We'll find the right man and he will fill us with ecstasy as we make him the luckiest man on earth. We'll have lots of children and they'll be our greatest joy. If anyone tries to harm you, I'll defend you. Watch for me, Someone. Listen. Use all your senses. If the Creator is kind and you are willing, we have a wonderful future together. Trust me, dear Someone.
Eddie laughed as he tossed the notebook at the trashcan. He missed and the book crumpled open on the spare room floor. “Words from the ghost, Greta?” he sneered. He twisted his hand in her hair and rhythmically began to tap her head into the desktop. “Don't you go getting any ideas, bitch. This is the only life you'll ever have.” He began to drive himself furiously against her torn and bleeding rectum.
Help me, Miss Jenkins, Greta prayed as her head continued to thump against the desktop. Suddenly she shivered.
Eddie's body instantly became motionless and he released his grip on her head. “My back,” he cried. “Oh, shit. I think my back is broken. Greta, help me."
Greta wiggled out from under him and heard a popping noise as his penis emerged from her anus.
“Help me, baby. Oh, God. Do something."
“Serves you right,” she said timidly. She looked at his swollen penis, now pointing at the ceiling. He looked like a statue. He did not dare move. Her eyes fell on the notebook, neatly closed and lying next to the trashcan. She picked it up and placed it carefully on the desk.
“Don't make fun of me or Miss Jenkins either,” she said softly.
“I was just kidding, baby. Do something."
“I don't know what to do, Eddie,” she said coldly as she squatted beside him. She lifted his underwear from his ankles and wiggled it back in place."
“Shit, Greta. That hurts. Be careful."
“You don't mind hurting me,” she mumbled as she pulled up his pants. She stood in front of him, zipped him up and fastened his belt.
“Oh, God, baby. It hurts so bad,” he whimpered.
“Put your arm around my shoulders,” she said as she lifted his right arm. “Let's try to get to the bedroom.” She placed her left arm around his waist. When he tried to take a step his scream momentarily deafened her. Miss Jenkins, she prayed, that's enough.
They both heard a crackling noise coming from his back. “Oh, man,” he said as he exhaled noisily. “That's better. I felt something pop in my back. I must have pulled a disk or something and it popped back in place. God, Greta,” he said as tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. “I've never felt such pain before."
“Pain ain't fun,” she said coldly. “Now that you know what it's like, don't never hurt me again."
“I won't, baby,” he sighed as he rubbed his back. “I swear to God I'll never hurt you again."
Chapter Seven
Eddie Crow's eyes popped open. He stared blankly at the ceiling of the bedroom, his body covered in a cold sweat. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! he admonished himself. He focused his eyes on the green numerals of the clock radio. It was seven minutes after two, Monday morning. He sat up and looked at Greta sleeping beside him.
“You awake?” he whispered. There was no response. He gently squeezed a nipple. She turned over without waking up.
He slid out of bed, dressed quickly, pulled on his coat and pulled the rifle from the bedroom closet. He went to the kitchen and checked to be sure that the magazine was fully loaded. He eased out the back door, circled the house and climbed into the pickup but did not close the door. He shifted to neutral and jerked his body forward repeatedly until the truck slowly began to coast down the driveway. He cranked the vehicle and pulled on the lights when he reached Schoolhouse Road.
“How could I have been so stupid?” he asked himself aloud. “It was Adele Elliott's black legs wrapped around my white ass when Bobby burst in taking pictures. It was Adele that Bobby and Sandra used to set me up. He must have married the whore after I left town. Well, it's payback time for her too. Maybe they'll put them both in the same casket."
He turned left onto Old Charlotte Road, illuminated by the Korner Kafe neon sign. He drove below the lumberyard and turned right onto the nearly invisible logging road. He drove slowly, remembering with pleasure the last time he was on this road. Fifteen minutes later he cut the engine and turned off the lights. He made his way through the pine trees until he reached the vantagepoint from which he could see the Elliott house, illuminated by the half moon that seemed to hover directly overhead.
There were no lights on in the house, but he was concerned. He expected to see Carl Elliott's truck or somebody else's vehicle. Surely, someone was staying with Adele on the first night after Bobby's death. He circled the tobacco field and his heart pounded each time he stepped on a dry twig or dead leaf.
He darted from the edge of the woods and pasted his back to the side of the house, listening intently for any sounds from within. Carefully he inched his way to the front porch and froze when a step creaked beneath his weight. His eyes fully adjusted to night vision, he peeked through the window on the far left of the porch and saw Adele, sleeping on her back. He went to the far right window and found the living room empty.
The screen on the window came off with little more than a tug. Using his pocketknife, he removed the putty from the windowpane in front of the window latch. The small rectangular piece of glass fell silently into his waiting hands. Within seconds, he was inside. After checking every room to be certain there was no one else in the house, he slipped through the open door of the master bedroom.
Holding the rifle in his right hand, he ripped back the sheet that was covering her. She did not stir. He sat on the bed and pressed the end of the barrel under her chin. She took a deep breath, but her eyes did not open. He squeezed her thick left breast, hidden only by her thin nightgown. She made a brief chewing motion with her mouth and turned her head away from him, but she did not awaken. It was then that he spotted the brown bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table.
The pills zonked you out, didn't they, bitch? he thought as an evil grin creased his lips. He cut the gown from bottom to top, opened it and caressed her unresisting body. He lightly slapped her face and still there was no response. “We have some unfinished business, you black whore,” he said softly. “Wish I'd brought a rubber with me. I don't want to leave my cum inside your cunt for possible DNA matching.” He pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. “Bingo,” he said. “Thank you, Bobby."
He pushed off his pants and underwear and tore open the foil package. He rolled the condom on his penis and crawled between her legs, moving them obscenely apart. The lubrication on the condom allowed an easy entrance but as soon as he penetrated her, he began to lose his erection. He slapped her again. He pinched her nipples savagely. “Wake up, you damned whore. It's no fun fucking you if you don't know what's happening.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently. Her head rolled from side to side but there was no breakthrough into consciousness.
“Shit,” he said as his flaccid penis slipped from her vagina. He yanked the pillow from beneath her head and pressed it over her face. She did not struggle, but when he removed the pillow ten minutes later, her eyes were wide open in a sightless stare.
After flushing the condom down the commode he left the same way he entered, pausing to wipe from the screen and windowpane any fingerprints he may have left. He retraced his steps around the tobacco field, but this time he moved quickly, not worrying about the small noises he might make.
When he was again in his own bedroom, dressed only in boxer shorts, he sat on the edge of the bed and turned the clock back an hour. He pulled the cover from Greta's nude body, grasped her right breast savagely and sucked hard on the left one.
“My God, Eddie. Don't you ever get enough?” she grumbled sleepily while trying to focus on the clock radio. “It's three o'clock in the morning, for crying out loud."
“You're right, Greta,” he said. “If anyone ever needed her beauty rest, it's you. Go back to sleep."
He lay back on his pillow, forced himself to stay awake until he heard her breathing rhythmically, reset the clock, and dropped into a deep slumber.
* * * *
“Well, the bastard certainly wiped out my breakfast and lunch crowds,” Dottie grumbled to June who was sitting on a counter stool, having no customers to wait on.
“They'll be back tomorrow,” June replied hopefully. “It's hard to turn down a free meal."
“June, sweetheart, your complexion is clearing up nicely, but you have a huge whitehead right between your eyes. I'll give you a quarter if you'll let me pop it."
June blushed and ducked her head. “Dr. McGee says not to pop my bumps. She says that is what has caused so many scars on my face."
“How about fifty cents?"
June smiled and shook her head.
Dottie's eyes twinkled. “What do you say we lock up the place and go get ourselves a free T-bone?"
The teenager giggled. “Sounds like a good idea to me."
Since the Korner Kafe was only three blocks away, the two women walked, enjoying the fresh air of the mid April day. When the restaurant was in sight they were glad they left their cars behind—the parking lot was jammed.
Customers filled every seat and the line of people waiting extended through the entrance door. Dottie and June stood behind Rita Holder, Sandra Dollar and Sandra's son, Junior.
“You caught us, Dottie,” Rita said.
“We're here for the free meal too,” Dottie laughed. “I'm going to order the most expensive thing on the menu."
Rita laughed, but Sandra's mood seemed somber.
“Cheer up, Sandy,” Dottie said. “I'll forgive you this one little transgression."
Sandra turned to Dottie and with tears in her eyes said, “Someone murdered Adele Elliott last night."
“Don't cry, Mommy,” Junior pleaded as he tugged at her leg.
Dottie gasped and clutched her hands to her chest. “Do they know who did it?"
“Not a clue,” Sandra replied. “He came in through a living room window and smothered her with a pillow."
“Adele was alone?"
Sandra nodded. “She was nearly hysterical yesterday after Bobby died. Dr. McGee gave her a sedative and a prescription for sleeping pills. Tim got the prescription filled for her. We tried to convince her to let someone spend the night with her, but she insisted on being alone. Carl stayed until midnight, but she finally ran him off too."
“First Bobby and now Adele,” Dottie said shaking her head.
“Someone had it in for the two of them. That should give the detectives something to go on,” Leora Borders added.
“Hello, Leora,” Dottie said. “I didn't see you standing there."
“Like everybody else, I collect coupons and always take advantage of free trial offers,” Leora joked.
“Sandy, wasn't Adele your housekeeper and babysitter?” Dottie asked.
Sandra nodded. “Most of all she was a good friend. She'll be hard to replace. Tim and I have offered a $100,000 reward for information leading to the conviction of the beast who did this. It'll be announced on all the Charlotte TV stations during tonight's six o'clock news programs."
“Borders was a good detective,” Leora said. “Still is. I've been trying to get him to come out of retirement long enough to solve this case."
“If memory serves, you're a good detective yourself,” Sandra commented.
“I was lucky that one time,” Leora replied, “but I'm afraid I won't be able to help much with this one. I have been so tied up writing the history of the church I've lost touch with most everything else."
A dozen or more people came out of the restaurant and, when they saw Dottie, turned their faces or studied their shoe tops as they passed her. The waiting line surged forward.
“Was she ... was she raped?” Leora asked.
Sandra shook her head. “She was molested. Her gown was cut away and her right breast seemed to have been bruised, but initially there is no evidence that she was actually raped. They're doing an autopsy as we speak."
“I don't claim to be psychic,” Leora said, “but I sense there is something you are not telling us."
Sandra nodded again as the line moved forward.
Dottie looked up and saw customers leaving from the far exit door. Cowards, she thought.
“The sleeping pill bottle was on the bedside table. It was empty. It's possible the murderer forced her to swallow them, but if so, why would he smother her? It looks like she tried to commit suicide. The murderer just helped her achieve her goal.” Sandra began to sob and Dottie hugged the taller woman tightly.
When Dottie and June finally sat at the counter, they ordered T-bone steaks with all the trimmings. “Aren't you one of the people who joined the church yesterday?” Dottie asked the waitress.
“Yes ma'am. Name's Greta, uh, Crow. I'm really working with housekeeping for the motel, but they were so busy they have me working in here today."
“Ah, Mrs. Frank,” George Bennett greeted after the meals were served. “So good of you to join us. Checking out the competition?"
“I don't call this tough steak much competition,” she replied.
His brow creased momentarily. “If it's tough, let me get you another."
“Forget it,” she said as she sipped her glass of ice tea. “Tea's too strong too."
“You're the first to complain,” he smiled.
“You don't look good, George,” she commented.
“I am tired. I've been at it since five this morning and the place has been crowded from the moment we opened."
“You're too old for this business,” she said. “You should take your own advice and retire."
“No, I'm just out of shape. I'll get my working legs back under me in a few days.” He smiled at June and wished he could reach out and pop the huge pimple between her eyebrows. “Who's minding the store?"
“You know damn well I have no business with you giving away food."
“My offer is still good, you know,” he said.
“Cram it up you scrawny ass,” she spit back.
He leaned across the counter and placed his lips close to her ear. “It may come as a surprise to you, but I have something I'd love to cram up yours,” he whispered.
She couldn't believe he stuck his tongue in her ear. “You damned fool,” she hissed as those sitting nearby turned their heads. “With that young thing you have living with you, you don't need my butt to screw."
George's eyes flamed with anger. “You're off base, Dottie. You can toss zingers at me all you like, but you leave Maggie out of it. She's the most wonderful young lady I have ever known.” He stomped off and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You don't really think..."
“June, honey. Like they say, where there's smoke there's fire. Look at her over there, handing out menus and acting like she owns the place. Mark my words, she's screwing him and when the time is right, she'll take him for all he's worth."
* * * *
“What cha doing?” Borders asked as he rambled into Leora's study.
“Working on the church history,” she replied absent-mindedly. “I thought you were going to meet me for lunch."
“I was with the boys in Charlotte, again. I waited for the autopsy results to come in on the Elliott woman. I guess you've heard."
Leora nodded.
“She may have been raped. There was lubricant in her vagina similar to that used on certain brands of condoms. It also appears she took an overdose of sleeping pills before the murderer finished her off."
“That's old news. Sandra Dollar told me today at the Korner Kafe. Did anything else come up?"
“Yeah,” he said smugly. “They fixed the time of death between three and four this morning. These young whippersnappers aren't too good at being bloodhounds. I guarantee you, the killer of Bobby and Adele is one and the same person. This morning I wandered across the tobacco field to the spot we think the sniper was located when he shot Bobby. I followed crushed brush and broken twigs back to an old logging road. The thing exits onto the Old Charlotte Road just below the lumberyard."
She looked up expectantly. “And?"
He looked at her without speaking.
“Any footprints or tire tracks?"
“What do you expect from this old dog?"
“I expect you to find the killer."
“I've retired, remember?"
“I remember, but do you? You spend an awfully lot of time at headquarters."
“Those guys are my friends, Leora."
“I wasn't complaining. Sandra and Tim Dollar are offering a $100,000 reward."
“Hmmm. I hadn't heard that. Maybe I should come out of retirement. I'd make a hell of a private detective.” He absently selected a photograph from those spread out on her desk, glanced at it casually and replaced it. “That's a rogues gallery if I ever saw one."
She laughed. “I want to include pictures of all the former pastors in my book. I have shots of all but the first, an Elder Rufus Mabe, and the one who preceded Mack—Reverend John Baxter."
“You'll probably never find a photo of the first guy, but somebody should have a picture of Baxter."
“You'd think. However, he was the pastor of the church for just a few months. He left town unexpectedly without saying goodbye. No one seems to have heard from him since."
“Why don't you put an appeal in the church newsletter? Surely, somebody has a snapshot with him in it. With all that computer equipment your son has, he could scan a photograph and crop out this guy's mug."
* * * *
Detective Bud Cranfield pushed through the plate glass door, removed his wide brimmed hat, and surveyed the afternoon diners at the Korner Kafe.
“Table, booth or counter?” Maggie asked as she approached, extending a menu in his direction.
“No thank you,” he said. “I'm looking for Eddie Crow. I understand he works here."
“Yes, sir,” Maggie replied pleasantly. “Everything on the menu is free today and, as you can imagine, we've been swamped. I believe Eddie and his wife are out back on the loading dock taking a well deserved cigarette break."
“Thank you ma'am,” Cranfield said as he raised his index finger to tip the hat he forgot he was no longer wearing.
As he turned to leave, Maggie said, “You can go through the kitchen if you like."
He nodded and followed her. As the delicious aroma of various foods filtered through his nostrils, he made a mental note to return for supper.
“Mr. Crow,” he said to the bearded man seated on the edge of the loading dock, “I am Detective Cranfield with the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department."
“We've met,” Eddie replied gruffly without standing or offering to shake hands. He took a long drag from his cigarette, flipped it away and asked, “What do you want this time?"
“Where were you this morning between three and four o'clock,” Cranfield asked.
“Where do you think I was, Copper? I was at home in bed, fast asleep."
“The hell you were,” Greta laughed.
Cranfield turned to her expectantly.
“I ... I was just joking."
“Go on,” Cranfield insisted.
“He was in bed at three o'clock all right, but he wasn't asleep. He was trying his best to have sex with me."
“You're certain of the time?"
She nodded. “We have this clock radio with green lighted numerals. It was exactly three o'clock when he woke me up."
* * * *
“Boy,” Maggie said with a sigh, “It's been a huge success, but I am glad this day is over."
George smiled weakly as he shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
She reached across the table, and touched his hand. “You okay?"
He nodded.
“You hardly touched your food and I know you skipped lunch. Did you have anything for breakfast?"
“I'm the one who is old and supposed to be losing my memory. You fixed country ham biscuits for us as soon as we got here at five this morning."
“Oh, yeah,” she replied sheepishly. “George, I'm worried about you. You're exhausted."
“That I am,” he agreed.
“Please go on home. It's after nine. I'll check things out and be right behind you."
“Not much to check out,” he said. “The night crew's here and we didn't have but three parties check into the motel. I think I will call it a day, and you shouldn't hang around here much longer either."
Maggie watched him drive away and held her breath when he pulled out in front of an oncoming car. She spoke to the two deputies drinking coffee at the counter and obtained their promise to check frequently on the restaurant during the night. She offered to help the kitchen crew with the backlog of dirty dishes, but they shooed her away.
She slipped on a jacket and walked to the motel office. The night clerk on duty was a student at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. He was doing homework, but it didn't matter. There was nothing else for him to do.
She relaxed a moment behind the wheel of her Blazer before putting the key in the ignition. She sighed as she visualized her body sinking into the warm, churning water of George's Whirl Pool.
* * * *
“You have to be as tired as I am,” Eddie said as he entered the house.
Greta was too exhausted to reply. She simply nodded.
“You can shower if you like, but I'm going straight to bed. Thank goodness, there are no free meals tomorrow. I couldn't stand another fifteen hour shift."
“I feel filthy,” she said as she peeled off her uniform. “I need a shower.” She waited for him to demand sex and was delighted when he ignored her naked body and climbed between the sheets.
“Just don't wake me when you come to bed."
“Like you woke me up this morning at three a.m.?"
He smiled, but did not respond.
She let water, as hot as she could stand it, splash on her chest and then turned her back to the powerful spray. She began to soap her shoulders and arms, feeling her muscles relax. She used a washcloth only on her face and genitals. Gold, she thought. Somewhere around here Ida Jenkins says there's an old gold mine.
