A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  “Do it,” Laura said.

  She watched him go to work on himself and began to undress herself. She shed the gray sweat-suit top that was all she wore over an abbreviated pink bra. Lace along the top of the quarter cups nestled just beneath her nipples. She knew her breasts looked like smooth, white-chocolate truffles. That was Wes’s favorite description before he set about “eating” them.

  Wes had paused, the veins in his neck standing out in cords and his face red. She heard him pant. Wes could always be relied on to give an outstanding performance. Quickly, she skimmed off her track pants, taking the pink sneakers with them. Very deliberately she bent over in front of Wes to pick up her clothes, then she turned her back on him and folded the sweats on the bed. Her thong was a work of art with tiny, shimmering crystals outlining her cheeks.

  “Ah,” Wes moaned, sounding drunk. He probably was drunk now she thought of it. She could smell liquor on his breath.

  She faced him, pointed to his south pole, and said, “I’m getting impatient.”

  His hand moved hard and fast, jerking him, contracting the muscles in his belly. Faster and faster he went, his teeth gritted, his lips curled back, his eyes glazed.

  Laura got ready. A catcher needed to be on her toes. Wes ejaculated in an arc. She had decided this was because he held back as long as he could.

  There it came. Exactly in time for her to gather it up with the pants of a suit that cost him thousands. And he didn’t even know while he slumped, his head pressing one side of the cage into his shoulder.

  His chest heaved and he opened his eyes—and saw the pants she held in front of his face. The fire in his eyes turned to pure evil and he reared up.

  And Laura dropped the little key to his head cage inside her mouth.

  Evil turned to fear in his face and she fought laughter. “Down, boy,” she said. “Whew, is it just me, or is it hot in here?” She did smile.

  Wes fell to his knees again. She’d panicked him.

  “The air-conditioning can’t be working properly.” She folded back white wood shutters and wound open the jalousies. Really hot, wet air slipped through the glass slats and she stood there until she felt moisture trickle between her breasts. The moisture between her legs didn’t need any help.

  “You were very, very good,” she told him. “When you’re ready for more, just nod and I’ll decide what’s on the menu.”

  When she turned back to the room he was already nodding.

  Laura walked slowly in front of him and slipped off her thong. “Who’s in charge?”

  He pointed to her.

  “You hit me—you’ve hit me too many times.”

  Wes’s worried stare centered on her mouth.

  “Oh, yes, the key. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ve got it in my cheek and I promise… I’ll try not to swallow it.”

  She walked into the closet again and selected a pair of needle-heeled shoes so high she had to get her balance. But once Laura has her balance, watch out. Giggling, she strutted back to Wes and stood with her feet braced apart, rolling her hips. He shoved his hands under his thighs. If she didn’t have the shiny little key, he’d have grabbed her by now.

  “Look,” she told him, jutting one hip to show him the forming bruises. “Whatever I have, I want you to have. I’m like that. I share.” One transparent spike heel connected with his solid butt.

  He screamed, thrust to his feet and raised a hand.

  Laura pointed to her cheek.

  Wes dropped his hand to the bloody puncture wound she’d inflicted.

  She slapped him until her hands stung, then stopped to catch her breath. “I shouldn’t have kicked you like that.” She panted. “I hate it when you kick me, Wes. Let’s not do that anymore, huh?”

  His eyes slid away but he nodded.

  “If I unlock you will you come inside me this time? No rubber? No withdrawal?”

  She got another affirmative and her heart squeezed. “Oh, Wes. Would it be so bad to have a baby?”

  He shrugged and the old puzzled, boyish look hovered.

  “Sit on the bed.” She fished the key from her mouth and unlocked the helmet. Immediately she popped the key into her mouth and grinned at him while he freed his head.

  “Such a clear-headed woman,” he told her, grabbing the bra between her breasts and twisting until it broke apart. “Dance for me, baby.” He had hurt her again, but she kept on smiling.

  This was why she sweated in the gym for hours, for times like tonight when she got to show off for Wes.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, joining her and rolling his hips in rhythm with hers. He got so close she felt his heat, and often, his skin.

