Murder and Mayhem

by Hamilton, B L

  “Gee, thanks, Bee. I knew I could count on you.”

  “That’s what big sisters are for.”

  *****

  Nicola woke with his warm breath caressing her cheeks, his lips soft on her mouth. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see Danny already dressed, holding fresh coffee and doughnuts from a bakery next door. She stretched like a cat, almost purring and plumped up the pillow. As she leaned back the sheet fell away leaving her naked breasts exposed. Her nipples suddenly hardened under his gaze. He placed the doughnuts and coffee on the bedside table and stood for a moment looking down at her, his eyes dark with desire then he leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth.

  Nicola moaned.

  Danny kicked off his loafers, removed his T-shirt and shrugged off his pants. He stripped the sheet from her body and slid in beside her. Nicola drew his face to hers and kissed him passionately.

  “Lie down,” she whispered. Danny obeyed, his eyes never leaving her face. She straddled his body and tucked her feet into his sides. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulder as sunlight came in through the window and cast a gold luster over her skin; her face exquisite. She took hold his sex and guided it inside her.

  “Oh God!” Danny moaned and grabbed hold of her hips.

  She started out slowly, moving leisurely, feeling the wetness of her vagina on his penis as it slid in and out gently stroking the lips of her labia. She looked into his eyes, leaned forward, brushed her mouth against his, nibbling his lips.

  He could smell the sweet perfume of her body, the shampoo in her hair, the scent of her sex.

  Nicola sat upright, taking all his manhood inside. He reached up and massaged her breasts, whispering her name hoarsely, the word filled with desire.

  “Do I please you?” she asked as she moved up and down feeling him grow hard inside.

  “Oh God. Yes!”

  Nicola tightened her muscles, gripping him tight, grinding her body against his. Danny grabbed hold of her hips and lifted her up and down, thrusting deep with the downward motion, moving faster and faster, their breathing erratic. Nicola whimpered; Danny groaned.

  Suddenly, Danny roared as his body arched and shuddered. Nicola gave a soft throaty moan and ground her body hard against his as they rushed towards the moment no memory could enhance.

  Danny wrapped his arms around Nicola and kissed her eyes, her nose and her lips. “I love you so much that sometimes my feelings are so overpowering I don’t know what to do. I feel if I stop to catch my breath, you’ll disappear into the night, and when I wake up I’ll find you were only a dream.”

  Nicola turned pale and gave an involuntary shiver.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “I just had the weirdest feeling–like someone was walking over my grave.”

  * * *

  He couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned all through the night, and now lay waiting for the gray light of dawn to filter in through the window. As the predawn mist rolled in from the Atlantic he shaved and showered then woke his companion. In a little over an hour the SUV drove out of the parking lot as the pewter-colored rain cloud gathered.

  They traveled through the Osbornedale State Park where rain fell gently, creating a light mist over the Housatonic River. Nicola fiddled with the buttons on the radio as she searched for music but, stopped briefly on a news report, her face rippled with the shadow of rain on the window.

  “… Early this morning the body of a young woman was pulled from the river, north of New Haven. Authorities have confirmed her identity to be a thirty-five year old local woman Gina …”

  Danny hit the button on the steering wheel and changed the station. “I don’t want to listen to the news. It’s too depressing.”

  When loud music erupted from the speakers Nicola leaned over and turned the volume down.

  “Wasn’t that the name of the woman we met at the beach?”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What woman?”

  “You remember–the woman with the large dog and small boy. I’m pretty sure her name was Gina.”

  Danny frowned. “I think it might have been. Why do you ask?”

  “The report on the radio said the body of a woman name Gina something or other–I missed the last part –was found in a river north of New Haven.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it Nic. There’s bound to be more than one woman called Gina in Connecticut.”

  Suddenly the voice of Axl Rose erupted through the speakers. Danny thumped the steering wheel. “Now that’s more like it!” He racked up the volume and they joined the GuNR’s in a loud rendition of Sweet Child o’ Mine.

