“You have to wait your turn.”
“Okay. Ask me a question,” he said.
“What is your favorite position?”
“You mean, for sex?”
“No, for the gearshift in your truck.”
“Okay. That would have to be the missionary position,” said Jake.
“So predictable.”
“Hey, I like what I like. Now, my turn. What’s your real name? And remember, you have to be honest.”
“My name is Carnie.”
“Then why did you tell me your name was Jennifer?”
“Nope. My turn.”
“Oh, alright.”
“Have you ever killed anybody?” She watched him closely for a reaction.
“What?”
He’s stalling, thought Carnie. He has killed. Good. “Have you ever killed anybody?”
“Of course not. What kind of a question is that?”
“Hey, if you don’t ask interesting questions, the game gets boring real fast. Could I get another beer?” she said.
“Sure.” Jake took her empty can and headed for the kitchen. Then he stopped, spun around and said, “Ah-ha! That was a question. So it’s gonna be my turn when I come back.” He walked into the kitchen shouting back to her, “I got you that time, Baby. You ain’t so smart after all.”
When it came time for their third, fourth and fifth beers, Carnie acted as waitress. Jake never noticed she was not really drinking hers. She kept them coming until he was drunk.
“I don’t think you were being truthful earlier when I asked you if you’d ever killed anybody,” said Carnie.
He grinned at her. “Aw, come on, Honey, don’t you trust me?”
“I’m not sure. But I won’t sleep with a man if I think he’s lying to me.”
“But I’m not lying. Not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?” she said.
Jake lowered his voice and looked around the room and into the kitchen, as though someone else was in the house. “It was an accident.”
She glared at him, waiting for details.
“One night I was on my way home. The old man shouldn’t have been out walking in the dark. It was after midnight. What was he doing out there anyway?”
“Did you call the police?”
Jake didn’t answer.
“So, you were drunk and you ran over a man and you just left him there to die.”
“I was scared. I could have gone to prison.”
“How do you know you actually killed him? Sometimes people get hit by cars and just walk away,” she said.
“It was in the paper the next day.”
“You’re a murderer, Jake.”
“No, no. It was an accident.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s change the subject. How would you like to make some big-time cash?”
“Oh, Honey, you don’t have to pay me,” he said, as he began to unbuckle his belt.
“Very funny. How does ten-thousand dollars sound?”
He seemed to sober up a little. “Sounds good. What’s this about?”
“Have you ever heard of a clinical trial?”
“Sure. That’s where doctors get a bunch of people to try some new kind of medicine, to see if it really works. Hey, I don’t want to be no guinea pig. Is that what you want me to do?”
“No. What I need is for you to help me round up some volunteers.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“The catch is that we’ll be forcing them to participate.”
“Oh, I get it. You want me to do something illegal. Well, no thanks. I don’t need the money that bad.”
“Jake, I was just kidding. But, man—I really had you going. You thought I was serious. That’s funny.”
“Well, you sure sounded serious.”
“I was just testing you. And you passed. So, let’s get ready for bed.”
“I’m ready,” said Jake, although he was so drunk he could barely walk.
They went into his bedroom. By the time Carnie had stripped to her underwear, Jake had already jumped onto the bed, naked.
“Let’s take a shower first,” she said.
“Together?”
“Yeah.”
Jake hopped up and hurried into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited for the hot water while watching Carnie. When she slipped the lacey red bra off her breasts, he said, “Forget the shower. I want you now.”
But she held her hand out firmly. “If you touch me, I’m leaving right now.”
He stepped back. The shower had begun to steam up the room.
She said, “Let’s get in,” and pulled down her panties and kicked them aside.
Jake felt tremors of anticipation as he pulled back the shower curtain and stepped in. Carnie got in at the back of the tub.
“Turn around and I’ll wash your back,” she said.
“Yes, Ma’am.
She located the soap dish, picked up the bar of Dial and began to slowly lather his back. His groin began to suck the blood away from his brain and other vital organs. His hands were against the front shower wall for support.
“If you keep that up, I may not be able to hold it,” he said.
“Then you’ll just have to reload. Okay, now put your arms down at your sides so I can wash them.”
He would have honored any request she made.
It was a shame he had rejected her offer. She really liked him. And she would have enjoyed sleeping with him. But she had told him too much. And he might talk.
His hands were at his sides and he was very drunk. He would never see it coming. She would smash his head into the shower tile as hard as she could. He would offer little, if any, resistance. And if the first attempt had only dazed him, she would pound his skull into the edge of the tub until he was gone.
The police wouldn’t be thinking murder. They’d see a guy who got drunk and then stupidly tried to take a shower, slipped down, and busted his head open. Too bad. Another drunk kicked the bucket. Case closed.
On the other hand, she really liked the big lug.
“Carnie? Where are you going?”
She quickly toweled off, picked up her underwear, and walked out of the bathroom.
“Carnie? You can’t leave me like this. Come back, Honey.”