  Humming an old swamp pop-blues tune, he moved her with his body and she went willingly. Hands above their heads, they strutted rhythmically, hips doing most of the work, hips that would do a belly dancer proud.

  Heat and need built in Laura. She leaned her breasts on him and he smiled down at her with half-closed eyes. Spreading a hand over each breast, he stooped to suck on her nipples. Immediately weak, she held his arms. “Make love to me, Wes,” she whispered.

  He lifted her and she expected to land on the bed.

  Wes clamped her legs around his waist and entered her. He kept right on humming and jerking his pelvis in time. “Time for us to make a plan to get Jilly Gable out of our lives. For good, if necessary.”

  “Wes.” She whined and plucked at his shoulders while he bucked her.

  “I’m here,” he said. “You’re going to offer the bitch money, lots of it.”

  “Later.” Laura whimpered and attempted to kiss him. She tried to switch off the pulse mounting inside her. Wes made sure she didn’t have a hope. “Please, Wes. I’ll do what you want me to do. Let’s talk about it later.”

  “If she doesn’t take the money, you threaten her. Either she gets lost or you’ll spread it around that she’s fucking Daddy. That would get rid of the gas jockey and anyone else she thought was a friend.” He chuckled. “Might be good for her business, though.”

  She gritted her teeth and rode with him, helpless, swept away just as he intended. He wouldn’t change his mind about Jilly. But he would stop saving himself—stop taking away any chance of Laura having a child.

  “You with me, Laura?” He set up a slapping rhythm. They came together harder and harder. “You ready?”

  “Yes!”

  She climaxed as Wes pulled out of her. His semen hit the wall nearby and he dropped her to stand on the floor, held her wrists and swung her back and forth, his face tilted. He kept on humming.

  Laura wrenched away and reached inside her mouth for the key. “I warned you,” she said. And if he wanted Jilly out of town so badly, he’d have to do his own dirty work.

  Wes laughed, hung his head back and howled at the ceiling. When he could speak, he said, “You fool. What do I care about the fucking key. Keep on holding it, flash it around while you’re at it. Does that mean you want me to be a good boy and let you put the helmet back on me?”

  10

  “Stay here,” Guy told Jilly, parking behind a row of official units in moonlit Parish Lane. “I’ll bring Spike back to you.”

  “Hell, no. ” Stay on her own in the dark? Jilly didn’t think so.

  Of course she would be difficult, Guy thought. The rusted old truck Cyrus drove pulled in behind the Pontiac and Cyrus jumped out. He walked to Guy’s door.

  Guy rolled down the window. “Do you think it would be a good idea if Jilly stayed here until we find out what’s goin’ on?”

  Cyrus looked unsure. “Is the dog there?” He peered into the back of the car.

  “She’s at Jilly’s place. Can’t leave a dog in a car, y’know.”

  “Of course not,” Cyrus said. “Jilly better come with us.”

  Jilly rolled in her lips to stop herself from grinning at the cross expression on Guy’s face. Maybe she was a little hysterical, but she felt jumpy.

  “There’s a DB in there. That means—” />
  “Dead body,” she finished for him. “Someone killed somebody and—”

  “God rest that soul,” Cyrus put in. He stood up for a moment while a white van passed.

  “Yes,” Jilly said. “And there’s a killer on the loose. I’d rather be with some big, strong men than stay here like a sitting duck.”

  “Sittin’ chicken,” Guy mumbled, and held up a defensive hand when Jilly glared at him. “This is the chicken-in-the-engine car, remember? I wasn’t talking about you.”

  Jilly heard another car and craned to look over her shoulder. She didn’t need much light to make out the sleek Corvette belonging to Guy’s friend Nat.

  “Good,” Guy muttered when he saw Nat get out. “That’ll save a lot of explanation later.”

  Nat walked around to his passenger door and opened it.

  “Who the hell did he bring with him?” Guy said. “Sorry, Father.”

  “I need help leaning some masonry fragments against the wall in the graveyard. That’ll be—”

  “Your penance.” Jilly tried to lighten things up but Guy only said, “It’ll be a pleasure. Oh, my God. Wazoo!”

