The Naughty Box (9 books in 1 box set)

by Davis, SJ

  Stan shot him a withering look. “If she did, let’s hope she brought a lighter and a sleeping bag. It’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight. Get back in touch with the husband, too. He’s eating lunch at the Lake House Pub in Monson.”

  Blake nodded. “I just followed him over there. Made sure he was okay.”

  “He didn’t look so good when we found it, did he?”

  Blake shrugged. “About how you’d expect, considering the circumstances. I mean, hell, Stan… the head was in her backyard just where she said it was! I know how I’d look if it’d been my wife!” He shivered and shook his head. “Mrs. Walker just didn’t seem to be the type…she was always so nice. And she’s real pretty.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” Detective Spaulding said, frowning. “Nice and pretty doesn’t make a good heart. You never know about people. Hell, we should all sleep with one eye open.” He turned to the out-of-towners and the state cop. “Let’s get back up there, boys. It’ll be dark soon. If there’s a chance in hell of finding her alive, it’s now.”

  The procession of cars pulled out of the lot and headed toward Monson, watched by everyone in the market. Slim Grossman spread the news at the deli counter and before nightfall the whole town knew what had transpired on Breakneck Ridge, from the discovery of Lena’s apologetic suicide note, to the head in her pit toilet, to her neatly placed clothing by the side of the water. Before Stan Spaulding even reached the site, it was generally agreed upon that Selene Walker was a murderess and that she was dead, a sentiment that was reinforced by the discovery of her kayak, overturned and washed up on the wild western shore of Bald Mountain Pond. Dogs had been brought in to scour the woods but, thus far, had failed to find another trace.

  ***

  Alex arrived at Bald Mountain Pond courtesy of a bumpy ride from Blake Scully. He let the dog out of the back of the cruiser and stepped to the water’s edge where Stan Spaulding directed the searchers.

  “What now, Stan?” he asked.

  “You tell me, Mr. Walker,” Stan said, pointing at the neatly stacked pile. “Do you still think your wife’s innocent?”

  Alex put a hand to his eyes and looked across the expanse of water to the far bank, a mile away. “I know she didn’t kill Annie,” he replied. “Lena couldn’t kill anyone…she doesn’t have it in her.”

  “I’m not saying she did, but she knew exactly where that head was, and she clearly felt remorse over something. To tell you the truth, I think you’re right about the murder angle…it’s more likely she was helping Jake cover things up.”

  “She wouldn’t have covered for Jake Morris if he’d done it, no matter how good a friend he is.”

  Stan shrugged. “They’ve been friends for a long time. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe they were lovers.”

  Alex shook his head. “Don’t go there, Detective. Lena and Jake never had that kind of relationship.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t around. Jake’s fingerprints were all over those bags and we found a lock of Annie’s hair tucked into a book in your wife’s cabin.”

  “Little House on the Prairie,” Alex said.

  “Excuse me?” Stan’s eyes narrowed.

  “Little House on the Prairie,” he repeated. “Lena and Annie got their hair cut in first grade. It was the first and only time Lena ever cut her hair. Each of them kept a strand of the other’s for good luck, or some shit like that.”

  Stan smirked. “That’s a hell of a story. Do you expect me to believe it?”

  Alex shrugged. “Believe it or not, it’s not a story, it’s a fact. Ask Jake, or better yet, Jane Janson. Check out the age of the strands. That hair you found’s over twenty years old.”

  “Maybe so,” Stan acknowledged, “but she knew Annie’s head was in her outhouse pit. How do you explain that?” He paused. “There’s the saw, too, Alex. We know for a fact that it’s Jake’s. And don’t forget about the baby.”

  “Did you get the DNA results yet?”

  “They should be in any day. The FBI put a rush on it.”

  “What happens if it turns out to be someone else’s?”

  “It doesn’t much matter, does it? If it’s Jake’s, it gives him motive. Jake Morris didn’t want kids, according to what he told you.” Stan Spaulding smiled grimly. “If it’s not, we still have the other evidence. It’s enough to convict him ten times over.”

