“You mean the really nasty stuff? Why didn’t you?”
“I do what pleases me. This pleased me, it pleases me now. It was the same sort of thing that I did with Felicia,” Martha answered pleasantly, although she wasn’t planning to answer any more of the woman’s questions.
Zelda nodded.
“Ah, so what do we have here?”
The reclining women looked up to see Jane Hugh standing on the other side of the screen door. Her shadow loomed over them, clouding the sunshine that had warmed them so well. “An ode to the dead?”
“And you haven’t made love since she died?” Zelda said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Not in Felicia’s bed,” Jane said.
“Oh, so you are in mourning for the woman? You sound so respectful, now that she’d dead,” Zelda answered maintaining a slightly caustic attitude. No one expected Jane to be mourning Felicia’s death, not the way they’d fought.
“I don’t give a shit what you two do, but I need the keys to Felicia’s car. I have to drive it out and get some equipment from behind it.”
“They’re hanging where they always do,” Martha said, pulling away from the voluptuous little nymph beside her.
“The bitch redhead needs a trip to the club, you should bring her,” Jane suggested as she walked with Martha into the house.
“I don’t think we have that kind of relationship. But she does like it nasty, why don’t you take her? I think for all her talk, she admires you.”
“I don’t like her,” Jane said flatly.
“Well, she doesn’t like you either, but that’s all the more reason, don’t you think?” While Martha dressed, Jane plucked the keys from the hook and walked to the door.
“I really do like the women I top, it makes the scene much more appealing. You know, you could come for yourself,” Jane offered. “If you really need some good stuff to take your mind off this mess here.”
“Thanks, but I have enough sex to keep me busy.”
“Suit yourself,” Jane said, and she walked out.
When the screen door banged again, it was Zelda returning to the kitchen. While Martha put a teapot on the stove, she admired the red blotches that still marred Zelda’s alabaster skin.
“Next time, you’ll tie me, hum?”
“I could. But where? In the basement, perhaps you’re looking for dungeons? We don’t really have one here.”
“I’m looking for fun,” Zelda said, her eyes twinkling much lighter than they had earlier.
“Anywhere you can get it?”
“You think I’m loose, don’t you?”
“I don’t know you, I don’t really know why you’re here.” It was a question that had been bothering Martha for days. Perhaps the sex between the two of them had made her bold. But there was something suspicious about Zelda’s presence in the house, and her relationship with the sleeping Remy.”She wanted me here, Remy did,” Zelda said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, she called me two weeks ago to tell me that things were kind of strange here. She invited me for a visit.”
“I see. I was just surprised when you showed up unannounced,” Martha answered.
“Hum. That’s odd because you know everything that Remy does. At least I thought so.”
“I have taken care of her,” Martha said in her defense. It was difficult to know if Zelda’s comments were meant to be subtle digs, or just information.
“And very well, I might add,” the redhead noted.
“So, what did Remy think was so strange?” Martha asked.
“I think you’d better ask her,” Zelda said. Picking up her clothes from the kitchen floor, she walked out naked, with a sassy swish to her lovely hips, her ass still glowing a soft pale pink.
“Slut,” Martha murmured to herself under her breath, although she had every intention of giving the woman her wish to be tied and abused. Perhaps she’d just leave her bound to a post in the basement, naked, with the rats running around her feet. The thought was perfectly divine. Though she should be ashamed of herself for having such wicked thoughts; there was too much wickedness about, too much. That’s probably what made for the whole murderous mess.
Chapter Five
The sound of jail cells clanging shut always sent a strange shiver through Robin’s bones. Not a sound that anyone should ever get used to. For a cell, this one wasn’t bad, and at least Betsy had it to herself. Being a murder suspect gave her some privilege.
Betsy sat on her bunk giving Robin a slightly hopeful look on seeing a friendly face. She looked very lost in this tiny jail cell, with nothing but a bed and wash basin, and a blue prison dress to wear.
“How are things for you?” Robin asked.
“What can I expect?” Betsy replied, sadly.
If she wasn’t innocent, she sure gave the impression that she was.
“Leslie and I have done some preliminary work. We believe you’re innocent, but we’re going to have to do some real digging to find the real murderer. I hope you can help.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help you, if you can just get me out of here.”
“Well then, let’s talk about that night, see if you know something we don’t know. Do you mind if I sit?”
“Oh sure,” Betsy said, moving over on the bed. “Not much for socializing, is it?”
Robin smiled kindly, then jumped right in with her first question. “Tell me now, you were sleeping downstairs that night. Why was that?”
She looked a little chagrinned. “Maybe half my nights I spent on the sleeping porch,” Betsy explained.
“Was Felicia expecting someone else, perhaps?”
“No. But we’d been fighting a lot and I wanted to be by myself. Besides, Felicia would often stay up late and read, or do whatever she did by herself, and I was tired.”
“So you heard nothing, until you discovered her the next morning?”
“I got up about seven and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I went upstairs to get dressed. I found her there…” Her voiced trailed away, and her face turned ashen.
“You took the knife and held on to it?” Robin continued. “That’s what I understand from the police report.”
