“Remy?” Robin asked as if she were also in doubt.
“Yes. That’s it! Kind of nice name. I’ll bet Martha and Remy ended up lovers. I mean with the victim and that suspect being lovers. Stands to reason that they were all lesbians, living together.”
“I guess so,” Robin agreed.
“When I read about the murder, it reminded me of this woman who was here a while back. Eve. Oh, I’ll never forget her. They put her in this place for murdering her lover. A little like this case, one minute sane as the rest of us, the next, she snaps and stabs her lover with a butcher knife while she was sleeping. Now there’s a real loony. Not a sane bone in her body, though you wouldn’t know it to see her.”
“What happened to her, she still here?”
“No,” Joan Barnes said. “Dead. A couple of years ago she got out and really went plum crazy. Jumped out of a building. You wonder sometimes what makes people do things.”
“I heard that the other woman, Zelda, used to work here too,” Robin continued. “Did you know her?”
“I sure did! Now I didn’t see the picture in the paper, but if that was Zelda Wing, I’m hardly surprised. That woman was kinda kooky, too.” She leaned into Robin whispering. “You know I think we all get a little funny in the head working here,” she said with a smile. “Never heard from her after she left, and then she shows up at a murder. Can you imagine that!”
“You kinda wonder,” Robin said. She would have liked to have kept up the conversation, but Joan Barnes needed to go back on duty.
She smiled at Robin before she left. “Nice talking to you. I just hope they got the right woman. Would be terrible wouldn’t it, if it were Remy?”
Robin smiled as she joined Leslie at the car.
“So…” Leslie asked anxiously.
“Not a lot, but I did find out that Remy was in the violent ward,” Robin said. “Martha apparently had a fixation with Remy right off.”
“Why was Remy committed?” Leslie asked.
“The woman didn’t say,” Robin shrugged.
“And Zelda?”
“She remembers her, but not too well. She thought she was a little strange, but then she thinks everyone around here is a little crazy.”
“She’s probably right.”
“So what’s the next stunt you plan to pull?” Leslie asked.
“I think we need to do some further checking on Remy. See what the DA’s office has on her. We might just have our killer.”
The two climbed in the truck and headed back home.
The long quiet ride back to town became almost too much for Robin to bear.
“So, when do you think you’ll be ready for me again?” she finally blurted out. “Or are you saving your dominant submissive tenancies for strangers?” The idea that Leslie would even consider S&M left Robin with an incredible longing that would be difficult to shake. She still loved her, probably always would, but she almost wished Leslie had never gone to Shappos In Chains.
“Don’t be difficult, Rob, I’ve got to get this clear in me first. Then we’ll talk.” By then, they’d arrived at the office and Leslie pulled the truck next to Robin’s Suzuki.
“Whatever you say, love.” Her voice was clipped and a little pained. “I guess I’ll just forget about it for now.”
The look stung, but Leslie would not be manipulated. “Okay, so, I’ll see you in the morning at the Hill?” she said to avoid her partner’s parting comment. “I think it’s time we played our hands with the ladies.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure about confrontations just yet.” Robin returned to business without missing a beat, as if the last few minutes had never taken place. “I want to get some more information on Remy. See what more I can extract from the police. And I want to check around the estate a little more.”
Leslie nodded, knowing that her partner had something in mind, but, as usual, she was keeping mum, probably because Robin wasn’t even sure yet what she was looking for. Funny, how Robin’s dilemma about the case matched Leslie’s own about sex. She guessed they both had some thinking to do.
Leslie drove off, leaving Robin wondering if it might be a good night to visit Britta again. She hadn’t had back to back sessions in some time, but she was feeling as raw as she had just after she’d learned of Felicia’s death. She didn’t know what she wanted from her business partner, but this impasse certainly wasn’t it!
