"I need to be alone now, Velma. I have an experiment to conduct upstairs and... I need time to think." Lockhart collected the money from the dresser and placed it in her hands. There must have been at least $300 dollars in total. "But sir," she protested. "Isn't this all of your money?"
Mr. Lockhart sighed. "There's always more to be had," he said, sadly. She wondered if he was one of those gentlemen (gentleman, ha!) who was so inexhaustibly rich that money only purchased sadness for him. She closed her hand around the money and with the other hand, she placed it on his chest. Her eyes searched him, for in that moment, she felt sorry for him. In spite of what happened, which she took ownership in her heart for her contribution, she felt for the strange young man, almost protective.
"Stay. Since you've been here, things have been better," she said.
Mr. Lockhart's eyes were glistening. "I feel the same way," he said, nodding.
"But this can't happen again," she said. "It was a moment of weakness for both of us. I'm sorry for it, you're sorry for it. That book there," she said, gesturing to the Bible. "It teaches grace and forgiveness, and I think that's what's needed here. But Lamont can't know. It would crush him. I love him, but... this can't happen again. Ever."
"Of course, Velma. Of course."
Chapter 6
There came a time when Velma, reflecting on those first days Mr. Lockhart came to live in their house, wondered about how it was she found out that the tenant was sneaking out of the house at an hour when no living creature was fit to be awake.
She kept returning to the day when she discovered that one of Mr. Lockhart's suits was missing. With the suit he wore when he first arrived, there had been three total. Two had arrived in the packages from what appeared to be a thrift store. The missing suit somehow trigger for Velma the hazy memory of hearing Mr. Lockhart descend the stairs at two in the morning and return at five. She had awoken from a dream just moments before hearing his familiar footfalls on the stairs, looking at the clock in their room to confirm the time.
She even remembered walking to the window, almost as if she was sleepwalking, and watching Mr. Lockhart step across the street and disappear into the dark recesses of the Charleston nighttime.
It was dark and quiet, yet Velma could not return to sleep. She listened to Lamont snore until she heard the soft click of the front door and Mr. Lockhart's footsteps slowly making their way up the stairs. The clock read five on the dot.
When the sun arose, Lamont awoke with a look of refreshment, stretching and embracing the sunlight streaming in from the window as he parted the curtains. Velma was the opposite. When she asked him to take care of the morning duties while she slept a little longer, he was genuinely concerned.
"You sick, honey?" he asked, walking to her side of the bed, placing his strong hand on her forehead ever so gently, feeling for fever. Feeling none, he placed his palm on the side of her face, tenderly stroking it as he sat beside her.
"I'm fine, I just had a hard time sleeping last night," she said.
"Something bothering you?"
"I think I just had a bad dream. It was probably because we ate late last night. Indigestion or something."
The reason for the late meal, and the possible indigestion, was Mr. Lockhart. Lamont and Velma had determined that their tenant had a quirk that had become painfully obvious to them. He did not eat meat. Actually, he preferred not to eat meat, although he would relent when it came to chicken. However, he offered the generous remainder of it to the couple and urged them to have it for their own dinner. Which they did.
"Well, you can't be getting sick today. I'm taking my lady out for a night on the town," Lamont said playfully, patting her arm as he rose and began to dress for the day.
Soon, Lamont left the house and would be gone for at least an hour, because he was a talkative kind amongst men of his own age and standing and would make every opportunity to gossip in the stores he visited.
Velma rose from her bed fully nude as usual, catching sight of herself in the bedroom mirror. She studied herself in the warm light from the window, turning from side to side. She admired the pendulous swing of her full breasts as she turned, her curvy hips and firm, muscular legs. She turned and looked over her shoulder, pleased that her ass was as round as it had been when she was younger.
Velma was not a vain woman, but she was pleased that her body had managed to retain its youthfulness as she aged. She was in her mid-30s, considered past her prime in this day and age, but what she saw made her feel empowered. The money that Lockhart had given her yesterday also filled her with excitement, for she knew that she could use a small portion of it for a new bottle of toilet water and perhaps a sachet of sandalwood.
Despite feeling content with herself and her financial windfall, she also felt tired and if pressed to disclose fully, dull, as one might after a tiring night. She found relief knowing that Mr. Lockhart wasn't likely to ring before noon.
But before long, the front door bell rang sharply, startling her in the midst of such quietness. Velma frowned. She was still looking at herself in the mirror, cupping her hands underneath her breasts and pushing them up and together. She slipped into the cotton dress she usually wore during the day, put her hair up in her maid cap and went to the door.
The doorbell ringing at this hour usually meant someone asking for charity or inquiring whether she knew the Good News. She went to the door with a scowl about to spring across her face, but once she opened it and took in the arrival, she immediately brightened. It was Carter.