  “What about finding the other guy? The one Annie told Lena about last April. Has anyone bothered to follow that up?”

  Stan shook his head. “John Doe Anderson. Right. Do you really believe that bullshit?”

  Alex shrugged. “Why not?” He watched as Stan fidgeted with his binoculars and scanned the lake again.

  “As a matter of fact, Alex, we did check into the boyfriend angle,” Stan said. “There was absolutely nothing to support it. No one saw him, no one rented him a house, no one heard Annie say a word about him, nothing. Only your wife, Alex. Lena’s the only one who knew anything about him, and even she couldn’t remember his name until Jake Morris was tucked away behind bars. How convenient is that?”

  Alex shook his head. “Well, one thing’s for sure, detective…Lena wasn’t seeing Jake Morris.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because,” Alex said, “she was seeing Odin Andreassen.”

  “The guy from across the pond?”

  “Yep. She’s been with him since July. It’s why she was so quick to throw divorce papers at me.”

  “I had a feeling he was sweet on her,” Stan said.

  “You’ve spoken with him?”

  The detective nodded. “This morning. He paddled across the pond to check up on her. He said that he was worried… that she’d seemed troubled. You’re sure they were sleeping together?”

  “As sure as I’m standing here. Why?”

  “Because he’s the one who pointed me toward Jake Morris. He told me he liked your wife but she was sleeping with Jake. I’ll have another talk with him. Maybe he knows more than he’s letting on.”

  Alex nodded. “If it’ll help us find Lena, you should. I don’t like the guy, personally. He gives me the creeps.”

  Stan threw him a sidelong glance. He cleared his throat. “It sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

  “No, not jealous.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step toward the water. “I’ve moved on myself. It’s just that we were together for a long time. I don’t believe Lena had anything to do with Annie’s death and I don’t want her implicated this way.”

  Stan Spaulding shook his head. “She’s dead, Alex, you know that, right?”

  Alex shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Lena’s not the suicidal type. Until you show me her body, I choose to believe she’s just missing.”

  “She left her clothes folded neatly in a pile by the side of water. She left her wallet and her rings, too.”

  “Rings?” Alex turned to him questioningly. “What rings?”

  “Her wedding and engagement rings from the look of them. Go take a look. Blake’s got them sealed up in plastic evidence bags.”

  Alex walked across the parking lot and picked up the bag containing the two rings and the wallet. They were the ones he’d given her; either that, or they were carbon copies. “That’s strange,” he said as he rejoined Stan Spaulding at the water’s edge.

  “What?”

  “She wasn’t wearing them when I spoke with her yesterday afternoon.”

  “She must have changed her mind and put them back on at some point,” the detective said. “Maybe she wanted to get back together.”

  “No, she made it quite clear that that wasn’t the case.”

  “Why she changed her mind isn’t the issue. At some point, her conscience got the better of her and she decided to take drastic measures. She drowned herself, Alex. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “If she is actually in the water, do you think the divers will find her?”

  Stan shrugged. “Bald Mountain Pond’s a big lake�
�it’s a lot of territory to cover. Most likely, we’ll have to wait for bloat to bring her up.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “It could take a while now that the water’s cold. If she’s here, her body won’t decompose as quickly as it would have in the summer. It could be days or it could take weeks for her to rise, and that’s if the ice doesn’t cover her first.”

  “I can write here as well as I can in Connecticut, Stan,” Alex said. “I’ll stick around until that happens.”

  “Do you still love her, then? After everything that’s happened? Everything she was involved in?”

  Alex whistled for Zephyr. The dog trotted over and sat at his feet, whining. “We were married for seven years, Detective Spaulding. Despite our recent differences, yes, I still love her.” He ran a hand across his eyes and yawned. “Listen, Stan, I had a pretty late night. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head into town and get a little sleep for a couple of hours. You can reach me at the Greenville Inn if you find anything.”

