Angel Food and Devil Dogs - A Maggie Gale Mystery

by Liz Bradbury

  “This unit has its own boundless talents,” she said as she twisted the dial again. A pulsating cht - cht - cht, of water throbbed out of the head. “Relax, Maggie, you’ll enjoy this.”

  She spread my knees apart. Before I could react, she aimed the water at the area just below my navel, then let the stream drop slowly toward a more sensitive place. She pushed against my thighs, urging me open fully, then ran the pulsing current to its mark.

  I’d never felt anything like it, hard, vibrating, almost painful, relentless stimulation, narrowly focused just where I needed it. I squirmed and shifted as she pressed the nozzle against me and dialed the control to speed the pulse. I thrust my head back into the tile corner, bracing myself for the volcanic climax that was erupting in my body.

  She dialed the pulse to slow, then drew the showerhead away as I regained my senses. She rubbed a soapy hand slowly between my legs easing my shuddering gasps. I leaned my head back soothed by her touch, but her fingers explored, finding the faint beginnings of another orgasm. She began teasing it to the surface, still holding me wide open.

  Sooner than I could have imaged possible, I was ready again. This time she held the showerhead in place beginning with a very gentle stream. She took her time dialing it to a pounding pulse, while she worked on other sensitive areas with her free hand. As I felt the waves of sensation flow through me, the sound I made when I came echoed off the tile walls like an explosion.

  After a few minutes of incoherent bliss I realized that while my need for her had been satisfied, I wanted her even more.

  “It’s time for part two of this adventure, don’t you think,” I said when I could finally speak, then pulling her to me I added, “you must be so ready for this.” She nodded slightly, her half smile bewitchingly inviting.

  I moved her around and guided her onto the corner bench. I flipped the metal hose, the showerhead slid into my grasp. Kneeling before her, I lifted one of her legs so the inside of her knee rested on my shoulder.

  Dialing the showerhead to hard pulse with my thumb, I reached with my free hand to make her ready. Teasing her, I let the jet of water play against the inner surfaces of her thighs, but her fingers twisting unconsciously in my hair let me know she couldn’t wait any longer. Holding her firmly, I did what she’d done to me. She began to climax almost immediately, gasping and arching as I pressed the spray closer.

  “There, yes,” she moaned, then voicing a cry of complete release, she finally slipped off the bench into my arms, ravenously kissing me as waves of pleasure continued to make her tremble.

  Druckenmacher had used a stream of water to scare Mickey and wash away evidence after a horrible murder. We’d used a stream of water to make love. Everything can seem sordid if you let it. Or, you can celebrate the simplicity of joy by firmly separating it from cruelty. After all, what’s more life-affirming than the intimate sharing of sexual love?

  *********

  We lay in the bed under the covers, dry now, but still a little pruney, even after the body oil. “That was fun,” sighed Kathryn.

  “That was an understatement,” I said languidly. “Did I mention that there’s a security camera in the shower?”

  “Well, I hope it caught everything.”

  “Would it spoil the moment to say I’m rabidly hungry?”

  “For more sex?” asked Kathryn lifting her head from my shoulder.

  “For pizza.”

  “Me too! It’s still early, I’ll order it,” said Kathryn finding her cell phone and calling for a delivery as she sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s this bruise?” said Kathryn touching the top of my hip, just to the left of my navel, “Did I do that to you?”

  I looked down at the half-dollar-sized black and blue bruise. “Huh, I don’t know, maybe I bumped myself on the chinning bar. It doesn’t hurt though.” I was fibbing. It was painfully tender, but I didn’t want to seem like a wuss to my girlfriend.

  We pulled on clothes. A few minutes later the bell rang, and Kathryn buzzed the delivery person up. I recognized Donna the regular delivery woman carrying the pizza box. She took a long look at me, eyeing my bare feet, then said something I didn’t catch as Kathryn was paying her.

  I filled wine glasses and got a stack of napkins. We sat in front of the fireplace and each took a piece of the pie.

  “What did Donna say to you?” I asked.

  “Just two words.”

  “Let me guess... ‘Nice catch?’ or maybe... ‘Hot babe?’”