She faced the showerhead, braced herself and turned off the hot water faucet. She shivered as the cold spray hit her chest, ran over her breasts and down her stomach and legs on its way to the drain which was almost clogged with hair from her head. She laughed as she thought, Thar's gold in them thar hills, and she playfully pulled the hair from the drain with her big toe.
She dried off and returned to the bedroom. Eddie was snoring. She went to the spare room and closed the door before turning on the lights. The expected cold chill did not materialize. “Ida,” she said quietly. “You said you have written something about North Carolina gold mines. Please help me find it.” She searched the four drawers of the file cabinet, but found nothing.
She returned to the bedroom. What do I know about mining for gold anyway? she asked herself as she drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
The churning water of the Whirl Pool relaxed him so much that George Bennett was dozing when the bathroom door flung open. He sat up with a start, splashing water onto the tile floor and, when he saw Maggie's nude body, he hastily moved the washcloth over his crotch.
She seemed frozen to the spot. “George,” she managed to say. “I thought you were in the den. I could hear the TV when I came in."
His eyes locked on the tangled soft curls of her pubis.
“I'm sorry,” she said as she covered her lower body with the white terrycloth robe draped over her left arm.
Her breasts remained exposed and he drank them in with his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” she said again as she turned and made a delayed, but hasty retreat, closing the door behind her.
George shut his eyes and groaned. A vision of the naked gorgeous beauty seemed permanently burned on the inside of his eyelids. “Maggie,” he said. “Maggie, are you still there?"
The faint response was a timid, “Yes."
“Maggie, it's okay."
“I'm really sorry, George."
“It's okay, Maggie. I just hope you don't have nightmares of my wrinkled old body."
There was a pause and then he heard her timidly say, “I like your wrinkled old body, George."
He knew he needed to reply and he fumbled for the right words. “I like your smooth tanned skin much better. Maggie, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."
He had gone too far. He was sure of it. When she didn't immediately reply, he leaned back in the Whirl Pool and sighed.
The door opened a few inches. “George?"
“Yes."
“Would you like for me to wash your back?"
He gulped audibly. “Only if you want to,” he managed to say.
He turned his head away from the door and listened to her entrance.
“George, look at me."
He turned his head. She was wearing the robe.
“Do you honestly think I'm pretty?"
He nodded.
She knelt beside him, pulled the washcloth from his groin and lathered the soft cloth with soap. She gently pushed him forward and rubbed the cloth over his quivering back.
“I think I know what you mean, now,” she said.
“You lost me."
“When you said you love me. I love you too, George—not like a father or a lover—but I do love you."
It's not the best dream I ever had, George thought as his skin continued to tingle at her touch, but maybe if I can sleep a little longer it'll get better.
Chapter Eight
Mack smiled broadly at the young acne-scarred waitress. “Mary Lou and I both want Dottie's delicious country style steak, June."
“I'm sorry preacher. All we have is today's special—meatloaf."
“Ugh,” Mary Lou said as she wrinkled her nose. “How about fried chicken?"
June shook her head. “Business has fallen off so much in the past three months that Dottie let everybody go except me, and she cut the menu back to just each day's special. Chicken is the Thursday special and country fried steak is Friday's."
Mack looked around at the nearly empty diner. “It's certainly not like old times."
“The Korner Kafe's prices are so much lower than ours that folks just can't afford to pass them up. Dottie says that Mr. Bennett is losing money just like we are, but he can afford it."
“It doesn't make any sense to me, June,” Mack said. “Why would George set his prices too low to make a profit?"
“Dottie says he's a hog. He wants all the business in Dot for himself and is trying to run her out of business."
“That doesn't sound like George,” Mack objected. “He seems to me to be a fine, respectable man."
“Dottie doesn't talk much about it,” June said, “but I know for a fact Mr. Bennett offered to buy her out. He said he'd give her a fair price, but she won't sell."
Mary Lou sighed. “I can understand that. This restaurant is Dottie's life. She must hate George Bennett's guts."
June glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “That's what she'd have you believe. Personally, I think she's kinda sweet on him."
“Now that doesn't make any sense at all,” Mack said.
“You ought to see the way they look at each other,” June replied.
Mack shrugged his shoulders. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose. How's your love life, June?"
June blushed. 
Mary Lou spared her from having to answer. “Has Dottie thought about remodeling the place and reducing her prices to match Mr. Bennett's?"
June nodded. “She doesn't have the money. The bank turned her down for a loan. The Dollars were willing to help, but not with a loan. They wanted to buy a half interest in the place and Dottie won't sell."
“I guess we'll have the meatloaf,” Mack joked.
“I don't think Dottie's doing the right thing, serving just one dish,” Mary Lou pouted. “If her prices don't drive people off, her limited menu will."
“I don't think we'll have to worry about it much longer,” June said as she turned to make sure Dottie was still in the kitchen. She leaned over the table and softly said, “I think she's about broke. She got behind on her bills and the suppliers cut her off. They won't deliver anymore. She has to drive to Charlotte every morning and pay cash for what she gets. I think she's just about spent all of her savings."
After June went to the kitchen to place their order, Mary Lou said, “Mack, Dot's Diner is an institution in Dot, like the church. We have to do something."
“We?"
“We have some money in the bank—the advances on your two books and that royalty check you received last week."
“I think she probably needs more than fifteen thousand, Mary Lou,” Mack laughed, “and I certainly would not put Dot's Diner in the same category as the church."
“Oh, you know what I mean."
“Yeah, but still, if the bank refused to make her a loan, the chances of us getting back our money would be slim. If things are as bad as June says, a loan from us would just delay the inevitable."
“I wonder why the Dollars wanted to buy a half interest in the place? They must think there is a possibility of future success."
Mack nodded. “They have the Midas touch all right. Dottie ought to listen to them."
“I remember one time Sandy said something about Dot needing a good pizza restaurant that will deliver. I wonder if that's what they have in mind?"
* * * *
Maggie found Greta's cleaning cart outside room A34. She let herself in with a passkey and found Greta working in the bathroom. “We need to talk,” she said as she sat down on the closed toilet seat.
“Okay,” Greta replied and she sat on the edge of the bathtub.
“We received a complaint this morning. Mr. Eddings checked out two days earlier than he intended. He said he woke up this morning about six with you stripped to the waist and fondling him. He claims you offered oral sex for fifty dollars."
“It wasn't me, Maggie."
“There's no point in lying about it. You are the only white employee on our housekeeping staff."
“He ... he asked me to wake him up this morning that way. It was his idea."
“Greta, the motel is not a brothel. Our reputation is very important to Mr. Bennett and me. We will not tolerate prostitution on the part of any member of our staff. If it happens again, I'll fire you."
“You're a fine one to talk,” Greta said defiantly.
“What is that supposed to mean?"
“You're the biggest whore I've ever seen."
“Be careful of what you say, Greta. I'm in a lousy mood this morning, but I'm trying to give you a break."
“Hell. You're sleeping with the boss and getting paid off with a fancy house, clothes fit for a queen and probably a salary that's much more than you're worth."
“I am simply staying in Mr. Bennett's home until I can find a place of my own."
“Like hell you are. I've seen him with his hand on your ass and it don't take no rocket scientist to figure out what the two of you are doing every afternoon in his office."
Maggie stood up, glaring at Greta. “Perhaps I should discuss this problem with your husband."
“Maggie, wait,” Greta called out as Maggie reached the exit door of the motel room. Greta burst through the bathroom door and pleaded, “Don't tell Eddie. He'll kill me."
“I should think he would be very unhappy to learn that his wife is a prostitute."
“Ain't that,” Greta said. “He'd be pissed ‘cause I was holding out on him."
“I don't understand."
Greta sat heavily on the bed and sighed. “We ain't married and I am a whore. He saved my life one night when he found me in an alley with three johns beating the shit out of me. I've lived with him ever since."
Maggie sat on the edge of a chair. “Want to talk about it?"
Greta nodded. “He treats me like dirt. He keeps all the money I make. If he knew I was holding out on him, he'd be furious. I ... I've been saving up a little so I can leave him."
Greta looked so pitiful that Maggie moved to the bed, sat beside her and put her arm around the woman who began to cry softly. “Maggie, I don't know what to do."
“I don't know what to tell you, Greta, but you just can't continue selling your body to our customers."
“Can I tell you something else?"
Maggie tightened her arm around Greta's shoulders.
“There's a ghost that lives in our house and she talks to me sometimes."
Greta's tone was so serious that Maggie was not tempted to make light of the notion.
“Her name's Ida Jenkins. She was a schoolteacher and the previous owner of the house. I know it sounds stupid, but I found a letter she wrote to me before she died."
“Tell me about it."
“Why ain't you making fun of me?"
“Greta, I don't believe in ghosts, but that doesn't prove they don't exist. Tell me about the letter."
“The letter is addressed ‘To Somebody.’ After reading it, I think I am the Somebody she had in mind. She tells a little about herself as a girl and as a woman. She never married."
“What does that have to do with you?"
“I'm getting to that. She said if she could live her life over again, she'd do things differently and then she goes on to tell what she would do."
“I still don't believe in ghosts, Greta, but maybe she has some advice in her letter that fits you. Maybe that's why you think she wrote the letter to you."
“She wasn't anything like me, Maggie. For one thing, I don't think she ever slept with a man in her whole life. She said if she had it to do over again she would find a man and make him the happiest guy in the world, but she would never be a regular housewife. That part didn't make much sense to me. She said she'd still work, maybe as a schoolteacher, but probably not."
“Sounds like she wanted to maintain her independence while enjoying a close relationship with a man."
“I reckon."
“Certainly you don't want to teach school. What other options did your ghost list?"
“Maggie, would you recognize a gold nugget if you saw one?"
Maggie laughed. “I doubt it."
“Miss Jenkins said there used to be gold mines in North Carolina. She said she thought it would be fun to search some of them to see if she could find a hidden vein, whatever that is."
“So, you want to become a gold miner?"
“I don't know anything about it, but I can't get it out of my head."
“You can probably find some books on it at the library in Charlotte."
“I don't read so good, Maggie. It took me an hour to read that letter I told you about. I have to look up so many words in the dictionary."
Maggie nodded. “You know, Greta, prospecting for gold sounds like something I might enjoy."
Greta's countenance brightened and she turned sideways on the bed, facing Maggie. “Would you help me find the gold?"
“Hold on, Greta,” Maggie laughed. “We don't know that there is any gold and we don't know how to recognize it anyway. Do you have any idea where these old mines are?"
Greta's shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “Miss Jenkins said in her letter that she has a whole notebook on gold mines, but I haven't found it yet."
“You think it's in the house somewhere?"
“I guess. Eddie's always there when I am, so I haven't had much of a chance to search for it."
“I have an idea. I have both you and Eddie scheduled to work Wednesday through Sunday with Monday and Tuesday off. If I leave Eddie's schedule as it is, and change yours to working Monday through Friday, then you and I can search for the notebook together on Saturday and Sunday without him knowing."
Greta grabbed Maggie's hands. “Would you do that?"
Maggie squeezed Greta's hands and stood up. “Consider it done. Now I have to get back to work."
As Maggie reached the door Greta said, “I'm sorry I called you a whore and I won't do it no more."
Maggie closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it. Was Greta right about her? she wondered. She wasn't sleeping with George, of course, but their tender moments together were becoming increasingly passionate. Was her interest in George due solely to the benefits he was pouring out on her? She certainly didn't mean for it to happen that way, but was there anything she truly cared about other than George's money? She shuddered and slowly walked back to the restaurant.
George was standing behind the register. She edged up to him, slyly patted his buttocks, and then remembered what Greta said.
“Why so glum boss man?"
“Sorry,” he replied. “I didn't realize I was wearing my feelings on my sleeve."
“Look, George. You know I have strong feelings for you. It's just that ... it's just that..."
“I know,” he said. “I'm a foolish old man—an old fool to be more accurate..."
“You're not an old fool, George. It's just that..."
“Maggie, I just go nuts when we kiss and stroke each other and then stop. It's driving me crazy."
She watched him put on his cheerful face, greet a customer and ring up the sale. “Maybe it's time for me to move out, George. I never intended to cause you a problem."
“Here comes Ellen, back from her break,” he said. “Let's go in the office."
When they were behind closed doors, he took her in his arms, gripped her buttocks and drove his tongue into her mouth. She felt her body begin to tingle, and was disappointed that his kiss did not linger.
“Maggie, I came to work this morning about quarter to five. When I stopped at the traffic light, Mrs. Frank drove by on the Old Charlotte Road on the way to her diner. The back of her old pickup contained food supplies. Curiosity got the best of me, so I just called one of our suppliers. She is so far behind on her bill that they cut off her credit and will no longer make deliveries. She has to drive to Charlotte every morning and pay cash for what she gets."
So, that's what's really bothering you this morning, she thought. “Does that surprise you? You offered to buy her out and she refused."
“I don't like it, Maggie. I feel dirty. The hardheaded old biddy won't listen to reason and we're losing money. I don't want her to suffer. That was never my intention. Maybe it's time I called the whole thing off—raise prices to a level that will give us a profit and just see what happens."
“I never thought of you as a quitter, George."
“I'm not,” he said defensively.
“You mapped out a business plan and you've been following it. You say Dot won't support two restaurants. You tried to buy her out and, when she refused, you made up your mind to drive her out of business. Now that your plan is about to succeed, you're having second thoughts."
He slumped into the desk chair. “My plan has some holes in it. I didn't think Dottie would hold out this long and I didn't realize how popular the Dollars’ recreational complex would be this summer. Right now, there's plenty of business for both of us. If I call off the price war, we could be breaking even by fall."
She sat in the side chair. “Is profit your concern or Mrs. Frank's welfare?"
“Both, Maggie.” He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maggie, I have never intentionally hurt anybody in my whole life. I don't like it."
“If you give in, George, she wins."
“My point is, maybe we can both win."
She stretched out her arm on the desk and he placed his hand in hers. “Do you love me, George?” she asked.
A pained expression formed on his face. “What kind of question is that?"
“An honest question—a tough question."
“Think of what all I've done for you. Doesn't that answer your question?"
“I am thinking of all you've done for me—the position, the clothes, the house, the money. That's why I'm asking the question. Are you being so good to me because you love me or is it an attempt to pay the young whore for her services?"
He drew back in his chair. “I can't believe you said that! I gave you a job and offered to let you live in my house before you decided to, uh, wash my back."
“You gave me a job as a night cook and offered to let me stay at your house until I could find a place of my own. Since I ‘washed your back’ as you put it, you've practically made me your partner, quadrupled my salary and bought me a closet full of expensive clothes. I ask you again, George Bennett. Is it because you love me or are you paying for the whore's services?"
“You know I love you, Maggie. You mean everything to me, and I remind you, we've never slept together."
“No, but we've come close and you were pissed off this morning when I refused to join you in bed."
“Maggie, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I do love you, Maggie."
She stood up and walked to the door. With her back still turned to him she said, “Then why does Dottie Franks’ distress concern you so?” She turned and faced him. “George, until I get things sorted out in my mind, continuing to work for you may not be such a good idea. I think we both slipped into something we didn't mean to happen, and now we don't know what to do about it."
“Please Maggie, don't do this."
“I have to consider my options, George, and what is best for both of us. I understand Sandy Dollar is looking for a housekeeper and babysitter. Maybe I'll give that a try."
“Maggie, I need you."
“You don't need me, George. I'm just window-dressing. I'm taking the rest of the day off. I have some serious thinking to do."
* * * *
Sitting at the end of the mahogany conference table in the tastefully appointed study at the Dollars house made Maggie uncomfortable. She wished she had not changed to jeans, sleeveless flannel shirt and baseball cap. “Folks,” she began, “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."
“I was shocked when you told me on the telephone that you are interested in becoming our housekeeper,” Sandra said.
“I'm curious about it too. From all I can see, the Korner Kafe and motel seems to be successful,” Tim said.
“They will be,” Maggie replied. “We're ... they're losing money at the Kafe, but George will soon raise his prices a little. George is a fine man and he gave me a super job—it's just not the job I wanted. I applied for a job as a cook, but George wanted me to be the manager. I gave it a try, but it's just not for me."
“Something like the Peter Principle,” Tim mused.
“What's the Peter Principle?"
“A fellow wrote a book in which he charged that corporations promote employees until they reach a level of incompentancy, and that's where they remain the rest of their working lives. The author contends these people, who were competent in other positions, are destroying the corporations. In your case you are saying that you are a good cook, but are out in left field as a manager."
Maggie bristled. “I would not exactly call myself incompetent. I just don't like it right now."
“Do you have any experience as a housekeeper or nanny?” Sandra asked.
“No professional training,” Maggie grinned, “but I come from a family of five boys and one girl. I practically raised my two younger brothers and did most of the housework too."
“I just don't know, Maggie,” Tim said. “Junior is extra special to us. We were hoping to find someone with experience and references."
Maggie swallowed hard. “Everybody has to start somewhere,” she said, “and I know you must be in desperate need. It's been three months since Bobby and Adele..."
“It's okay, Maggie,” Sandra said. “They were very good friends, but we can talk about it now. You were saying?"
“I was going to suggest that you give me a trial period—say a month. If I don't work out I'll go quietly."
Tim and Sandra exchanged glances while chuckling. “I just can't picture you doing housework and babysitting,” Tim said. “You look more like the outdoors type to me."
“I am, Mr. Dollar. I love working outdoors, even in the winter. The best summer I ever spent was when I was seventeen and worked with my brothers in the family lawn care business."
Sandra and Tim again exchanged glances.
“Maggie,” Sandra said. “We actually have two positions open. Adele was our housekeeper, but Bobby was our caretaker. He made minor repairs around the place, called in professionals when major work was needed and then supervised their work, kept the grass mowed and the flower gardens looking presentable, washed and waxed the cars and ran errands."
“He spent a lot of time roaming around the recreational complex too,” Tim added. “He was very good at pointing out potential trouble spots."
“As much as anything, he was a friend and companion to both Tim and me,” Sandra said. “I don't suppose you'd be interested in something like that?"
With all the earnestness that her face could reflect she replied, “I'd get down on my knees and kiss your feet ten times a day if you would give me a shot at that job. I could never be to you what Bobby was, but I can do the work."
“Sandy, I like the idea,” Tim said, his lips curling into a smile. “Bobby never offered to kiss my feet."
Sandra roared with laughter at the thought of the huge man ever acting subservient in any way. “Maggie, there's some hard manual labor involved, and Bobby used to spend time with Junior too—letting him ride on the lawnmower, taking him fishing, riding around the place on a golf cart—things like that."