“I thought she might be alive, that I could revive her. I had to pull it out. I think I must have screamed, because Martha came running and well you know the rest.”
Betsy’s sadness ran so deep that it seemed to overwhelm them both. “Tell me a little more about your housemates,” Robin changed the subject.
“Remy and Martha?”
“And Zelda.”
“Well, she wasn’t really a housemate,” Betsy said.
“Yes, I know, but she was there the night that Felicia was murdered, which makes her a suspect, as much as anyone.”
“Well, let me see,” the pale-faced Betsy said thoughtfully. “Remy and Martha came from Maine, I know that.”
“They were living with Felicia before you and she got together?”
“Yes. They were always friendly with me, really pleasant.”
“Do you know how they met?”
“I think they were in college together somewhere. The name Brightwood comes to mind, but that’s not a college, is it?” The small woman looked uncertain, as if a cloud obscured the truth. “They never really talked about their pasts. But I always got the impression that things had been kind of bad for Remy and she was happier not talking about her life.”
“Did they go anywhere, out of town? Have any friends they talked about.?”
“I don’t remember that they took any trips,” Betsy shook her head. “They went to movies together, and talked about work, but I can’t recall anything else. They were very quiet women most of the time.”
Robin knew that there were likely a dozen clues Betsy might mention, but the woman just didn’t know where in her memory to look.
“To your knowledge were they into S&M?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she started anxiously, a little surprised. “I can’t, even in
my wildest imaginings, see Remy doing any sort of scene like that. She’s much too fragile.”
“And what about Zelda?”
“We were told she was a friend of Remy’s. I kind of figured that she knew Zelda from college maybe, certainly before she came here. It wasn’t explained. But it was obvious that the two hadn’t seen each other in some time.”
“Why do you say that?” Robin probed.
“Oh, you know. It was awkward, like they didn’t know what to say. They hugged but little more.”
“They were close then, at one time?”
“I think so.”
“Zelda suggested that she and Martha were college friends. Is that right?” Robin probed.
“They never mentioned that to me. I assumed the connection between those two was Remy. Besides, when Zelda arrived at the house, you could tell that Martha had never laid eyes on the woman.”
“Then I wonder why Zelda would say that?” Robin mused aloud.
Betsy shrugged. “I have no idea. Those three are kind of strange, though. In case you haven’t noticed, Martha dotes on the woman. Of course she dotes on everyone, but especially Remy. You can really see the affection in her eyes. And worry. She’s always worried about her even though Remy hates it. I’d hate it too, being fawned over all the time. Remy was really very pleasant to me. I liked her. Not as a lover, she’s not my type, but she might have become a friend; we just never had much time alone together to develop a friendship. Remy’s working at the lab a lot and then Martha spirits her away when she gets home. Then with Zelda here, like a third wheel. I never did figure out that woman in relation to the other two.”
“So, Zelda was trying to come between Martha and Remy?” Robin asked.
Betsy considered the question, “No, not that I saw. I think they’re just friends…” her voice dropped as if she wasn’t sure… “I think.” She perked up and smiled. “She’s kind of fun in a way. But we didn’t see much of each other.”
Robin sat back a moment, trying to get a real fix on Betsy Longcore and her now dead lover.
“Was Felicia leaving you for Martha?” Robin suddenly posed the question.
“No,” Betsy answered immediately, shaking her head emphatically.
“Yet, she was having sex with her?”
“That was expected. You had to allow Felicia her liberty. You couldn’t keep her from having sex with other women, it would frustrate the hell out of you, and it would be completely impossible for Felicia. I know, the police are making a big deal of the way we argued, but it wasn’t about sex. I knew that I couldn’t satisfy her completely.”
“Then what did you argue about?”
Betsy took a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain my relationship with Felicia, she was a very odd woman.”
“I knew Felicia personally, I think I can understand some of what you’re saying.”
“You did?”
“Yes, it was a long time ago, but I know enough about what she’s like.”
Betsy nodded, looking relieved by the information, grateful that she didn’t have to explain more. “I let Felicia sort of have me, when we first got together, and she was very good at taking. She was also generous with her home and sex and just about everything. But she wanted me to be a certain way. I wanted ours to be a more equal, independent relationship, especially in the last few months. What I really wanted was more from her. I loved the sex we had, but I wanted our relationship to be about more than sex. She had a problem with that. I guess you could say she had me in this compartment, and that’s where I belonged. She didn’t want me any other way.”
“And you fought about this?”
“I didn’t really believe that I could make her change. But I had to try.”
“Were you planning to leave?” Robin asked. It was just a theory, but a good one.
Betsy smiled tersely and looked away for just a second. “Funny, I hardly admitted it to myself, but I knew I couldn’t stay with things the way they were. In the back of my mind I thought about leaving, but I never really discussed it with Felicia. I considered it the last resort.”
“Had you threatened her in any way, particularly the day of her death?”
“No!” she jumped in quickly. “Not at all. I tried talking with her, reasoning with her, suggesting things that we could do differently. She was just stuck on things being her way. In that respect she wasn’t unlike other lovers I’ve had. And if I left, I left. Hell, I’ve left a half dozen lovers, and the thought of leaving Felicia was almost as good as the idea of staying.”