Meanwhile, Leslie drove toward home realizing she was so torn between conflicting desires that she had no idea what to do. A big part of her wanted to go back to Robin and find some way of making mad passionate love to her; although strangely now, she would hardly know where to begin. To Leslie’s further amazement, she was nearly as motivated to go to Jane Hugh’s cottage on the hill and seek out the Dom’s advice. That seemed pretty stupid. She couldn’t imagine a Domme giving advice about her love life. Jane was as likely to beat her ass as talk to her – maybe, that’s what she really wanted. As Leslie approached her apartment, however, she gazed up to see that the lights were on in both the living room and bedroom.
“Thank God! Rosalie’s home,” she thought, suddenly very relieved.
“Home early?” Leslie said coming through the door with a smile on her face.
“Ah, mi senorita,” Rosalie said in her thick Latina accent “You look so flushed tonight.”
“You been speaking Spanish all day?” Leslie’s arms surrounded her lover. She was warm as always, Leslie noted, as Rosalie’s hips moved seductively against her groin.
“Si. With my old amigo,” she said smiling brightly.
The look in her eyes was definitely carnal.
“Had a good time?”
Rosalie shook her head and pouted, dropping her exaggerated accent, “No sex, she was on the rag.”
“That’s better for me, I need you,” Leslie said, drawing the warm body closer to her.
“Of course you do.”
“I always want you, but I need you now. This case is just too strange, and I’m getting a little spooked.”
“The murder?”
“Yes, can you believe it; I spent last night in a lesbian S&M club?”
“Oooo, the nasty stuff? You play too?”
“Hum, a little,” Leslie admitted. “I was wearing my leather pants, your vest and earrings.”
“And you don’t do that for me, you naughty bitch,” Rosalie replied, half angrily as she shoved her lover away with a playful push.
“It would have been better if it had been you,” Leslie tried to assure her, even if it wasn’t true at all. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than Leta’s gentle domination. Rosalie would be a much different Domme – if she would be dominant at all. And Leslie couldn’t even imagine her being submissive.
“You know, you could spank my bottom,” Leslie offered.
“And you can spank mine,” Rosalie came right back.
It was just a big tease. They traded slaps for several minutes, all the way to the bedroom. Leslie tumbled in first, ripping her clothes away, while Rosalie dove for her pussy, licking it from top to bottom.
“Oh, more, that feels so good, Rosie,” Leslie purred hungrily.
Rosalie looked up, winking, then she patted Leslie’s pussy as if she was spanking it.
“Yes, yes, more!” Leslie jerked erotically as the slaps began to sting.
Rosalie fucked her with two fingers, while Leslie grabbed her lover’s hair, pressing Rosalie’s face even further into her wet cleft. Rosalie lapped the throbbing clitty, although a second later, she backed off. “Ooo, not so fast, you little slut! You’re not gonna get off that quick.” Rosalie then shoved her fingers deeper yet into Leslie’s sopping cunt. “You gonna take it all tonight, bitch.” Rosalie withdrew her hand and pulled a bottle of clear grease and a smooth latex glove from the bedside table.
With her ass grinding against the sheets, Leslie watched Rosalie prepare her slim hand for the assault on her cunt. This was the one thing Rosalie did better than any lover
she knew. A most submissive kind of sex – fist fucking. She needed it tough, especially right now. Her juices were flowing at the mere suggestion; her cunt relaxing as it prepared to open for Rosalie’s hand.
Rosie’s dark eyes flashed gaily, as her red lips descended on Leslie and moved lustily across her clitoris. She jammed three fingers inside the brunette’s pussy, then four, then her whole hand pressed against the gate, seeking entry all the way inside. Leslie felt was a burn, a pressing pulling reaching sensation, so hard to describe afterwards, but so glorious for the instant it happened. Suddenly, the burn was over…
With Rosalie’s fist at last inside, Leslie moaned from deep inside her belly. She loved being fucked this way, rutting like a wild animal.
