"Yes, it's been a while. This is Lamont's daughter, Delia. And this is my tenant, Mr. Lockhart."
Mr. Lockhart looked away at the nearby paintings. Delia joined him.
Velma felt uneasy about Delia in Mr. Lockhart's company. She preferred to keep her stepdaughter in plain sight. As Mr. Perkins prattled on about the past and about Lamont, Velma noticed Mr. Lockhart walking with the young girl down the other side of the gallery.
"It's a busy day here, today, let me tell you," Mr. Perkins said to Velma. "We've got a special guest. Do you know John Carney?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to know him actually. He's new to Charleston. He's the new commissioner of police."
Velma looked at Mr. Perkins thoughtfully.
It occurred to him that Velma looked awfully tired. She had been quite a looker back then. No doubt she'd forgotten it, but Velma had once given Mr. Perkins a handjob when the two of them worked in one of the many fancy homes in Charleston. They had finished work late and shared some of the moonshine Mr. Perkins' uncle made out in the swamp.
One thing after another and Velma was working his pole vigorously until he came all over her hand, something that Mr. Perkins had never forgotten about in all these years. He married and widowed over the years, but he never forgot the sight of Velma stroking his cock as he felt up her large breasts.
Now, she looked worn out. No denying she was still a beautiful lady, but something had been eating at her over the years, threatening to leave a husk in its wake.
A group of patrons, talking and laughing, moved into the gallery. Velma looked at them nervously. She wondered which one was the new commissioner. She assumed it was the man in the center of the group: tall, muscular and handsome. He appeared to be of military leanings. Surely this was the new face of law enforcement in Charleston.
One of the women in the group spoke up amongst the chatter, "But John, what about these terrible murders here in Charleston? Surely, the murderer will be caught?" The rest of the group hushed.
"Caught? Yes. Executed. No." John Carney, the new commissioner of police, seemed exact in his words. "I think we'll catch him soon, because I think we've narrowed it down as to who the Hangman really is."
Several of the group's members uttered surprise and shock at such a declaration.
"Then what haven't you caught him yet?" the woman who had spoken up earlier insisted.
"We don't know where he is. That's different from who he is. Well, I should say that we have a very strong idea of who this murderer is."
Taking a moment to look at those in the group, the commissioner continued. "Four killings similar to those here in Charleston were committed five years ago: two in Wilmington and two in Myrtle Beach. There were... patterns... in the killings that led authorities to conclude the same killer was involved. The killer was caught in the act on the fourth killing. I actually saw the man being brought in to the precinct. He was a sad, pitiful creature. Clearly out of his mind. He suffered from a severe form of religious mania.
"About a month ago, this lunatic escaped from an asylum outside Columbia. It was quite an ingenious feat on his part. He even stole the asylum workers' wages before escaping. Rather large sum of money."
Carney turned his attention to the paintings in the gallery, trying to end the question and answer time in his group.
Velma had heard it all. She felt as if his words had turned her into a pillar of salt.
As Carney approached some of the nearby portraits, Velma saw that it was bringing Mr. Lockhart and Delia on a direct course with Carney and his crew.
Suddenly, Mr. Lockhart turned to one side, putting his back to the commissioner. His face went pale and Velma could see anger and rage spilling across his face in waves. Clearly, he was trying to maintain his composure.
To Velma's relief, Carney and his friends passed Mr. Lockhart and Delia with little notice. Poor Delia was oblivious to it all as she looked from painting to painting, not so much interested in them as she was in being in a place where adults went for culture.
"Velma, please do tell Lamont I said--" Mr. Perkins began.
"Thank you, Mr. Perkins. I shall. Good-bye."
Velma walked toward Delia.
"Velma, may I trouble you for a moment?" Mr. Lockhart hissed at Velma. She nodded cautiously and took a slow step toward him.
Once she was close to him, he bared his teeth and whispered angrily, "Don't think you can escape what you've done here today. I trusted you, Velma, and this is how you repay me. You betrayed me. But no matter, for I am protected by the divine and there is still much for me to do."
He took a step from her, never taking his eyes off her. "Your end will be as bitter as the waters of Wormwood and as sharp as a two-edged blade. Your feet will take you down to your death and your steps deliver you to hell."
His volume never rose above a level where anyone but Velma could hear him. Even as he spoke these vile things, he kept looking around, sizing up an exit for himself.
His eyes settled on a small sign near a curtain. It said: EXIT.
Velma thought he was going to make a break for the exit, but he didn't. Instead, Mr. Lockhart walked over to Mr. Perkins and said, "I'm sorry, but I feel ill. Would you mind showing me the quickest exit from here? I don't want to faint or become sick in front of my company."