  As they approached the dam, Danny noticed the cars ahead had slowed to a crawl. When he lowered the window to try to see what the problem was a large insect flew in and landed on his chest. He flicked it off, shooed it out and buzzed up the window. A deer emerged from the shadows scampered across the road and disappeared in the thick undergrowth while high in the branches of an ancient oak tree, a bird caroled happiness.

  Nicola laughed. “Creatures and critter–that’s country life for you.”

  “And, loving every minute of it,” Danny said.

  As the cars edged slowly forward Danny noticed a police cruiser by the side of the road. “There appears to be some sort of a problem up ahead. It could be an accident.” He craned his neck forward for a better look. “I can’t see any ambulances or tow trucks. Can you?”

  Nicola buzzed down her window and tried to see around the bend in the road. “No, I can’t see anything except a long line of cars. Maybe someone has broken down.”

  As they inched their way slowly forward, Danny noticed a sheriff signaling cars to stop. After a brief exchange the drivers turned their vehicles around and headed back the way they’d come.

  Danny pulled his car forward and lowered the window. He looked into the ruddy face of the local sheriff, and smiled. “What’s the problem officer?”

  “Sorry folks. The bridge up ahead is closed. You’ll have to go back. Where’re you heading?”

  “We’re going through to New York,” Danny said.

  “In that case, turn around and go back to 188 and head north where you’ll pick up 334. Go north again following the Eight Mile River till you hit 84, The Yankee Expressway, and head south to Danbury. From there it’ll be easy sailing.” He smiled, stepped back from the car and nodded the vehicle behind to pull forward.

  “Thanks, Sheriff, appreciate your help,” Danny called after him. The sheriff turned, gave him a smile and tipped the brim of his hat in a brief salute.

  “Did you get all that?” Danny asked, grinning.

  Nicola moved her finger across the roads marked clearly on the Rand McNally Road Atlas “Yeah I did. It’s all right here on the map.”

  Following the sheriff’s directions, the unexpected detour took them through picturesque scenery that looked like something out of a travel magazine. The landscape was filled with warm earthy colors, like smudges on an artist’s pallet. Being in no particular hurry, Danny drove with the casualness of a Sunday driver held captive by the splendor of nature in the gentle rural countryside where the chance encounter of another vehicle was a rare sight. Occasionally they caught the silvery flash of a river as it wound its way through wooded banks.

  As they passed through the small hamlet of Quaker’s Farm, they noticed an historic marker by the side of the road that proudly proclaimed the area was first settled in 1680.

  “Wow, that is really something, isn’t it?” Nicola said.

  “You’re not kidding. This place is unbelievable. Even though the Australian continent may be thousands of years older than Americas, your modern history is so much older than ours. It’s hard to believe these villages were here long before Australia was even discovered by Europeans. We have no history like this. We don’t have anything like these wonderful cottages built hundreds of years ago–many still inhabited today, often by the same family. The history of this count
ry is so amazing it blows my mind every time I come across something like that.”

  “I love these old places,” Nicola agreed. “Have you done much traveling in Australia?”

  “No. Old Harley parts are hard to find in Australia because there aren’t many old Harleys there. That’s why I come here every year. And it’s so diverse. Each state you travel is so completely different from the others,” Danny said and made a sweeping gesture at the countryside. “We don’t have anything like this. In Australia the scenery doesn’t alter much, unless you go to the red center. Everywhere you look its bloody gum trees. We don’t have this wonderful northern hemisphere foliage. In the red center there’s nothing but desert for hundreds of thousands of square miles. At the top-end there are wetlands and huge rivers and gorges, and cattle stations the size of small countries.

  “We’re a land of coast dwellers. Most of the Australian population lives along the coast because the rest is uninhabitable. That’s why we only have twenty million people in the whole country, while you have two hundred and fifty–three hundred million. California has around thirty six million people so you could fit the entire population of Australia into California and still have plenty of room to spare.

