Kiss Them Goodbye

by Stella Cameron

  A person had no excuse for boredom with a bed like that. She’d been finding new surprises in the carvings since she was a girl.

  Boa licked her face and she squeezed the little dog until she wriggled free and took up her place on the embroidered tangerine-colored bedspread.

  Vivian closed the shutters and the drapes. Light from colored-glass wall sconces in the shapes of scantily clad men and women didn’t give much more than a muted glow.

  She put on a nightie and bathrobe and prepared to go across the hall to shower.

  From overhead came a bumping noise, as if something were being slid over an uneven wooden floor.

  Vivian wrapped her robe more tightly around her. Apart from shaking out drapes covering the furniture, the rooms on the third floor hadn’t been touched yet. No one slept in any of them, or had any reason to be up there.

  She listened but heard nothing now.

  A hot shower and a good night’s sleep would settle her down. No, they wouldn’t. Who was she trying to fool? She might feel a bit more relaxed but how could anyone settle down in this house?

  Squeaking started, the sound of wood against wood? This time it didn’t seem to come from the floorboards but it was definitely from the same room. And it went on for a couple of minutes, then stopped. Only seconds passed before it happened again, then again, and again. Vivian held her shaking hands beneath her crossed arms.

  Someone must already be working up there. She’d been out a good deal during the day and with all the commotion over poor Gil, Mama had forgotten to mention it.

  Working into the night?

  Everyone who had offered help had work of their own to do, so why not at night? But tonight, when Bill had only announced his plans that morning?

  Downstairs there were plenty of people who would help her check things out. And she’d feel like a jumpy fool for asking.

  Murder had been committed in the grounds. But not today and the killer wouldn’t be crazy enough to hang around.

  Killers were always crazy at some level.

  Take your shower and go to sleep.

  Boa growled. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth and she stared fixedly upward.

  Tiny hairs rose on Vivian’s spine and her neck prickled. At the back of a drawer in a chest beside the bed lay a gun which had once belonged to David Patin. Her dad had taught Vivian how to load and shoot it, and made sure she knew to keep the ammunition separate from the weapon.

  She’d never loaded it since the last time her father took her to a shooting range. But she hadn’t forgotten how. She retrieved the gun and smoothly slid a clip home.

  This is nuts. Her slippers were under the bed and she felt around with her left foot to find them.

  Shivers shot up her leg and she pulled her foot back. People she trusted were downstairs. ”I think I heard something on the third floor and I’m afraid someone’s under my bed.” Then they’d all think she was a wimp and maybe she was—just a bit of a wimp, anyway—but she’d deny that one to the death.

  Eww, wrong connection.

  Boa sat up, her ears moving back and forth, and let out a single, pretty subdued bark. The sweet little thing must be picking up bad vibes from Vivian.

  What she should really do was get over this need to withdraw and go back downstairs.

  And if she did, it wouldn’t be because she thought she could change the habits of a lifetime but because she was a chicken.

  The squeaking started again, in short bursts this time. Vivian cocked her head, smiled, and began to chuckle. What would be so unusual about some sort of critters moving into available quarters?

  She felt ridiculous. The exterminators would be called in the morning. Meanwhile, maybe she could scare the things to silence.

  With her feet firmly inserted in her slippers and the gun in the pocket of her robe, Vivian left her room, retraced her steps to the staircase and climbed to the next floor. Boa hopped up behind her, snuffling. The dust was still bad in much of the house and there wasn’t enough staff to keep up with it.

  Most of the corridor lights were burned out. Vivian counted doors until she arrived at the room she thought was probably above hers.

  The door stood partly open. She reached inside and felt around for the light switch. Apart from clicks, moving it up and down produced nothing. A musty odor made her nostrils flare. Somehow the entire house had to be aired regularly.

  Vivian stepped through the opening and cried out. She’d stubbed her toe on a brass doorstop that had been used to keep the door open. She bent to pick up the stop and smiled, couldn’t help it. The episode began to feel like frames from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

  Inside the room, faint moonlight washed a bed, another four-poster with a wooden canopy, a freestanding wardrobe and white-draped shapes of other pieces of furniture. Vivian gave the door a push, opening it wide, and did her best to look around. She heard nothing, which probably meant any unwanted furry friends had skittered away, but she’d need to check for droppings. A lamp stood on a draped table in front of the window and she hurried to see if it had a working bulb.

  It didn’t.

  At least she’d put her irrational fears to rest and could go and get some sleep.

  When she turned back from the windows, a shadowy shape confronted Vivian. A woman in loose, pale clothes, her face indistinguishable in the almost darkness.

  Vivian screamed. She screamed, and jumped so violently her legs buckled and she landed on her knees. With her face covered, she bent over, waiting for her pounding heart to explode. Breathing through her mouth, she struggled to calm down, and to find the courage to look up again.

  Inch by inch she raised her face. The woman facing her across the room also knelt.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Damn, damn, damn.” The woman she saw was herself reflected in a mirror on the wardrobe door, a door which had swung open.

  Shaky and exasperated, she stumbled to her feet. Time to get out of here and stop playing games with her own head.

  What had caused the wardrobe door to open?