“Gawd yes!” she screamed. Waves of sensation flooded through her body; her muscles clenched tight, then relaxed, then clenched again around the fist. While the orgasm washed though the moaning brunette, Rosalie licked the pussy juice that splashed out over the slut’s clit. Her tongue didn’t stop lapping juice until her lover went limp with exhaustion.
Leslie’s eyes opened to see a smile, worth the violation – a perfect reward for a savage moment of bliss seeing Rosalie’s lusty lips beam happily, her lipstick now smudged across her mouth.
“You kinky little slut,” she accused.
“No nastier than you,” Leslie spit back. Rosalie withdrew her hand leaving Leslie’s cunt wide and empty, noticeably empty. Too quick, it was always too quick, Leslie thought
“How about I do the same for you?” Leslie suggested. They lay side by side with their breasts pressed together, their arms and legs intertwining, their tongues playing lazily as they both recovered.
“I should have done it in your naughty bitch ass,” Rosalie said. “Going out and getting yourself screwed by some dyke in a night club. Tell me, what they do to you?”
“Leta spanked my bottom – with a riding crop.”
“You like that?”
“I’m not sure. Do you?” Leslie wondered. She gave Rosalie a whack on the rear.
“Only long as you use your hand. I love hands. Your hands. You know I love being mauled by you.” Her voice disappeared into soft cooing moans and traces of unintelligible Spanish words. Leslie kissed her lover’s sensuous lips while her hand worked Rosalie’s soft furrow. She lightly pinched the delicate clitoris, then rubbed the tender fold and poked a finger inside the opening to find her ‘G’ spot. Leaning back, Rosalie let her cumming sounds ripple joyously through the air, as the small spasms of climax echoed through her undulating belly. She always came this subtly, seeming to blanket them both in the soft blanket of her pleasure.
How many more times they’d be together like this, Leslie wasn’t sure. In the past it had been Rosalie who played around, Leslie by choice remaining faithful to her sweet lover. It was just simpler and more convenient for Leslie to have one lover at a time, even though relationship commitment was not a concept that applied to Rosalie.
Now, thoughts of Robin and Jane held her fascination, and she suspected that her Latin lover wouldn’t be around much longer. Rosalie sensed things, and she’d be moving on by the end of fall, if not before, Leslie surmised—just because Rosalie wouldn’t stay around to any bitter end. The flirtatious woman would find someone else to catch her interest and be gone.
Leslie lay back relaxing, letting her mind drift for a time, coming back to the reality of the murder investigation, and its need for a solution.
Chapter Eight
“We’re going to look through Felicia’s room,” Robin announced, as she met Leslie on the steps of Roman Hill the next morning.
“Her room? What are you searching for? The police have probably taken everything of interest. Looks like they practically stripped the place. I know they confiscated all the pictures of Felicia with Betsy. Maybe they took ones of her with her other lovers.”
“I’m sure they found some, but Felicia used to hide stuff,” Robin explained. “She had little treasures planted all over the house. It’s my hope that the police didn’t know where to look. Plus, once they decided on Betsy, I don’t think they did much searching after they had the evidence they wanted.
“What are you looking for?” Leslie asked.
“In general, anything. Specifically, more pictures. It struck me last night, all this photography. That wasn’t something Felicia ever did with me. Must have been a new hobby. But she had a real obsessive side to her; once she started something like this, she wouldn’t quit. Like the way she used to tie a bow around my neck. It didn’t matter what kind of sex she wanted, it was always the same, Felicia signaling her intentions. She’d take a slip of ribbon and tie it around my neck, then she’d flash her eyes at me, and giggle in a very provocative way. Sometimes she’d wait for hours before she made the next move. She even performed her little ritual with people around. ‘Our little secret,’ she’d tell me.”
“Did she ever not make a move?” Leslie asked. “I mean after she put the ribbon around your neck?”
“No, but it did make things awfully suspenseful. I’m sure there was a similar sort of turn on with the photography. I can imagine her even now…”
From what Leslie knew of Felicia, she had to admire her sexual theatrics. No wonder she could string so many women along at once. “So you think the photography could be another fetish?”