Mr. Lockhart's left hand placed money in Mr. Perkins' hand. "May I use the emergency exit over there?"
Mr. Perkins glanced at the money and then nodded. "Yes, sir. Absolutely." He hesitated for a moment. He looked over at Daisy, who was still smiling, oblivious. He then looked at Velma, who looked even more pale and ill herself. "Just remember you'll have to come around to the front if you want to re-enter. That exit only opens one way," he said to Mr. Lockhart.
"Of course, thank you," Mr. Lockhart said quickly. "Thank you very much."
Mr. Perkins escorted Mr. Lockhart over to the exit, parted the curtain and popped open the door. Light spilled in and momentarily blinded Mr. Lockhart. "Thank you again," Mr. Lockhart said, passing Mr. Perkins quickly.
There was an metal stairway that led to a single door on the floor level. No doubt it went to the side street between the museum and the building next to it.
Once he reached the side street, a wave of nausea came over Mr. Lockhart. He felt as if he ran into the street and let whatever vehicle strike him down would finally give him the rest he desperately sought.
Then the thought of Velma came to him and the rage returned. How could she have done this to him? Led him to the slaughter? After all he had done for her and her family. How he had allowed her to indulge herself with him? But to have led him to the one who had conspired to have him placed in a mental ward, preventing him from stopping the series of murders that occurred in the places where he lived before. He had been so close, here in Charleston. His last nightly excursion had put him merely moments before the Hangman had escaped.
Mr. Lockhart stepped into the open air, contemplating his next move before he disappeared into the crowds of Charleston.
Back in the gallery, Delia looked a little concerned at Velma's condition. "What happened?" she asked.
"That tenant of yours looked some kind of sick," Mr. Perkins said. He looked at Velma with sympathy.
Velma's lips and throat were dry. "Yes," she said, almost a croak. "My tenant."
Chapter 27
Mr. Perkins offered a personal tour for Velma and Delia after it appeared Mr. Lockhart was not likely to return. "We should go straight home," she said urgently, taking Delia in tow, offering a quick thanks to Mr. Perkins, dismissing him from her mind as they left the museum.
That night, Mr. Perkins would sit in his chair in his empty house, and think of what might have been.
Delia was concerned, feeling more than a little scared at Mr. Lockhart's sudden disappearance and Velma's demeanor. Velma lost track of how they got home or how long it took, but it seemed much faster than usual.
; Delia described to Lamont what transpired in the museum -- at least, her version of it. The entire time, Lamont kept looking over at Velma, who tried to meet his gaze, but kept shaking his head.
"I'm sure he'll be home soon," Delia said. Velma looked up at Lamont with panic in her eyes.
Time crept by and all three felt ill at ease. Delia hoped Carter would come and bring some cheerfulness into the space.
At six in the evening, Velma trudged upstairs. She lit the gas in Mr. Lockhart's sitting room and looked around the room, afraid that Mr. Lockhart would leap out from the shadows.
Her Bible and Mr. Lockhart's concordance sat on the table, side by side. She looked at the notations he had made and found she could barely decipher his handwriting. It was near illegible.
She walked over to the window and looked out onto the street. It was a dreadfully cold night for anyone to be wandering the town.
Velma went into Mr. Lockhart's bedroom and opened the dresser drawers. There was a small pile of coins and a money clip that held a small stack of 5s and 10s.
Mr. Lockhart's face and his angry words, his threats to her, worried her some, but not nearly as much as it would anyone else. After all, it had simply been a misunderstanding. A mistake.
If anything, she had sheltered him as much as possible, keeping his secret as hidden as she could. But it plain to her now: Mr. Lockhart was no eccentric type. He was a homicidal maniac. That much was now crystal clear.
Velma returned downstairs as Delia came toward her. "I'll go down and prepare the tenant's supper for you," she said. "I'm sure he'll be hungry once he comes home. But he looked terribly ill, didn't he?"
Velma nodded and stepped aside to let Delia continue on her way.
"He won't be back," Velma said as she entered the front room where Lamont sat. She felt a unburdening sense of relief, made all the more cathartic at the sight of calm coming over Lamont's face. "At least, I don't expect him to." Lamont's face shifted back to his anxious look.
"Why'd you say that?" he said.
"Too long to tell you now," Velma said. "Wait until Delia's in bed. I'm going to sleep with her tonight."
Once Delia had finally gone to her room, Velma motioned for Lamont to follow her upstairs. Before going up, Lamont put the chain on the door.
"You're shutting him out?" Velma asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
"I ain't leaving Delia down here should that man come back."
"He won't hurt Delia. He's more likely to hurt me."
"What do you mean?" He followed her upstairs. Velma tried to suppress her sobbing that suddenly came over her.