  “Don’t get me wrong we have some of the most spectacular scenery in the world: Kakadu National Park, Katherine Gorge, Cape York, the Blue Mountains, the Daintree Rainforest and the southern and western coastline. Tasmania has incredible forests, many unexplored, and some of the most majestic rivers and gorges in the country, but on the whole, our land is mainly desert. Even Ularu is just a big rock stuck in the middle of nowhere surrounded by desert scrub, baking in the hot sun.”

  Danny looked over at Nicola and grinned. “I bet you didn’t know we ship live camels to many of the Arab Countries?”

  “No, I didn’t know that. I didn’t even know you had camels in Australia.”

  “We’ve got a huge feral population that run wild in the desert. I think they were imported some time early in the nineteen century for transport and construction in the west where the terrain is pretty inhospitable.”

  “I have to admit I don’t know much about Australia except what I’ve seen in the movies or on cable television. I always thought it was a bit like the old west used to be years ago,” Nicola said.

  Danny laughed. “That’s what a lot of Americans think but we actually have electricity and hot and cold running water, and all kinds of modern appliances. We even drive the latest model cars, and our big cities are just as sophisticated as any throughout the world. And, before you ask, no, we don’t have kangaroos hopping down the streets.” They laughed. “You’d be surprised how like America we really are.”

  They followed the Eight Mile River till they reach Southbury where they joined The Yankee Freeway and headed south until they came to the city of Danbury, in Fairfield County, not far from the New York State border.

  When Danny pulled into a gas station, he noticed a diner on the other side of the road.

  “Do you want to stop and have something to eat?” he asked while he waited for a break in the traffic after he’d filled the tank with diesel.

  “Sure, why not?”

  The driver of a gray Ford slowed to let them in. Danny waved his thanks and slipped the SUV into the space. He did a U-turn at the next intersection and turned into the restaurant parking lot. When the gray Ford followed him in and parked at the back, he commented, “The food must be good if the locals eat here.”

  * * *

  While they were waiting for the waitress to bring their food, Nicola’s eyes scanned the room.

  “Are you still looking for our mysterious stalker?” Danny teased.

  “I haven’t seen the green Toyota since we left Pennsylvania but the last couple of days I thought a blue car was following us.”

  “What kind of car?”

  Nicola shrugged. “A small blue car.”

  “Small… and blue.” Danny laughed. “Well, that description should cover oh let me see, roughly around a hundred million cars in the U.S. Keep me posted if you see it again.”

  Nicola nodded, picked up the menu and started to read the town’s history on the back. “It says here Danbury was originally inhabited by the Pahquioque Indians and settled by colonists in 1685. During the Twentieth Century it was known as Hat City because it produced 24% of America’s hats.”

  “Mmm. Interesting–but not what I call riveting stuff.”

  * * *

  As they walked through the parking lot Danny pointed to a blue car and asked, “Was it like that one?”

  Nicola shook her head and said no.

  He pointed to a dark blue Ford. “What about that one over there?”

  “No, it was nothing like that. Wrong color blue!”

  Danny looked around. “Can you see anything that remotely resembles the car you saw?”

  Nicola pointed to a small Nissan. “Well, sort of like that one over there–only it was more a steely, gray-bluey color.”

  “Well, that definitely narrows down the field a bit,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Tell you what, if you see it again, or any other car that looks remotely suspicious, let me know. Okay?”

  They crossed the border into the state of New York as storm clouds gathered and rain washed the countryside clean, creating small puddles in muddy ditches that pooled around dead leaves and roadside debris, and inched its way across the road where car tires sent water spraying into the air.

  Their journey took them through small towns with names that conjured up images of early pioneers who carved history out of the wilderness, and the Native Americans who inhabited the land for thousands of years before them. Names like Mahopac, Croton Falls and Shrub Oak. The landscape filled with colorful hues of gold, bronze and copper.