“Yeah. Probably started with innocuously… an impulsive idea because she had an expensive new camera and wanted to try it out.”
“She did have quite an elaborate set up with the tripod and the delay timer,” Leslie added. “It would suggest that she really spent some time thinking about what she wanted to do – the final result, rather than just clicking off a bunch of quick digital shots.”
“It’s my hunch, that since she went to so much trouble to take these pictures with her lovers, there had to be more than just the ones with Betsy. The camera was at least five years old, and knowing Felicia, she had photographs of every one of her lovers during that time. One thing I know for certain, she’d never hide all her “evidence” in one place. She was never that organized. She stashed things all over the house. The police were probably lucky to find what pictures they did.”
There was no sign of life around the house as Leslie and Robin climbed the stairs. The morning was brisk for the time of year. There seemed to be a clarity in the air, a crystal clear quality to the sky, that even in this muted place of savage wildness, things stood out rather starkly. By afternoon, the air would muddy considerably.
“Wonder what will happen to this place?” Leslie said.
“After Felicia is buried today? I suppose they’ll read the will; that could be interesting.”
“You going to the funeral?” Leslie asked.
“My love, I wouldn’t miss it.”
According to Robin, funerals were the best source of clues. She prided herself on studying patterns of grief since it was so often associated with their investigations.
After waiting for several minutes at the front door, Leslie turned the knob and called into the musty air, “Anybody here?” Hearing no response, she and Robin stepped inside the hallway. They shut the door hearing a heavy click as the door latched tight. A moment later, the screen door banged against its frame. Amazing, with all the annoying sounds, no one answered.
“Martha! Remy!” Leslie called, and finally they heard a shuffling sound coming from upstairs. Then, while glancing toward the hallway, they thought they saw Zelda slipping out the back. Seconds later, their attention was drawn to Martha coming down the sweeping staircase.
“May I help you?” she said politely, though she didn’t seem particularly happy to see the two detectives.
“We’d like to take a look at Felicia’s bedroom,” Robin said.
“Oh?”
“Betsy assured me that we could have free access to the room, since of course, it was hers, too.”
“I doubt Betsy has the authority to allow anything regarding this house, but,” Martha
shrugged, “go ahead if you want. I assume you’ll stay clear of our room. We really have nothing to hide; and since the police went through everything, including underwear drawers before they finished their investigation, I can’t imagine there’s anything left to find.”
“We won’t be long,” Robin said, ignoring Martha’s editorial.
The two detectives mounted the staircase, and made their way down a massive hallway, entering the spacious apartment that had always been Felicia’s bedroom—and that of whatever lover shared her bed.
“Apparently Betsy didn’t have her own room,” Robin said. “She sometimes slept downstairs on the sleeping porch, but this was her room too.” She made a first perusal of the room noting similarities and differences between the present and when she used to share the room with Felicia Roman.
Leslie watched her partner work, knowing that Robin had a way of climbing inside a person’s psyche and waltzing around, looking through their eyes, feeling what they felt, thinking their thoughts – if she could imagine well enough. Leslie had heard of psychologists who talked of doing this, but she’d never known anyone but Robin get such startling and immediate results.
Her partner gave the room a thorough scrutiny. There was a round turret that was set up as a sitting area with two chairs, a small footstool, and a table with an antique lamp. The bed was to the right of that against the wall, an enormous antiquated piece, not just a four poster bed; the massive structure had a canopy and drapes that closed around it.
Leslie had seen pictures of the bed with Felicia in it, but in person, it looked even more imposing. Now, stripped of all its sheets, the bed looked stark and wholly uninviting without the soft aura of pillows and comforters.
On the far wall was a dressing table and mirror, while an enormous wardrobe stood to the left of the doorway. On the right wall were doors to closets and the bathroom. With the door standing open, Leslie and Robin could see inside the stark, white tiled-room, which had been cleared out and cleaned.
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