“Does George know you are thinking of leaving the restaurant?” Tim asked.
“I told him this morning."
“And he's okay with it?"
“He wasn't happy about it, if that's what you mean."
“Haven't you been living with George?"
Maggie turned to Sandra and said somewhat defensively, “He let me use one of his guest rooms until I could find a place of my own. You may not be aware of it, but all the rental property in Dot is ... well ... rented."
“I do know,” Tim nodded. “Creasy Green has been on my back about it for months. However, I think we might have a ticklish situation with you quitting George but still accepting his hospitality."
“How about Carl's place?” Sandra asked.
“I don't know,” Tim replied.
“What is Carl's place?” Maggie asked.
“Carl Elliott is Bobby's brother and our contractor. Bobby left his house across the street from us to Adele, of course. In the event they both died, the will specified the house was to go to Carl. Carl has cleaned it up, repainted, and plans to rent it."
“If there's any way I can afford it, I would love to rent it. It will be convenient and I'm not concerned about someone trying to kill me."
“No,” Tim said. “I don't think there would be any danger. Whoever murdered Bobby and Adele had a personal vendetta against the two of them."
“I don't have any furniture, but maybe I could afford to buy..."
Tim held up his hand. “No need. The place is furnished. If you ladies will excuse me,” Tim said, getting to his feet, “I'll see if I can get Carl on the phone."
Sandra reached for Maggie's hand. “I think that means he just hired you,” she said. “It will be a thirty day trial, just as you suggested, and you will be practically your own boss. Tim and I will draw up a list of requirements, but neither of us has the time to stand over you and direct your activities."
“There's one little matter we haven't discussed,” Maggie said.
Sandra smiled. “You expect to be paid, don't you? I'm sure we can't offer you as much as Mr. Bennett was paying. Tim and I agreed that the salary for this position should be three thousand a month, all major holidays off, two weeks of paid vacation each year, and a health insurance package that will knock your socks off."
“That's a very generous offer. It's about the same as I was making at the restaurant."
Tim resumed his place at the table. “Maggie, would you be willing to do the yard and maintenance work at the rental property?"
“Of course."
“Then Dudette and I will pick up the rental tab as a part of your salary. Maybe that will get you a little closer to what you were making."
“Dudette?"
Sandra laughed. “He's Dude and I'm Dudette. You'll get used to it."
“Well okay, then. When do I start?"
“How much notice do you need to give George?"
“I should give him two weeks’ notice, but under the circumstances I think a clean break would be best. Let's see. This is Wednesday. I'd like to have a couple of days to move and I have previous plans for the weekend. Will Monday be all right?"
“Monday will be fine,” Tim said, standing and extending his hand. “Our key people meet every Monday at nine o'clock in this study. We'll see you then."
Maggie took his hand and realized he was terminating the interview, but she did not stand. “I will be one of your key people?"
“Bobby always attended these meeting,” Sandra explained. “Many times things came up that he could handle for us. We would like for you to attend two or three of the meetings and then we'll decide if it is necessary for you to attend them all."
“How should I dress?"
“What you are wearing today is fine,” Tim replied.
“Mr. Dollar—Mrs. Dollar—you've been most gracious with your time but there is one more thing."
“You're not going to last the thirty day trial period if you don't start calling us Tim and Sandy,” Sandra laughed. “What is it, Maggie?"
Tim sat back down and Maggie thought she heard him sigh.
“How much does the housekeeping job pay?"
“Two thousand a month with the same holiday, vacation and benefit package,” Sandra answered. “Why do you ask?"
“There's a girl on the housekeeping staff at the motel. She's making about fifteen hundred a month and really needs the extra money."
“Does she have any experience?” Tim asked.
“I don't know. I doubt that she's ever worked as a nanny."
“What's her background?” Sandra asked.
“Before she came here she worked as a waitress."
Tim cleared his throat. “Anything else?"
Maggie shook her head and grinned as she stood up. “Forget it,” she said. “I shouldn't have brought it up."
Sandra grabbed her hand. “You can be open with us, Maggie. In fact, we insist on it."
Maggie looked at the tabletop and mumbled, “She was a hooker.” She had no idea why Tim and Sandra roared with laughter.
“Tell her to come see me,” Sandra said. “I'll be glad to talk with her, but don't get her hopes up. She doesn't sound like the cultured nanny I am hoping to find."
Tim and Sandra stood on their porch and waved at the departing Blazer. She hugged him and said, “Dude, you always did prefer girls with tiny tits, thank God."
“Her's aren't tiny, Dudette. She must have them strapped down or something today. Haven't you noticed her at the Korner Kitchen?"
“No, but I'm sure you have checked her out."
“Hey, it's a man's job. What do you think of hiring a former hooker as a housekeeper? Let's see, how many former prostitutes do we have working for us now?"
“Counting me?” she asked.
He kissed her on the top of her head. “Let's go to bed,” he said as he tenderly cupped her tiny right breast.
“Not now, Tomcat. It's time for Junior to wake up from his nap."
“Damn. We have to find a nanny soon. Dudette, I think you are going to have to lower your sights. Adele was a former prostitute and not well educated. She was great with Junior. Let's give this girl a try."
“Dude, we haven't even met her. I'm afraid your hormones are clouding your judgement."
He pulled her to him and nibbled her upper lip as his hands roamed her body.
“Then again,” she whispered, “I've always been partial to your hormones."
Chapter Nine
George Bennett loved summertime in North Carolina. The extended period of daylight, made even more useful by daylight savings time, usually kept his spirits bright. He liked going to work with the sun beginning to rise and he liked going home before the sun dipped below the western horizon. Weather prognosticators predicted the July Saturday to be steamy hot, but air conditioning would offset that little disadvantage, and besides, he liked reasonably high humidity.
However, on this particular Saturday morning, neither daylight nor perfect weather conditions could lift his spirits. He slowed as he approached the Dollar estate, but it was the opposite side of the road that held his attention. He coasted to the shoulder of the road in front of the Elliott house where Maggie was now living and cut the engine. He pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and removed the folded piece of paper. He revised the letter so many times he practically had it memorized, but he wanted to check it once more.
Dear Maggie,
I don't know what I did that hurt you so much, but whatever it was must have been horrible. I am so very, very sorry. I hope and pray that one day you'll forgive me and that we can at least be friends. The house is so empty with you gone, and the business has lost its meaning without you to share it with me.
Sometimes my heart hurts so badly I can scarcely breathe. You are such a beautiful woman, both inside and out. If there is anything I can do to make things right, please give me the opportunity. As long as I continue to draw breath, I will be here for you if you should ever need me.
I miss you, Maggie. Be well. Be happy. And please forgive me for whatever I did.
George
He put the letter back into the envelope, sealed it, got out of his car and, before placing it in her mailbox, he kissed it.
He drove on towards the restaurant. Dottie Frank passed him at the crossroads, stared at him and made an obscene gesture as she passed under the traffic light. On impulse, he turned left when the light flipped to green and followed her to Dot's Diner.
He parked behind her truck and hesitantly eased out of his car. “Dottie,” he said approaching her. “Let me help you unload."
“Go to hell, you bastard."
“Dottie, I told you it would be like this. My offer to buy you out is still good, but I want to make you another offer."
She leaned against the tailgate and leveled her eyes at him. “I'm not interested in anything you have to say, you old vulture."
“Please at least listen. Maggie Skinner is no longer working for me. She has moved into the old Elliott house and gone to work for the Dollars. I don't know why she did this, but I do know I can't run the business alone. I have to replace her. Let me buy you out and come to work for me as my manager."
“I want nothing to do with you, George Bennett,” she said. “I'm sorry you lost Maggie as your manager and live-in prostitute, but it's no concern of mine. As long as I'm still alive and able to work, Dot's Diner will never close."
He moved closer to her. “Dottie, I never meant to hurt you. I know I've applied pressure, but I thought when you realized I was right, you'd sell out."
“That I don't believe, you lying son-of-a-bitch. Billy told me yesterday that you've bought the Speed Shop. You've even started construction on a new service station. Looks like you're going to try to run him out of business, too."
George was now so close she could smell his after-shave lotion. She liked it.
“With all the traffic through the intersection we have now, there is plenty of business for two gas stations, Dottie. Billy has only a single set of pumps. Many times I have seen people pull away from his station rather than wait in line. I don't want to hurt either of you, Dottie, but business is business."
He was moving his lips towards hers. She knew that. She knew she should step away from him. “I'll believe you don't want to hurt us when you drop your advertising campaign and raise your prices to a level we can both survive on."
His lips were on hers. His hands were on her back, pulling her tightly to his body. For just a moment, she allowed it, surprised by the sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest, and then she slapped him as hard as she could. He pulled back quickly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I just couldn't stop myself."
She touched his flaming red left cheek. “Sometimes I don't know my own strength. I didn't mean to hit you that hard, but, damn it, keep your hands and lips off me, George Bennett. I'm not going to be your new source of sexual gratification."
He nodded and walked slowly back to his car. He turned and looked at her before opening the car door. She returned his gaze. “Funny thing,” he said. “You know why Maggie quit and moved out of my house? She thinks I am in love with you. It's none of your business, but I think that's also the reason she refused to sleep with me."
When he arrived at the Korner Kafe, he immediately put out the menus with increased prices, printed long before he opened, and dumped the cut-rate menus into the trash.
He noticed the light on the Dot Super Save sign come on and knew that Billy Frank had begun another day. He helped Eddie put away the morning's delivery of food products and, with Eddie working in the kitchen, he waited on the customers who began to trickle in. Their complaints about the increased prices were expected. By lunchtime, most of the town would know he was no longer underselling Dottie Frank.
“You're the boss,” Eddie said as he placed a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the ledge between the kitchen and dining area, “but I don't like Greta and me having different days off. Here I am working my ass off and she's probably still in bed asleep. Truth is,” he laughed, “I'd like to be in bed with her, but not sleeping."
“It was a business decision that Maggie made before she resigned, Eddie. I'll reconsider it, but I doubt if I can change it."
“I don't mean to sound like I'm threatening you or anything,” Eddie said, “but if I have to continue working weekends and she continues to have weekends off, one of us is going to have to look for another job."
“I understand, Eddie. Like I said, I'll reconsider, but I have to do what I feel is best for the business."
“And I have to do what I feel is best for my marriage."
When the morning crew arrived, George placed a call to the Holder Advertising Agency, canceling his advertising campaign. He then crossed the intersection to the Dot Super Save and found Billy straightening up his service bay. “May I talk with you a minute?” George asked.
“It's a free country,” Billy replied sarcastically.
“I spoke with your mother briefly this morning, Billy. Maggie is now working for the Dollars. I need to replace her. I again offered to buy your mother's diner and I offered her the manager's job. She's a stubborn old cuss—much like me unfortunately. She wouldn't even consider it. I've heard rumors about her financial troubles, Billy. My offer is a good deal and would solve her problems."
“Since when have you been interested in solving mom's problems? It looks to me like you're the cause of her problems."
“Business is business, Billy. I thought when the going got rough your mom would accept my offer. I was wrong. I never meant to hurt her. I was hoping you would talk some sense into her head."
“Mom makes her own decisions."
“This morning I raised all my prices at the restaurant, Billy, and I cancelled the negative advertising campaign. I'm no longer undercutting Dottie's prices. The price war is over."
Billy looked at the older man with contempt. “That's a step in the right direction, but, like they say, it's too little and too late. Mom is deeply in debt to her suppliers and has cut her menu drastically. It'll take forever for her to pay off her bills and reestablish credit."
“Is she too stubborn to borrow the money?"
“She tried."
“I would be willing to make her a loan."
“She'd rather die than to accept a loan from you."
“Okay. Suppose I loan you the money and you loan it to Dottie? She need never know where the money actually came from."
“She wouldn't take it from me either."
“I know you won't believe me, Billy,” George said, “but I feel terrible about this and somehow I'm determined to make it right."
“Fat chance."
“There's another matter I want to discuss with you Billy.” George sat on a box of engine oil. “Your mother told me this morning that you know I have purchased the Speed Shop."
Billy nodded. “The boys told me. Guess you're going to run me out of business too."
“I did not actually buy the Speed Shop. I bought the land it's on. The boys became so involved in their sideline experimentation with ion-thruster engines that they let their racing engine business slide. Suddenly they found themselves needing new sophisticated and very expensive equipment and no financial reserves with which to buy it. The block building that's going up behind the Speed Shop will be a modern, fully equipped garage. When it is completed, the boys will move their operation back there and rent from me. Then I'll tear down the present building and erect a modern gas station with twelve sets of pumps and a food mart. The money I paid for the property will give them the additional operating capital they need."
Billy nodded. “They will get that ion engine perfected one of these days. They already have a working model."
“I saw it, Billy. I was not impressed, but what do I know about these things?"
“Your gas station will do well too,” Billy said as he propped against his workbench, polishing a wrench with a red shop cloth. “There's more traffic through here now than I can handle. Once you get those pumps working I'm sure you'll under-price me by a penny a gallon or so. I'll fold in a hurry."
“There's another way to do it, Billy. Sell me your business. When the new station is ready to open, you run it for me. I'll remodel the Dot Super Save with more pumps and a larger service area. Then you can run both places. With my backing, you can hire enough employees so that you can work a normal forty hour week, and I'll pay you a fair salary plus twenty-five percent of the profit."
Billy seemed confused by the earnestness of Bennett's voice. “It's a fair offer, Mr. Bennett, but I like owning my own place. I'm proud of it."
“I understand. You're like your mother in that respect—like me even. Would you consider going into a partnership with me?"
“What do you mean?"
“I'm not sure. I'll need to give it some thought, but perhaps you could invest your station and become a working partner with a salary and a share of the profit. That way you wouldn't lose ownership."
“I would be a part owner of the garage, the new station and food mart and the Super Save?"
Bennett nodded.
“It's certainly something to think about, but I'm not going to make any commitment until I see your proposal in writing."
For the first time that day, George smiled. “Do you think your mother would be interested in a similar partnership, combining her restaurant and mine?"
“Not if you're going to close Dot's Diner, Mr. Bennett. She thinks more of that business than she does of me."
* * * *
“God, I hope Eddie doesn't come home during his lunch hour,” Greta said.
“Does he usually do that?” Maggie asked.
“No, but this is the first day I've been off while he is working. He might come home to check up on me, or to get him a little or something. Damn, if he finds me with my clothes on, he'll kill me and how in the hell can I explain you being here?"
“You can say I came to tell you about the housekeeping job with Sandy Dollar, but what's this about having your clothes on?"
Greta hung her head. “He makes me stay naked when we're in the house."
“Greta, that's humiliating. Why do you put up with it?"
“I don't mind except when I'm menstruating."
“He won't even let you wear a sanitary pad?"
“I'm on the pill, so I don't bleed much and it only lasts a couple of days."
“I can see why you want to leave him. Look, Greta, as soon as we find the gold mining information, why don't you move in with me?"
“Thanks, but I couldn't do that. He'd kill us both. When I leave, I must move far away where he can never find me."
“You're exaggerating, Greta."
“No. I'm not. Believe me."
“Look,” Maggie said pulling a book from the shelf in the Crow's spare room. “Here's another one on gold mining.” She added it to the growing stack on the desk. “That makes twelve. Maybe Miss Jenkins meant she had many books on the subject."
“No. Her letter to me said notebook. Even I know the difference between a book and a notebook."
“Well, let's go through the file cabinet one more time,” Maggie said with a sigh.
No notebook on gold mining was in the spare room. They moved to the bedroom closet and took everything out, but the missing notebook was not there, either. As they replaced the contents of the closet, Greta asked, “Why did you quit your job at the Korner Kafe, Maggie?"
“It wasn't working out,” Maggie replied.
“Looked to me like you had it made."
“Maybe I did. Maybe I made a mistake. After you suggested I was a whore—using my body to get a good job and a mansion to live in—I realized you were right. I was acting like a whore, even if I wasn't having sex with George, and suddenly I didn't like myself very much."
“Maggie, I was just saying that ‘cause I was mad. I didn't really think...” Greta paused.
“I'd rather not talk about it. Are you going to check out the job as Sandy's housekeeper? It pays more than you're making now."
“I don't think Eddie would let me, and besides, we just have the old truck. I don't know how I'd get there."
“If Eddie will take you in the mornings, I will bring you home at night."
“What time is it?” Greta asked.
“Almost five,” Maggie replied.
“Oh, hell, Maggie. He'll be home any minute now. You'll have to leave. We'll continue our search tomorrow."
“Greta, are you sure there's no other place Miss Jenkins might have hidden the notebook? Is there an attic?"
“Yes,” Greta said, her face brightening. “You have to get to it with a ladder from outside. Eddie went up there one day, but he said it was empty."
“How about a basement?"
Greta stared at Maggie a moment and hit her head with the heel of her hand. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said.
“What is it?"
“When I was cleaning out the spare room I filled all the drawers of the file cabinet and when I started working on the desk, all but one of the drawers were crammed with junk. I remember seeing some notebooks. I stuffed everything in a big box and Eddie took it to the basement."
“That's it!” Maggie cried. “Come on. Where's the basement door?"
“Tomorrow,” Greta pleaded. “We'll look tomorrow."
* * * *
George sat on a rickety chair beside a scarred, unfinished table that served as a desk in the back of a cavernous produce warehouse in Charlotte. “How long have we known each other, Carlos?” he asked.
The little man with just a fringe of white hair around his ears smiled and pulled the pipe from his teeth. “Twenty, thirty years—maybe more, George."
“In all that time I've been a good customer, haven't I, Carlos?"
“The best."
“And in all that time, even when your prices were a little high, I gave you all my business."
“As far as I know, that's true, George. I appreciate it."
“And I always paid my bills on time and never once asked for any special consideration."
Carlos smiled, sucked three times rapidly on his pipe and slowly let the gray smoke escape from his lips to his nose through which he inhaled the pungent fumes. “You're setting me up, George. Who do you want killed?"
George laughed. “Nothing like that, Carlos. In fact, I'm trying to save someone's life—a very special someone."
“Female?"
George nodded. “Dottie Frank."
“You old dog."
“Look, Carlos. She's into you for a large chunk of change. You told me that on the telephone some time ago. You've cut off her credit and delivery. She's in a real bind."
