Any color in Velma's face drained.
"Velma, are you feeling all right?" Delia asked. Lamont looked at his wife, stashing the paper on his chair as he went to his wife.
"Delia, open the window," he said. His daughter rushed to comply.
Lamont helped Velma to her chair. "Velma? What's wrong?"
As Delia opened the window, the newsboys could be heard all the more clearly: "Gruesome double murder at First Baptist. The Hangman leaves a clue!"
Velma began laughing, almost helplessly.
"Velma?" Lamont wasn't sure what was happening.
"Daddy, what's wrong with her?" She looked worried and scared.
"Go get a glass of water from the kitchen," Lamont said, pointing to the kitchen door.
Velma sighed and slumped to the floor, fainting. Lamont yelled, "Delia, get a washcloth and wet it in cold water!"
Delia did as she was asked. Within moments, she was back with the cool cloth. She was calm, a trait that Lamont noticed even in this dire predicament.
"Should I look for brandy?" Delia asked. It was a remedy her grandma often used in such situations.
Lamont nodded no, for he knew Velma detested brandy. Wine was one thing; liquor another.
"Has this happened before?" Delia asked.
"No. We've been going through a fairly rough patch with income and the house until recently. I think it's catching up with her."
Velma stirred, sitting up and opening her eyes. She checked to see if her hair was still in place. One tear in each eye trickled down her face. "Stop your worrying. I'm fine. Just... I'm fine."
She pulled herself up with the help of the chair and returned to her feet. "It's because you haven't been eating enough. You've been starving yourself until our dinner date and now it's put you right off yourself," Lamont chided.
Delia looked at them. "Daddy, I didn't know you all had a bad patch. I wish you had told me. I could have gotten Gramma to help." Lamont clucked his tongue at the thought. "It's fine now, baby girl. We're fine now, thanks to Mr. Lockhart."
"Yes," Velma said, her voice suddenly taking on a odd tone. "Yes, we're fine now, thanks to Mr. Lockhart." She sat in her chair again. "I just need a moment to get my bearings back."
Delia turned to Lamont and whispered, "Should we call a doctor?"
"No doctor," Velma said, as if she could read their minds. "Nope."
Mr. Lockhart's bell interrupted further conversation. For a moment, it seemed as if all noise -- inside and outside the house -- had ceased.
Velma rose from her chair, shivering slightly but she managed to regain her composure. Lamont stood, stunned by what he was witnessing.
"I'll go upstairs," she said, faltering slightly.
"Oh, no you won't, woman," Lamont said. "You'll sit right down and drink some water."
Delia had returned with the water glass. Lamont took it from her and held it before Velma.
Velma shook her head. "Delia, be a dear and check on the pot roast in the oven. And if you could cut up those carrots and potatoes and add them in with the onions, I'd appreciate it."
Velma took to the stairs, her legs as if they were made out of rubber bands. She gripped the railing to steady herself. Lamont stood in the hall to watch her ascend. She looked back at him and nodded, motioning him to go back. After a moment, her strength returned and she made it to the top of the stairs.
Reaching the drawing room door, she knocked.
"I'm not feeling well, Velma," Mr. Lockhart said from behind the bedroom door. She turned to his voice. "I think I'm coming down with a cold. Would you mind bringing me some tea with honey and lemon and leave it outside my door?"
"Of course. Are you hungry at all, sir?"
"No. Just the tea, honey and lemon," he said.
Velma turned and went back downstairs. She felt almost normal by the time she made it to the kitchen. She prepared the tea and placed it at the bedroom door. "Your tea is ready, Mr. Lockhart," she said, refusing to call him by his first name.
During their late lunch, Velma, Lamont and Delia talked about where she should sleep in the house. Lamont suggested the bed on the third floor, but Velma immediately suggested that Delia sleep with her and Lamont take the third-floor bedroom.
Lamont seemed puzzled by this suggestion, but he agreed. "You're probably right. It's awfully lonesome up there," he said, also thinking that he wasn't entirely sure about the idea of having Delia so close to the tenant Mr. Lockhart. He seemed a gentleman, but Lamont was old enough to know that appearances can always be deceiving. Better safe than sorry. Were something to happen to Delia, he was certain her grandmother would never let him see her again.
Delia was a sweet girl. She loved the city and she wanted to make the most of her time with her father and Velma. "I'll clean up. Don't bother yourself coming downstairs. I've got it all in hand," she said, full of youthful cheer. She disappeared into the kitchen.
Lamont found himself pacing the room. Now, it was Velma's turn to look at her spouse with concern. "Didn't you get a paper?" she asked, wondering what in the world the man might be contemplating.
"Yes," he said. "But I threw it away. I didn't want you upset again."
"It was all that shouting in the street, right before I... it's just madness," she said. Lamont and Delia both looked at her. "I mean madness out there. All the yelling, the newspapers, this dreadful business with those..." she trailed off, looking down at her lap.
