Head in a Haymow

by Chris Seaton

  “That's it!” Bernice declared as she righted herself to a sitting position. “The heels are coming off.” She immediately pulled her feet out of the straps and tossed the offending footwear away. She was startled by a new sensation making its way up her bare back.

  “Hmm,” came a delicious, baritone hum from behind her. She relished his warm fingertips and their stark contrast to her cooled, exposed skin. “I wonder when the rest of this outfit will follow.”

  Chapter 19

  “This is a seasonal cabin that's owned by the DNR.” They swayed in unison to a slow song that was composed before they were born. They were both dancing in bare feet on the braided wool rug in the center of the room. Most of the lamps had been put out, save for a few, so the atmosphere was very heady and subdued. Their hushed tones reflected that.

  “Let me guess,” Bernice teased. “You know a guy.”

  “The assistant director and I deer hunt together.”

  Bernice put her head on Agent Wyatt's shoulder and closed her eyes. This definitely beat a crowded dance floor and tight shoes. She lost herself in the decadence of it all, contented to listen to the vibrations of his deep voice resonating through his throat.

  “The original building was constructed in the 1890's for a Lumber Barron who lived in St. Paul.” His hand at the small of her back rotated in the silky fabric of her dress. “It was in really bad shape by the time the state confiscated it in the 1930's.” He inhaled the flowery scent of her shampoo. “The WPA brought it back to the way it is now.”

  “Hmm,” Bernice responded drowsily.

  Agent Wyatt chuckled and possessively hugged her waist. “Am I boring you?”

  “Of course not. It's very fascinating.”

  “Really?” he asked skeptically

  “Mmm no, not at all,” she purred, exhaling. “But keep dancing like this, and you could recite the owner's manual from your car for all I care.” She made her point with a brushing of her lips against his collarbone.

  A restlessness began to stir in him. The dancing was would need to end soon. “You know,” he pointed out, “the ipod's bound to run out of juice any time now.” His hands moved their path of rotation to the dimples above her tailbone. “Then what are we gonna do?”

  She moved her hands too, weaving her fingers up into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Any board games here?” she asked, laying feather light pecks along his jaw.

  There was a small groan emitted with Agent Wyatt's chuckle. “Doubt it,” he guessed. “Might be a deck of cards somewhere.”

  “Ooh,” she exclaimed with soft delight in his ear. “We could play strip poker.”

  “Only if I get to cheat.”

  “But you're an officer of the law,” she reminded him before nipping his earlobe. “You're not suppose to cheat.”

  “Ma'am, you're presently residing on state property. That means what I say goes, cheating or not.”

  “Really?” Bernice raised her head to assess her favorite brown eyes. “You gonna frisk me, Officer?”

  His twisted smile held naughty intentions. “You hidin' somthin?” He lowered his head to make an obvious visual search of her available cleavage.

  “Well,” she admitted, undoing an annoying button on his shirt. “I did take extra care with all of my clothing for this date.” She let her hand wander under his shirt to stroke the skin on his breast bone.

  It was his undoing. He held her head for a quenching kiss that left them both hungry. “Show me,” he demanded.

  “When you get on the bed,” Bernice countered, undoing several more buttons to expose his torso. Apparently with the proper motivation her dexterity wasn't too shabby after all.

  Agent Wyatt watched her work without interfering, enjoying her need to undress him. “Am I going to be getting a show?”

  She finished up the shirt by yanking the stubborn tails from his trousers. “Unfortunately, I left the flaming hoop and trained poodles in my other clothes.” She unhooked the belt buckle before adding, “But I'll see what I can do.” Finishing with the button and the zipper, his pants dropped by their own weight and pooled around his bare feet on the rug.

  He went to start on her clothes, but she stepped back instead, studying her handiwork with a mischievous grin. Bernice crossed her arms and addressed him like a school marm. “When you get on the bed,” she repeated.

  His eyes narrowed, but he tilted his head, accepting her terms. He crossed the room and made a grand display out of jumping to the center of the bed. The ancient piece of furniture creaked in protest but held its occupant in fluffy firmness. Agent Wyatt sprawled out his legs, fluffed up a couple of pillows behind him and made himself at home. He raised his eyebrows at her.

  Music was still coming from the ipod. Bernice looked down at herself and suddenly felt like the kid in the school play that forgot her lines. She swallowed, closed her eyes and let Stevie Ray tell her how to move.

  All of the saliva evaporated from Agent Wyatt's mouth. He simply marveled at yet another transformation taking place in the woman who was “just a farmer.” The swaying hips and twisting torso synchronized with twirling arms as her fingers trailed along the length of her body before finally working into her hair. She was no professional by any means but definitely not bad.

  Bernice let the back of her hands meet as they descended down the valley of her cleavage and parted at her waist. She slowly turned with the rhythm of the song and gave Agent Wyatt a different view.

  His eyes fixed with absolute attention on the tie in the center of her back. Her fingers pulled on the tails of the rabbit-eared knot with a deliberate lack of speed. He could feel his teeth begin to grind in anticipation.

  Once undone, the dress cascaded out, and the freed fabric joined the dance adding an extra flounce to the movements.