Carlos cradled the bowl of the pipe in his hand and used the stem as a pointer, which he jabbed in George's direction. “George, I like Dottie. She's been a good customer almost as long as you have, but I just can't afford to carry her."
“I understand, Carlos. I want to pay off her bill and I want you to reinstate her credit and delivery service."
“She's a proud lady, George. She won't accept charity.” Carlos clenched the stem of his pipe between his teeth and sucked on it.
“You're right about that. I need you to tell her a little white lie. Don't let her know I paid the bill. Tell her you've reconsidered. You know business in Dot is booming and you want in on all of it you can get. Tell her she can pay her debt a little along and you want to reinstate her credit and delivery."
“And if she starts making payments on the debt, I credit your account?"
George wondered how Carlos could talk with the pipe in his mouth. “No,” he replied. “You keep it for your efforts. That's fair enough isn't it?"
Carlos pulled the pipe from his teeth and leered at George. “She's a fine looking woman. You figuring on getting into her bloomers, George?"
“Yeah, but not the way you mean. I intend to marry the woman."
* * * *
Maggie stormed into the Korner Kafe, spotted George close to the cash register and marched quickly to him.
“Get in you office, George. Now."
“Maggie. What is it?” he asked as he held the door open for her.
“I read your letter a few minutes ago. Damn it, George, you didn't do anything to me and I didn't do anything to you. I made a bad choice. As you said, I was the one who wanted to wash your back. At the time, I just thought I wanted to do something nice for you, but now I realize I was making a whore out of myself. I don't want to be a whore, George. If I make it in this old world, I want it to be because I am somebody who deserves success, not because I have a nice body. For a while there I thought I was falling in love with you, George—the kind of love a husband and wife share. If there weren't so much difference in our ages ... if you had asked me to marry you ... things might have been different. But you couldn't do that, George, because you are in love with Dottie Frank. Now take off your jacket and stretch out on the sofa—face down."
“I don't understand, Maggie."
“Just do it."
She sat beside him and began to massage his shoulders. “I want to be your friend, George. We just went too far down the wrong road together. I'll always remember you fondly, and if you think I left because you were pressuring me for sex, you're wrong."
“Maggie, it's not too late to change your mind."
“I'm not going to change my mind, George. You concentrate on Dottie. You can, and do, love her. You can't possibly ever truly love me—not because of the age difference, but because I remind you too much of your wife. You kept seeing me as Maggie Bennett, not Maggie Skinner."
“Couldn't you at least help me out in the restaurant until I find a replacement?"
“George, I'm not going to lie to you. I told the Dollars I didn't like being a manager. That wasn't true. I ate it up. I felt important. I was important. I know I may have made a mistake in quitting my job. I miss it, but at the same time, I think you gave me the job as a way of fulfilling some sort of obligation you felt towards me because of the close relationship we developed."
“Maggie, I gave you the job before you offered to wash my back."
“That's true. I've thought of it a thousand times, but I've now made a commitment to the Dollars. I'm going to stick with it."
* * * *
“It's a good deal, Mom,” Billy said as he and Tracy sat in Dottie's living room. “I'll have Mrs. Kimel look it over when he puts his offer in writing, but if she gives it her okay, I'll sign. He's going to make you the same sort of offer. I know he will. It's the answer to your prayers, Mom."
“What do you think of this, Tracy?"
“Dottie,” she said. “There's something we haven't told anybody yet. I'm pregnant. Billy and I were thinking about an abortion until Mr. Bennett made his offer this morning. We just couldn't afford me being out of work, but now we can."
“I'm happy about the baby,” Dottie said as she stood up. “Now, if you two Judases will excuse me, I'm going to bed."
Chapter Ten
“Be careful going down these stairs, Maggie. The lighting ain't too good down here,” Greta warned.
“I'm okay,” Maggie replied. “What's all that lumber for?"
“Eddie says he's going to build some kind of room down here. He drug some of that stuff from the storage building out back. The rest he bought at the lumberyard."
“I didn't know Eddie was a carpenter,” Maggie said as she looked more closely at the building materials.
“I don't reckon he is—not really. He worked a couple of summers while in college building houses with that group President Carter works with."
“I can't picture Eddie doing something to help the poor, and I had no idea he'd ever gone to college."
“Well, that's what he told me. He's smart. He knows the Bible real good. He used to quote from it all the time. Don't do that much anymore."
Maggie shook her head. “Did you mention the job with Sandy Dollar to Eddie last night?"
“I was too scared of him, but it turned out he brought it up. I didn't have time to get all my clothes off before he got here. I was still wearing my panties and he could see that I had just taken off the other stuff. He was in a terrible mood and beat my fanny bad with his belt. I can tell when he's gonna whup me. His eyes get real shiny."
“You have to get away from that bastard, Greta."
“It was my fault. That's why today I'm just wearing this old robe. I can rip it off in a hurry if he shows up. I don't know where he put the box, Maggie. It's a big, brown cardboard box."
“Is this it?” Maggie asked as she tugged at a box pushed under the stairwell.
“Looks like it. Here, let me help you."
The two women dragged the box under the single naked light bulb and began to empty its contents.
“What did you mean by saying that Eddie brought up working for Sandra Dollar?"
“He told me he didn't like us having different days off and Mr. Bennett refused to change the schedule. He said he wants me to try to get the housekeeping job Mrs. Dollar has advertised in the paper. He said I could walk there and back, or maybe he'd get a bicycle for me to ride."
“Greta, it's four or five miles from your house to the Dollars’ place."
“This is it!” Greta said excitedly as she began to tug on a thick three-ring binder.
Maggie laughed. “How can you tell? You haven't even looked at it yet."
“Miss Jenkins told me.” She handed the book to Maggie and explained, “Whenever she wants me to know something, I get a cold chill up and down my spine."
Maggie flipped open the cover and a thick folded paper fell out.
“You're right, Greta. This is it!” Maggie exclaimed. “Page after page of notes on North Carolina gold mining, all written in a beautiful cursive hand."
Greta picked up the paper from the floor and unfolded it. “This looks like a treasure map."
Maggie glanced at the map and said, “Boy, we can use that. It appears to locate all gold mines ever operated in the entire state."
“How can you tell that?” 
“See up here at the top?"
Greta nodded as she read the title, “Gold Mines of North Carolina."
“What's in the notebook, Maggie?"
“I don't know,” she laughed. “We haven't read it yet."
“Let's go upstairs and you read it to me, Maggie. You can explain the big words as we go along."
“You'd better put on a big pot of coffee, Greta. This is a huge notebook."
Gold mining in North Carolina would probably not be profitable on a large scale, but for an individual prospector I am convinced it could be highly lucrative. Panning for placer gold could provide a nice income for someone who will stick with it, and I am convinced that many of the old mines have undiscovered veins that could provide a tenacious prospector with a fortune.
“Hold it, Maggie,” Greta interrupted apologetically. “What do ‘placer gold,’ ‘lucrative’ and ‘tenacious’ mean?"
“Well, lucrative means very profitable and tenacious means to stick with a project until it is completed. I don't have any idea of what placer gold is."
Greta nodded. “You want me to get a dictionary?"
“Let's keep reading. Perhaps Miss Jenkins will explain it later."
When Conrad Reed was just a youngster of twelve he found a seventeen pound nugget of gold while playing in Little Meadow Creek in Cabarrus County, North Carolina. Neither he, his mother or dad, his two brothers or five sisters knew what it was, but it was such a pretty rock they used it for a doorstop for three years. Later a Fayetteville jeweler gave Reed $3.50 for the nugget, which was actually worth thousands. Reed and three others eventually began to prospect in Little Meadow Creek when there was no fieldwork to do on the tobacco farm, and they realized a substantial profit for a while.
In 1803, a slave found a lump of gold near the stream, which weighed twenty-eight pounds. As others came to the area, panning for gold in the creek bed and along its banks became a common activity. The success on the Reed plantation caused neighbors to search their own land and many were successful.
Two decades later...
“What's a ‘decade,’ Maggie?"
“Uh, ten years—so two decades would be twenty years."
Two decades later better methods of mining were introduced to the area and shafts were sunk into the earth to tap veins of ore. Companies were organized and boomtowns sprung up.
“Sounds like a Wild West story,” Greta giggled.
Reed's wife died in 1843 and Reed himself lived only two more years. According to the will, the plantation was sold following Reed's death and his grandson, Timothy, and his son-in-law, Andrew Hartsell, became the new owners. Major interest in North Carolina gold began to dwindle when the California Gold Rush began in 1848.
Timothy Reed and Andrew Hartsell failed to profit from the property and it was sold and resold many times. The property eventually was subdivided and sold to various individuals. After the Civil War, however, William L. Hirst of Philadelphia managed to buy up all of the property of the original Reed plantation, but profitability of the Reed Gold Mine continued to be marginal.
“Hold it again,” Greta said. “Marginal?"
“That means they were recovering enough gold to make a little profit, but not enough to really make it worthwhile."
Again the property changed hands several times and additional shafts were sunk. Excitement built to a fever pitch when on April 9, 1896 a nugget that eventually weighed out to be seventeen pounds of pure gold was found. Expensive equipment was purchased and more shafts were sunk, but the discovery of high-grade ore in Alaska at the turn of the century made continued mining of low-grade ore at the Reed Gold Mine unprofitable.
Not until 1934 was there any further serious mining done at the Reed mine. A worldwide depression sent some people back to the Reed mine and Little Meadow Creek. A hard day's work might result in fifty cents worth of gold. The workers soon found they were better off on welfare. The Reed mine closed again and never reopened commercially.
Through a series of fortuitous events, ownership of the land eventually moved to the State of North Carolina and the Reed Gold Mine is now a state historic site with gold displays, mining and panning equipment, a film, gold panning and a tour of the old mine itself.
“Fortuitous?"
“Lucky."
Until the California Gold Rush, North Carolina was the nation's principle gold producing state. I am convinced that its resources have not been depleted. I feel certain there is far more gold waiting to be discovered than has been found to date, and some of it is right here in Dot and the surrounding territory. If I were not so old and feeble, I would be out panning for gold in the creeks of Dot every day. As it is, I have managed to find only a few small nuggets in the creek near the Lumbermill.
“Oh, my God,” Greta moaned.
“What is it?"
“When I was cleaning out the spare room there was a little bag of rocks in her desk drawer."
“Where are they?"
“I threw them out. Maggie, I didn't know."
“Did you throw them in a trashcan?"
Greta smiled as she jumped up from the sofa. “No,” she said as she raced from the living room. “I just tossed them out the back door."
Maggie followed and the two women dropped to their knees just outside the kitchen.
“Do you think this is one?” Greta asked as she held up a marble sized stone.
“Well, it certainly sparkles,” Maggie answered.
“Yeah, but I was looking at this thin little streak that looks like gold. It doesn't sparkle, but it does look kind of shiny."
“I don't know,” Maggie said, “but here's another rock just like it. I think we need to read the rest of Miss Jenkins’ notebook."
“Yeah,” Greta agreed as she continued to search for sparkling rocks that contained a shiny yellow streak. “We never did find out what ‘placer gold’ is."
As they returned to the house with a double handful of rocks that might be gold nuggets, Greta asked, “Maggie, do you know where this Reed's Gold Mine is?"
“No, but since Miss Jenkins took so much time to write about it, I'd guess it is not too far from Dot. Let's check the map."
They spread the map out on the kitchen table. Maggie placed her finger on the lower left-hand side of the map. “Here's Charlotte,” she said and then ran her finger to the east. “Here it is—Reed's Gold Mine. It's just a little east of Charlotte."
“Where's Dot?” Greta asked.
“Well,” Maggie said, “it should be just north. There,” she said triumphantly, pointing to a dot on the map.
“That's not far from Reed's Gold Mine is it?"
“I'd guess maybe forty miles."
“Maggie, what do the little gold stars on the map mean, like the one on Reed's Gold Mine and on Dot."
“I don't know. Let's check the legend. Let's see, now. Hmmm. Oh. It's an indication of an old gold mine."
“Hell, Maggie. That means there was once a mine right here in Dot."
“I'm as excited as you are, Greta, but we don't know the first thing about panning for gold."
“We've just read a few pages of the notebook,” Greta said as she headed for the living room. “I just know Miss Jenkins will tell us how to do it.” She stopped abruptly and Maggie bumped into her.
“Sorry, but I just thought of something,” Greta laughed. “Maybe we should go to the Reed Gold Mine, since it's so close. According to the notebook, we can see some real gold nuggets, panning equipment and maybe even try our luck at panning. Surely there would be someone there to teach us how."
“That's not a bad idea, partner."
“Partner? Maggie, are we partners?"
“You don't think I'm going to let you keep all the gold to yourself, do you?” Maggie laughed as she picked up the notebook and resumed reading aloud.
There was a section on equipment needed—a dishpan or a specially made pan with a pocket in the center, a shovel, bucket, some watertight containers like baby food jars and maybe an ice pick. The notebook explained that gold nuggets tumble down streambeds during spring floods. As the floods recede, the gold nuggets, being heavier than other rocks, are the first to settle and can often be found on the downstream side of obstacles like boulders, fallen trees and sharp bends in the creek bed.
Ten pages of the notebook were devoted to the craft of panning—slowly reducing the floating particles in the pan until only gold or gold-bearing rock is left. They learned that the small rocks found outside the back door were, indeed, little nuggets of gold, for gold never sparkles—it shines both in sunlight and shade.
The notebook explained that placer gold is flakes of gold found in streams. It has weathered away from the mother lode and floated downstream. Tracing placer gold back to its source is one way of finding the mother lode and of increasing one's chances of becoming wealthy as a miner.
Greta's dreams of swirling water revealing bits of shiny yellow rock in the bottom of a dishpan were suddenly broken. “Maggie,” she squealed. “I promised Eddie I'd walk to the Dollar place and ask about the job."
Maggie glanced at her watch. “We have plenty of time. It's only noon."
“He gets off at two on Sundays,” Greta fretted.
“Do you have an appointment?"
“No. We ain't got no telephone."
“Church is letting out about now. They'll be in a hurry to get home and have lunch. Tell you what. Let's go to my place and grab a bite to eat. I'll call Sandy from there and see if she will see you this afternoon."
“But what about Eddie?"
“Leave him a note. Tell him you figured Sandra would be in church this morning so you are going to try to see her after lunch."
“Okay. Then I can walk home and be all sweaty when he sees me."
“You'll do no such thing. I'll bring you home. You can tell Eddie I saw you walking and offered you a lift."
Greta smiled like a schoolgirl. “You're good at making up lies, Maggie."
“Thanks, I think."
“While I throw some clothes on, Maggie, pack up all the stuff we found about gold. I want you to keep it at your house. If Eddie found out, he'd want in on the action and would keep everything we make for himself. Don't forget the books in the spare room."
Maggie went to the basement and pushed the box, now missing one three-ring binder, back under the stairwell. She again glanced at the building material and pried open one of twenty square boxes that bore the legend, “Quality Soundproofing Tiles.” Now, why would Eddie want to build a soundproof room, she wondered as she examined one of the thick porous squares.
She located an empty box and brought it with her to the spare room to use in transporting the books on gold mining. As she entered the room, she felt a cold chill.
“Well, hello, Ida,” she laughed. “Pleased to meet you."
* * * *
“God, we were swamped when church let out,” Eddie complained as he dropped into a chair. “The old man wanted me to stay until the crowd thinned out."
“It's nearly five o'clock, Eddie. I was getting worried about you,” Greta lied.
“Turn around,” he ordered. “Damn, Babe. I didn't mean to beat you that hard. Your ass has turned purple."
“I'm sorry I made you mad, Eddie. I tried to make up for it today, though. I walked all the way to the Dollars place and back in all this heat, just like you wanted. Then I took a quick shower so I wouldn't be all sweaty and stinky in case you wanted me when you got home."
“Maybe later. Right now, I'm beat. Did the Dollar bitch give you the job?"
“I don't think she likes me much. Tim kinda forced her into saying she would let me have it on a trial basis."
“When do you start?"
“I told her I'd let her know."
“You what?” he yelled as he jumped from his chair and grabbed her by the hair.
“Eddie, you're hurting me,” she pleaded as she stared into his glassy eyes.
“I ought to pull your damned hair out by the roots,” he shouted. “You know I wanted you to get that job."
“Eddie, she wants me to work Monday through Friday. I tried to get her to let me work Wednesday through Sunday so we would have two days off together, but she refused. I told her I'd have to talk to you about it."
He released her and sat back down. “Go get me a beer, bitch."
When she returned she knelt in front of him, pulled off his shoes and began to massage his feet. “I'm sorry, honey,” she said as she slipped the sock from his left foot. “I tried.” She held her breath against his foot odor and kissed his toes.
“I need a bath,” he said and she dutifully went to the bathroom and started the water in the Whirl Pool. When he joined her she knelt beside the tub and began to bathe him gently.
He said nothing as she ministered to him, but when she finished bathing his entire body, he asked, “Would it hurt your bottom too much to do your thing?"
“It stung kinda bad when I took my shower, but I'll do it if you want me to.” She straddled him on her knees and soaped her body, just the way he liked. She could go no further, for he did not have an erection. “You are tired, Eddie,” she said as she leaned forward and pressed her soapy breasts against his hairy chest.
He put his arms around her and stroked her back gently, an act she seldom experienced. “I'll get it up in a minute,” he said. “I humped that black waitress just before I came home and that fine little ass of hers wrung the snot out of my dick."
That he was having sex with other women was no surprise to Greta, but she shuddered when she thought of the diseases she might catch from him.
“I want you to take the job,” he said.
She forced herself not to smile.
“I want you to get in good with that family. Learn all you can about their habits. Be sure the boy comes to trust you completely. If the bitch wants you to kiss her ass, kiss it. If the husband wants you to blow him, pucker up.” He started laughing.
“What's so funny?"
“I just had a flash of Sandra Dollar's head between your legs and me bursting in with a camera. Boy, wouldn't that be poetic justice! And how about a snapshot of Tim humping you? Man, I'd have them in a hell of a vice then."
He held her face with his hands and pushed her erect. “It may not work, but I know you remember how to get a trick interested in your body. I want you to do all you can to seduce both of them. After I've tormented them with the photos, then I'll snatch the kid."
“You think Mrs. Dollar is a lesbian?"
“Who knows?"
“Eddie, that may take a while. I've never tried to get a woman in bed before."
“Hell, when we talked about snatching Sandra you said you wanted a shot at her. Go for it, Greta. Get out those short skirts and tight blouses you used to wear, and leave off the underwear. Show ’em what you have to offer."