Lamont stared at Velma with concern. He recalled an earlier paper mentioning how women in Charleston had become on edge, refusing to go out or be alone for any length of time, as all of the Hangman's victims were women. Granted, they were women of ill repute, but women nonetheless.
Still, Lamont wondered... did her anxiety and nervous laughter have anything to do with something other than the shouting outside the house?
"So you know what they were yelling about outside?" Lamont asked gently.
Velma looked at him, then, "Yes. It's another murder, isn't it?"
"Two. Two murders," Lamont said.
Velma turned pale again. Lamont thought she was going to have a repeat episode. "Two?" she said. "Two more? That's even worse news!"
"Velma," Lamont said, taking to her side. "Don't give it another thought. We don't need to talk about it. I think this terrible business is taking a toll on you and I won't have it any more in this house."
"Who? Who won't you have in this house?"
Lamont turned his head aside, looking at her from an angle. "Not who, Velma. What. The talk about this Hangman. Perhaps you should lie down for a little while."
"No. I want to talk about it," Velma said, almost hysterical.
Lamont put his arm around Velma, drawing close.
"I... want you..." Velma said.
"Shh, honey. Let me get you to the bed," Lamont said.
"Only if you're going to fuck me, Lamont," she said.
Again, Lamont looked at her as if she were a stranger. "Velma?"
"I mean it. I want you to fuck me like you've never fucked me before," Velma said, her voice rising enough that Lamont motioned her for silence.
"My daughter is in the kitchen. She doesn't need to be hearing this kind of talk," Lamont said. He scooped Velma up from her chair and walked her into the hall. "Delia, Velma's going to lie down for a moment. Just finish up the cleaning and I'll be back in a few moments," he said in his booming voice.
"All right, Daddy," her voice came back from behind the kitchen door. "Do you need any help?"
"No, no. Just stay in the kitchen," he said, one arm around Velma and the other holding her hand.
"Don't you want to fuck me, Lamont?"
"Sweetheart, you need to lie down for a little while. We can talk about that later tonight."
"You can fuck me tonight too. All you want. Just..."
They reached the bedroom door. Lamont swung it open and lifted Velma in his arms, placing her gently on the bed. She seemed almost feverish by this point.
&nbs
p; "I just need it, right now. I feel something coming over me and I need..." she said, her hand running down the front of his shirt until it found what it was looking for directly underneath his belt. She gripped his crotch, finding his penis and rubbing it. Lamont took her hand away gently and stepped back. "Velma, do I need to call Dr. Pritchett? Because you are not yourself right now."
"No, I don't need Dr. Pritchett fucking me. I need my husband Lamont fucking me. I'll suck your cock first, just like I did..." She began to cry, sobbing.
Lamont sat on the edge of the bed as Velma threw her arms around him and held him close.
"Velma? What..." was all he could manage as she cried.
"I just realized what a terrible wife I've been to you," she said, her breath hitching between every few words. "Before Mr. Lockhart came here, and even since, I've treated you as less than my husband."
"That's nonsense. I know you love me, woman. And I love you. Remember what that preacher said? 'For richer or poorer.' That's the promise I made you. I loved you when we had nothing. I love you now that we have plenty. I believe that Mr. Lockhart was a godsend to us. A strange godsend, but one nevertheless. Here, just lay your head down. I'll bring you something to help you sleep."
"But Mr. Lockhart," she protested, although her body wasn't so willing.
"I'll take care of him," Lamont said. "Besides, you said he wasn't feeling well, so he'll probably sleep like you."
"Promise me something," she said.
Lamont nodded.
"Promise me you'll fuck me good tonight."
"I aim to please, my wife," he said, kissing her on the forehead.
"Lamont," Velma said, her voice on the edge of sleep. "Where were those two murders?"
"Never you mind that," he said. "Get some rest. I'm sure Carter will be by tonight and can fill us in then."
"But wasn't there something... about a clue?"
Lamont paused. He so wanted to share the details, but he hesitated. Finally, "Yes. They may finally be able to catch this Hangman after all. I'll be back in a few minutes, dear."
Velma rolled over in the bed, looking out the window into the gray sky. Wisps of fog snaked past the glass and soon, Velma knew no more.
Chapter 8
"I hope you're feeling better, sir," Velma said when she took Mr. Lockhart's tray. From the look of the tray, his appetite was ravenous. Nothing was left. Normally, he would only pick at the tray, at best.
Still, his appetite was a great deal better than Velma's. She had barely touched her lunch downstairs, all the while Lamont and Delia looking at her with worry.
"No, actually I don't, Velma," Mr. Lockhart said. "And I wish you would call me Tom." He sighed and reclined on the bed. He was dressed in badly wrinkled bedclothes. "I'm very tired. The noises outside keep waking me up. All that shouting... so many sounds. Is this neighborhood usually this noisy?"
"No, sir, Thomas," Velma said. "Sir, it's usually a very quiet place. But with..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "You probably have a chill," she blurted. "If I was you, I would stay in today, nice and quiet. There are a lot of rowdy folk out and about." There was a tone in Velma's voice, one of warning, of protection even, enough that Mr. Lockhart looked up at Velma, sizing her with his bright, large eyes.