18 - COLD AND DEAD
“Maybe I should have waited until next week to start jogging with you,” said Greg.
“Why? You’re doing fine. It’s only your second day. You’ll get used to it,” said Cynthia.
“Yeah, but staying up until after midnight packing and then getting up at 5:30 AM is pretty tough. Why don’t we skip tomorrow’s run?”
“Well, I suppose that would be okay since it’s moving day.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a long one.”
It was 6:30 AM and Greg didn’t know if his 34-year-old body could endure the second half of the jog.
“I don’t remember some of these streets from yesterday.” said Greg.
“That’s because we didn’t take this route yesterday.”
“Good. I’m glad to know my memory’s still functioning in spite of the exhaustion.”
“Yeah, I like to vary my route. I think it’s a little safer.”
“That’s a good idea. Especially if you’re by yourself. Hey, that’s Nancy Jo Gristel’s street.”
“The woman who missed her piano lesson last night?”
“Yeah. Do you mind if we run down her street?”
“No problem.”
They turned onto Bowie Street.
“Do you know the address?” said Cynthia.
“No, but I think it’s at the end of the street.”
When they reached the dead end, Greg said, “That’s it.”
“Are you sure? How do you know it’s not that one?” Cynthia pointed to the house across the street.
They stopped in front of her driveway.
“See that car? It’s the only ‘59 Plymouth Fury in town. Check out
those fins. Her husband kept in tip top shape for forty years. He had it completely restored back in the ‘80s. But since he died it’s beginning to show its age. It has pushbutton automatic transmission. Very weird, but cool.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” said Cynthia.
“But, wait. That’s odd.”
“What?”
“She told me she always parks it in the garage at night—to protect the paint job.”
“Maybe she just forgot.”
“I’m gonna knock on her door.”
“But, Greg, it’s too early.”
“Nah. She gets up by 5:00 AM at the latest. She used to practice piano when she couldn’t sleep—until the neighbors complained. And her lights are on, so she must be up. I just want to make sure she’s okay. She might have forgotten to take her Alzheimer’s medicine. She could be disoriented.”
They walked onto the front porch and Greg knocked while Cynthia looked through the partially opened drapes.
“Greg, come here and look at this,” said Cynthia.
“What?”
“On the carpet, beside the piano—is that a pair of glasses?”
“Yeah. Looks like she dropped them. Now that’s a problem. She’s blind as a bat without those glasses.”
“There’s a light on in that other room too. Probably the kitchen. Maybe she’s in there.”
They walked around to the side of the house and up the driveway to the little porch at the kitchen door. Greg began to knock. The curtains on the door window were made of a thin material. They tried to see through it.
“It’s really hard to tell for sure, but do you see something on the floor?” said Greg.
“Like a body?”
“I’ll call the police.”
Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
As soon as he had finished and hung up, Cynthia said, “We’re being watched.”
Greg looked across the street and saw the man in his robe. He was just standing there, staring at them.
“I want to talk to that guy.” Greg walked down the stairs.
Cynthia followed him.
The forty-something year-old man had walked out to pick up his newspaper when he saw Greg and Cynthia. He must have thought they were up to no good, thought Greg.
“We think something happened to Mrs. Gristel,” said Greg.
The man said nothing, but continued to stare at them.
“Looks like she’s on the floor in the kitchen. And she’s not moving.”
Still no response.
“She takes piano lessons from me. That’s how I know her.”
“Nurse,” said the man.
“Nurse? What do you mean?” said Greg.
“Nurse came to take care of her. I thought she must feel bad.”
“When did the nurse come?”
“Yesterday. Or today. I thought she must feel bad. I eat spaghetti. My favorite. And garlic toast. Nurse come.”
“I see.”
The man’s wife walked out to meet them. A half-smoked cigarette barely clung to her lower lip. “Don’t pay him no mind. He ain’t right in the head.”
“Nurse came,” said the man, to nobody in particular.
“We think your neighbor, Mrs. Gristel, is in trouble. I called 911.”
“That’s too bad,” said the wife. “Come on, Bubba. Let’s get you back in the house.”
“Uh, Ma’am, do you mind if I ask him another question?” said Greg.
“It’s a waste of time. But go ahead.”
“Bubba? Do you mind if I call you Bubba?” said Greg.
“Just ask the question,” said the wife, stomping her cigarette butt into the grass.
“Did you remember what kind of car the nurse was driving?” said Greg.
“White.”
“Okay, good. But did you notice anything else about the car?” said Greg.
“Ecstasy. Ecstasy on car.”
“See? I told you,” said the wife. “Come on Bubba. You ain’t doing nobody no good out here.”
Bubba and his wife walked away and went into their house.
Greg and Cynthia could hear the wife yelling inside. “How many times have I told you, Bubba? Never go out of the house! Now, sit down and shut up!”
“Nice couple,” said Cynthia.
Greg smiled and shook his head.
