Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  “She worked for us.” Belinda’s low voice lost inflection. “A lovely creature. Adele. If she’d been a stranger, it wouldn’t have mattered. Not as much.”

  “Losing someone we know is always a shock.”

  Belinda propped an elbow on the other forearm and tapped her teeth with the rim of her glass. For moments she seemed very far away. Then she said, “They were wrong, but they thought Festus knew something.” Tap, tap. She made the glass ring with her strong teeth. “Or maybe they were right. I don’t know.”

  Polly tucked back escaped wisps of hair. She avoided looking at Nasty as if she wanted Belinda to ignore him as much as he did.

  “He’s a convicted sex offender.”

  “Oh,” was all Polly said, and her lips remained parted.

  “He was framed of course. And it’s affected everything else we’ve done. He didn’t do anything to any of those girls.” She gulped brandy. “Just because he was kind to people, young people, they said he assaulted them. Those sluts were looking for a way to make some easy money. Every one of them. They gravitated toward him because they felt his kindness—his goodness. He’d try to counsel them, to help them. Then they’d trump up some story about him forcing them to have sex.”

  Nasty struggled against a desire to grab Polly and put her behind him. She was a big girl, and, at the moment, she was exactly where she needed to be—creating a focus for Belinda’s fascinating diatribe.

  “The things they said.” A downward twist of Belinda’s full lips accentuated the strength of her features, and the power of her personality. “Filthy things. Where would young girls like that learn such filth?”

  “How old were they?” Polly’s hoarse croak testified to how dry her mouth must be.

  Belinda waved a hand and drank some more. “Old enough to know right from wrong. At least fifteen.”

  Acid rose in Nasty’s throat.

  “Because of what they said, Festus went to jail. But even that didn’t make him free. He wasn’t free of crimes he didn’t commit even after he’d been to jail.”

  “Is there someone I could call for you?” Polly asked. “Do you have family somewhere?”

  Belinda’s narrow green eyes shifted from their space study to home in on Polly. “I don’t want family. I want Festus. He’s the only family I’ve got.” Her face crumpled. “We had to get out of New York because the police kept sniffing around. They were despicable. Adele probably got out of New York. Or she took up with some man who could show her a good time. Girls can be like that. Ungrateful. We did so much for her. She was almost like a daughter to us. Then she took off, and we were blamed.”

  “Belinda—”

  “Festus had nothing to do with whatever happened to her. She’s probably living somewhere now, and laughing at what fools we were. She took money from us, you know.”

  “She did?”

  “Oh, yes, yes… yes.” She sank to sit on an ottoman and buried her face in one hand. The all-but-empty glass dangled in the other. “I’m frightened for him. And I’m frightened for you, Polly.”

  Nasty gave up even the essential movement. Real men didn’t need to breathe. He could feel the thud of his heart and the gathering of energy in his muscles and nerves.

  “I’m sorry, Polly. I’m so used to trying to convince myself it was all a lie that I spew it out. I’ve practiced it over and over until I can recite it word for word.”

  “Recite what word for word?” Polly whispered. The brandy in her glass trembled.

  “What I just told you about Festus. I don’t know if he was guilty of sexual assault with those little girls. He may have been, but he kept insisting I owed it to him to help him make a new life. And if he was going to do that, we had to make what had happened a lie.”

  Polly raised her eyes to Nasty’s. He nodded slightly, and she gave him a wobbly smile.

  “I don’t know what happened to Adele. But I always suspected.” Belinda shuddered. She sobbed and rubbed her face. “He was good to me. That’s the true part. Festus kept me safe. I’ve never been completely stable. I fought mental illness when I was a child and a teenager. Festus looked after me.”

  What a crock. Nasty sucked in a breath. This was an act, it had to be. What he couldn’t figure out was the reason.

  Belinda got up. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of a hand. She swallowed the remainder of her brandy and poured more. “He probably killed Adele,” she said brokenly. “I’ve never said that before. Not to anyone. But I’ve got to warn you.”