  “Nope, she said, ‘Bout time!’” said Kathryn laughing.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” I said laughing along. “News has traveled from Thailand to Mexico to Italy in just two days.”

  “And then there’s the Dakota,” said Kathryn starting another piece.

  “Kathryn, I’ve had more satisfaction with you in three days than I’ve had in the last... ten years all put together. You’re wonderful. Will it be like this every night?”

  “Sure...” she yawned, “every single night... from now on. Are you up to it?”

  “I’m game if you are,” I said cheerfully. “Shall we do the whole thing over again right now?”

  She looked up at me in amazement, then saw I was smiling devilishly.

  She said, “If you really want to do it all again, I’ll accommodate you to the best of my ability, but in all earnestness, right now I’d like to just fall asleep in your arms... I have to admit... I’m knackered.” Kathryn snuggled up to me, sighing with contentment. I stroked her hair and kissed her cheek.

  “Me too, as soon as I finish another piece of pizza,” I yawned.

  In bed soon after, we both drifted off easily. It was warm and relaxing at first. There’s nothing like great sex to produce an overwhelming sense of triumphant, self-assured, well-being that eases into rapturous sleep. Good pizza and wine didn’t hurt either. I floated in nirvana for what seemed like a long time... but then a dam burst. Something that had been churning in a distant corner of my mind all day began to grow into a nagging idea just out of my reach. Suddenly the dream parade began.

  The Dream:

  I was at a door trying to turn the knob, but the door wouldn’t open. Walking down a hall behind me was a man with a white cane. He was holding a can of elbow pasta. When I looked up at his face he had no features other than a mouth full of macaroni that was flooding out like vomit.

  I ran down the stairs, bumping into Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann. She had a live fox draped over her head with its tail curved around her neck. The fox looked rabid; it was gnawing her just above her collar, causing bright red blood to flow over her shoulders. I screamed, but no sound came out.

  Jimmy Harmon raised his hand to slap me, but a disembodied arm held him back. Behind it, a door opened and three men stepped into the room. One was Max Bouchet in a wet, sooty pinstripe suit. One was Leo Getty wearing a bumpy purple robe and a football helmet, and the third was Skylar Carvelle with a bloody glass paperweight stuck in his head.

  The three men were joined by Jimmy Harmon. Each man removed something from his pocket and put it in a pile on a desk. The pile became a small silver gun, which burst into flames. Daniel Cohen appeared with a bucket of water and doused it out. Leo Getty looked over his shoulder at the wall behind him where empty picture frames hung. He took one off the wall. Christine Jorgensen took it from him and looked at it closely, though there was nothing in it.

  Miranda Juarez stood one step behind Bouchet. She threw a wad of paper money over her shoulder in a perfect arc behind. Shel Druckenmacher leaned through a door, he was covered with sand. He caught the money with a bloody hand, then darted back out of view.

  Jimmy Harmon pulled some sheet music out of his sleeve and tried to walk away with it. Behind him was Carl Rasmus again, with a cane and dark glasses. Next to Carl was Kathryn. Carl grabbed the music from Jimmy as Kathryn watched. Jimmy grabbed it back.

  A phone rang. Carl tried to answer it but his mouth was still full of macaroni. He spat it out on the desk. It landed in
a disgusting mass on a computer keyboard. He answered the phone. Carl walked to the window and fell out. Kathryn looked after him with tears in her eyes.

  Connie Robinson came in running. She picked up something large that became a huge stack of dishes. A piano sped by her through some French windows, crashing to the ground. I looked out and saw a blind man’s body crumpled on the sidewalk in a fetal position, illuminated by a doorway light, which blinked once and fizzled out.

  Now Connie was holding a package of three Devil Dogs. She took one out of the pack, but another appeared in its place. It happened over and over, then morphed into a can of tennis balls. She handed the can to Kathryn who dropped it because it had grown into a grotesquely large package of Cafalatte bottles. The three bottles falling to the floor sounded like a chunk of cement hitting the sidewalk.

