Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Perhaps you like this more than you thought you would?” Leta suggested, while Leslie snuggled against the woman’s smooth dark legs. Indeed, she loved it more than she ever imagined she could. Although making love to Leta was not so very different from making love to other women, to Rosalie, and at one time to Robin. She found Leta’s nurturing style beguiling – and the riding crop, more stimulating than painful. She would never have called their brief fuck S&M – she thought of S&M as savage and cruel, but there was nothing cruel about this at all.

  Perhaps more fascinating to Leslie was Jane and her exhibition of heavy-handed ruthlessness; her cunning darkness mixed with a little trace of tenderness. A remarkable desire was born in Leslie, seeing the way Jane brutally ravaged Dagne. She hungered to call that woman “sir”, to bow at her feet, to give her body for the same mean and tender discipline. How was this possible after so many years on the outskirts of the S&M world? After a broken relationship with Robin? After dozens of refusals, denials and defiant rejections of something that now had the power to so profoundly arouse her?

  Chapter Seven

  “You what!” Robin exclaimed.

  “I had sex with a black woman at the club. She used a riding crop on my ass.” For some inexplicable reason, Leslie had to tell Robin about the sex before she even mentioned her discoveries at Sapphos. It was the next morning, and the two were eating a cheese Danish, getting crumbs all over the desk in the small office they shared.

  “And you were worried about me getting distracted! Do I have to go back and ask the questions?” Robin said, wiping her face and taking a long drink of coffee.

  “No, I found out plenty,” Leslie replied.

  “Like what?” Robin wanted proof, apparently content for the moment to dismiss Leslie’s astounding personal admission.

  “Like Jane dominating Felicia,” Leslie said, rather proud of the revelation.

  “What?”

  “They were heavy into S&M games at Sapphos. Jane brought her there several times, and apparently Felicia was having the time of her life bowing to ‘Sir Jane’. Does that surprise you?” Leslie asked, looking at Robin’s stupefied expression.

  “I don’t really know. But it certainly complicates things. Funny, not one of the other four women suggested the possibility. Apparently they kept it very quiet,” Robin surmised.

  “Not only that, one woman I talked to thought that Jane was really in love with Felicia.”

  “In love?” Robin wanted more.

  “Felicia was apparently very special to our suspect, their intimate moments were not any secret to the women at the club.”

  “How interesting,” Robin said. “I’d never have guessed that Felicia would want a woman as tough as Jane.”

  “Jane may not be as tough as you think. Despite her hard ass butch manner, she has a really sweet side, as if there’s a tender old dame under that hard exterior.”

  “Is this what people said of her, or what you saw?”

  “What I saw? I watched her top one of the club’s doms. She was terrifying every second, though there was this undercurrent of care. It was really quite amazing.”

  “That really doesn’t surprise me; the really good tops are like that, at least the ones I’ve been with.” Robin readily thought of Britta, the sad woman who was so lovingly mean that it left her breathless. Now, she saw that same kind of breathless response in Leslie; it was unexpected coming from this great lady of reason, order and sensibility. “What about the night of the murder?” Robin changed the subject.

  “Jane was there all right. But no one can swear that she might not have left a while. No one there is going to testify that she wasn’t in the club. She might as well own the place, she’s the one in charge. She licks no one’s boots.”

  “But she could have left?”

  “It’s common for her to disappear for an hour or two in some private room. The way the place is arranged, it would be easy to create a perfect alibi, and then slip out to do some murderous deed.”

  “Did anyone remember her being in a private room?”

  “She’s into a girl named Chris. Was with her that night. I managed to get Chris to tell me that she and Jane had “quite a scene going,” but it sounded as if Chris was too far gone to testify to anything specific. I suppose you know what that means?”

  “You mean she was likely bound and blindfolded and off in another world? Yeah, I understand that,” Robin said. “So Jane doesn’t have an airtight alibi at all; that makes it very interesting.”

  “But I don’t think she killed Felicia,” Leslie quickly added.

  “Why? Because she had the capacity to care?” Robin asked.

  “Because I couldn’t imagine her doing it.”

  “Now, you’re sounding like me,” Robin smiled. “My intuitive abilities must be rubbing off.” She chuckled under her breath. “So, tell me, how did you like surrendering your ass?”

  Leslie thought for a minute, fending off a telling blush. “I suppose I was dumbfounded.”“And …”

  “Hum…puzzled, it was bizarre. But it wasn’t all that different from slapping asses when I make love to someone. I even did that to you. I guess because it was the club and there’s all that S&M ambience,” she said tongue and cheek, “it took on a darker flavor.”

  “Well, did you LIKE it?” Robin probed, being just a little frustrated with her partner’s vague replies.

  “Oh, hell, yes,” Leslie snapped.

  “Good.” Robin backed off, a pleased smirk crossing her face. “I would never have believed it.”

  “Well don’t get too excited, it’s not like I’m going back tonight,” Leslie added.

  “You might do it again?”

  “Let’s just say the possibility is much more appealing than it was a few days ago. Now, let’s get back to business. What have you uncovered?”