He was huffing and puffing in the damp, ever foggy weather, as if he had jogged to their house.
"Carter?" she said, worried. "What is it? Come in, come in! Lamont is out, but he should be back shortly."
"Well, you know, Mrs. Barnes--"
"How many times have I told you? You call me Velma. We're practically family."
"Yes, right. I'm sorry, I've been up all night and I wanted to stop by and see how you and Lamont were doing before I went home to sleep."
"They have you working nights now?"
"Of course. The case."
It took her a moment before she remembered. The case. The Hangman Murders. Lamont kept her informed on what the papers were saying, although she listened with half interest. Her mind was on anything but.
She led Carter to the sitting room. Lamont had lit the fire before he left and now the room had a cozy warmth to it that seemed so strange to Velma after not having it for so long. She could tell from when she opened the door to Carter that outside it felt powerfully chilly for an October morning.
"Lord, it feels good in here, out of that God-awful cold!" Carter bellowed, sitting down in Lamont's chair.
Carter looked tired and cold to her and his skin looked worn, like that of someone who has spent far too much time outside in disagreeable weather.
"I'll make you a cup of coffee, Carter. And some toast, if you like," Velma said.
"Velma, that would be the most gracious thing anyone has ever done for me, given my current state." He smiled as he rubbed his hands together vigorously and aimed them at the fireplace.
"Velma," Carter said as she turned toward the kitchen door. "I had hoped to share this with you and Lamont this morning, but I'm afraid you'll have to share the news with him when he returns." Carter's smiled faded and he looked at the fire, the flames flickering in his eyes. "There was another murder last night."
"Oh dear Jesus, another?" Velma looked at Carter, feeling sorry for him and the poor soul whose life had been taken by that vile Hangman.
"It's a shame Lamont ain't here," she said, turning back to the kitchen. "He would have wanted to hear you give every single detail, down to the slightest fact."
She soon returned to the drawing room with coffee and hot buttered toast, only to find Carter asleep, his head resting against the back of Lamont's chair. Maternal instinct came over her and she set down the tray, retrieved the blanket from the sofa and covered dear Carter. He stirred slightly, ca
using a small leather notebook case to fall out of his coat pocket.
Velma retrieved the notebook and opened it. A nub of pencil was tethered on the inside and the unlined paper featured Carter's minuscule scrawl on nearly every page. He had even sketched what appeared to be items from the case. Hand-drawn maps of the streets where the murders took place, questions and answers with residents in the vicinity of the murders.
On the last page, she could make out Carter's handwriting about the murder just the night before. It was about the note the Hangman left last night.
There were also notes Carter had written down about his own thoughts: Could a cop have done this work? There are strange enough coppers on the force. A sailor? Someone who's simply fed up with the prostitutes and derelicts in the Battery?
"How long was I out?" Carter murmured, his eyes vague as he stirred awake. Velma clapped the notebook shut and handed it to Carter. "This fell out of your coat," she said, matter of fact. He nodded and took the notebook from her and pocketed it. "And not long. A few minutes."
"That's what I get for being up since three," Carter said. "I was the one who found the body last night."
"Oh, gracious," Velma said. "Three in the morning?"
"No, I was patrolling with one of the night watchmen and we heard a scuffle. I ran while he telephoned the precinct. I found the body... and the note. A neighbor said she saw someone slinking off right before I got there."
"Did they get a description?"
Carter shook his head. "Too much fog. But she said he was carrying a bag or a case of some kind."
"A case? What kind of case?" Velma felt a flutter in her belly, strange and sudden.
"Sounded more like a handbag," Carter said. "I interviewed the neighbor and she said he was tall, thin, shadowy and he had a bag or case in his hand as he fled."
"A case in his hand," Velma repeated. "That's odd."
"I suspected at first that he might have taken it from the body, but now I'm not so sure. After seeing the state of the body, I suspect..." He trailed off, seeing the coffee. He reached for it and took a tentative sip.
"Don't you want anything in it?" she asked.
"No, black is good with me."
"You suspect what?"
"Well, whatever the Hangman uses to dispatch his victims, he never leaves it behind, never tosses it in a trashcan down the street, like most criminals do. So, he must take his murder weapons with him."
Velma found her mind wandering, wondering. What had Mr. Lockhart done with his case? Had he lost it? Left it at his school?
"A description will go in the evening paper," Carter said. "Hopefully, that will give us more leads and we'll catch the monster. We're at the point now I think the townsfolk would be all too eager to conduct a citizen's arrest, so we can all get a decent night's sleep." Carter grabbed a piece of toast and stood, carefully placing the blanket on the sofa.
"I hope you don't think me rude for taking this and going, but my bed is calling my name," Carter said, flashing a smile again.