“I'll ... I'll do my best,” she said reluctantly as she felt his penis growing.
“I want you to start working for them tomorrow, Greta—the sooner the better. Get off me, bitch. We need to find a pay phone and let your new boss know you're taking the job."
Greta slid to the end of the tub and rinsed the suds from her body. “Could we go to the Korner Kafe and let Mr. Bennett know I'm taking another job? He ain't gonna be too happy about it."
Eddie struggled out of the tub and reached for a towel. “I warned him,” he said, “but you're right. I don't want to get him too pissed off. I need to keep that job until we have the Dollars’ money in our pockets."
Greta got to her feet, but Eddie stopped her. He reached into the medicine cabinet and handed her a safety razor. “Shave your legs,” he commanded, “from your ankles to your navel."
“You want me to shave my..."
“Yeah,” he interrupted. “It may be a turn-on for one or both of them. Hell, even if it isn't, I think I might like it."
Reluctantly she took the razor from him, sat on the edge of the tub and soaped her left leg. She shaved her pubic hair once before when she was a teenager and painfully nicked her labia. She also remembered that it itched something awful when the hair began to grow out. If he insisted that she keep it shaved, maybe it was time for her to find out how to give herself a bikini wax.
Chapter Eleven
Leora hung up the telephone, reached for a cigarette and remembered. Will I ever get to the point I no longer want a smoke, she wondered? She unwrapped a piece of peppermint candy and popped it into her mouth. It wasn't a cigarette, but it would have to do.
“Well, I have it,” Borders said as he entered the bedroom that also served as Leora's study.
“Have what?"
“My detective's license,” he said as he dropped a folder on her cluttered desk.
“Why do you need a license?” she asked.
“Old lady,” he smiled. “You are the one who wanted me to come out of retirement and work on the Elliott murders. Remember?"
“Yes, but I didn't know you needed a license."
“I don't, really, but I thought I might want to take on other cases on down the road. Besides, the license provides a nice ID,” he continued as he flipped open the folder and pointed. “You can flash that and get through some doors that would otherwise remain closed."
She nodded as she glanced through the rather meaningless sheaf of papers.
“The case has, for all practical purposes, come to a standstill. Since the only suspect was this Crow fellow, the boys put a twenty-four hour a day tail on him for a week. He seems to be squeaky clean. Doesn't do much but work at the Korner Kafe and sleep, it looks like."
“I hear his wife is now working as the housekeeper and nanny for Sandra Dollar."
“Oh? When did that happen?"
“About the same time that Maggie Skinner went to work for the Dollars."
“Yeah. I saw Maggie yesterday as I was coming home from playing golf. She was mowing the lawn and held the boy on her lap. It looked dangerous to me. Isn't the Crow woman a little, well, lacking in the brain department to be a nanny?"
“She doesn't seem to be real bright, but it's none of our business."
Borders nodded and picked up his folder. “You have those preacher pictures spread out again. Did you ever get one of Preacher Baxter?"
“I haven't heard back from the seminary yet, but I have come up with some snapshots.” Leora shifted around some of the clutter on her desk and produced a half dozen photographs.
Borders sifted through them. “All group shots. Which one is Baxter?"
“He's the skinny dark haired guy."
“Have you tried blowing up the photographs?"
“Randy did. It loses so much definition when enlarged that the resulting image is useless."
Borders nodded.
“I heard a whale of a tale about Baxter this morning,” Leora said with her eyes twinkling.
Borders sat on the bed. “From the look on your face, it must be juicy."
Leora swiveled her chair to face her husband. “I talked a little bit with Mrs. Morgan while I was at the church this morning."
“Who is Mrs. Morgan?"
“Vera Morgan. She cleans houses for a living. She was working at the church this morning."
“Oh, Widow Morgan—Billy's mother."
“That's the one. She..."
“That's a strange situation,” he interrupted.
“What's a strange situation?"
“That Billy Morgan. He works for Penny Swanson but lives with our next door neighbor. You think he's having sex with that crippled girl?"
Leora's eyes twinkled again. “If he is, she's one lucky gal."
“Why would you say that? Billy's bulb barely glows. Hell, he isn't as bright as the Crow woman."
“Maybe not, old-timer, but he has a body like a Greek god."
“Yeah, but I always thought there was more to sex than looks,” he mumbled.
“I certainly hope so,” she laughed.
“I interrupted you. What were you saying about the Widow Morgan?"
“I asked her if she remembered Preacher Baxter. She said she did. I asked if she knew why he resigned and left town in such a hurry. She claimed it had something to do with Sandra Dollar."
“Sandy?"
“Vera said that just a couple of days before Baxter disappeared, she saw Sandy accompany him into the church study. Later, while she was cleaning the Sunday School classrooms in the basement under the study she heard sounds like they were having sex—rough sex."
“Come on, now. Sandra Dollar having an affair with the preacher?"
“Could be. Not all preachers are angels, you know. And Sandy is a sexy little thing."
“Hey, I know more nasty preachers than honest ones,” Borders said. “I was thinking of Sandy. Tim's a good looking guy, and rich as hell. Sandy's no dummy. She wouldn't jeopardize her relationship with Tim for a roll in the hay with some sawed off preacher man."
“Not necessarily true. Lust is a dangerous emotion. Maybe Tim was too tied up with his business interests to meet her needs."
“I think it's a stretch, Leora. But then, if it did happen, maybe Tim found out and ran the preacher out of town with a shotgun."
“I think I'll see what Sandy has to say about it."
“Leora, for crying out loud. You'll either embarrass her or make an enemy. Even if the story is true, what difference does it make? Surely you would not include that in your book."
“No, but like they say, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought him back."
“It's gossip, Leora—nothing but gossip. I strongly advise you to drop it."
“Thanks for your opinion,” she said coldly, but then smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion and I'm entitled to the right opinion."
He laughed, got up and kissed the top of her head. “Don't you know you are supposed to love, honor and obey your husband?"
“I didn't think you were paying attention to Mack during the ceremony,” she joked. “I persuaded him to leave out the ‘obey’ part."
He squeezed her breasts gently. “I wouldn't put it past you,” he laughed. “Listen, I don't smell any good aromas coming from the kitchen and I just don't care for a sandwich today. I'm going to grab a bite at Dot's Diner and go back to Charlotte. Now that I'm officially back in the business, I think the boys might let me have hard copy of everything they have on the Elliott case. I want to go over it carefully. Maybe we've missed something."
She stood up and hugged him. “I'll go with you. I'm hungry too."
* * * *
Tim came through the front door sorting the day's mail. He put Sandra's on the hall table and headed towards his study. “Bills,” he muttered as he shuffled the dozen envelopes he held in his hands. “All I ever get is bills and junk mail.” He glanced in the library—Sandra's study—and smiled at Leora who was sitting across from Sandra at the mahogany table.
“Hello, Mrs. Borders,” he said. “I didn't know you were here."
“Hello yourself,” the white-haired lady responded. “I haven't seen you in a long while."
“Busy, busy, busy,” he laughed.
“I just stopped by to discuss the church history with Sandy."
“How's it going?” he asked.
“I'm almost through with the first draft,” she replied. “I just have a few loose ends to tie up."
Tim noted the irritated look on Sandy's face. She seemed to get irritated with him frequently these days. “I'll get out of your way and let you ladies go back to it,” he said. “Sorry I interrupted. Nice to see you again, Leora."
“Nice to see you, Tim."
His eyes returned to the envelopes in his hand, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he went through the open study door. Greta was dusting his desk; her back turned to him. She must not have heard me come in, he thought as he watched the voluptuous woman bend over the desk to dust the far side. He felt arousal building as he watched the hem of her dress ride up and stop just above her anus.
He swallowed and glanced back at the empty hallway. Quietly he closed the door and turned the lock. His mouth parted as he watched her bottom sway in counter motion to the movement of the dust cloth in her hand. The flesh on her upper thighs was very white, but her buttocks were badly bruised—almost black. As she stretched the cloth to reach further to her right, she parted her feet a little. His erection started pounding as he stared at the hairless lips of her vulva.
Quietly he placed his mail on the lamp stand and moved across the carpet to a position directly behind her. Softly he said, “If you are going to wear miniskirts, you should also wear panties."
“Oh,” she said, feigning surprise and flattening her breasts against his desk. “You startled me."
“How did your bottom get so bruised?"
She pretended to cry. “I'm sorry you saw that. Eddie ... he ... he gets his kicks out of hurting me."
“Bastard,” Tim said as he lifted her skirt higher, leaving her naked from the waist down. “He should treat a beautiful woman like you gently, like this.” He placed his fingertips on the cheeks of her swollen bottom, leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck as she moaned softly.
* * * *
“No,” Sandra laughed stiffly. “Of course I met him, but I didn't know John Baxter. He left town right after we arrived."
“My source tells me that you met with him one day in his study."
“I did. As I said, Tim and I had just arrived in Dot. At first we did not plan to stay, but when we changed our minds, I talked with Rev. Baxter about joining the church."
“My source tells me that the very next day you left Dot and did not return until after Baxter disappeared."
“I don't see how this could possibly have any bearing on your book, Leora. The fact is, Tim decided to stay in Dot, but I was not so sure about it myself. I needed to be alone for a few days to think things through."
“My source says you had sex with Baxter in his study—rough sex."
Sandra's eyes blazed. “Your source is a damned liar.” She stood up. “I've told you all I know about John Baxter. Now you must excuse me. I have work to do."
* * * *
“Welcome back,” Detective Cranfield said on hearing that Borders had obtained a private detective license.
“Bud, there's something I'm been meaning to ask you for a long time,” Borders said.
“Shoot."
“You've been a detective for four or five years now. Why do you continue to wear a deputy's uniform and that broad brimmed hat like state troopers wear?"
Cranfield laughed. “About six years, now, Borders. You know, you're the first person to ask me. You guys go on the assumption that wearing plain-clothes lets you work more effectively. In many cases, you're undoubtedly right. But the uniform commands respect from the punks we usually deal with. I can always switch to a cheap suit like you wear,” he laughed, “but I have seldom felt the need to do so. The uniform is a tool that fits my style of working."
“And the hat?"
Cranfield looked around and leaned forward. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a cowboy."
Borders roared with laughter.
“Anything new on the Elliott murders?” Cranfield asked.
“I was going to ask you that."
Cranfield shook his head. “Since we ruled Eddie Crow out as a suspect we've come to a dead end."
“Bud, I was wondering if you could print out a copy of all the info you have on the case. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes when I go over the record carefully I find a stone or two unturned."
“No problem.” Cranfield turned and brought up the Elliott file on his computer and clicked on the printer icon. “It won't take long to print out,” he laughed. “There just isn't that much to it."
“My wife latched onto a rumor this morning,” Borders said. “It doesn't have anything to do with the case—just gossip really, but it has my curiosity up. Do you know anything about Sandra Dollar?"
“Sure,” he said. “She's a nice lady and rich as hell."
Borders laughed. “That she is. What I mean is, do you know anything about her past—before she came to Dot."
Cranfield looked at the older man blankly and shook his head. “Should I?"
“Maybe not. It's just that I seem to recall a case involving her three or four years ago when Matt Dilson was sheriff. I didn't work on the case myself, but I think she may have been marginally involved in something or other."
“Borders, if you want to spend some time for research on the computer, feel free. Dobson's out on sick leave. You can use his office."
“What's wrong with Dobson?"
“Hemorrhoids, I think."
“Ouch."
“Yeah,” Cranfield smiled. “You remember how to use these marvels of technology, don't you?” he asked as he patted the top of his monitor.
“Thanks, Bud. It's probably nothing, but, like I said, Leora's gossip has my curiosity up."
Borders closed the door to Dobson's cubicle and switched on the computer. Immediately the program called for a password. He was certain his password would no longer work, but he tried it anyway and was surprised when the program opened. He ran a search on ‘Dollar’ and found many entries. Most concerned land transactions and legal matters, but when he clicked on ‘Dollar, Sandra” the monitor displayed a single word, “confidential—top security required.” He typed in his security code. The screen flooded with tiny, hard to read, print.
He leaned forward until the print focused through the lower part of his bifocals. For thirty minutes, he read page after page. Finally he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and exclaimed, “Holy cow!"
* * * *
Greta was working in the living room when she noticed Sandra climbing the spiral staircase. Literally on tiptoe she followed and inched up to the bedroom door. She heard water running in the Whirl Pool and smiled. She rushed to the kitchen and retrieved the equipment she needed to use as props from the utility closet. She hurried back upstairs and paused briefly at the closed bathroom door. She could hear the hum of the motor and an occasional splash as Sandra moved in the tub.
Greta swung open the door and quickly entered the room, her bucket banging against the door. “Oh, mercy, Mrs. Dollar,” she gasped as she looked at the startled woman in the Whirl Pool. “I didn't know you were in here."
Greta wondered, Why in the world would Tim want to poke me when he sleeps with that curvaceous body every night? “I ... I can come back later,” she said.
The speechless woman in the tub covered her breasts with her arms. Greta turned her back and pretended to start for the door, then stopped. “Ma'am,” she said. “I don't mean no disrespect, but I used to be a masseuse a long time ago. I worked for a chiropractor—not in one of them massage parlors. I really know how to do it. You are awfully tense. The muscles in your shoulders look like knots of rope just under the skin. I could loosen them up for you in just a few minutes if you want me to."
“Were you really a masseuse?"
“Yes, ma'am.” She kept her back turned to Sandra.
“Sounds like a good job. Why did you quit?"
“I didn't. He wanted to fuck me and when I wouldn't, he fired me. I tried to get other jobs as a masseuse, but he put out the word I was having sex with his patients, so nobody else would hire me.” Slowly she turned and looked at her naked boss. I'll be damn, she thought. She bought it.
“I have been under a lot of stress lately,” Sandra said, “and Leora upset me with some things she said."
“Leora?"
“The lady who visited me a couple of hours ago."
“Oh,” Greta said as she stared at the tiny breasts that were no longer covered.
“If you don't mind, I would love a massage."
Greta knelt beside the beautiful woman and began to work on her shoulders. “Try to relax, ma'am."
Sandra leaned forward. “Your hands feel wonderful."
“Yes ma'am. I can feel those muscles relaxing already."
“Can you work on down my back?"
“Yes ma'am. Lean forward a little more, please."
Sandra groaned as Greta applied rotating pressure to her vertebrae.
“Ma'am,” Greta said as she looked appreciatively at the visible part of Sandra's buttocks, “I know I ain't worked here but three days, but am I doing okay?"
“You're doing fine, Greta, but I wish your English were better. I'm afraid Junior will pick up some of your expressions."
“I like Junior.” Greta reached the midpoint of Sandra's back. “He wanted me to learn him some new words this morning. I explained that I can't read very good, so he said he'd teach me. He didn't teach me nothing I didn't already know, but he seemed to enjoy reading to me."
“That's good,” Sandra said dreamily. “I would prefer to be his only teacher, but anytime he wants to read to you it will help him."
“Yes, ma'am. Ma'am?"
“Yes?"
“Your lower back is really messed up."
“Un-mess it,” Sandra laughed.
“Yes, ma'am. The thing is, I could do a better job if I was sitting behind you in the tub."
“But you'd get all wet."
Greta laughed. “You have towels, don't you?” She stood up and posed in front of Sandra as she quickly removed her clothes.
“Greta, I don't know..."
Greta didn't let her finish. “Scoot down a little, ma'am.” She climbed behind Sandra, slid to a sitting position behind her boss and immediately began working on the small of Sandra's back. “Ma'am,” Greta said as her fingers continued their performance, working lower and lower, “we have one of these fancy tubs in the house me and Eddie rent. They're wonderful."
“Yes,” agreed Sandra, “and so are your hands.” She felt her muscles relaxing and she sighed. For a moment, when she felt Greta's finger working between the hemispheres of her buttocks, she thought that she should call a halt to the massage, but it felt so good.
“You like this, ma'am?"
“Hmmm."
When Greta's finger lightly prodded her anus Sandra knew it had gone too far. She resolved never to allow this to happen again, but it felt too good to interrupt now. Greta reversed course and moved her probing fingers up Sandra's back.
“Loosen up a little, Mrs. Dollar. Just relax. That's it.” Her hands moved to Sandra's shoulder blades and then to her arms. “Now just lean back, ma'am. That's it. I need to do your chest muscles. Go on. Lean back. My titties won't bite you. That's it.” Her hands probed Sandra's upper chest and caressed her throat.
Sandra knew she shouldn't find pleasure in the sensation of Greta's hard nipples against her back and it troubled her. She felt her vaginal moisture begin to build as Greta's fingers gently spidered her shapely little breasts.
“I like your tits, ma'am,” Greta cooed. “They're so firm and responsive."
Sandra knew she must stop this. She pushed her head back against Greta's shoulder and opened her mouth to protest. Greta filled it with her tongue as her hand slid down Sandra's belly, over her navel, through her pubic hair and between her legs. Sandra tried to close her legs, but they felt like jelly. The girl's pulsating tongue was so full and her saliva so sweet.
* * * *
“I see that damn Maggie brought you home,” Eddie greeted as Greta entered the house.
“Honey, it's a long way to the Dollar place. With you working, I had to walk this morning. Maggie said she didn't mind bringing me home."
“I don't want you getting too chummy with that bitch.” He pulled his right hand from behind his back displaying the pair of pliers he was holding. “Remember the last time I used these on you, bitch?"
“Oh, God, Eddie. Don't pinch my clit with those things again. What do you want, honey? A blow job?” She dropped to her knees.
He yanked her back up. “I don't want a damn blow job, bitch. I'm going to work over you clit tonight and every night until you tell me you've gotten at least one of the Dollars in bed."
She grinned although he continued to pull her hair. “Can I pinch your balls with them pliers when I do get the Dollars in bed?"
“You have something to tell me, Greta?” he asked, releasing his grip.
She nodded as she began to strip for him. “I bagged both of them today. I showed Tim my bare ass and he was humping me within two minutes. I used the old professional massager bit on Sandy and she bought it faster than any john I have ever tried it on."
“What was she like, baby?"
“Sandy? Well, she ain't much in the titty department, but she has huge nipples. The first time she came, I was just twisting them a little. She's got a tight little pussy. She must have had it stitched up after Junior was born. I had trouble finding her clit, but when I did, boy, did she blow all her fuses."