  “The Greenville Inn?” Stan Spaulding shook his head. “I think I should warn you that you probably won’t be well received down in Greenville right now. The town’s pretty much made up its mind that your wife and Jake Morris killed and dismembered Annie Janson…there’s not a lot of good feeling about her down there and that mean-spiritedness is likely to spill over on you.”

  Alex sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll head over to the camp.”

  “No good. It’s a crime scene.”

  “Well, then, I guess that boarding house in Monson will probably take me in.”

  Stan nodded. “I’d say that’s your best bet. I’ll call you if we find anything.”

  “Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it.” Alex opened the back hatch of the Suburban and Zephyr jumped in. Out of Stan Spaulding’s sight, he dropped his pretense of optimism. Lena was dead; he knew it as sure as he knew that Jake Morris had killed Annie Janson. Stan Spaulding was right, all the evidence pointed their way.

  With a heavy heart, he headed away from Bald Mountain Pond. He’d give them the weekend to find her, then, body or no body, he’d hold a memorial service and get home. It was a sad end to a sad chapter in his life, but he had obligations of his own to fulfill. He sighed. Lena could have had anyone and anything, and she’d chosen Odin Andreassen and Breakneck Ridge. It was a stupid decision on her part, as far as he was concerned. One that he fervently hoped she’d lived long enough to regret.

  Chapter 39.

  The God pulled into Dexter at ten. Maeve worked from six until eleven on Wednesdays. He knew he’d find her behind the register. He parked the Forerunner in the far corner and crossed the street, his list in hand. Now that Lena had joined Aurora, he needed more blankets and a gas-powered space heater, heavy clothing, and canned goods. It was starting to get cold at night; he didn’t want to open the shed one morning to find them frozen to death. At least not until he was through with them.

  Inside Reny’s, the winter line of seconds had arrived. The God shopped in the men’s section, picking out fleece-lined Carhartts, wool sweaters, outerwear and gloves, heavy socks and boots. He threw his selections into the shopping cart without a second glance, unconcerned with color or style. Wheeling the cart to the grocery section, he piled cans of stew, chili, and soup on top, and added three boxes of tampons, deodorant, and a hairbrush. Satisfied, he wheeled his cache to the checkout counter and paid for the whole thing with cash. By the time he’d lugged the bags back to his truck, it was ten of eleven.

  Driving across town, he pulled into the parking lot of the Grocery Barn and waited. When Maeve left the building, he flashed his lights twice. He could see her smile as she broke into a run and rolled down the window as she arrived at the door.

  “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you until the weekend!” she exclaimed.

  The God drank her in like nectar. Maeve’s clear cheeks were flushed from her short dash across the parking lot and her hair hung lightly upon her shoulders. There was a kink across the back where she’d held it pulled back with a rubber band and the hint of a cowlick to her bangs. When he positioned himself just so, he could look down her blouse and see her cleavage perfectly. He placed his hand against his crotch and smiled.

  “I couldn’t wait that long. You’re off now, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Want to hang out for the afternoon?”

  “Sure. What do you want to do?”

  The God shrugged. “How about we go up to your place? We can talk about it there.”

  She played with a lock of hair, twirling it expertly around one finger. “Is your sister still at your cabin?” she asked.

  “She decided to stay an extra week, that’s why I suggested your place. But if it’s a problem…”

  “No. Not at all,” Maeve assured him. “My folks left last week. It’s just that I don’t have anything to drink or up there.”

  The God reached across the passenger seat and dangled a six-pack and a bottle of wine. “I came prepared,” he said.

  Her smile was back. “My car’s over there. Follow me.”

  “I remember the way. Right, out of town and left on Tanner Mill Road. Half-way down on the right.”

  She laughed. “You’ve got it! See you there.”

  The God followed her from the parking lot. His canvases and oils were in the back, next to his new purchases. He pictured her as he’d paint her and then how she’d look lying beneath him and wondered, fleetingly, if she was still a virgin. Probably not. After what she’d done the last time he’d seen her, it was unlikely. He didn’t much care either way…virginity had its appeal, but it also had its downfalls.