  “Perhaps you could do that little laboring job without my help?” Cyrus said mildly.

  Guy wasn’t listening. He got out of the car and strode back to meet Nat and Wazoo. He leaned forward to get a better look at her.

  “You ain’t seen Wazoo before?” She elbowed Nat, who cleared his throat. “See. I tol’ you he’s got it in for me. Always lookin’ for somethin’ to insult me about.”

  Guy turned to Nat. “How did you know to come here?”

  “I told him, me,” Wazoo said. She whirled around and moonlight shone through the inky lace cloak she wore. “Got on my mournin’ duds,” she said. “The dead deserve respect.”

  Guy wasn’t giving up easily. “Who told you?”

  She placed two fingers together and used them like a rifle sight. “I got my ways of knowin’ things.”

  “Who could have died in my backyard?” Jilly said, joining the group. She turned to look at the row of vehicles. Bright white light blossomed from behind All Tarted Up and she shaded her eyes. “I think I feel sick.” For the first time she noticed yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the lane and flapping gently in the breeze.

  “Find yourself a big log to lean over,” Wazoo said. “Keep the stuff off you that way.”

  “What log?” Guy said, looking significantly up and down the walled lane.

  “Lie over the hood on one of them sheriff’s cars, then.” Wazoo wasn’t one to let a little difficulty get in her way. “That would work the same way. I help you.”

  A deep, rumbling snicker had all eyes on Nat. His teeth shone and the light caught the glint in his eyes. He patted Wazoo’s back and said, “I do like a woman who’s a problem solver.” He chuckled on until he bent over and put his hands on his knees. “Whoo-ee, I needed to laugh. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Why, you welcome, killer man.”

  “Wazoo!” Jilly said. “You can’t just call someone that. Not in a situation like this.”

  That started Nat laughing in earnest. This was serious, serious laughter. He staggered back, catching hold of Wazoo’s hand as he went. “You are too much, sistah,” he said. “You gotta explain to some that bein’ a killer man is what all us manly types aspire to.”

  Cyrus moved closer to Jilly and Guy. “Let’s go. We can’t put this off any longer.”

  Guy didn’t point out that for him and Nat, calls like this were routine. “Let’s do that. Are you going to throw up, Jilly?”

  “No,” she told him stiffly. “I’ve hardly eaten today and I felt a bit dizzy when I got out of the car is all.”

  You’d say you felt just dandy if you were dying. Guy didn’t say anything. He walked ahead, but Jilly caught up at once. “I admit I’m nervous,” she said in a quiet voice. “Who could it be? A homeless person, maybe?”

  “Spike sounded as if he had some idea who it is,” Cyrus said. “He probably only wants to ask you some questions.”

  They ducked under the first line of tape and arrived at the open gates to Jilly’s property—it actually belonged to Dr. Reb O’Brien Girard’s husband, Marc. Half the town did—or to his Floridian mother—and Jilly leased from them.

  A deputy by the gates stopped them, listened to the explanation that they’d been called by Spike, and went quickly to a group working around a body on the paved ground. Two small vans all but filled the right side of the yard, and a canopy had been erected over a large part of the area.

  “Oh dear,” Jilly said.

  “If you’re goin’ to be sick, just warn me,” Guy said, and one glance at him left her in no doubt that he’d moved into professional mode. “Nat and I can’t walk in here without being invited, you understand that? We’ll wait for Spike.”

  “Of course.”

  “Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry—” Wazoo’s voice blasted in full, mournful force but she closed her mouth, then said, “Too soon for that one.”

  “No singin’, please,” Cyrus told her, but not before Jilly saw a smile in his eyes. “They’re working here and we shouldn’t distract them.”

  Forensics personnel moved deliberately around the area. Cameras flashed. An unattended gurney stood close by. Jilly took a deep, calming breath. She was an outsider looking in and the players went through their paces in what felt like slow motion.

  She had to keep her head.

  The officer spoke to Spike, who turned and walked toward them. He carried a clipboard. “I know I asked you to come, Jilly, but maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

  “You think you know who it is?” Guy tucked an arm around Jilly.

  “It’s more a hunch than anything. I wish Joe wasn’t out of town, not that I’m too sure he’d know.”