  It happened. End of story.

  But now she had to pass the open wardrobe to get to the door. One deep breath and she started forward, watching her reflection in the mirror as she went.

  She reached the wardrobe.

  ”Vivian?” Her name, whispered, rushed to envelop her. Muscles in her neck and throat bunched and beat out a pulse of their own. She couldn’t breathe.

  The wardrobe door slammed shut. Vivian saw the looming outline of a man, his arms outstretched, his fingers reaching. She went for the gun in her pocket and wrenched it out. Her face flashed hot while the rest of her body felt frozen.

  She threw herself at him and tried to shout for help, but her throat wouldn’t move. He was no apparition. When she collided with him he was so solid she would have fallen back if he hadn’t grasped her, one big hand like iron closing on her right wrist, the other around her waist, holding her in an embrace that stole her breath. He shook her wrist, worked his fingers over hers to release them from the gun. She closed her mind to the pain and locked her joints in place.

  He cursed softly, pried her fingers apart, and she heard the gun hit the floor and slide.

  She had feet.

  Vivian kicked, sending pains through her toes inside soft slippers. And she used her left hand, her fingernails. He might kill her, but he’d be carrying enough of her DNA to convict him for it, and his would be on her.

  ”Vivian.” He shook her.

  His face would never look the same when she’d finished with it.

  “Vivian, it’s Spike!”

  Chapter 30

  Of all the crazy…She was scared out of her wits. Okay, he could buy that but what would make her mistake him for someone dangerous? Vivian had behaved as if she didn’t know who he was.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her through his teeth. Now she was showing signs of collapsing, dammit. “Hold on, I don’t want to trip. Where are the lights?” He li
fted her and sat her on the edge of the bed. Dust didn’t fly up in clouds so he guessed he should be grateful for that. “Now, stay put until you calm down.”

  He could hear her breath dragging in and out of her lungs.

  “You don’t even know me well enough to figure out who I am when you touch me—or hear my voice—or smell me, damn it? I could pick out your scent through manure.”

  She actually giggled.

  “Pleased I can amuse you,” he said. “Or is all this because you don’t trust me? Is that it? What we’ve had is all about sex, but you aren’t sure I’m not a killer playing both sides of the fence? If that’s the case—”

  “Shut up while you’re not ahead, you idiot.”

  Okay, okay, he’d calm down and give her a chance to get over the shock she’d apparently suffered.

  “How could you ask me questions like you just did?” she said. “You don’t know why I acted like that. You’re horrible. Mean. You say whatever comes into your head as long as it makes you feel like a big man.”

  Spike stood in front of her and shoved his hands into his pockets. When she was composed enough he’d point out that discovering she had a gun on him hadn’t been a great sensation, either.

  “All about sex? You should be so lucky. You’re supposed to be my friend.” Her voice caught and she hunched over. “What are you doing sneaking around up here, anyway? On this floor? Are the others going to come here, too, for some reason? Boy, are you going to have some explaining to do. You thought it was funny to scare me out of my skin, didn’t you?”

  “That’s enough, Vivian.” She was shocked and he must not let his temper take over. “You left abruptly and it worried me. The rest of them aren’t coming up here because they have no idea you aren’t in your room. And they think I’ve gone outside to talk with Bonine and Wiley.”

  “You lied to my mother?”

  “I didn’t tell the truth to anyone in that kitchen. All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay. Know why?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Want to know why?”

  “No.”

  “That does it. You know damn well why. I don’t know how you feel about me because you haven’t told me. Maybe all this is giving me the answer now. I tried not to love you, but I couldn’t do a thing about it in the end. I told you that today. Know what I’m spending my time worrying about now?”

  “No.” She sounded subdued.

  “Your neighbors want to buy you out. If they do, you have nothing to keep you around here and you’ll probably leave. That’s what’s making holes in my stomach.”

  “You make me so mad,” she told him. “How did you find me up here?”

  “I make you mad? By…Boa was on her way down from this floor. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out you might be here, since you weren’t in your room.”

  “How do you know which is my room?”

  “Damn the woman,” he said to the ceiling. “I try to come to her, to comfort her, and she gives me the third degree.”

  “How do you know what my feelings are? You think we’ll sell Rosebank and I’ll leave without looking back. Thanks for the confidence, but you’re right, of course. I’m only ever interested in a little sex without strings.” She got off the bed and before he guessed what she might do, slapped his face with an open hand—and started to cry.

  Nothing he did or said was right.

  She cried harder and turned her back on him.

  Spike shut the door and stood behind her. He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. She had been trembling when he touched her, now she shook even more.

  “Neither of us is makin’ any sense,” he said quietly. “But we could. We could make a lot of sense right now.”

  “You’re angry. You’re trying not to sound it, but you are.”

  Yes, he was. Angry that the two of them could seem to have come so far only to arrive at an episode like this.

  “You’re not denying it.” Vivian tried to pull his arms away but he wouldn’t let her go. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…You know why.”

  He knew. “Because you’re afraid I’ll try to make love to you?”

  Once more she plucked at his hands. Her breasts rose and fell against his forearms. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she said. “You want some of that sex you think is the only reason I like being around you. Damn you, Spike Devol.”