  Kathryn put her hand to her neck, blood seeped through her fingers running down both shoulders. I tried to go to her but I couldn’t move my feet. Kathryn didn’t seem concerned about herself. She was looking at my stomach with profound fear. I looked down. There, stuck in my side, was a knife just above my left hip. The bloodless wound seemed huge. I grasped the handle of the knife and pulled it out. It turned into a small gun. The disembodied hand took it from me and aimed it at Kathryn. I tried to grab it back but I couldn’t move fast enough. The gun went off. I screamed.

  I bolted upright in bed, dripping with sweat. Kathryn sat up and put a protective arm around me.

  “Maggie, what is it?”

  I turned and carefully touched her neck. It was smooth and porcelain white. The image of her bleeding faded from my mind. I held up my hand to stop her from speaking. Think... I shook my head to make the pieces fall into place faster, but they were taking their own sweet time. Suddenly, I got a hold of one important piece that slapped me in the face and finished one section of the puzzle.

  Carl with pasta in his mouth. Macaroni... macaroni’s can, “Oh shit, of course,” I said out loud.

  I jumped out of bed and ran to get Carl’s laptop computer. I brought it back into the bedroom and booted it up. I opened the file with all Carl’s programs in it. I selected the Voice Transcription System program, and opened the Macro files. I scanned down the list.

  “Look, look,” I said to Kathryn, turning the screen toward her and pointing.

  “Oh my God,” she said staring at the screen. She turned to look at me; her eyes were filled with angry tears. “Who was it? Damn it, who did it?”

  “I don’t know, um... Connie and Miranda are long shots.”

  “So... that leaves Jimmy, Leo and Rowlina as those most likely?” she pondered, “Which one?”

  I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure. There was something kicking a part of my brain. I knew I had the information to figure this out, but I couldn’t fit the puzzle together yet. The solution was on its way though, and for some reason it scared the shit out of me.

  “Maggie, you think it was Jimmy don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer; instead I said, “It’s time to push the envelope.”

  I needed to call Bouchet. I got out of bed and went to get dressed. It was 2:00 AM, but I didn’t care. I had firm evidence that Carl was murdered and I needed to tweak the killer out into the light of day. I was working on a plan to make that happen and Bouchet was going to have to play a big part. I was trying to figure out the rest of the dream too, but like so many dreams that fade into dawn, the images were drifting away.

  Bouchet was groggy when he answered, but snapped to alertness when I told him I’d found the key to Carl’s suicide note. As I was talking to him I noticed that Kathryn had drawn on her robe and was pacing around the bedroom. She seemed racked with emotion. An assortment of expressions crossed her face. Even after I’d disconnected with Bouchet, I watched her. She seemed both enraged and deeply confused.

  “Kathryn?”

  She stopped abruptly and turned and sat on the bed.

  “Maggie, you’re talking about prodding a rattlesnake in a shallow hole. You’re not even sure who it is. What are you going to do? How can you be safe? This person is a killer with a gun...”

  “Kathryn,” I began. This was just what I’d been talking about earlier in the evening. When the case was abstract to her, it could be simply exciting, but now that all the players were people she knew...

  “No, don’t say anything,” she said standing up, beginning to pace again, “I have to figure out exactly how I feel about this.”

  I’d been dealing with crime for more than 15 years. I’d had time to grow a thick skin, to get used to it, but this was all new to Kathryn. Kathryn might not be able to handle this.

  ***********

  On my way to Bouchet’s house, I was still worrying about the effect this was all having on Kathryn. When I was leaving she’d agreed that we’d talk about it later, but she seemed so distracted. Maybe we would talk about it all night. Or maybe, when I got home... she’d be gone. The possibility squeezed my chest and brought tears to my eyes. I realized at that moment, I was falling in love with Dr. Kathryn Anthony and that if I lost her, it would break my heart.

  Chapter 39

  It was Monday morning. I was tired but keenly alert. The adrenalin that pumps through cops’ veins when they’re on the hunt was coursing through mine. Bouchet and I had worked out a plan. It was fairly simple. He’d agreed to call an emergency meeting of the Tenure Committee, complete with Bart Edgar, Miranda Juarez and Connie Robinson at 10:00 AM. He was to insist. Everybody had to be there, except Georgia Smith who was still in the hospital.