“But you loved her?” Robin asked.
“Yes, I loved her very much. There was a lot there to love, even though there was a lot to detest.”
Robin could easily agree with that. “I know the feeling,” Robin admitted. “The police say Felicia left you a substantial sum in her will?”
“I guess so, but I never really thought much about that. I don’t need much money, not that I have a lot, I just don’t require it. I certainly don’t need Felicia’s money.”
“I heard too that you were trying to encourage Felicia to turn Roman Hill into a bed and breakfast?”
“Yes. She needed the money, she always needed more money, she was far too extravagant, debts all over the place.”
“Did you know that Jane owns half the house?”
Betsy sat up, eyes wide. The look of shock was genuine.
“Did you?” Robin repeated.
“No.” She said quietly…”But it makes sense… lots of sense.” She stared directly into Robin’s eyes. “Do you think Jane killed her?”
“It’s a possibility, so are the other three women. You don’t remember anything else about them and their lives before they came to Roman Hill?”
“Oh god, I don’t know,” she replied, seemingly distressed, “it’s just too much to consider all at once.” The frail-looking Betsy started to cry and Robin reached out to cover her hand with hers.
“I’ll leave you for now. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I wish I could help you more,” she snuffed.
“Well, if you think of anything, anything at all that might help us out… You are talking to John every day, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell him, and he’ll pass it along to us, if you can’t get to Leslie or me.”
“I will,” Betsy replied. Beyond her tears for the moment, she looked up at Robin longingly, with the same hopeful look on her face that she had when the detective arrived.
She was certainly a seductive little thing, even in prison blues, Robin thought as she turned to leave. “Don’t give up hope, we’ve just started,” she said smiling.
Chapter Six
Jane’s club was downtown on the fringe of the commercial district, a good five miles away from Roman Hill; although it could easily be reached in ten minutes, since freeway on and off ramps were near both places. Leslie checked, starting out that night at the base of Roman Hill, timing the trip downtown.
Sapphos In Chains was located in an old warehouse building, something perfectly suited to the activity that went on there. Expecting a certain clientele and a certain manner of dress, Leslie wore a pair of brown leather pants she’d bought years before, when one lover had a motorcycle and she had consented to ride along behind her. The lovely vibrating feeling in her cunt as she rode the cycle was enough to keep her in the relationship for a while, though she was a little scared of being so “out there” and vulnerable on the bike. In addition to the pants, she found a vest of Rosalie’s, that worked pretty well by itself as a leather halter, just barely covering her breasts and showing lots of cleavage without looking too feminine.
Seeing herself in the mirror, she figured she struck a dominant persona; the submissive thing never really felt quite right, but then the Dom stuff just wasn’t her either. Wielding whips and tying lovers down was not her idea of fun. She much preferred luscious warm bodies, and hands exploring her flesh. She didn’t mind a few good spanks on the b
utt, or even on the thighs, pinched nipples, rough grabbing; but she liked to be equal with her partners.
She likely lost Robin because of this, but then, you can’t make people into something they are not.
Pulling more things from Rosalie’s vast wardrobe, she donned a pair of leather boots that looked perfect for her attire, and found some large silver cross earrings—a style she’d never wear on her own. She thought she might add a collar at her neck, but that didn’t quite fit. She added some touches of make-up that she wasn’t used to wearing, though she did take some pleasure in a tube of bright red lipstick she found in Rosalie’s things. Finishing off, she combed her long brunette hair into a tight bun at the back of her head, giving her a more severe look than she was used to. It was a stunning transformation; she could almost feel it excite her, though she had no idea what to do with the unexpected erotic feelings. It was certainly appropriate for the club, which she’d heard was one of the most creatively nasty clubs anywhere around.
Pulling up in front of Sapphos In Chains, Leslie was greeted by a leather-clad woman, who motioned her to a parking lot next to the building. Leslie was thankful that the lot was well lit; something about this whole scene was a little precarious, especially the chances these women took for their nightlife. She guessed that most simply weren’t worried about their safety, too tough for anyone, man or woman to tangle with. Even as a PI, however, Leslie was always respectful of her safety. Certainly there was safety in numbers here, and the street wasn’t empty. Several other nightclubs dotted the area, one for a straight yuppie crowd of singles, and then a dank looking gay men’s bar a few blocks down the street.
Entering the club took Leslie into an unfamiliar world, as fascinating as it was unusual. She’d been to a half dozen lesbian clubs over the years that were not unlike this place—she did this mostly for her investigations. However, she’d never been quite so interested in blending in with the crowd as she was that night. Her intention was to find out about Jane’s activities with as much subtly as possible. The police had already checked Jane’s alibi for the night of the murder and Leslie was interested in seeing if there were any holes in it. A thirty minute drive to Roman Hill and back wasn’t impossible, little more than a bathroom break. It would be easy to fall into the cracks in a place like this, people not really certain when you came, when you left, or how long you were gone.
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