A patrol car pulled up in front of Nancie Jo’s house, and Greg and Cynthia walked over to greet the officers.
“Are you the one who called 911?” said one of the officers.
“Yes, Sir,” said Greg.
“What’s your name, Sir?”
“Greg Tenorly. And this is my girlfriend, Cynthia Blockerman.”
The two policemen said hello to Cynthia. They all started walking toward the house.
“Y’all don’t live in this neighborhood, do you?”
“No. We were out for a jog and I decided to check on Mrs. Gristel. I’m her piano teacher, and she didn’t show up for her lesson last night.”
“Are we talking about the old woman who lives here? She takes piano lessons?”
“Yes, she does,” said Greg. “So we knocked on her door.”
“And I saw her glasses on the floor,” said Cynthia.
“So, we went around to the side door and saw what appeared to be a body on the floor,” said Greg. “We couldn’t really tell for sure—it’s hard to see through the curtains.”
Greg and Cynthia followed the officers to the side door and watched one of them try to look in. He checked the doorknob to see if it was locked. Then he stepped back and kicked the door several times until it broke free.
They stayed outside and watched the officers go in.
In less than a minute, one of them walked out and said, “Yeah, she’s dead.”
“What happened?” said Cynthia.
“She’s got multiple stab wounds to the back. It’s pretty gruesome. And we’re going to need to get statements, so y’all stick around.”
The officer walked back in. They could hear his partner on his radio, calling for an ambulance.
“When your mom hears about this, she may change her mind about moving here,” said Greg.
“Yeah, but this woman lived alone. Mom will have me to look out for her.”
But Greg wondered why anyone would want to kill this sweet old lady. Knowing the reason behind the murder wouldn’t bring her back. But it might make him feel better. A few months earlier, he only had himself to worry about. Now, he had a girlfriend and a potential future mother-in-law to protect.
**********
Macy Golong liked to take advantage of the early morning and late evening hours. These were the only times she knew there would be no interruptions. For the rest of the day, she had to be on-call to meet every need of her employer, Mallie Mae Mobley. If the old woman yelled to her and she didn’t respond immediately, Macy could expect her cell phone to ring within seconds. Sometimes hours passed between calls. But knowing that one could come at any moment kept her in a state of uneasiness.
She took another sip of coffee and turned the page.
Ormando walked onto the porch carrying a whip. His thick, black locks were blown back to one side by the warm summer wind. His unbuttoned shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing his hard, sun-darkened pectorals and abs.
“You will give yourself to me—NOW,” he said, in thunderous tones, cracking the whip on the marble floor.
Jessica wondered how she had gotten herself into this situation. How dare he command her to yield to his lurid longings? She would never give in to him. Never. And yet, as she looked into his smoldering eyes, she was not sure how long she could resist. Surely, unimaginable pleasure awaited her, if she would only submit to him. No. She would not give herself to this savage animal.
“So? What will it be?” he said. “Torture or paradise?”
If she resisted, what guarantee did she have that he would not whip her mercilessly, and then force himself upon her anyway?
B
ut it did not matter. For she had already made her decision.
Macy flipped the page. Her cell phone rang.
“Macy? Please come to my room,” said Mallie Mae.
19 - FORCED PARTNERSHIP
The old black phone on the nightstand was coated with a dried up paste consisting of beer and dirt, speckled with Nacho Cheese Doritos dust. And right now Jake wanted to take a sledge hammer to it. Not because it was disgusting. No, that he could live with. But the stupid thing wouldn’t quit ringing. He had no idea how many times it had already rung.
But his splitting headache discouraged any movement toward the phone. The mere blink of an eyelid might push him over the edge, he thought. And, oh how he wanted to avoid what happened last time, when it felt like a plumber was working his toilet plunger on Jake’s open mouth until it sucked out the previous night’s pepperoni pizza and beer, and sloshed it all over the floor.
He started counting the number of times his head throbbed between rings, wondering how much pressure the human skull could withstand. It felt like his was about to blow.
Had the old phone finally gone haywire? he wondered. No caller would let it ring that many times.
It had to stop.
“Hello?” he said, choking back the barf.
“Jake? Are you okay?”
“Carnie?”
“Yeah. How are you feeling? You don’t sound too good.”
“Well, let’s see. I’m 32, but right now I feel like I’m 102.”
“Yikes.”
“In fact, if this is what it feels like when you’re 102, I don’t want to live that long.”
“I guess we had a little too much to drink last night.”
“I don’t know how you were able to drive yourself home,” said Jake.
“I didn’t have as much as you did.”
“And why did you leave like that? You got me all lathered up and rock hard, and then you took off. I’m beginning to think you’re just a big tease.”
“No, not at all. Next time, Baby. Next time for sure. But I realized we needed to talk about some things first.”
“Why do women always want to talk everything to death? Why not just do it, and talk about it later?”
“This is important, Jake. Do you remember telling me your big secret last night? And don’t say too much—somebody might be listening in.”
Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set Page 27