"Yes, that sounds like a splendid idea. I can spend time reading Scripture today," he said.
"Is there anything else I can bring you? Do for you?" she asked. She felt herself calming down. It was strange that in Mr. Lockhart's presence, she felt more comfortable as opposed to her constant turmoil when she was downstairs with Lamont and Delia.
Mr. Lockhart was kind, gentle and she found his appearance pleasing. And then there was their torrid encounter only days before. Velma felt that familiar tingling in her body at the thought of what she and Mr. Lockhart had done.
In that moment, she felt she wanted nothing more than to tear off her clothes and mount Mr. Lockhart, taking him inside her until she screamed with pleasure.
Mr. Lockhart! A handsome gentleman who possessed a body as if it were carved from the finest marble. He seemed entirely unable to harm a soul. Granted, he was eccentric, but Velma had seen eccentrics come and go in her life. He was, she was certain in her soul, harmless mostly.
"Well, I'll be back in about half an hour to check on you. Please do stay in bed and rest today. It's terrible weather outside. If you need anything, anything at all... Mr. Barnes or I can go out and get it for you."
Mr. Lockhart watched Velma as she spoke. His eyes traced her face and her fine figure. His face relaxed and for a moment, Velma was worried that he was reading her mind, like before, like when she took him in her mouth... she shook her head as if to cast off the thought.
"Velma," Mr. Lockhart said. "Do you think when you come back up here, you could stay with me while Mr. Barnes goes out to pick up some things for me?"
"I--think that would be... certainly. What do you need for Mr. Barnes to get for you?"
"I'll draw up a list and have it for you in half an hour. Thank you, Velma."
--------------
At exactly four o'clock the doorbell rang. Velma, Lamont and Delia were in the front room, talking about Delia's grandmother and her ornery ways.
"I wonder who that is," Lamont said, rising from his seat. "Surely it ain't Carter just yet."
"I'll go," Velma said, motioning for Lamont to return to his seat. "Don't want no strangers in here."
But there were no strangers. Velma gave a glad sigh of relief when she saw it was Carter. "Carter! We didn't think we'd see you. Come in."
Carter stepped into the foyer, looking sheepish as he removed his hat, gripping it with both hands.
"I thought Mr. Barnes would want to know--" Carter began before he was whisked out of the foyer and into the front room. Velma didn't want Mr. Lockhart hearing anything Carter might have to say about his latest work.
"Not so loud, shut," Velma said, patting Carter's arm. "Our tenant is feeling ill today. He's got a terrible cold and hasn't been able to leave the house for days."
Velma couldn't believe she was lying to Carter in such a matter-of-fact way. For all her life, she held a strong line between holding back the truth and uttering a bald-faced lie. And here she was, lying on Mr. Lockhart's behalf. Why? To preserve the good fortune she and Lamont had received from Mr. Lockhart's largesse? Or was there another reason, one still lurking in the depths of her mind that she refused to acknowledge? Or maybe it was because she wanted Mr. Lockhart and she would do whatever she could to preserve his state so that eventually, she could have him all to herself.
Regardless of her inner turmoil, Carter paid no attention to her comments. "Has Miss Delia arrived yet?" he asked, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. Velma nodded and smiled. As Carter turned toward the front room door, Velma's smile dropped off her face.
Carter went into the front room where Lamont and Delia sat. "Carter," Lamont said with a big grin as he rose. "I don't suppose you have any good news for us?"
"Not yet," Carter said, glancing at Delia. "But we're closer than ever before, if you can believe it. The department has a description of the perpetrator and they've found the weapon he's been using on those poor victims."
Lamont could barely contain himself. "Is that a fact? What's the weapon? Are they sure it's the Hangman's?"
Carter glanced at Delia again before answering. "Well, they're not entirely sure yet, but it's most likely. Once our boys have had a chance to look it over and match it against some of his... previous work... they'll know for certain."
Velma quietly entered behind Carter and stood off to the side without drawing unwanted attention to herself.
"And you said a description?" Lamont said. "You all have a description of the Hangman?"
"Well, we haven't given it out to the public yet, but the commissioner gave us the details earlier." Carter fished into his coat pocket, glancing occasionally at Delia who had demurred slightly at his looks. Lamont noticed but was too eager for the H
angman news.
Carter removed a piece of paper from his coat and read from it:
"White male, approximately 30 years of age, thin figure, height approximately 5 feet, 10 inches. Dark complexion. No facial hair. Wearing a black long coat, black felt hat, white shirt and a red tie. Carrying a newspaper. Very respectable in appearance."
Velma let out a quiet, slow sigh of relief.
"Miss Delia," Carter said, turning to her quite deliberately, "if you know any nice young fella answering to that description, you just let me know and you'll earn a reward of five hundred dollars."
Sugar in Her Bowl Page 9