  He took the turn onto her road, his excitement building as the miles ticked beneath the tires. Maeve was young and impetuous, entirely unlike his other goddesses. Older and more cautious they’d required slow and careful seduction. With Maeve on the other hand... The God shook his head. It was all he could do to hold her back. While the challenge of the hunt was missing, he had to admit, the promise of easy sex was hot.

  She pulled down her long winding driveway and parked before the barn. He surveyed the area as he pulled in behind her; the rambling farmhouse looked forlorn in the gloomy morning light. Handing her the beer and wine, he rummaged in the back for his materials.

  “Are you going to paint me today?” she said.

  “I’d thought I would, if you’d like.”

  She shrugged without enthusiasm. “Sure.”

  He pulled the canvases and paints from the back. Straightening, he surveyed the property. The farmhouse and barn stood alone; there were no other houses within sight. “Aren’t you scared to stay out here by yourself?”

  She frowned. “Why would I be? I’ve lived here all my life.”

  He shook his head and followed her to the front door. “It just seems lonely out here, that’s all. Where are your parents now? Have they made it to Florida yet?”

  “They got there last weekend. My mom called to bitch about how dirty the last renter left the trailer, but she always says that.” Maeve popped open a beer and swallowed. “If she doesn’t like cleaning up after them, she shouldn’t rent. Do you want one,” she asked, holding out a can.

  “It’s a little early for me. I’ll wait a while.”

  Maeve studied the beer in her hand and frowned. “Well, I got started at five today, so in my book, it’s already after noon.” She upended the can.

  “Cheers,” he said, as she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  Inside, the house was dirty and cluttered. Maeve waved her hand apologetically. “Sorry about the mess. I hate cleaning.” Dishes filled the sink. Clothing was scattered around the living room. There was the rank odor of bacon grease hanging in the stale air. The God studied his goddess-in-training. It was hard to believe that she could eat and drink the way she did and stay in such good shape. His eyes traveled over her body, from the firm biceps of her arms, to her legs, thin and muscular. Ah, the resilience of yo
uth.

  She popped open another beer, moved a jacket from the back of the couch, and smiled at him as she unbuttoned the top of her blouse. “How do you want me,” she said, “like this?”

  Definitely not a virgin.

  “Maybe one more button,” he suggested.

  She turned onto her side and propped her chin in her hand. Her other hand played with the button of her hip huggers. She slipped her fingers between her skin and the denim and licked her lips. He looked away quickly, his heart pounding. He didn’t even have to suggest it; as she had on his first visit to the farmhouse, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands.

  Slowly, she swung her legs onto the floor and stood before him. Her fingers returned to her blouse and, one by one, released the buttons. Underneath, she wore a lacy demi-bra. She smiled and moved her hips seductively. The God watched her shimmy out of her jeans. Her bikini underwear, pink to match her bra, rode low on her hips. Her fingers played with the elastic of her panties as she gyrated in an imitation strip tease. He’d chosen her for her looks and her name and he knew he’d chosen well. Maeve, the ancient Celtic Goddess was known for her insatiable libido; Maeve, the lustful mortal, was determined to live up to her namesake. He dropped the canvases and moved around the coffee table. She stepped toward him, slipping the strap of her bra from one shoulder.

  “Sure you don’t want a beer?” she whispered, raising the can to her lips. Pulling his mouth to hers, she shot the liquid in.

  The God swallowed. Warm beer trickled down his throat. He pulled her against him, slipping her bra from her shoulders as her fingers massaged his cock. “Why not,” he said, his painting forgotten. Her panties dropped to the floor; he ran his hands over her smooth firm ass and pushed her onto the couch. “After all…it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  Chapter 40.

  Lena put her palm to her forehead. It throbbed slightly. She opened her eyes; they were heavy and grainy. The light was dim and it was cold. She sat up and pulled the blanket closer around her, disoriented, then she remembered what had happened and the horror of the morning returned.