  Jilly’s heart beat heavily. “This is someone you feel might be connected to Joe and me?” The body was in her yard.

  “I don’t think so.” Spike shook his head. “Jilly, you stay with Cyrus and Wazoo. No reason for you to be subjected to this.”

  She almost felt the pats on top of her head. She didn’t want to go look at a murdered body, no way, but it seemed that she had to establish herself as anything but a wimp. Guy kind of liked to think of her as a wimp in need of protection, or so she had decided.

  “I can handle it,” she said. “If you can’t toughen up in this world, you won’t make it. I’ll do it. It’s not necessary for anyone else to come.” She ducked under Guy’s arm and hurried toward the body.

  “No.” Spike caught up. “I just got this idea it was your father come lookin’ for you, but why would he after all this time? This guy’s too young, anyway.”

  “Jilly?” Guy said, but she ignored him.

  “I need to look,” she said. The distance she had to cover was short, but her legs got heavier with each step. A couple of feet away from the body she stood still, swallowed several times and breathed in gulps of air through her mouth. The spotlight turned the blood purplish red and glossy. Reluctantly, she looked at the dead man. “Hard to live without most of your head,” she heard herself say.

  A titter went up.

  Of course these people were immune to sights like this. This was how they put food on their tables.

  Her throat contracted unpleasantly. She might never be able to eat again.

  “Jilly?”

  She glanced around and picked out Deputy Lori, who had recently returned to the department from maternity leave. The reassuring sight of her brought some blood back to Jilly’s head. “Hi, Lori. How’s Tippy?”

  “Wonderful,” Lori said of her baby daughter. The deputy smiled but quickly got serious again. “Mostly we wait and do the identification at the morgue, but this is going to take a while around here. Dr. Reb’s on her way.” She spread her arms and Jill noticed strings of gooey, bloodstained stuff spreading from the corpse’s wide-open skull.

  Jilly stepped closer and looked down. “Oh, no,” she whispered, turn
ing her head away. “That’s his brain, isn’t it?” The arms and legs lay in an almost natural manner.

  “Part of it.”

  “It’s Caruthers Rathburn,” Jilly said, looking at the grotesquely wide-open mouth. His broad, pocked face was unmistakable, even in this condition. “That is so bizarre. He saved a woman’s life tonight, now he’s here, dead.”

  “Thanks, Jilly,” Spike said. He’d taken off his hat and his blond hair stuck up in front. “There’s no identification on him, no vehicle that we can find except for your fancy new wheels out front.”

  With his head bowed, Cyrus knelt beside the body and prayed silently.

  Wazoo bent over Caruthers and said, “He was a marked man, him. If I was allowed to look through his brains I’d find the evidence, too.”

  Silence followed. Wazoo had the complete attention of all present.

  She shrugged and looked delighted with herself. “I’d find hair in those brains. His hair what someone fed him in somethin’ he ate. Voodoo, that’s what that is.”

  Nat put his mouth to Wazoo’s ear and whispered for a long time.

  The expression on her face changed from second to second, and in the end, she nodded at him and pressed a hand to his chest. “You a good man. And you right, I shouldn’t give my secrets away for free. If they want my help, they can come and ask, then pay for it. I think I’ll go sleep at Hungry Eyes so I’m ready to start early. Spike—you tell Vivian I’ll be back to Rosebank in good time tomorrow.”

  She walked away and Cyrus followed immediately. “Wait up, Wazoo. I’ll drive you.” Partway out of the gate they stopped walking and Cyrus ran back to Spike. “I meant to ask you about Lee O’Brien. I know she was here. She’s only tryin’ to do her job. You didn’t go too hard on her, did you?”

  “No,” Spike said. “I sent her home and she seemed fine with it.”

  Cyrus left and caught up to Wazoo.

  Jilly touched Spike’s arm. “What did you mean about fancy new wheels?”

  “C’mon, you don’t have to be coy with me. How long have you been plannin’ that? Vivian’s going to be jealous. She’ll want one next, wait and see if she doesn’t. In dark green and gold, of course, with Rosebank Resort on the side.”