  The woman wandered erratically to a door and flung it open. “I’ve got to show you everything. The dome. Everything.” With a glance at Nasty, Polly went after Belinda.

  Nasty was right behind her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. When she looked at him over her shoulder he kissed her cheek quickly and said into her ear, “Hang in with me, sweetheart. We’ve got to go through with this. Nothing bad will happen to you.” The old rush hit, the pump of adrenaline in the face of potential danger.

  Belinda led them up a short flight of stairs to a circular room with a glass dome ceiling. She flipped a switch and hooded lamps cast small pools of blue light at intervals around the area. In the center, a ladder rose to a wide seat that ran on tracks around an impressive elevated telescope.

  “Crumb,” Polly mumbled.

  “He could revolve in any direction,” Belinda said. “But he didn’t bother.”

  Nasty frowned at her.

  She climbed the ladder slowly. “Please try to forgive Festus,” she said to Polly. “You’ll understand when I show you.” Hesitating at each rung, Polly trod in Belinda’s footsteps.

  When she reached the top, she sat beside the other woman on the green velvet seat and stared nervously down at Nasty.

  He shut the door, turned the key that remained in the lock, then put it in his pocket before going after Belinda and Polly. He didn’t attempt to sit, but remained with one foot on the ladder and one on the platform. His Sauer was within easy reach.

  “Look through here,” Belinda told Polly, then, “Don’t try to move it. It’s fixed in his favorite spot.”

  Polly put her eye to the scope and gasped. She drew back and sat stiffly, her hands pressed together between her knees.

  He eased her along the seat and took a look. What he saw was no surprise. Good old, kind old Festus had made a habit of staring into Polly’s condo. Through the skylight above her shower to be exact. “I couldn’t figure out why he’d set up a telescope in this location,” Nasty muttered. “Astronomers avoid civilization.”

  “The best way to get over it is to think that he’s a bit sick,” Belinda said. “And he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “Not yet,” Nasty said, “And he’s not going to.”

  “No.” Belinda sounded subdued “No, he won’t. That’s why I knew I had to tell you everything once he left. I don’t know where he is. I think he’s probably gone away from the area altogether. He’s like that. He’ll just pick up and go if something troubles him. I think he loved you, Polly.”

  Nasty felt Polly stiffen even more.

  “If I show you the other things, you’ll understand. Festus only wants to surround himself with beauty. He loves beautiful things.”

  She stood up and waited for Nasty to climb down with Polly behind him before following herself. Her movements were jerky now. And she smiled, a ghastly smile, first at Nasty, then at Polly.

  Polly’s pale face had set in rigid lines of control, but she no longer seemed afraid.

  “Here,” Belinda said sliding open panels that concealed a compartment big enough for them all to go inside.

  When she started to close the panels again, Nasty stopped her. “That shouldn’t be necessary. We aren’t going to develop any film, are we?” The compartment was a darkroom.

  Belinda didn’t answer him. She opened a file cabinet and pulled out a sheaf of large photographs. These she pegged one by one, to a line.

  “Xavier,” Polly said. She backed i
nto him. “It’s horrible. Oh, no, no!”

  Each shot was of Polly in her shower.

  “You see?” Belinda said. She sounded excited. “You understand now, don’t you? He loved beautiful things. So he watched you. He photographed you so he could look at you when you weren’t there for him to watch.”

  “Sick,” Nasty said succinctly. He averted his eyes. “Let’s get out of here. The police will have to know.”

  “I don’t want them to have pictures like that,” Polly said. She stumbled past him, pushed him aside in her rush to get out of the darkroom.

  Nasty didn’t want the police to have them either, but there was no choice. “It’s just work to them,” he lied.

  He wasn’t surprised when she turned on him and said “Don’t keep talking down to me. I’ve told you I detest it.”

  “I showed you so you’d understand,” Belinda said sounding bewildered. “I thought you’d understand and forgive him. He didn’t mean any harm.”