  “My friend Diane called to report on Martha and Zelda at State U. Martha got her graduate degree there in 1976, but as far as Diane could tell, Zelda was never there, at least under that name. Betsy was pretty clear that Zelda wasn’t telling the truth, when she called them friends. I think there’s a lot those three are hiding, Remy too.”

  “So, we still have four suspects.”

  “We do, none of them with a reasonable alibi, including Jane, and any one of them could have a reason to murder Felicia. For Jane, it could be a number of things, from money to sex. Remy might well have been jealous, and Martha and Zelda are both suspect because of their affection for Remy.”

  “So where do we go from here?” Leslie said, sighing.

  “Well, I’ve done some checking on Brightwood. There’s a Brightwood Hospital, a private mental institution in New Hampshire that just might have some answers.”

  “One of our suspects a resident, you think?”

  “I think so.”

  “Which one?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not sure, but the way Martha was almost afraid to let Remy talk …”

  “Afraid she’d incriminate herself?”

  “Or both of them. I think it’s very possible one of them could have some secret they wouldn’t want any one to know, especially when it concerns this case. How about a little side trip?” Robin suggested.

  Several hours later Leslie and Robin were making their way north in Leslie’s pick-up, chattering back and forth about the case. Revelations from the morning about Leslie’s experiences the night before went undiscussed, creating an ever mounting tension between the two.

  “Do you suppose there could be some conspiracy between the three ladies in question?” Robin asked.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m not sure, but if we believe it’s not Betsy, and we know instinctively that it’s not Jane, because she’s too sweet to do it …” Leslie laughed. “Then it would have to be one of the other three, and for the life of me, I can’t quite figure which one could do it. They all seem to be rather mild mannered women. Hardly your killer type.”

  �
�Well, when you rule out the “killer type” because she’s got a soft side,” Leslie said, referring to Jane, “maybe you can assume that your mild mannered suspects might have a darker side. Underneath, there could be some evil lurking.” Leslie’s eyes gleamed with a mocking horrified glow.

  “I guess we’ll have to see if we can get something really concrete on this trip. We sure could use a solid lead – sooner than later.”

  “You’re right on that,” Leslie agreed.

  The two drove in silence for some time. Then about fifty miles down the road, Robin turned in her seat and put her hand on Leslie’s thigh, enjoying the warmth of her partner’s body. “So, you want to stop at a motel …. maybe take care of this ‘stuff’ going on between us?” she wondered aloud.

  “What stuff?” Leslie asked.

  “You can’t feel the tension?”

  “What? I got to you?” Leslie said. She was almost triumphant, having given her partner a taste of the same jarring discoveries she’d been treated to in the past. Robin’s sordid sexual disclosures had left her with her mouth on the floor on more than one occasion.

  “You’ve wanted me back on your terms,” Robin suggested, “now you want me back on mine… is that possible? You’re not too good at lying about these things. Your revelation this morning was a pretty blatant come on.”

  Leslie turned to her and smiled. “I know, and it was probably stupid, because I’m quite prepared to love you again, but I’m not prepared for the sex. Not yet anyway. I know that it sounds absurd, but it is really strange to me that I’d respond so enthusiastically to S&M, when I did a pretty good job of feeling rather bored with it when the two of us were together. I’m still not sure about you and me and how that would feel. Besides, I have a relationship with Rosalie.”

  “Rosalie didn’t seem to bother you last night,” Robin pointed out.

  “I know. But that was practically anonymous, and it was work. Rosalie wouldn’t have any problem with that. Sleeping with my former lover and business partner, that’s something different. I’m not sure Rosalie would be that open-minded.”

  Robin snickered, listening to Leslie defend herself. “You know, I think it’s you that has a problem, same as always. Rosalie is a convenient excuse. You never thought the two of you would be together long in the first place. You don’t really love her, mutual respect, maybe, but love … come on Les. Besides, you can’t tell me that that little slut doesn’t fuck whoever she damn well pleases.” The disgruntled Robin turned back in her seat and stared out the window, watching as the sunny countryside rolled by, thinking for just an instant it would be nice not to go back to this case at all. All the weird things that it had seemed to spawn – it wasn’t worth it.

  “Rob, c’mon.” Leslie interjected after about ten minutes of silence. “I’d rather not make any mistakes. Could be more painful than we know. Maybe you and I could try again, but it’s going to take a little time before I’m ready.”

  Robin listened impatiently as Leslie went on about her fears, finally interrupting, “What does it matter if we make mistakes? It’s not going to change anything, is it? We’ve already kept the partnership together through one break-up.” She shook her head angrily. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you. Listen to yourself, this doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  After that, the matter was closed.

  Riding in a prickly silence the remainder of the trip, the partners arrived at the mental hospital an hour later.

  Leslie flashed her identification to the woman at the front desk; and after sitting in the lobby to wait, they were finally ushered into a pleasant office with an expansive set of windows that overlooked an all too passive scene. Brightwood’s grounds looked like a stereotypical movie set version of psychiatric hospital serenity. A few people strolled the landscaped lawns, though at lunch hour, most of the staff and patients were in the dining room.