Once they were in Mr. Lockhart's sitting room, Velma told Lamont what had happened in the art museum.
Lamont listened in the stony silence.
Velma then took a long pause and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened with Mr. Lockhart in the house. The sex, without going in too sordid a set of details.
Again, Lamont listened. The silence grew colder.
"I'm sorry for what I done," she said. "It was like I ain't had no control over things, like he had put me under a spell or something. But I can't live the rest of my life not telling you what happened."
"Do you love me, Velma?" Lamont asked, startling her.
She nodded. "I do, Lamont. I know I don't always show it like I should, but I do love you."
"If this man comes back, I'm going to have to call the police. In fact, I probably should call Carter," he said, rising from his seat at the table.
"But he wasn't responsible for his actions. He's insane," Velma said, pleading.
"Maybe, but he raped my wife and I ain't standing for that."
"But he didn't--"
"He raped my wife and I ain't standing for that, and neither are you." Lamont had a fire in his eyes. It silenced Velma. She had always assumed his passivity, but now she was beholding a Lamont she had rarely encountered before.
"What are you going to do, Lamont?"
"I don't know if I should answer that right now."
"I think we should just let him get his things and be gone," Velma said. Lamont looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
"Get yourself ready for bed," Lamont said. "Lock the door to Delia's room."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to sit up and make sure everything goes as quietly as possible."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that we're going to be rid of Mr. Lockhart, one way or another."
"Lamont--"
"I'm going to go take the chain off the front door. Make sure you lock yourself and Delia in when you get to her room. If we're lucky, he'll sneak back in, take his dirty money and his belongings and get the hell out of here."
Velma went downstairs and followed her husband's instructions. She watched Lamont take the chain off the door before she retired to Delia's bedroom. But she couldn't sleep. She laid next to Delia as the young girl gave a slight snore before rolling over. Velma could see her eyes open in the darkened room.
"Velma," Delia said sleepily. "I never heard you come in."
"Go back to sleep, Delia," Velma said, patting Delia's arm gently.
"Is everything all right?"
"Your father wanted to stay up late for something and suggested I sleep in here."
Delia nodded and placed her hand on Velma's forearm, almost as a child resting her hand on a parent, for reassurance. "Did Mr. Lockhart return? Is he home now?"
Velma shook her head. "You should get some rest. You've got a big day tomorrow with Carter," she said to her stepdaughter with gentleness.
Delia smiled, nodded and turned back over to sleep.
The next morning, Lamont told Carter about their tenant and his disappearance. They assumed correctly that Carter was more interested in the day ahead with Delia, so he took the news calmly and with little commitment.
"Gone away, huh?" Carter asked. "I hope he paid you all he owed?"
"Oh, yes, he did," Velma said. "Always paid on time."
"Yes, he was a decent fellow. I'm a bit worried about him, though. He was a poor, lonely man. I do hope he's going to be all right," Lamont said.
"You did tell me he was pretty odd," Carter said, half remembering the conversation.
"Oh, yes. Strange. A bit nuts, really," Lamont said, tapping the side of his head. Delia and Carter chuckled.
"Would you like me to get a description of him out there, in case someone sees him?" Carter asked as he watched Delia get ready for their walk.
Lamont and Velma looked at each other. "No. I don't think so. We wouldn't want to upset him, if it turns out he simply moved on."
"You'd be surprised at how many folks disappear and are never seen or heard from again," Carter said.
"I'm ready," Delia said. Carter rose and the two walked out into the hallway.
The walk was short. It seemed no more than 15 minutes went by when the front door opened and Delia entered, hand in hand with Carter. She rushed into the room where Lamont sat and threw her arms around him, hugging him. "Daddy, we've got some news for you!" Velma looked up from her seat.
"Well, what is it?" Lamont asked, looking at Carter with a grin.
"We're engaged! What do you think?"
Lamont looked at Velma. "Well, I think it's quite something," he said, rising up to kiss her cheek. He shook Carter's hand. Velma rose and received a hug from Delia. "Congratulations, Delia and Carter," she said.
"Isn't this something?" Lamont asked Delia.
"It certainly is," Velma said, and she smiled.
Mr. Lockhart never returned. After many days and nights passed, Velma stopped listening for the lock to click, signaling her tenant's arrival.
It took a long while before Lamont and Velma recovered. For several weeks, they slept in separate beds, until Lamont finally approached Velma in the kitchen one morning and embraced her. That night, they didn’t sleep at all from all of the fucking they did. It was cathartic for both of them. Velma even offered up h
er ass to her husband, grinding against him, encouraging him to do it. He declined, instead preferring to hold his wife close and kiss her as the fire dwindled in their fireplace.
Sugar in Her Bowl Page 26