“Did she do you, Greta?"
“Well, she didn't get her tongue where I wanted it, but she made that thing move so fast inside my mouth she brought me off that way.
“About that blow job you offered me..."
Chapter Twelve
“God, I hope Eddie don't find out I was gone all day,” Greta said over the hum of the Blazer's motor. “What if he came home for lunch?"
“Quit worrying, Greta,” Maggie replied. “You've already told me he doesn't do that."
“There can always be a first time.” Greta watched telephone poles whiz by. “Course, he's banging that black girl now, so I guess that's how he spends his lunch hour."
“What black girl?"
“I think her name's Sueanna. She's a waitress at the Korner Kafe."
“Sewana,” Maggie corrected. “I would not have thought she would stoop so low."
“Eddie has a big one and most girls go for that."
“Does she work weekends?"
“Yeah. I think so."
“I don't know what you see in that man, Greta. As you once told me, he treats you like dirt. Maybe he does have a big penis, but the middle finger on your right hand can accomplish the same thing."
“It don't bother me much. He's always screwing somebody. Only, in this case, I think he really likes the girl."
“Hey, cheer up. I learned a lot today. How about you?"
Greta relaxed. “Yeah,” she said and a smile returned to her lips. “We know what a gold nugget looks like now, and a gold flake, and a panning dish."
“I didn't find the video they showed very helpful, but getting my feet wet in the creek actually panning for gold was fun, even if I didn't find anything and you did,” Maggie teased.
“It was just a little nugget."
“Even so, the man said it was probably worth twenty dollars or more."
“Maggie, I wish I could help pay for the equipment."
“Don't worry about it. The three panning dishes I bought were only fifteen bucks. I can get the rest of the stuff from the hardware store for fifty dollars or less. You can pay me back when we strike it rich."
A broad smile grew across Greta's face. “When are we going to try our luck?"
“Why not tomorrow? I've spent many hours studying Ida's gold map. I believe the mine on the Dollars’ farm is upstream of the little creek that feeds the two lakes in front of the Dollar's house. I followed the creek yesterday as far as I could on the golf cart. I found several bends in the creek and a couple of fallen logs that look like good places to search. If we do find some gold, we'll know we are on the right track and work our way upstream. Eventually we'll find the old mine."
“What if the Dollars’ catch us?"
“I've thought about that too. I think we need to ask permission to pan on their property."
“As money crazy as they are, they'll probably want to share the profit with us."
“Yes, and I think that would be fair."
“Maggie, why did you buy three panning dishes?"
“The little one is for Junior. I'm fond of the little rascal and as much as he likes to fish, I think he would enjoy panning for gold."
“You're going to let the kid go with us?"
“Why not? That's one way to get the Dollars to agree to let us use their land."
“I reckon it's okay. It's just that..."
“What?"
“I don't want to get too attached to the kid."
“He's a sweetheart, Greta."
“Yeah. That's why I don't want to get too attached."
“That doesn't make any sense."
“Well, if I get to loving the little fellow and something happens, it'll hurt real bad."
“What could happen?"
“Well,” Greta said, stalling until she could think of something other than the planned kidnapping, “well, like maybe Eddie will get tired of Dot and drag me away. I'd miss the little guy something awful if I got to loving him."
“If Eddie decides to leave Dot, it will be the best thing that could happen to you. You don't have to go with him, you know."
“He's mean, Maggie. He'd make me go with him."
“Greta, I've been thinking that you ought to tell Eddie what we're doing."
“You don't know him like I do, Maggie. He'll want everything we find. I'll wind up doing all the work and he'll get all the gold."
“No he won't. We won't let him know how much we find. I'll keep your share for you. We'll give him a little from time to time. He won't know the difference."
Greta grinned.
“A little gold, Greta. Gold,” Maggie laughed.
“He might prefer the other. He told me one day he'd like to fuck you."
“That'll be the day."
“I'm serious. He's said it more than once. One time he made me wear a ball cap while he did me. I know he was pretending it was you he was humping."
Maggie wrinkled her nose and shook her shoulders. “Change the subject, Greta. I'm about to throw up."
“You know, if I do tell him about us hunting for gold, I can quit worrying about him finding out and beating the shit out of me."
“That's exactly my point."
“Should I tell him about Miss Jenkins?"
“I don't think so. Tell him it is a hobby of mine and you'd like to try it. Promise to give him all the gold you find. Even if we don't find anything tomorrow, give him the little nugget you found today at the Reed mine. It'll give him gold fever."
“What if he wants to come with us?"
“Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. That's one we'll have to play by ear."
* * * *
“Is it good, honey?"
Eddie sucked a dangling strand of pasta into his mouth and smiled as he chewed. “One of the few things you do well is make spaghetti,” he said. “Don't look like you got much house keeping done today, though."
“I'm sorry, Eddie. I didn't do much. I ... I wasn't here most of the day.” She braced for the verbal attack she expected.
“Where'd you go?” he asked absently.
“Eddie, let me tell it all before you get mad at me. My bottom still hurts from the last time you whupped me."
“Have you done something that's going to make me angry?"
“I hope not,” she said as she pushed away from the table. She walked to the counter, picked up the tea pitcher, returned and filled his glass.
“The skin on your ass has returned to its normal color, Greta. Maybe it's time I blistered it again."
“It hurts so bad, Eddie, but it was my bruised ass that turned Mr. Dollar on. Mrs. Dollar didn't see it until yesterday, and she was real sympathetic. She even kissed my butt, like that would make it well."
Eddie laughed. “I'll bet Tim would like to have been the one who beat you. Why don't you suggest it the next chance you get? Then, when Sandy sees your bruises, you can still blame them on me."
His good mood baffled Greta. “I don't know, Eddie. Mrs. Dollar is the one who seems to be angry all the time. She might enjoy taking it out on my hide. She slapped my butt after kissing it, but it didn't hurt."
Eddie laughed again. “Two sadists in the same family. You make them happy any way you can. Now then, what is it you have to tell me that is going to make me angry?"
She sat down across from him. “I don't think you will get mad if you'll let me tell it all."
“If you don't get on with it I'm going to leave the print of my hand on your face before you even get started."
“Well, it's like this. I know you don't want me to be friends with Maggie, but Eddie, I think she is on to something that might make you some money."
“I'm not angry so far."
“She has a hobby—panning for gold."
“What?"
“You see, somehow gold gets in creeks and..."
“I know what panning for gold is. Go on."
“She thinks there may be gold—a lot of it—in some of the creeks on the Dollars’ farm. She has this map that shows where gold has been found in the past around here."
“All the North Carolina mines petered out a century ago."
“I don't exactly understand it, but she don't think so. She thinks the California gold rush and the Alaska gold rush that followed it caused people to quit looking in North Carolina. She thinks we can find enough to make it worth while."
He smiled again. “Has my little pea-brained bitch been studying history?"
She shook her head. “I'm just telling you what she told me."
“Were you out panning for gold today?"
Greta again shook her head. “No. Today she took me to sort of a museum at Reed's Gold Mine. It's about forty miles from here. They have displays and stuff. It was exciting."
“I'm still not angry, Greta. In fact, you may have just saved yourself from a beating. You see, I saw you riding with Maggie in her Blazer this morning. I was going to ask you about it later. If you lied to me about it you would have been in deep shit."
“Honey, I don't never lie to you."
“Bullshit. So when are you and Miss Maggie going to start looking for gold?"
“Tomorrow, maybe—if it's okay with you. Maggie was going to ask the Dollars for permission to search their creeks when she got home this afternoon. If it's okay with them, she's going to pick me up in the morning about eight."
“If the two of you do find gold, how much of it do you get to keep?"
“Half, but I figured I'd find a way to steal a little from her by not letting her know how much I have found."
“That's my girl,” Eddie said. “And how much do I get?"
“Oh, Eddie. You know I have no use for money. You get all of my share."
“You're damn right I do. You have any more of this spaghetti?"
She couldn't believe his good humor. She took his plate to the stove and placed the final serving of pasta on it. She covered it with her special sauce and set the overflowing plate before him."
As he covered the spaghetti with salt he said, “You go ahead and play with your new friend. When you get home, I'll have a surprise for you."
“What kind of surprise, Eddie?"
“Sewana is moving in with us."
“Who is Sewana?"
“I told you about her. She's the black waitress I've been banging the last few days. She has a nice set of boobs on her and a tight little twat you wouldn't believe. She knows how to use it too."
“Where's she gonna sleep?"
“In bed with me of course. If there isn't room for you, you can sleep on the floor."
“Eddie, that ain't right."
“Now you're making me mad."
“It still ain't right, damn it.” She began to cry. “I've done everything you ever asked me to. I don't deserve this."
“You knew I was fucking her, bitch."
“Yeah, but bringing her into my house is different."
“Your house?” he screamed as he jumped up knocking over his chair. “It ain't your fucking anything, bitch, and don't you ever forget it."
She cowered as he approached her. “Is she gonna have to go naked in the house like me?"
Eddie sneered at her. “Only if she wants to. Don't you think it's time white people were punished for making slaves out of the blacks? You're going to be her fucking slave just like you are mine. You'll do anything she tells you and pretend to like it.” He wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled painfully. “If she wants you to suck my cum out of her pussy, you'll get on your knees and start slurping. Do you understand me, bitch?"
“Okay, Eddie,” she said, afraid to nod.
He yanked her head to his stomach and pulled it backwards, stretching her neck to its extremity and placing his other hand on it menacingly. “She's not going to know anything about the Elliotts and the Dollar bitch. That's going to remain between just you and me."
“Okay, Eddie,” she gasped.
He pushed her away.
“I thought you wanted people around here to think we are respectable."
“What's your point?"
“What are they gonna think when they find out you're shacking up with Sewana?"
“Sewana is simply renting our spare room, and you're not to say different to anyone."
Greta accepted defeat and nodded her head.
“I've changed my plans about the Dollar bitch, too. Things are going too good right now. Oh, I'll still get my revenge. I'm just going to delay it a while.” His eyes glazed over as the daydream returned. The slim, naked body hung suspended from a rafter in the soundproof room. He clamped her right nipple savagely with a pair of pliers. She screamed. She begged. She pleaded.
* * * *
Sandra came into the den and half sat, half crouched, on the sofa beside Tim's recliner.
Tim looked up from the magazine he was browsing and, over the blare of the television he wasn't really watching, said, “Is Junior asleep?"
“Finally,” she replied. “Can you cut that thing down?"
“Sorry,” he said as he picked up the remote control and turned down the volume. He glanced back at the magazine but was aware that she was still looking at him. “You want to talk about something?” he asked.
She reached for the control and clicked off the TV. “You weren't watching that were you?"
He shook his head. “What is it, Dudette?"
“It's Greta. She's just not working out."
Tim felt the muscles in his temple contract. “She seems okay to me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Well, she's not."
He glanced around as if looking for dust. “The place seems clean enough to me."
“Well, it isn't. She doesn't do a thorough job. She doesn't clean the tops of door and window frames. She dusts tables without picking up the things on the table first. Every time she washes dishes, I have to redo half of them. I could go on and on."
Tim felt perspiration building at the back of his hairline. “I admit she's no Adele and Maggie is no Bobby, but they've just been with us a week. Give them a chance, Dudette."
“Maggie is fine. She's learning quickly and she's good with Junior. He really likes her. That's why I agreed to let him go with them tomorrow prospecting, or whatever they call it. I'm talking about Greta. Dude, she has to go."
Tim's nose was twitching. The more he tried to control it, the more it twitched. She forgave me for the affair with Penny Swanson, he thought. But will she forgive me for another affair? He tried to smile. “Give her a chance. I'll speak to her."
“You'll speak to her all right. The first thing Monday morning I want you to fire her. She can probably get her job back at the motel."
“You want me to fire her? You're the one who is not satisfied with her work.” Maybe, he thought, if I give Greta some money she'll keep quiet. “Sandy, I don't think you are being fair to her. You haven't liked her from the beginning."
“You're right. You talked me into hiring her over my serious objections. We made it very clear to her that we were employing her on a trial basis."
Tim stared at the ceiling. Do I tell her now and get it over with or do I wait and see if I can buy Greta's silence? “Why is it that I wear the pants in this family only when there is something disagreeable to be done?” he asked. He forced his eyes back to Sandra. Her chin was quivering, her mouth was twisted and tears were slipping from her eyes. “Dudette,” he said, “what is it?"
Her lips moved but no sound emerged.
He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. “What is it, baby?"
She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He stroked her hair. “I don't understand why you are so emotional about it, honey, but I'll let her go first thing Monday morning. Maybe it would be better if I can catch her when she gets back from her panning for gold excursion tomorrow."
The fingers of her left hand clawed his shoulder. “I am an evil woman, Tim,” she sobbed.
“No you're not, Dudette. I don't understand what you have against Greta, but I'm sure it's not evil.” He hugged her tighter.
“I'm having an affair with her,” she blurted out.
The confession was so unexpected that he chuckled.
She sat up quickly and glared at him through teary eyes. “You think it's funny?” She snatched two tissues from a box on the table and stood up.
“I ... I don't think it's funny,” he said. He groped for the right words. “You caught me by surprise. I would never have thought..."
“That I am a lesbian?” She blew her nose noisily.
He had never felt so ill prepared for a conversation in his life. He stood up and moved towards her, but she backed away. “There's nothing wrong with being a lesbian,” he said. He smiled faintly. “But you ain't one, Dudette. I'm living proof of that."
“Then maybe I swing both ways."
He shrugged his shoulders. “That's okay with me, but it seems to be tearing you up."
She turned her back to him.
He didn't know what to say. “I don't guess you want to talk about it?"
She turned her head and looked at him a moment. “What must you think of me?"
“Sandy, you are always surprising me. I love you, Dudette."
“And I did forgive you for your fling with Penny Swanson."
He nodded. “This is different. I don't see your interest in Greta as any threat to me, or our marriage for that matter. I suppose we need to rethink some things, but..."
“I don't know if I can explain, but I'd like to try."
Suddenly he wasn't certain he wanted to hear her story. “Maybe it would be easier ... more helpful to you ... if you talked to a professional. Would you like for me to call the preacher?"
“Oh, hell no,” she said. “I'll ... I'll be right back."
He paced back and forth in front of the rock fireplace. His breath was coming in short, rapid gasps. His hands were trembling. He stood in front of their videocassette rack, pulled three tapes out of the top row, reached in and extracted a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.
She returned carrying two cans of diet cola just as he exhaled the first satisfying stream of gray smoke. “You're smoking again?” she asked.
“I never quit,” he said. He turned to the fireplace. “I've been sneaking behind your back. I'll put it out."
“No. Let me have one."
Her hand was trembling as she placed the cigarette to her lips. His hand trembled as he raised the lighted match for her to use.
“Where did I hide the ash trays?” she muttered to herself. “This candy dish will do,” she said as she dumped the chocolates on the table. She placed the dish on the coffee table beside the cigarette pack and matches, sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her.
Tim took the offered seat and looked into her somber eyes expectantly.
“Once a slut, always a slut,” she began.
“Everybody makes mistakes sometimes, Dudette, and we haven't yet determined that you've done anything wrong."
“Oh, I've done something wrong, all right,” she said, trying to laugh. “How can I explain this?"
“Why don't you, just this once, trust my intelligence. Just tell me what happened."
“Everything?"
He nodded, feeling a bit of excitement building somewhere inside him.
“Wednesday was a rough day for me,” she said as she exhaled cigarette smoke. “To cap it off, Leora Borders came by here and accused me of having a sexual relationship with that damned John Baxter."
“I haven't thought of him for years.” Tim stubbed out his cigarette. “How did Leora find out about him?"
“She doesn't know what actually happened. She's researching her damned church history and is trying to find out why Baxter left town so suddenly. Someone she's talked to knows I was somehow involved, but not the real story."
“What did you do?"
“I told her it was not true and got rid of her. I was so upset I drank a couple of beers, crawled into the Whirl Pool and tried to relax."
Tim nodded. She had his undivided attention. He remembered that Leora left shortly after he had sex with Greta on Wednesday.
“Maybe I shouldn't have drunk those beers after taking a double dose of Alka-Seltzer Plus. Anyway, I was just beginning to feel a little buzz when Greta came bursting into the bathroom with her bucket and rags. I didn't know what to do. She looked as embarrassed as I was and said she'd come back later, but damn it, Tim, she kept her eyes glued to my crotch. She said something about me looking tense and how she was once a masseuse. Before I knew it she was on her knees working on my back."
Tim watched as Sandra reached for another tissue.
“It felt so good, Tim. She knew what she was doing. I could feel the muscles relax."
“Hey, I love massages. Do you suppose she would do me?"
She glared at him and blew her nose.
“Sorry,” he said. “Just trying to lighten things up a little."
“The next thing I knew, she was in the tub behind me."
“With her clothes on?"
“No. She took them off. It only took a second. She wasn't wearing any underclothes."
Tim tried not to smile as he remembered.
“Tim, she worked down my back all the way to my anus. I should have stopped her right then, but it felt so damned good. In a few minutes, she pulled my back against those soft breasts of hers and her hands were on my chest. She told me how pretty my tits were and how good the nipples felt in her hands. I tried to stop her then, Tim. I swear to God I did, but when I started to speak she twisted around and filled my mouth with her tongue while her fingers roamed to my clit and I lost it."
Tim twisted uncomfortably.
“Damn you Tim Dollar. You have an erection."
“You're damn right I have an erection and I'm not going to apologize for it. You write that scene in one of your books and you'll have men all over this country jerking off."
“Men find sex between women stimulating?"
“Hell yes,” he said. “At least this man does. Look, Dudette, it just happened and you were drunk at the time anyway. Quit beating yourself up over it."
“I wasn't drunk yesterday."
“Uh, oh. It happened again?"
She was no longer crying when she nodded. “I avoided her all day Thursday. Friday I told her there would be no more sex but I would like a massage. Hell, Tim, I did want sex. I stripped her, for God's sake, as well as myself. Your tongue has been inside me many times, and I love it, but your's is nothing like that talented tongue of Greta's."
“So if we get rid of Greta, it'll all be over? I don't think so. Of all people, you ought to have thought of blackmail. If her husband hears about it, you can be damn sure he'll blackmail you. I don't trust that bastard as far as I can throw a piano."
Sandra looked at him helplessly. “I'm no damned good,” she said. “I'm evil. I'm not a fit wife for you. I'm not a fit mother for Tim Junior."