  Finally, he watched the fingers work the remaining clasp at the back of her neck. He noticed the action of the snap and went completely still as the silky garment made a temptingly slow display of leaving the multiple curves of Bernice's body.

  All that remained was lace and skin.

  The metallic lavender threads picked up the meager light with tiny flashes of precision. He admired the way the boy shorts clung with subtle pressure around her butt and hips. As Bernice slowly turned back around, he delighted in the new topography that emerged for his perusal.

  There was just enough intricacy in the fabric to blur what he already knew was there. Blood began to beat in his head and drown out the music.

  Then an annoying little voice planted a very rotten seed in his consciousness. “Has Roger seen this outfit?” it asked with undisguised evil.

  Bernice glanced at him as she turned and noticed the shift in his expression. “Looks like someone is growing impatient,” she taunted.

  “Yes and no,” Agent Wyatt answered evenly. “I'm just wondering which page of the Victoria's Secret catalog I saw that in.”

  She smirked. “It's not,” she corrected. “I got this a few weeks ago when Darlene dragged me to one of those God awful home parties.”

  “Really?” he teased, looking her over. “What did Darlene get?”

  Bernice's smile was very comical. “You really want to go there?”

  The way his face dropped told her, “no.” He concentrated instead on the demi-cups of the bra that allowed her breasts to mound over the top like tempting appetizers. He barely registered that the dancing had stopped, and she was slowly moving toward the bed.

  “If I had gotten it from Victoria's, it probably would have been cheaper.” Her knees came in contact with the end of the quilt. The volume of her voice dropped as she moved closer. “It was kind of spendy but the only thing I liked, and you have to buy something you know out of guilt.” Bernice began to crawl on all fours up from the bottom of the bed. “I was saving it.”

  Agent Wyatt let his eyes follow the swaying of her breasts as she made her way over his feet and approached his knees. “And you brought it out for me?” He mentally squelched the
former rotten thought with lusty joy. “I'm impressed.”

  Bernice carefully sat just below his erection and leaned in to plant a soft kiss against his lips. “You should be,” she whispered back.

  Their eyes locked. “I hate to break the magic here,” Agent Wyatt huskily confessed, “but someone is going to have to go back and get the condom out of my wallet.”

  Her smile took on a serpentine likeness right before she lifted her butt back up and kissed his chin. “Oh, I don't think we're going to need it.” Slowly retreating, she nipped little bites down his throat and caught a few chest hairs with her teeth, pulling gently. “At least not right away,” she revealed, taking a taut nipple into her mouth and sucking it.

  Agent Wyatt hissed and clutched the quilt in his fists. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

  She ran her tongue over the tight shallow landscape of his rib cage and around his navel before raising her head. “What I'm saying, Agent Wyatt, is the show is not over, and you are free to continue watching.” She hovered over his engorged boxer briefs before adding with a naughty smirk, “If you can manage to keep your eyes open.”

  The cork was popped. The frothy foam flowed, and then they had champagne. It was served from two slender fluted glasses along with two Styrofoam containers of rich cheesecake that was topped with glistening cherries. Both were being consumed by the very naked and very satiated couple occupying the large fluffy bed in the ancient cabin.

  The ipod had stopped working sometime between foreplay and intercourse. Instead, they enjoyed their meal to the symphony of night sounds and water coming through the open French doors.

  “I have begun to notice that you like to consume sweets naked.” Bernice flipped the plastic fork upside-down in her mouth and sucked off its contents.

  “Some people smoke after sex,” Agent Wyatt observed as he shaved the graham cracker crust off the back side of his dessert. “I like to replenish my blood sugar.”

  “Your way's better for kissing,” she agreed, sipping her champagne.

  He smiled at her as he chewed and excavated under his cherries for some filling. Before putting it into his mouth, he twisted the fork around in front of his eyes. Having taken care of one need, his brain automatically felt compelled to work on another. “You think Jessica is smart enough to make homemade poison?”

  Bernice carefully balanced the layers of cherry, filling, and crust on her fork. “I think Jessica is motivated enough to accomplish just about anything.” She carried the edible core sample to her mouth for further study. She asked through her chewing, “What kind of homemade poison are we talking about?”

  “The kind that was worked into sweets.”

  Bernice's face fell slightly as she swallowed. “Okay then.”

  Agent Wyatt smirked and stole a cherry out of her container. “It's just that both victims are showing signs of ingested toxins.” He popped it into his mouth and winked.

  “Both?” Bernice closed up her container. She set it on the rugged nightstand on her side of the bed, well away from grabby Evan. “What both? There's only Herb.”

  “And Nathan,” he corrected her.

  Bernice sat up with her glass of champagne. “The guy who tried to brain you? Holy shit! Was Jessica hiding out in the Bahamas after all?”

  “That can't be verified,” was the official response. “The sweets were shipped from St. Paul.” Agent Wyatt had lost his appetite as well. He stashed his own container on his designated nightstand.

  “How do you know the poisons were homemade?” Bernice finished off her beverage and handed him the glass. When he held up the bottle, she shook her head.