"Not at all. I wish Lamont had been home by now," Velma said.
"Maybe I'll stop by this evening or tomorrow on my way into the office? Thank you for the coffee and toast, Velma. You've made a new man out of me."
"Well, I dare say you've seen enough to un-man anyone, Carter."
"That's the truth," he said with a sigh. Velma patted him on the back as he made his exit.
Ten minutes later, Lamont arrived home. Velma wasted no time sharing the details Carter shared. She kept the notes from Carter's notebook to herself. Lamont wasn't satisfied with the level of her retelling, though. He kept pressing her for details that had not been shared. "You don't even know where it happened?" he asked, shaking his head.
"He didn't say, Lamont. I gave him some coffee and toast and the poor boy fell asleep in your chair for a few moments. When he awoke, he was so exhausted he drank one sip of coffee and took the toast with him so he could get home and get in bed. He'd been up most of the night!"
Lamont continued to shake his head in disgust.
"What are you so put out about? He said he'd stop back by tonight. You can ask him questions to your heart's content!" Velma said, her voice rising to a level that incurred a sharp look from her husband.
"Hush a minute," he said, listening. The paperboys were coming down the street, shouting about the latest discovery: The Hangman's fifth victim. Lamont felt his pocket for change and went out without another word to his wife. Velma took the things he had brought from the store into the kitchen.
The shouts of the newsboys likely served as an alarm for Mr. Lockhart for not long after Lamont had left, Lockhart's bell rang.
Chapter 7
Mr. Lockhart's bell rang once more as Velma put the finishing touches on his breakfast.
She exited the kitchen and made her way to the stairs. Lamont had returned with the paper under his arm, preparing to sit in the drawing room, when he saw Velma carrying her load.
"Hold on, hold on," Lamont said, an apologetic tone in his voice. "I'll help you, Velma," he said, taking the tray from her.
Velma remembered that Mr. Lockhart had said he preferred that only Velma wait on him, but she also remembered that the day before she had gone up by herself and wound up sucking Mr. Lockhart's cock until he had expelled every drop of semen in his body all over her face.
She didn't want a repeat of that, no matter how much she enjoyed the heated moments with the tenant. In fact, she had managed to put aside the thoughts of what transpired the day before, how she had been overcome with a strange passion like never before. It almost felt like it had been someone else and it was merely a sordid story told to her by someone she knew well. Her hand went to her lips absently as Lamont carried the tray up the stairs in front of her. She realized she hadn't kissed Lamont since yesterday and felt she needed to brush her teeth again, as if to wipe away all traces or record of the torrid event.
She said nothing until they reached the landing at the drawing room. "Wait," she whispered. "Give me the tray. Mr. Lockhart won't like you going in with me, remember?" Lamont paused, then nodded. "I'll open the door for you. No way you can manage the tray and the door."
His thoughtfulness in the moment touched her and she felt awkward and terrible for the way she had treated him, downstairs and yesterday while he was away. She wanted to say something, but the moment passed.
He opened the door for her and departed, silently gliding down the stairs as if he'd never been there to open the door to Lockhart's bedroom. Velma took a quiet, deep breath and entered with the tray.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, she felt a strange sensation, one of relief and an almost giddiness in her heart. It was a night-and-day change in her, from the moment before she entered, to now. Was there something in this room that bewitched her mood, altered her outlook?
Mr. Lockhart was seated, reading the Bible, the concordance close by.
For some reason fully unknown to Velma, she expected to see something different about Mr. Lockhart. In light of the thing that happened between them, she fully expected there to be tension or perhaps even some twinge of lusty longing in her, but it was as if it had never happened.
Lockhart appeared just as he did before. In fact, he looked up with a smile warmer than any previously, one that lit up his face that it seemed irradiated.
"Good morning, Velma," he said in a most genial manner. "I think I overslept, but I certainly feel like a new man now."
"I'm glad to hear that, sir," she responded. My grandma used to say, 'Rest is the best old-fashioned cure there is.'"
"Indeed," he said, setting the Bible and the Strong's concordance on the bed. Velma laid the tray down and began to set out its contents on the table.
"Velma, was someone with you outside the door just a moment ago?" Lockhart asked.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Barnes helped me with the tray," she said.
"Ah. I feel I do nothing but give you trouble," he said sadly.
"No,
sir. Not at all. In fact, Lamont and I have said that we've never had such a tenant that gave us as little trouble as you."
"You're kind. I know that I must seem awfully strange to you... and your husband. I know that the past few days have been rather bizarre."
She knew what he meant without looking at him. He looked at her closely, as if waiting for her to dismiss his comment or agree. When no reply came, he gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder. Velma tensed, pausing in her laying out his breakfast only momentarily.
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