  “So she’d understand what?” Nasty said finally giving the woman his full attention. He’d like to shake her. “What exactly did you set out to accomplish here tonight? If you really believe your husband has left for good.”

  “I don’t know that,” she wailed. “But I wanted Polly to know, so she’d stop worrying about things.”

  “You’ll have to be plainer than that,” he told her.

  “How plain can I be?” Belinda turned back and brought her fist down on a telephone. “Don’t you understand now? Festus made the calls. He called Polly’s answering machine and left those messages. He must have. But he’s gone now, so it won’t happen anymore.”

  “That could be a big jump,” Nasty said. “From telescopes and photos to telephone calls.”

  Belinda stumbled back into the room. “No,” she cried. “It’s true, I tell you. He’s done it before. Always the same pattern. And I heard him!”

  “You heard him making calls to Polly?”

  Her head bobbed frantically up and down.

  “A woman called Venus and asked questions.”

  Misery clouded Belinda’s green eyes. “Me,” she whispered. “He made me do it. But he’s gone. You don’t have to worry anymore. And you don’t have to tell the police because it’s over.”

  He saw Polly’s wild expression, watched her prepare to spill all the reasons why she did still have to worry.

  “That’s right,” he said soothingly to Belinda while he kept contact with Polly’s eyes, willed her to silence. “What a relief.”

  “Yes,” Belinda said. “Polly can get on with her life again.”

  When he’d finally managed to pry Polly loose from Belinda’s babblings and get back outside, they stood beside his car and he took her in his arms.

  She hugged him and pushed her face into his chest where his shirt lay open.

  He smiled faintly. “You do have a thing for chests, don’t you?”

  “Your chest,” she mumbled, kissing him there.

  His thighs tightened of their own accord. “Sweetheart, I’ve got some pressing reasons to want this—this whatever it is—to be over.”

  He hadn’t intended to make a joke.

  Polly didn’t laugh.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “We still need to get out of town.”

  “You’ve got it.” He wouldn’t tell her what he now knew for sure. “We’ve got to make sure you’re where I can control the situation. You’re too much in the open here.”

  “Because Festus is gone from Another Reality, but he’s out there. Nasty, the fact that he’s made a major move probably means he’s more dangerous than he was before, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Definitely. “Or it could be that Belinda threatened him, said he had to stop. That could have made him mad enough to run.”

  “He could have decided to go away for good couldn’t he?”

  “Sure he could. But we’ll take a little vacation anyway. Rose is looking forward to meeting you and Bobby.”

  Polly got into the Porsche.

  He fiddled with his keys while he studied the dark facade of Another Reality. Why did he get the feeling they’d just been fed a load of crap? If he had to guess, he’d say Belinda was still fronting for Festus. This had been an elaborate effort to get Polly back where she was vulnerable. In the condo, alone. Sick.

  The police would have to be brought up-to-date.

  Too bad there was no point in mentioning to the police that what Belinda didn’t know had made a suspicion a fact.

  Not one, but two sets of maniacs were on Polly’s tail. And at least two of the players had murder in mind—Nasty’s as well as Polly’s.

  Nineteen

  “I don’t like this,” Art said. “We had a deal.”

  Mary scrunched down in the seat beside him and let her head loll back. “We’ve still got a deal. That’s why we’re here. To make sure you understand what the deal is.”

  Early-morning wind whipped through the open windows of Jack’s Mercedes. Mary hadn’t asked if she could borrow the car. She’d insisted on Art driving because the thought of how mad it would make Jack was too sweet to miss. When the day warmed up, they’d put the top down. That’s how they’d drive back to the studio—and make sure Jack saw them.

  “Jack would be pissed if he knew I was driving his beloved car.”

  Mary laughed and turned her head to let the wind blow her hair. “I know. That’s why you’re in that seat. Keep going north. It’s early enough to be no problem. By the time we get to Everett we’ll still be ahead of most of the rush.”