He pulled her close and again caressed her hair. “We have to do the best we can, Sandy. We have to accept who we are and what we are. I can't let you suffer like this without knowing."
“Without knowing what?"
“You left out a detail about Greta. She has her pubic hair shaved."
“How do you know that?"
“I also found out on Wednesday that Greta wears no underwear when I screwed her doggie style in my study. My semen must have been still in her when she masturbated you."
Sandra stormed out of the room. Tim followed cautiously and caught up with her in the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and tossed a beer in his direction before popping the top on one for herself. “First there was the Swanson girl and now Greta. You'll drop your pants for any slit tail who shakes her tits at you."
“Now wait a damn minute,” he said defensively. “It seems to me you just got through telling me of a little extra-curricular activity on your own part."
She walked to the sink and stared out the window. “Why am I not enough for you, Tim? Is it my boobs?"
He pushed himself against her buttocks and cupped her breasts. “You know I adore your boobs."
“That's what you say, but both Greta Crow and that redheaded Penny Swanson have huge tits."
“I never saw Greta's breasts,” he said. He tried to slip his hands inside her shirt but she pulled away.
“Not now, Tim."
“Dudette,” he said. “I need a cigarette. I'll be right back."
She sank into a kitchen chair and pointed, “Top shelf over the stove—behind the coffee can."
He found the half-empty pack and grinned. “You never quit either, did you?"
“Tim, after I found out about you and Penny Swanson you swore you'd never do it again."
“And I meant it at the time, but when I saw that bruised ass of Greta's bending over my desk, I just lost it, to use your expression."
“Is that what turned you on?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Yeah, it was."
“You screwed her while fantasizing about beating her?"
“No, damn it. Well, maybe. I don't know."
She jumped up, pushed down her pants and panties in one motion and bent over the table. “Take your belt off and whip me,” she demanded.
“No way."
“Do it, damn it."
“I won't. What's gotten into you?"
“I want you to know what it's like. I want to know what it's like."
“Dudette, I can't do this. I love you."
“If you love me you'll beat my ass until the blood trickles down my thighs."
He stared at the beautiful bottom he had kissed and caressed so often. Slowly he began to remove his belt.
“Mommy,” Junior said as he came through the kitchen door rubbing his eyes. “I want a glass of water."
Chapter Thirteen
“What's gold?” Junior asked.
“It's a pretty yellow metal that people make jewelry out of, like this chain I wear around my neck,” Maggie answered as she steered the golf cart with one hand and pulled the necklace from inside her cutoff flannel shirt.
“I wish I had a gold necklace,” Junior said.
“Boys don't wear necklaces, Junior,” Greta said with a chuckle.
“My daddy wears one,” Junior argued.
“He has you there, Greta,” Maggie said. “These days I'll bet as many men as women wear gold chains around their necks."
“Yeah?” Greta asked. “Eddie don't wear one and I reckon I just haven't noticed."
“Are we going to find gold necklaces in the creek?” Junior asked.
“No, Junior. The way God made things, gold is usually a part of another kind of rock. We're looking for rocks with streaks of gold in them. These rocks are called nuggets,” Maggie explained.
“You have to get the gold out of the nuggets to make a necklace?"
“That's right."
“How do you do that?"
Maggie glanced at Greta who shrugged her shoulders. “That's something we haven't studied yet, Junior. We thought we'd see if we can find any gold nuggets before worrying about that."
“Do creeks make gold?"
“No. I'm not sure exactly what processes create gold, but it's usually in hillsides and mountains. When it rains hard, sometimes little pieces of gold nuggets wash into a creek and tumble in the current downstream. Eventually they settle to the bottom of the creek. That's what we are going to try to find."
“Are we going to dig them up with the shovel you brought?"
“Maybe."
“What are the dish pans for?"
“We'll show you in a few minutes,” Maggie said.
“I gotta go to the bathroom."
“Uh oh,” Greta said. “Number one or number two?"
“Huh?"
“Do you have to pee-pee?” Greta tried again.
“I need to urinate."
Both girls laughed. “Well, this looks like as good a place as any,” Maggie said as she stopped the cart next to a sharp bend in the creek. “Can you do it by yourself?"
“Do what?"
“Uh, urinate."
“There's no bathroom out here, silly."
Greta hugged the boy. “What you do is go behind one of those trees, push down your bathing suit and aim at the ground."
“Really?"
“Sure."
“Show me."
Greta shook her head as she laughed. “You trust me on this one, Junior. Go try it. If you need help, holler. Maggie will come help you."
Junior jumped out of the cart and headed for the trees.
“We may as well unload everything,” Maggie said.
“You're going to pan for gold here?” Greta asked. “I can still see the Dollars’ house."
“We haven't come very far, but see that large boulder in the creek right where it bends sharply towards us? There's a lot of silt behind it. Let's give it a try."
“Junior,” Greta called out. “Is everything coming out okay?"
The sound of giggles emerged from behind the tree just before Junior reappeared. “Yep,” he said, still laughing. “It all came out okay."
Maggie and Greta shrugged out of their jeans and removed their shirts. Both were wearing one piece bathing suits. “Get your shoes off, Junior. It's time to go wading,” Greta said as she splashed into the crystal clear cold water.
When they reached the sandbar behind the large rock, Maggie said, “Junior, watch what Greta and I do, and then you can pan for gold too."
Maggie pushed the shovel deep into the silt, placed half of the shovel full in Greta's pan and the other half in her own. She propped the shovel against the rock and lowered her pan beneath the water. She kneaded the silt with both hands, breaking up clumps and causing the clay content to wash out of the pan. She picked out the larger sized rocks, examined and discarded them. She dipped the pan beneath the water once more and shook it from side to side. “This is supposed to make the gold settle to the bottom of the pan,” she explained to Junior.
Maggie tilted the pan forward and raised it out of the water quickly, causing most of the debris to wash off. She repeated the process until there was just a small amount of material in the bottom of the pan. She swirled the little remaining water and suddenly tilted the pan towards her. “See, Junior. If there is any gold in the dirt I was working with, it will be in the few grains of sand left in the pan."
“I don't see any gold,” Junior said.
“Me either,” Maggie agreed with a sigh. “Run your finger through the sand and see if you can find anything that is the same color as my necklace."
Junior moved his index finger back and forth in the teaspoon of tiny pebbles. “There's something,” he said.
“Mercy,” Maggie said. “I believe you've just found gold.” She removed a tweezers from their bucket and gently lifted the apple seed sized object.
“Gold,” Greta said reverently.
“Junior, get me the empty baby food jar out of the bucket,” Maggie said excitedly.
He picked it up and struggled to get the top off. With a triumphant look on his face, he held out the topless jar and Maggie dropped the little piece of gold into it. He carefully examined the jar's content. “I don't see anything but gold,” he said. “I thought you said it would always be in another kind of rock."
“It usually is, Junior,” Greta said, “but sometimes all the other rock has worn away, just leaving the gold."
“It's pretty,” Junior said. “Fill my pan up, Maggie,” he said as he put the jar back in the bucket. “Let's find some more gold."
Maggie scooped up another shovel full of silt, shook some out in Greta's pan, some in her own pan and bent over to deposit the remainder in the pan Junior held in his hands. The added weight caught Junior off guard. He stumbled, dropped the pan and clutched the top of Maggie's bathing suit as he fell backwards. She dropped the shovel and fell forward, bracing her hands against the creek bed to avoid crushing him.
“You okay?” she asked with a hint of panic in her voice.
He did not answer immediately. His grasp yanked the top of Maggie's suit down and he stared at her breasts, glistening with tiny beads of creek water. Tentatively he touched her left breast. “You're bigger than mommy,” he said at last.
Greta thought, No wonder Eddie wants to screw her.
“Women come in all sizes,” Maggie laughed as she covered her nakedness and helped Junior to his feet.
Soon the trio was sifting through load after load of silt, but after an hour, they found no more gold.
“My arms hurt,” Junior said. “Let's play hide."
Maggie laughed. “My arms hurt too, Junior, but we are playing ‘pan for gold’ today. Why don't you go sit on the bank and rest a little."
“I'll do one more pan,” he said.
Maggie dug deep into the silt and divided the contents of the shovel. Junior knelt in the water and kneaded the silt in his bucket. “I got a big old rock this time,” he said. He picked up the walnut sized stone and started to toss it away, but suddenly stopped. He washed the rock in the water and looked at it. “It's a pretty rock,” he noted. “Greta, look at this. Is that little yellow line gold?"
Greta looked at the rock. “Maggie, look at this."
Maggie held the rock in her hand. “Give me the hammer, Junior."
He pulled a small hammer from the bucket and Maggie gave the rock a sharp blow. One side of the stone fell away, revealing a finger width strand of shining gold."
* * * *
Leora jabbed Borders in the ribs. He snorted, sat up and whispered, “I wasn't asleep. I was just resting my eyes."
“You were snoring, you old goat. Listen, I just figured it out."
He leaned towards her and placed his lips close to her ear. “I wasn't the only one not paying attention to the sermon. What did you figure out?"
“You remember the picture of John Baxter I received from the seminary yesterday?"
He nodded.
“I told you the man looked familiar."
“Keep your voice down,” he admonished. “People are looking at us. Who does he remind you of?"
“That cook at the Korner Kafe. What's his name—uh, Crow."
Borders smiled, shook his head and patted her on the knee.
While the congregation sang the invitation hymn she said, “It's the beard. Take off the beard and a little of the fat and Baxter is Crow."
“Yes, dear,” he patronized her.
“Old goat,” she muttered.
* * * *
As soon as the choir finished singing the choral amen, George Bennett rushed to the dressing room, took off his robe and put on his suit jacket. He hurried back to the sanctuary but Dottie was not among the groups of people who lingered to chat after the service.
Smiling and nodding to various people he made his way to the exit, but found it blocked by the preacher. “Fine sermon, Mack,” he said.
“Did you like my story about the two goats and a crocodile?” Mack asked.
George jerked his eyes back from the parking lot. “I ... I don't remember you telling that story, Mack."
The preacher slapped him on the back and laughed heartily. “Just kidding, George. Somebody in the choir was snoring this morning and I was checking to see if it was you. There was no goat and crocodile story."
George smiled feebly. “I was trying to catch Mrs. Frank before she got away,” he explained.
“Afraid you missed her, George. She was the first one out the door."
George drove directly to Dottie's house and rang the bell.
“To what do I owe the horror of this visit?” Dottie said sarcastically when she opened the door.
“Dottie, we need to talk."
“Not now, George. I have a splitting headache."
“Have you taken anything?"
“Sandy Dollar's cure-all, but it hasn't had time to work yet."
“Dottie, please let me come in. I have a surefire remedy for a headache, if you actually have one."
“Come in, damn it,” she said stepping aside. “I do have a headache. The only time I use that as an excuse is when I am trying to avoid having sex, and there's no way in hell I will ever need that excuse with you."
“I appreciate the compliment,” he said and he strolled into the living room as if he owned the place.
“A compliment?"
“Yeah. You must think I'm one hot daddy if you believe you'll never have to turn down an offer of sex from me."
“You old bastard. Get out!"
He sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “Come sit down and put your head in my lap."
“There's no way in hell."
“Do you want to get rid of the headache?"
She looked at his smiling face a moment and finally stretched out on the sofa with her head on his thighs. “One false move, George Bennett,” she warned, “and I'll squeeze your balls so tight you'll be singing soprano in the choir for the rest of your life."
“Promises, promises,” he joked as he slowly ran his thumb from her hairline down to the bridge of her nose. “Try to relax,” he said as he reversed the action. “I don't know much about the nervous system, but I'm told there are two nerves that run close together between the eyes. This kind of massage separates those nerves and the headache is supposed to disappear."
He continued the motion with his right hand and firmly massaged her left temple with his other hand. After a few minutes he switched hands and worked his magic on her right temple.
He watched her breasts rise and fall and hoped she could not feel his erection. She lay very still with her eyes closed.
“Better?” he whispered.
She kept her eyes closed and smiled as she nodded. He cradled her head in his hands, eased out from under her and slipped a sofa pillow under her head. He knelt beside her and kissed her hand.
“I'll let myself out."
“I thought you wanted to talk with me about something."
“You know what I want to talk about. May I call you later?"
“It won't do you any good,” she said softly. “Billy's a grown man with responsibilities. He's made his decision to join forces with you. That's his business. I'm too old to change. Now that you've ended the price war, Dot's Diner is again making a little profit. I haven't thanked you for that kindness, have I?"
George ignored her question as he absently held her hand and gently rubbed her open palm. “Would you try it for a week or two? No formal agreement—just try it?"
“Don't you ever think about anything but business?” she asked dreamily.
“Yes,” he said as he sprang to his feet, “but I have no desire to become a soprano.” He gently kissed her closed lips and departed.
I haven't diddled myself in decades, she thought. I wonder if I still remember how?
* * * *
“Now take a good look at this, Borders. Tell me it doesn't look like Eddie Crow,” Leora demanded as she shoved the black and white glossy towards her husband.
Borders studied the photograph patiently. “I'm sorry, Leora. I just don't see it."
“You're blind as a bat, old man."
“Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not as imaginative as you are."
“I still say that Baxter and Crow are one and the same."
“If it will put your mind to rest, I'll take your photograph to the crime lab tomorrow. I think they can add a beard. Would that make you happy?"
“Add a little weight, too."
Borders nodded. “It just doesn't make any sense, Leora. Why would preacher Baxter come back to Dot as a cook, complete with an alias and disguise?"
“I don't know, but if they are one and the same I'll bet my false teeth that Sandra Dollar has the answer to that question. She's hiding something, Borders."
“Now you leave Sandra Dollar out of this. You've harassed that woman enough, Leora."
There was a knock on the bedroom door. “Lunch is ready,” Jo Nickels announced.
“I'm sorry, honey. Borders and I just decided to have lunch at the Korner Kafe."
“We did?” he whispered.
Leora grinned as she picked up her Polaroid camera. “Yes,” she said. “We did."
* * * *
As Greta climbed into the Blazer, Maggie carried the sleeping child to the house.
“We stayed longer than we meant to,” Maggie explained as she handed Junior over to his mother.
“Did you have any luck?"
Maggie smiled and produced the nugget Junior discovered. “We were about to quit when Junior found this."
“Wow,” Sandra said appreciatively as she looked at the small rock. “Was this all you found?"
“I don't see anyway we can keep it a secret,” Maggie laughed. “When Junior wakes up he'll tell you all about it anyway. We found only one small pebble of gold during the first hour. Then I dug a little deeper in the silt. That's when Junior came up with this nugget. After that, we found enough little flakes of gold to nearly fill a baby food jar. They call it placer gold."
“You think it's worth much?"
“Maybe a couple of hundred,” Maggie fibbed. You do have a small chest, she thought as she watched Sandra ease Junior to her shoulder. How in the world did you manage to breast feed Junior?
* * * *
“Eddie, I'm back."
“In the bedroom."
She dug the gold nugget found at the Reed Gold Mine from her jeans. “Honey, we found gold. We really did,” she said as she entered the bedroom and froze.
Suitcases, boxes and paper bags littered the room. Eddie was lying nude on one side of the bed. Beside him, with the sheet drawn up to her neck, was a dark-skinned beauty.
Eddie jumped out of bed and stripped back the sheet. “Meet Sewana,” he said. “Sewana, this is Greta, your obedient servant for the rest of your life.” He grasped the black girl's left breast. “Greta, you ever see a set of tits this nice?"
Greta knew she was supposed to say something. She did not want to feel Eddie's belt on her backside. “You're very pretty, Sewana.” It was then that she noticed Eddie's semen seeping from the girl's vagina.
Eddie approached her and took the nugget from her. “So this is gold,” he said. “Don't look like much to me."
“It's a start, honey,” she said as she allowed him to strip her.
“You're getting fat, bitch,” he complained as he forced the bathing suit over her hips.
“I'm sorry, Eddie."
“Look at these floppy tits, Sewana. And her cunt is so big I can drive my fist up it. Nothing like your tight little love box.” He spun Greta around and slapped her right buttock cheek, leaving an angry red imprint of his hand. “Look at that fat ass shaking like a bowl of Jell-O."
Sewana did not respond.
“I'm going to work some of that fat off of you, bitch. Put Sewana's things away and cook us a nice dinner. But first,” he said as he twisted his hand in her hair, “Sewana needs a little cleaning up.” He forced Greta towards the bed. “Give her a wide open pussy to eat, Sewana."
“Eddie, please. Don't make me do this."
“Open your legs Sewana."
“No."
“What?"
“No, Eddie. You said Greta was into this. Obviously you lied. Let her go."
Greta felt every muscle in her body tense, but Eddie's response surprised her.
“Now, Sewana,” he said sweetly. “She'll like it once she's tried it. Hell, she's eating Sandy Dollar's pussy every day."
“Maybe, but it's not filthy with your cum like mine is. Let her go or I'm out of here."
“Women,” he said shaking his head and smiling. “Greta, show Sewana the bathroom so she can clean herself up, if that's the way she wants to do it."
When the two women were alone, Greta showed Sewana how to use the bidet and the black beauty giggled as the cold spray hit her bottom.
“Greta, you must hate me."
“Eddie's a strange man. You seem to make him happy."
“He said you were all for this arrangement. You say the word and I'll leave."
“That your Ford in the driveway?"
Sewana nodded.
“You enjoy screwing Eddie?"
“I'm not going to lie about it. He's the only white guy I've ever been with. He knows how to push my buttons, if you know what I mean."
“He ever beat you?"
“No. I'm not masochistic like you."
“What does masochistic mean?"
“It means pain excites you sexually."
Greta nodded. “It does sometimes, but here lately Eddie's been going too far. If you were to leave, he'd half kill me."
“Now you're exaggerating."
She shook her head. “He told me if I didn't make you welcome he'd take me to the basement, hang me by my ankles, slice off my breasts and watch me bleed to death."
“And you believe him?"
He's been down there all week building a room. He calls it his torture chamber. It has soundproof walls and chains and handcuffs and whips. He built something that looks like a sawhorse, only the crosspiece has a sharp edge. He made me sit on it and it hurts bad. Last night he chained me to the wall and used my breasts as a target for his air pistol. It stung like hell."
The door swung open. “Well, Sewana. All cleaned up now?” Eddie was holding his leather belt in his hand.
“Yeah,” she said uneasily with a feeble attempt at a laugh. “I love this bidet."