  “Different deliveries of toxins have different quantity signatures. Liquid and powder have a very high concentration. This poison's parts per million was lethal but lower in concentration than what is typical for powder or liquid.” He carefully set the delicate glasses and bottle on the floor. “Also, there was other foreign matter in the candy that identified it as an organic source.”

  “So it's the same poison you found in Herb?” Bernice deduced.

  “That's the kicker,” Agent Wyatt explained. “Herb wasn't poisoned to death. He was strangled, but there were brain chemicals present that suggested he was drugged with...well...we're not sure, but something.”

  “So, one lover she kills off remotely with a fast acting poison, and the other she makes to suffer?” Bernice gathered the sheets closer around her torso in an act of comfort. “Jessica's turning out to be one cold-hearted bitch.”

  Agent Wyatt settled into the bed and opened his arms for Bernice to join him. “That seems to be the consensus.”

  She snuggled into the space between his shoulder and arm and possessively wrapped her thigh around his. As she splayed her open palm over his chest, she asked softly, “You think she's back, or you think she's got an accomplice?”

  He reached over and turned down the oil light. The noises seemed to increase as the room darkened. “Without any tangible evidence either way, I don't know.”

  “With the way things have been going lately, I'm worried that I'm going to end up being tangible evidence.”

  He laid his hand over the one on his chest. “Not if I can help it.”

  She could just barely make out the silhouette of Jessica ahead of her in the trees. She could see the top of her head and the swaying of her hips in small glimpses before she would disappear again.

  Bernice tried desperately to keep up with her. She wanted to see her face, to catch her and stop her before she hurt someone else. The woods surrounding them was growing dark and noisy with the sounds of nocturnal animals.

  The crunching of their feet on the leaves and sticks was deafening. She fumed in her frustration. Just as she thought she could reach out and grab an arm or a chunk of hair, Jessica would disappear behind a tree and suddenly be ten feet ahead of her again.

  Bernice kept tripping over things. They felt repulsively squishy. Her revulsion to whatever she was stepping over kept her from looking down. The woman just out of her grasp kept her going.

  Suddenly, Jessica stopped. Bernice seized her opportunity and rushed forward, twigs slapping her face, her feet flopping over themselves like a disjointed puppet.

  At the precise moment she could feel her nails making contact with the bare skin on her arms, Jessica disappeared. Poof.

  Bernice tried to stop short but her ankles crossed themselves. She clamored to find a balance, frantically grabbing at branches and desperately delaying with all of her strength the inevitable result of a fall.

  Now she was forced to look down, down at the pieces of arms, legs, and heads. Clouded eyes stared back at her as she felt her body begin to descend, first slowly, then rapidly. Her mouth gaped in absolute horror.

  Bernice flinched and popped open her eyes, but she wasn't sure she was really awake. It was hard to believe because the night sounds were still present...and so was the crunching of feet over leaves and sticks.

  She froze in acute terror, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She scanned all of the tiny paned windows in the front of the cabin. She could see nothing, but there was definitely someone outside. They were pacing the length of the cabin.

  Her senses finally reminded her that she wasn't alone in the bed. She registered the warmth and the breathing of the man next to her and felt a small sense of relief. She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him.

  Agent Wyatt was facing her in his sleep. She watched him startle but barely move. In her close proximity she detected his eyelids flutter open. He was watching her.

  “Someone's outside,” she whispered.

  He remained absolutely still. She held her breath in an attempt to keep it from distracting his hearing. She needn't had bothered. The breaking of a twig under someone's feet emitted a crack that seemed to run through both of them like a jolt of electricity.

  Agent Wyatt put his hand on her shoulder. “Stay...in...bed,” he enunciated carefully and applying pressure in a very mea
ningful way. He slunk out of the covers to a squatting position on the floor.

  Bernice craned her neck as far as she could without actually moving too much from her original position. The rustling of the covers seemed outrageously loud to her ears as well as the snap she heard coming from Agent Wyatt's side of the bed. It sounded like a case being opened. She heard a louder snap, then a soft curse because the movements outside stopped.

  For an eternity nothing moved. No one spoke. Eventually, the crunching outside resumed.

  She heard Agent Wyatt exhale and a different sort of rustling take place. Bernice started to lean over, her curiosity overriding her self preservation.

  She was startled when his head popped back up. He was wearing some sort of strange contraption. She could just make out the barrel of a pistol from the edge of the mattress.

  “They're night vision goggles,” he softly explained without preamble, “for safety,” he added.

  “Good idea,” she agreed, “but pants might be safer.”

  “Way ahead of ya.” He was already crawling to his clothes at the center of the room. After pulling his pants on, he hit a switch, and his goggles emitted a quick, high-pitched squeal. It was loud in the silent cabin, but not audible enough to alert the intruder outside.

  Agent Wyatt put the goggles over his eyes. The room took on the surreal appearance of another planet. He let his eyes adjust while he shoved on his loafers.

  He crawled up to the windows and peeked out of a lower pane.

  Bernice watched him there, sensing the tension in his muscles from all the way across the room. His lack of casualness only reminded her of their earlier conversation and the reality that she was not safe as long as Jessica was still at large. She, or someone else, could be waiting for them outside. They could be armed too.