  Art changed gears, put his foot down harder. “Let’s get whatever needs to be said said okay? We’ve got a show to put on.”

  “We’ve got bits of a show to fill in around the edges of the hole where Polly belongs.”

  She had only slightly longer than expected to wait for Art’s response. “What the blazes does that mean? The hole where Polly belongs. She sick, or something?”

  “Or something. We’ve got to find out what it is—the reason she’s ducking out for a few days. Jack knows, but he’s not talking.”

  “What makes you think Jack knows?”

  “He got a call about three this morning.”

  “Interrupted your beauty sleep, yeah?”

  She drew up her knees and squirreled around toward him. “We were in bed,” she said. “We weren’t sleeping.”

  “Too bad.”

  “You can say that again. The timing was lousy, but we managed to pick up where we left off.”

  “I’ll just bet you did.” Art glanced at her, and down at the short skirt that had ridden up to her hips. He patted her thigh and let his hand stray between her legs. “You could catch a cold like that, gal. And put underwear manufacturers out of business if the trend catches on.”

  Mary giggled and trapped his hand. “I must have forgotten my panties. Just shows how much I’ve got on my mind these days.”

  “So what was the call?” He took his hand away.

  She made no attempt to cover herself. Art’s insatiable libido had been the first ally she’d identified since discovering that Jack’s loyalty was unpredictable.

  Art slanted her a scowl. “Who called?”

  “Our sexy diver.”

  “Ferrito?”

  “How many sexy divers do we know?”

  “Personally, none. What did he want?”

  “To tell Jack he was leaving town with our illustrious star.” Art braked so hard Mary thumped her wrists into the dash and waited to be smothered by an air bag. “Shit,” she yelled when it didn’t happen. “Get your foot off the brake before we get rear-ended.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Blinking rapidly, breathing through his mouth, Art accelerated slowly. “That’s not funny.”

  She looked at him with fresh interest. “I didn’t know you loved Polly Crow so much.”

  “I don’t give a damn about her one way or the other.”

  “So you always
say. It didn’t look like that back there.”

  He shifted quickly through the gears and took off with enough velocity to jerk Mary against the seat this time. “You shocked me. Who wouldn’t be shocked? It isn’t as if we’ve got a ruddy standin.”

  “We could manage if we had to.”

  “Oh, yeah? D’you want to tell me how?”

  Mary began unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Cut it out,” Art snapped. “What’s with you, anyway? We could have had this conversation in Kirkland.”

  “We could. I’m bored and horny, and I want some fun. It’s too hard back there. I’ve got us a place to go. You’ll see, you’ll like it. I also want to get a few things straight with you, Art.” He ignored her and overtook a truck. “She’s only gone with him to make Jack jealous.”

  “How do you figure?” Art cut in front of the truck again.

  “D’you think for one moment that brainless stud of hers would take the time to call Jack at three in the morning if she hadn’t put him up to it?”

  “Where have they gone?”

  It was exactly what she’d thought—Art wanted the little tease, too. Men always fell for the innocent act. “I don’t know where they went.”

  “Jack would tell you. You can get anything out of him if you want to.”

  The thought that Art believed that pleased Mary. “He said Ferrito clammed up about where they were going. Just told him he and Polly were going away together for a few days.” Art fell into a silence.

  She had to give him time to think his way through this. Then she’d go for what she wanted

  Grass in the wide verges beside the freeway was early-fall dusty, and brown. Dense evergreens made sure the state’s name continued to fit. Night mist still clung to the valleys and blurred mountain vistas. God she wanted to get back to California. And she wanted to take Jack, and a whopping success of a show, with her.

  “I’m getting off at the next exit,” Art announced. “We’re going home. With any luck, Jacko won’t even notice we took his ruddy car.”

  “We’re not getting off.”

  “The hell we’re not, gal.”

  “If you do, I’ll tell Jack.”