“Good,” he responded. “She's clean now, Greta,” he said as he showed her the belt he held in his hand. “You know what I want."
Greta obediently bent over the side of the Whirl Pool and raised her exposed buttocks.
“Eddie, don't,” Sewana shouted as she grabbed his arm.
“Greta, you want your butt whipped, don't you?” Eddie asked.
“If it will give you pleasure."
“You deserve to be punished for not eating Sewana's pussy like I told you, don't you bitch?"
“Yes, Eddie. But she didn't want me to."
“You want me to punish you, or would you rather have Sewana tan your fanny?"
“Whatever you want, honey."
He handed the belt to Sewana and motioned with his head towards Greta's upturned bottom.
Sewana took the belt in her left hand and found his scrotum with her right. “Whipping a woman doesn't excite me, Eddie baby. But blistering your ass does."
He laughed uneasily. “You're kidding. You want to whip me?"
“No. I want to watch Greta do it."
He laughed again. “No way in hell, Nigger."
“You call me that again and I'm out of here.” She squeezed his testicles hard.
“Greta wouldn't do that,” he hedged.
Greta was still holding the position to receive the belt on her buttocks. “I will if you tell me to,” she said timidly.
“Go on,” Sewana urged, “bend over, you hairy ape, and when she's through Greta and I will give you some loving you'll never forget."
He smiled thinly. “You don't think I'll do it, do you? Get up Greta."
He traded places with Greta, assumed the position and braced himself for the weak blows he knew Greta would deliver.
Greta swung the belt with all her might. His body jerked and the white flesh turned flaming red.
“Go easy, damn it,” he barked.
“Nine more,” Sewana urged.
Chapter Fourteen
“Greta, I feel terrible about all this. I don't know exactly why I had sex with Eddie the first time, but I did and, as I said last night, he knows how to push my buttons. He told me you were a swinger and wanted me to move in with the two of you as much as he did. I bought it. If I had any idea of the way he treats you, I wouldn't be here now."
“But you are still here, Sewana. Ain't nobody holding a gun to your head. You could have packed up and moved out by now."
“Is that what you want?"
“Keep you voice down, Sewana. Let's don't wake him. It don't matter what I want. If you move out, Eddie will blame me for it."
“Why do you let him treat you so badly?"
“He can send me to prison, or maybe even the gas chamber, if he wants to. He knows things about my past. Now he wants me to be your slave and I just don't have any other choice."
“Well, I do have other choices. He doesn't have anything on me. It's just that..."
“Just what, Sewana?"
“It's just that he pushes my buttons."
Greta nodded. “He can push mine too when he wants to. Eddie says I'm a nymphomaniac. That's a woman who can't get enough sex. I reckon I am. Hell, some times I get off when he beats me. I can't explain it."
“Well, he's going to start treating you better or I'll leave, and you're not going to be my slave either. That's for sure. I'll tell him as much as soon as he wakes up."
“If you're going to hang around I advise you not to make Eddie angry. I know what he is capable of doing."
“Is that a car horn?"
“Yeah. My friend, Maggie, picks me up every morning to take me to work at the Dollars’ house."
Sewana watched the Blazer disappear, checked to see that Eddie was still sleeping and crept cautiously down the basement steps. She found the room behind the furnace that Greta called the torture chamber, but there was a padlock on the door. She remembered seeing a ring of keys on the bedroom dresser.
Quietly she retraced her steps. Eddie was on his back, breathing evenly. She lifted the keys carefully, but they jingled slightly anyway. Keeping the keys hidden from his possible view, she turned to the bed with a big smile on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he was still sleeping.
She returned to the basement and found the right key. She flipped a switch and the room flooded with light. She gasped audibly when she saw that Greta's description was accurate.
“You shouldn't stick you nose in other people's business,” Eddie barked.
She whirled around and saw his hulk blocking the door. “Get your clothes off, Nigger. I'm going to teach you a lesson you will never forget."
She forced a large, toothy smile to her face. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she managed to say. “Greta told me about your special room this morning. I didn't want to wake you, but I just had to see it. Man, this room turns me on."
“It does?"
“Yeah, and Greta too."
“What did she say?"
“She was so excited telling me about it that she actually played with herself while I watched."
“She did that?"
Sewana nodded. Her confidence was growing. “I changed my mind while standing here looking at all this great stuff."
“Changed your mind about what?"
“About watching you abuse Greta."
“What do you have in mind?"
“I ... I was just thinking about it when you surprised me. I want you to suspend Greta from the ceiling with those chains and make her straddle the horse. Let's tie weights to her ankles so the sharp edge digs deep into her crotch. I want to listen to her scream while I cane her tits and you flay the flesh off her back.” She watched Eddie's eyes glaze over. “Then lets spread her on the floor. I'll sit on her face while you hump her."
He licked his lips and clutched his groin. “Tonight,” he said lustily, “when she gets home from work."
“I can hardly wait.” She tried to match his tone of voice.
“Let's get some breakfast and plan this thing out in detail,” he said with a smirk on his face.
She squatted before him and pulled down his boxer shorts. “Guess what I want for breakfast,” she said. God, that was close, she thought as she flicked the tip of her tongue over the head of his penis. This jerk is insane.
* * * *
Greta was running water in the sink to wash the accumulated dishes when Sandra entered the kitchen and coldly said, “Greta, Tim and I want to see you immediately in his study."
She followed her boss to the study and sat at the conference table in the chair Tim held for her.
“Greta,” Tim said. “This is not going to be a pleasant conversation."
“Have I done something wrong?"
“We're not accusing anyone of doing anything wrong, but some changes need to be made immediately,” Sandra said. “We no longer require your services."
“I don't understand. I thought I was doing a good job. I've worked hard for you, and I've done things for both of you that no other housekeeper is likely to do."
“Yes, you have,” Tim said. “You've engaged in sex with both Sandy and me. Sandy and I take our share of the blame. We both knew better. But Sandy and I are agreed it's best if we find another housekeeper and put this situation behind us."
Greta began to cry. She stretched out her hands towards Sandy. “Please don't fire me. Oh, God. Please don't fire me. You both saw what Eddie done to my ass. He'll kill me if I lose my job."
“I imagine you can get your job back at the motel,” Sandy said. “And we will write you a sizable severance check."
“It don't matter. He wants me to work for you. Please don't do this to me. I'll do anything you say."
Greta felt a glimmer of hope as she saw the Dollars exchange glances.
“Greta,” Tim said. “We were as much at fault as you were. We know that. If you promise to keep your mouth shut about having sex with Sandy and me, we will give you ten thousand dollars. That should take care of your problem with Eddie."
“Don't you see,” Greta sobbed. “That won't work. I would still have to explain why you fired me and gave me the money. If Eddie even suspected that I had sex with you I honestly believe he would kill me and might even come after the two of you."
“Why do you put up with Eddie?” Sandra asked. “Take the ten thousand and go somewhere else—start a new life."
“I've thought of that. Believe me, I've thought of that. Somehow he'd find me, and if he didn't, he'd tell the police about me and they would find me."
“The police?” Sandra asked.
Greta nodded. “I ... I killed a man once."
Tim leaned back in his chair. “If you want us to help you, you'd better explain."
“Back in Fayetteville a few years ago I was a prostitute. I worked the military base and made good money. Most of my customers were either having sex for the first time or were repeat johns. It was easy money."
“Go on,” Sandra encouraged.
“One night I propositioned the wrong guy. He wanted a blowjob and took me into an alley. His buddies were waiting. They worked me over and when they were too tired to screw me anymore, they really got nasty. They cut off my hair and made me eat it and wash it down with their piss. They threw me down and burned me with cigarettes. One guy sat on my legs and started yanking out pubic hair. Another sat on my stomach and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. He was going to cut off my nipples and save them as souvenirs. It was dark in that alley and I was out of my mind. I searched with my hand for a weapon, anything I could hit the guy with. I found a rock or a brick or something and bashed his head with it. Blood spurted everywhere. The guy fell on top of me and he was big. I couldn't get him off. His buddies ran."
Sandra handed Greta a tissue and she blew her nose.
“Eddie happened to be passing the alley about that time. The little restaurant he was working at was just around the corner. He heard the commotion and saw the men running away. He found me, pushed the man off me and said he was dead. He wiped my fingerprints off the brick and carried me to his apartment. Eddie said I had two choices. I could go to jail for murder or I could become his sex slave."
“But it was self-defense,” Tim said.
“Eddie said I couldn't prove it and he said the military lawyers would be after my ass."
“By not turning you in, Eddie is an accessory to the crime,” Sandra said.
“I don't understand."
“It means he is in about as much trouble with the law as you are."
“I don't know about that. Please don't fire me. Let things go back to the way they were."
Tim looked at Sandra and she nodded. “Would you be interested in a different solution to the problem?” he asked.
Greta nodded.
“If you are willing to come live with us and be a full-time, round the clock housekeeper, we'll provide you with the same salary plus food, lodging and clothing."
“How would that help?"
“He's not through yet,” Sandra said.
“Greta, I like your body, as you know, and Sandra likes your body too,” Tim said. We are suggesting that the three of us have a close, personal relationship, if you know what I mean. We'll be good to you and you will be much better off than you are now."
“How can I explain that to Eddie?"
“Perhaps,” Sandra offered, “you can tell Eddie that we know about that night in the alley. If necessary we will defend you in court and see to it that he goes to jail for not reporting the crime and for white slavery."
Greta reached for the tissues and again blew her nose. “What's white slavery?"
Tim coughed. “I'm not sure what the legal term is, Greta, but it is a serious felony to kidnap someone and force them into servitude. That, in essence, is what Eddie has done with you."
“I don't know what to do,” she said. “If I do come to live with you, could we do some things in bed that I like?"
Sandra laughed, breaking the tension. “Like what?” she asked.
“This is going to sound dumb, but sometimes Eddie brings home sex tapes he plays on the VCR. I like those things and I picture myself as one of the women in the tapes. They all seem to be having so much fun."
“You want to watch a tape of you having sex with one of us?” Tim asked.
She nodded and grinned. “Too kinky, huh?"
“I don't see why we couldn't do that if we make damn sure the tapes are erased after we've watched them,” Sandra answered as she winked at Tim.
“Could I ask one more favor?” Greta said. “Could you give me a few days to think about all this?"
Tim again received a nod from Sandra. “One week,” he replied solemnly.
* * * *
“Leora, I offer you my most humble apologies,” Borders said as he entered their bedroom.
Leora completed the sentence she was typing on the keyboard and turned to him.
“Would you look at this?” he said as he spread photographs on the bed. “Pete ran the composites like you asked. When you fatten Baxter's face up and add the beard, he does, indeed, look like Eddie Crow. Just for good measure Pete took your Polaroid of Crow, slimmed down the face and removed the beard. The result is the same—Crow looks like Preacher Baxter."
“I hate to say I told you so."
Borders hugged his wife and laughed. “No you don't. You love to rub it in when you are right."
“When have I ever been wrong?” she asked innocently.
“While I was there I ran a trace on Baxter.” Borders pulled a computer printout from his briefcase. “He literally dropped from sight when he left Dot. There is no data on him after Dot, even in the Social Security files."
“What was his life like before coming to Dot?"
“Unexceptional,” Borders replied. “He was born in Winston-Salem, graduated from Reynolds High School, went to Carson-Newman College and from there to Southeastern Theological Seminary. The job as pastor of the Dot Baptist Church was his first as a minister. As far as the record shows, he was never in any trouble with the law. Once while working at a convenience store in Raleigh during his Seminary days, he was physically assaulted during a robbery. That's about it."
“Did you by any chance run a check on Eddie Crow?"
“Of course I did, you pretty little lady. He seems to have come into existence about the same time Baxter disappeared. He worked for three years in a small diner in Fayetteville, moved to Charlotte for a few months and then showed up in Dot."
“They're one and the same, just like I told you Borders."
“There's one way to prove it, Leora. Baxter was fingerprinted when he applied for the convenience store job—something to do with a bond. If we can get Crow's fingerprints, we can compare them."
“It's still just a curiosity. Even if Baxter is Crow,” Leora said, “it doesn't tell us anything."
“That's what I told you Sunday, but I've been thinking. Bobby Elliott was a member of the Dot church while Baxter was pastor. He didn't marry Adele until after Baxter disappeared, but still, if Crow is Baxter we have two circumstantial pieces of evidence against him. He knew Elliott in his previous life and he owns a high powered rifle. Damn it all, I wish we could find that other bullet."
“Bobby Elliott was a good friend of the Dollars as well as their employee. I still think Sandy knows more than she's telling, but unless I change my mind I will honor your request and not question her again."
Borders kissed her on the forehead and chuckled. “Go ahead and change your mind. I haven't mentioned one little detail yet. The group that robbed the convenience store and beat up Baxter was the Van Fans."
“The gang that Sandra once belonged to?"
Baxter nodded as the telephone on Leora's desk began to ring. She answered it and, after a moment, said, “It's for you, Borders—Tim Dollar."
“Hello, Tim. How are you?"
“Great. I hope you are."
“Never felt better,” Borders said. “What can I do for you?"
“I heard the other day that you have gone into the private detective business, looking for the killer of Bobby Elliott."
“That's right, Tim. I'm after your $100,000 reward as well as justice. Do you have some additional information?"
“No, but I was wondering if you could take on another case?"
“Depends on what it is."
“I don't want to make too much out of it, but I need to know if a soldier, or any other young man for that matter, was killed by a blow to the head in an alley in Fayetteville approximately three to four years ago."
“That shouldn't be too hard to track down. What else?"
“That's it. I'm trying to check out a, uh, potential employee's story."
“I hate to take your money for such an easy assignment, Tim."
“But you will, I'm sure."
Borders laughed and said, “Damn right I will. I'm finding it difficult to play golf at your expensive courses on the little pension I receive."
* * * *
“Get your clothes off, bitch,” Eddie said as Greta came through the front door.
Eddie's eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slightly slurred. Greta knew he had been drinking heavily and she started stripping immediately. “I didn't see Sewana's car outside."
“Fuck her. Who needs her?” he said as he pushed down his pants. He sat in the recliner. “Come give me a ride,” he demanded.
She straddled the arms of the chair and grimaced as his penis pushed through her unlubricated labia.
“Said she changed her mind. Shit. She said you are ugly and didn't turn her on."
Greta pulled his hands to her breasts.
“I don't think you are ugly, baby. I don't know what I ever saw in that black slut in the first place."
She felt his penis begin to shrink. Too much beer, she thought. “Squeeze ’em harder, honey. Hurt me a little."
“Yeah? Like this? You like a little pain, don't you bitch?"
“Oh, yeah, Eddie. A little pain is good.” She felt his penis harden and knew she was on the right track. She needed to finish him off quickly and she began to pump as rapidly as her cramped position would allow.
“You love sliding up and down on old Eddie's pole, don't you bitch?"
“Oh yeah, baby. Drive it in me. Open your mouth, baby. I have something for you.” She shot her tongue deep into his mouth and moved it like a jackhammer.
He moaned and she felt his semen jetting into her. She collapsed against him and hugged his head to her breasts. “Oh, honey. I was so horny. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
Eddie laughed and reached for his beer. “Tim didn't slip it to you today?"
“No. Eddie, something happened today. It's not all bad, but it's not all good either."
“Get off of me, bitch. You're leaking."
Greta managed to get to the floor without staining the chair. She pulled a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and placed them strategically. She knelt before him and fondled his scrotum. “You want me to clean you up with my mouth?"
“I want you to tell me what happened."
“Somehow Sandy and Tim found out they were both having sex with me."
“Shit,” he said.
“Wait. That's not the bad part. They want to make it a threesome."
“Damn perverts,” he said sarcastically.
“I told them I was all for it. I asked if they would do something I liked—make videos to watch later. They agreed."
“All right, Greta. You're a dumb bitch, but sometimes you come through for old Eddie. You set the trap and they walked right into it."
“Yeah,” she said with a big smile on her face. He was proud of her and she liked it. There'll be no belt on my bottom tonight, she thought.
“What's the bad news?"
“They want me to move in with them. They want me available night and day. They saw the bruises on my ass the other day and know that you beat me sometimes. They said they'd treat me real nice."
“What did you tell them?"
“I asked them to let me think about it a few days. I didn't know what to say."
“If Black Beauty hadn't walked out it would be okay. I'm going to have to give this some thought. Maybe, if you are gone, she'll move back in. Man, she has a tight little pussy."
“What happened, honey? Why did she leave? She seemed okay this morning."
“The damned bitch tricked me,” he fumed. “You told her about the room. I caught her snooping and was about to beat the shit out of her when she came up with this cock and bull story about how she wanted to torture you in the room. Hell, I fell for it. The cunt gave me a blowjob and when we were back upstairs she got my rifle and threatened to kill me if I tried to stop her. The damn bitch even made me pack her car for her. I'll get even one day, you mark my words. I'll get even."
* * * *
I spend all day making the Dollars’ yard a showplace and never get a chance to work on mine, Maggie thought as she drove the lawnmower into the shed behind her rented house. She picked up an empty bushel basket and headed for the flower garden next to the front porch on either side of the steps.
She shook her head as she looked at the weed-infested area. I'll bet it was lovely once, she thought. Poor things don't have a chance to grow with all these weeds. She bent from the waist, tightening the jeans against her buttocks and started pulling the weeds and tossing them into the basket. She worked quickly and sweat began to soak her flannel shirt.
She looked around. Hell, she thought, can't anybody see me except the Dollars, and they would need binoculars. She pulled off her gloves and removed the shirt. She loosened the sports bra just a little and went back to work. She came to a clump of weeds that would not yield to her efforts. She worked around it until the entire garden was weed free—except for that one stubborn clump.
She picked up the now full basket and dumped it into a wire cage in the back yard. After the weeds dry out, she promised herself, I'll burn the rascals. She put the basket back in the shed and started to leave, but then she saw a rusty spade. She sighed. It's not dark yet. I may as well finish the job.
It required more effort that she expected, but finally the roots gave way. The clump of roots was as large as a basketball. She shook it repeatedly, causing the dirt in the roots to fall back to the ground. Several small pebbles fell with the dirt. She set the ball of weeds aside and picked up the rocks. She didn't want those in her flower garden. However, one of the rocks didn't feel quite right. It looked like lead. She stuck it in the side pocket of her jeans and continued her work with visions of healthy, flowering plants dancing in her head.