  “I’m Jessica Crandall,” a stately woman said rising to shake their hands. Dressed in a plain grey business suit, her hair tied back in a bun at the base of her neck, she had the pinched look of an austere bureaucrat, which made the detectives immediately doubt her usefulness to their investigation.

  “Robin Penny and Leslie Patrick,” Leslie introduced them, “we’re private investigators, looking into the death of Felicia Roman. We have reason to believe that one of the suspects in this case was a former patient at Brightwood.”

  “Oh? It was my understanding from the papers that the murderer is in custody.”

  “We have reason to believe that the woman in custody is innocent.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “I’m not sure how can I help you. Our records are confidential, so there would be very little I could tell you.”

  “Certainly, you could just look up these names and see if any of the women have a connection with the hospital?”

  “The names?” she peered over the top of the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  “Martha Quigley, Remy Thurston-Moore and Zelda Wing.”

  With a grim expression on her face, the administrator lowered her half glasses to the bottom of her nose, then turned to the keyboard where she typed into her computer. She watched the screen for a few moments, then turned back to the investigators with a shrewd look on her face, as if she was trying to determine exactly what to say to the detectives.

  “Yes. Remy Thurston was a patient here for two years. I do remember her, she was discharged in stable mental health five years ago. Martha Quigley was an attendant here for nearly a year. I remember her as a capable employee. However, she had career plans outside the medical field.”

  “Were the two women here at the same time?” Robin asked.

  “Yes, they were. In fact, they left within days of each other, but that would appear to be coincidental since they were in different sections of the hospital. I doubt they had any contact, if that’s what you’re trying to establish.”

  “How about Zelda Wing?”

  “Our records show that she was also here as an aide, although for a very short term.”

  “And that was during Remy’s stay?” Robin asked.

  The administrator turned back to the computer. “Yes. At the very beginning she worked on the ward where Remy was assigned. But she was here only about five months.”

  “At the same time Martha Quigley was here?”

  “No, she left several months before Martha joined us.”

  “I see,” Robin went on, “could you tell us the nature of Remy’s illness?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. The courts might be able to open my files, but I’m rather a stickler for rules. If you had a warrant, then I might help you more.” She was overtly edgy and unwilling to talk more. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet someone in the dining room.”

  “I’ll say she’s a stickler for rules,” Leslie said sarcastically, as the two detectives walked out of the building. “She certainly wouldn’t want to be out on a limb to be useful in an investigation.”

  “You’re right,” Robin agreed. “But we did establish that Remy and Martha likely met here, not at school. That’s getting us somewhere. It seems our dour shrinking-violet Remy has a past that bears more looking into. Maybe we have the beginnings of Remy and Zelda’s friendship, though I wonder what would bring them together so quickly in a place like this, especially with Remy being a patient.”

  “I wish we had more,” Leslie mused.

  They stood together in the parking lot for some minutes, Robin looking as if her brain was working overtime on the solution to their impasse.

  “Wait. Why don’t you give me a minute,” Robin suddenly said. “I have a plan.” She smiled and took off. Leslie watched her partner quickly dump her jacket in the back of the truck, along with the red cap she was wearing. She hastily swished her blonde hair free and revealed a woman in a white blouse and baggy navy pants that would hardly stand out in any crowd. She could even pass for someone who belon
ged on the hospital grounds, which was exactly what Robin intended. She left Leslie standing by the car and walked toward the footpath that ran through the well-manicured lawns.

  There had always been a little bit of an actress in Robin, which was now emerging again. Leslie watched her partner, admiringly as she appraised the landscape carefully, thoughtfully eying a number of patients and aides. She finally approached an older female aide who was sitting on a bench, eating lunch. Leslie knew right away that Robin had picked the woman for her jovial personality; she looked every bit like the gossipy kind of female who would spill everything she knew as long as someone paid attention to her stories.

  “You hear about the murder down south?” Robin asked the bubbly grayed haired woman, after the two had exchanged pleasantries. The woman’s eyes lit up immediately. Robin was pleased to see a twenty-five year pin proudly displayed on the lapel of the white uniform, along with a name tag reading Joan Barnes, LPN. Her thick glasses assured Robin that she wouldn’t be easily recognizing people by sight.

  “I sure did, noticed the names right off. Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, that Martha Quigley. She was an interesting one from the beginning. Kind of odd, but pleasant enough. And she wasn’t one of those girls that hardly lifts a finger around here. She was kinda of strange though, the way she got all attached to that girl, she was always doting over her like some mother hen. It was really funny if you ask me. What was that girl’s name again, funny name.” The woman screwed up her face trying to think.

  “You remember the girl, the patient?” Robin asked.

  “Not real well, she was in another ward. I guess she only knew Martha, because Martha put in some extra time, doing research of some sort with the violent ones.”

  “Violent ward?” Robin concealed her alarm and without missing a beat, added, “I’m surprised the two weren’t suspects in the murder.”

  “That is amazing. Although it’s hard to picture that girl being violent, even when she was here. Few times I saw her, I remember her being real sweet, kinda quiet though. But you know those quiet ones.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, I thought about calling the police when I saw they arrested the lover of the murdered lady. You think they’d know about that girl, what was her name again?”