  As they approached a sign that pointed to Peekskill and Bear Mountain, recognition bloomed inside Danny.

  He pulled off the road and peered out the window. A truck loaded down with logs passed them in the rain. “I’ve been this way before,” Danny said. “I remember that landscape from a couple of years ago.”

  Nicola laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  *****

  Ross folded the newspaper and dropped it onto the lawn. “We’ve been through there haven’t we, Bee?” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “Don’t you remember? It was the place where that truck got stuck?”

  “What truck?” Rosie asked as she hoisted herself up and adjusted the pillows on the white wicker lounge.

  “A couple of years ago we were heading across Bear Mountain on our way to New Jersey and we stopped overnight at a motel somewhere near there.” Ross looked at me, and asked, “Do you remember where it was?”

  “No. I haven’t a clue. We’ve stayed in so many motels in so many places it’s impossible to keep track of them all.”

  Ross nodded. “Anyway, the next morning, when we drove out the parking lot there was an eighteen-wheeler lumbering up the hill ahead of us. It must have been carrying a heavy load because it seemed to be making very little progress even though the engine was running at full throttle.

  “The road was steep, but not that steep, so I wondered what was going on when I suddenly saw sparks coming from the rear axle. When I looked closely, I noticed a gouge in the road, like a long groove, marking the route the big rig had taken up the hill. So I pulled up as close as I could to try and see where the sparks were coming from, and saw an enormous boulder wedged under the back axle and knew this juggernaut was going nowhere fast.

  “Oh my God, Ross, what did you do?” Rosie asked.

  “I could see the driver looking out the window with a puzzled look on his face, so shoved it in park, pulled on the handbrake, jumped out of the car and raced up to the cabin.

  “I yelled out to the driver that he had a large rock stuck under the back axle. But he had trouble hearing me over the roar of the engine. So I jumped upon the step, and yelled in through the open window that there was a large boul
der stuck under the back axle. The driver looked at me, dumbfounded, still not comprehending what I said. He pulled on the brakes and followed me to the back of the truck where I showed him the rock wedged tight in the axle. He just stood there scratching his head with a bewildered look on his face.”

  “This was no small rock we’re talking about, Hon,” I added.

  “No, it wasn’t. It must have weighed oh around fifteen hundred, two thousand pounds,” Ross said.

  “It was huge, solid. Looked like granite,” I added.

  “Well, whatever it was it was one hell of a big mother-fucker. Oops, sorry ladies,” he said. When I shrugged it off, he continued, “Anyway, the driver looked down the road; his eyes followed the deep groove cut in the asphalt, to where he had turned out of a driveway. You could actually see where the boulder must have been half submerged in a gully by the side of the road. I think maybe the semi cut the corner as it came out the driveway and drove over the top of it. The ground was wet from overnight rain and you could see the grooves the tires had made in the mud.”

  “So, what did you do?” Rosie asked.

  Ross shrugged. “Me? There was nothing I could do. I just got back in the car and left the driver standing there with a bewildering look on his face.”

  “How would he get the rock out?”

  “I have no idea. Jacking the back axle up wouldn’t work because it wouldn’t be able to raise the wheels high enough. They’d have to offload the cargo onto another vehicle first then I suppose he’d have to get a crane to lift the truck up; and some type of machinery to pull the boulder out. It looked as though it was wedged in pretty tight, so I’m not really sure how they could do it. The cost would be massive. I wouldn’t like to be in the driver’s shoes, poor guy!”

  I looked at my watch and noted the time.

  “Whoops! We need to get a wriggle on, kiddo. Time and tide waits for no man.”

  *****

  The river was running fast in the shadows of the bridge, riffling over boulders in the current. The sun shining through the tree canopy looked like slivers of glass as they crossed the Hudson River and turned onto the Palisades Interstate Freeway. A short time later they drove across the state border arriving in Pennsylvania some three weeks after they had started out.