  “And you don’t want it?” He felt sweat on his forehead and between his shoulder blades. His heart pounded. And he was hot, inside and out.

  “I never took you for a violent man, but I feel it in you now.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m not violent. I’ve never been called that until now.”

  Vivian reached behind her and drove her fingertips into his thighs. “How wide is the line between passion and violence? There isn’t a line, is there? It’s all the same. Even so-called gentle loving is a kind of violent thing.”

  Spike kissed the side of her neck this time, took nips at her skin and the lobe of her ear. Her crying turned into a shaky sighing, and the heat within him made his vision red behind his eyelids.

  Her fingertips ran down until her hands were flat on his thighs, slid around as far as she could reach and urged him closer. Some things were beyond a man’s control. Right now there was nothing he could do about his erection, the fact that she’d feel it all too well, or the truth that pounded through his body. Violence? Maybe. Passion? Oh, yeah.

  “Spike.”

  Spinning her around, he brought his mouth down hard on hers. They shifted their faces, searching and reaching. He held her head and held her face wherever he wanted it to allow his entry into her mouth, and he made a demand with every tongue thrust.

  “I’m goin’ to take you,” he told her. “Say you don’t want it, now, or I’ll believe we both want the same thing.”

  Vivian didn’t tell him no, she couldn’t. She had to have him. And she didn’t attempt to unbutton his shirt but tore at it instead. He pulled her hands away and trapped her against the bed with his legs. The shirt came off over his head and she kissed his broad, naked chest before he’d had time to free his arms.

  He dragged off his belt.

  She unzipped his pants and knew one reason why he was desperate to get out of his clothes. His penis strained and had to hurt in the confinement.

  The fingers of one of his hands settling around her neck and the sensation that he locked his elbow and held her off weakened her knees. With his other hand he tore her robe open, and ripped her nightie from neck to hem.

  Vivian wanted to cry out but once again had no voice. And she wanted him, all of him, and at his wildness she began to pulse between her legs, to burn, and tried to press her thighs together.

  “Tell me,” he said, confusing her. “Tell me if you feel anything for me.” He didn’t stop moving and was naked now. “Tell me.”

  “I do,” she said. He’d bent over her breasts and pulled on a nipple with his lips and teeth. She grabbed his hair in both hands and held him against her. Spike covered her other breast and squeezed.

  With his face buried beneath her jaw, he slid his hands around her hips, gripped her bottom, parting the cheeks, and threw her backward on the bed. She fell and he fell on top of her.

  Spike’s hands were all over her. Her flesh ached from her center, the desperation of her response to him spreading in searing waves.

  He drove himself into her and she cried out from the invasion, the stretching, the shock. His sobs brought a lump to her throat. Again and again he withdrew until she thought he would leave her, but each time he penetrated her afresh, drove her farther across the bed.

  Thin moonlight showed her his features, drawn as if in agony.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered, raising her hips to meet his. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep what we have.”

  He pounded into her and her climax broke. Almost at once
, Spike cried out with his own release. They jerked together, clutching at as much as they could feel of each other.

  Spike grew heavy and still atop her. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. But you are and we can keep whatever we want badly enough.”

  “Stay with me,” she whispered. “I want you to stay a part of me.”

  He kissed her lips softly, licked the smooth skin just inside softly. “I want to be a part of you, cher. Whatever happens, you’ll be with me for as long as I live.”

  “I’m frightened for us, Spike. But I love you.”

  Chapter 31

  The fifth day

  “What’s up?” Jilly Gable asked Madge. “You sick or somethin’? You look miserable.”

  Madge’s feelings had always shown on her face. “Guess we all have glum days. This town doesn’t feel like itself to me.” She’d lost interest in her biscuits and gravy.

  Jilly poured a cup of coffee for herself and joined Madge at her table. “Short rush this morning,” she said. They were alone in the shop. Her blond-streaked brown hair had been cut to her shoulders and looked pretty and as superthick as it really was. “I know what you mean about things feelin’ different. Everyone seems down. It’s got to be the deaths at Rosebank upsettin’ all of us.”

  As long as Madge could recall, Jilly had worn her hair almost to her waist. Even the idea of her getting it cut off could be another depressing thought. Beautiful as always, her gray-green eyes were a bit sad, Madge thought, and her pale coffee skin didn’t glow the same as usual.

  “Do you think that’s what it is?” Jilly said.

  “Yes. A couple more miles and Rosebank would be in St. Martin Parish. Green Veil, or Serenity House, or whatever they call it—same thing. And the folks there are pretty much a part of this town now. They change it because they’re different. Not Charlotte and Vivian, really, but—”

  “The other ones,” Jilly finished for her. “You don’t like them?”

  Madge looked over her shoulder, half expecting to find Cyrus waiting for her answer, a frown on his face. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know them but they have an attitude. They came to the rectory, y’know. Lil was the only one there and they started right in on how they thought the Patins needed help and they wanted to be the ones to help them. Then, the next thing we find out, Susan’s talking about buying Rosebank. And I don’t think that’s because they want to help at all. I think they want the property, period.”