  The suspects would be followed after the meeting by the campus security team. I really wanted to get Fenchester Security to give me a few operatives to handle the tails, but there wasn’t time to get them in place. I’d have to use Bouchet’s people.

  I was wearing a bulletproof vest. Really, I was. One of those ultra light Kevlar ones. Since the killer only had a 22mm, the vest would stop it... but of course, the bullet would have to hit me in the vest. I tried not to think about that too hard. I also tried not to think about Kathryn’s reaction to the whole thing. She hadn’t minced words. She’d said flatly that it was a stupid plan. She had a point. It certainly was a snake prodder.

  She and I rode up in the Administration Building elevator together. Leo Getty, Jimmy Harmon, and Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann were all in the elevator with us.

  Rowlina touched Kathryn’s arm, “I must speak to you sometime very soon,” she whispered desperately. Kathryn nodded to her.

  Kathryn paid little attention to me but she was deeply concerned about Jimmy. She desperately wanted to believe he was not the killer. She tried in vain to chat with him about Carl’s music at the service, hoping to hear innocence in his voice. He just grunted. Leo affably mentioned a minor glitch in his grant application. Kathryn said generously “Leo, I know all about the whole situation. I’ll get to you later today. I have to...”

  The elevator doors opened. Max Bouchet, who was standing in the hallway, interrupted Kathryn and asked her to come into his office. I went directly to the small conference room with Carl’s laptop under my arm and sat near the door.

  The small conference room was about half the size of the large conference room down the hall, which was still under restoration. It had a good-sized table with about ten chairs around it. No drinks this time.

  Dan Cohen was already seated at the table. He smiled and nodded at me. Jimmy Harmon came in and sat down. He placed a stack of papers on the table and stared blankly at them. Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann found a chair at the far end of the room and began nervously fidgeting with a note pad.

  Bart Edgar was already seated. He began to nod his head, his shaggy blond hair flying in all directions. He said, “I’m, ah, not really here,” and then giggled. I took that to mean that he was still officially out on leave. He held his bandaged hand in the air in the most conspicuous way possible. In fact, he kept bumping his head into it, as though he had no idea it was there. Maybe now would be a good time to grab
him around the neck and squeeze until he told me what happened right before the bomb went off. I decided to do that after the meeting, unless I had a better idea.

  Leo Getty came in, no longer bluff and personable. He said nothing to anyone. He hefted his briefcase on the table and sat down, looking blankly around the room. If Jimmy, Leo and Rowlina were indeed the prime suspects, they sure as hell were playing their parts to the hilt. These were three people who couldn’t have looked more guilty.

  Amanda Knightbridge glided in with an air of quiet celebration. When she looked directly at me, her expression of pleasant expectation turned to concern. She opened her mouth to say something to me, but I shook my head slightly at her. Her face closed up. Connie Robinson and Miranda Juarez came in and sat down. Connie looked nervous, but not nearly as much as she had when I’d seen her on Friday. Compared to most of the rest of the people around the table, she was positively serene. Miranda was totally inscrutable. Having regained her composure after our little talk, she seemed even more emotionless than ever, but tightly wound.

  Max Bouchet walked directly to me with a worried face. He leaned over to whisper something in my ear, amazingly for once modulating his voice so the others could not hear.

  Then he said in a clear voice, “I’ve received a very serious e-mail I think you should see.” He put a hard copy of it in front of me. In the subject line was my name and business title. The sender line said:

  K.Anthony@Irwin.edu

  The text said:

  To: President Max Bouchet

  From: Kathryn Anthony Ph.D

  Dear President Bouchet,

  It is a concern to me that the current investigation into the death of Carl Rasmus, is being conducted by Maggie Gale Investigations. While I am sure that Miss Gale is fully capable of investigating minor matters for the college, situations that are like this are too serious and dangerous to be handled by her alone.

  As evidence of that, I call to your attention to Miss Gale’s risky effort in the fire last Tuesday. Everyone who recalls her efforts to rescue Bart Edgar while he was laying on the floor in the burning conference room, must admit that her attempts, while brave, were needlessly dangerous.