Body of Evidence

by Stella Cameron

  “I’ve got a little windfall for you today, sweetheart,” he said. She stood behind a glass counter, her heart fluttering with anticipation, and he said, “I’d like to see something in there first.” He pointed down through the glass. “The pen shaped like a pink flamingo with feathers on its head. The big one.”

  “You’re kidding.” She laughed.

  “Shut your mouth and open the case.”

  Sandy swallowed and leaned down to slide open one door and reach inside.

  John leaned on the counter. “Not the small one, the big one. You know I like big things.” He shot a hand inside her bra. She held still. He’d taught her that it was a bad idea to complain or try to move away.

  His second hand joined the first and he squeezed her breasts together, pushing her bra aside. She felt a strap rip free. He pulled her nipples between fingers and thumbs until her breasts stood out, naked and huge, and she was all but naked to the waist. He pinched hard and laughed when she drew a sharp breath. “You’re the best, Sandy. I never saw better tits than yours. Now, gimme my pen.” He let her go, and she quickly pulled the front of her dress together, looking at the windows surrounding them.

  “You know I like this as much as you do,” she said. “But we should be careful in here. It’s so open.”

  He looked up. “Well, I’ll be. Would you look at that rain? I doubt if you’ll get many customers while the skies are open.”

  She couldn’t argue. Lightning shot across the sky, and thunder rumbled on and on.

  “It won’t last,” Sandy said. “Good weather for sellin’ coffee, though.”

  “If anyone wants to get soaked coming to get it.” John lifted one side of his mouth. Apart from pointed incisors, he had straight, completely even teeth and liked to show them off. “Hey, I know what we’ll do. We’ll go in that back room of yours and have a party.”

  Her heart began a too-familiar, breath-stealing thump, thump, and she shook her head. “We can’t do that, John. There could be customers at any moment.”

  He took a sticky note and wrote GONE TO BANK in block letters, then added, Back in 45. This he stuck on the outside of the door before he closed and locked it.

  “Emma will be back,” Sandy said, panicking.

  He walked slowly toward her. “Guess I’ll just have to take that present back with me.”

  She didn’t tell him the truth, that when he brought her something it was never free but she had to have it anyway.

  He picked up the pink, fluffy pen and ran the feathers over his lips. “Useful little thing. I’d kind of like to try it on something tender. Soft—responsive.” From a pants pocket he took a handful of packets. He opened one and held it out for Sandy to see inside.

  She swallowed.

  “You’re wasting time,” he said. “You know you want this. But if I don’t get what I want, it’ll go away.”

  John spun her around and propelled her into the boutique, where there were plenty of lights but no windows.

  She let out a shuddering breath.

  “Excited?”

  Sandy nodded. She was excited, despite the disgust she felt for him, and for herself when she was with him.

  “Apron.”

  She took it off and put it on an upholstered chair without arms.

  John walked around her. A glance at his pants brought blood pulsing into her face. He looked down and smiled, held himself and narrowed his eyes at her. “I need the most you’ve got to offer today. Take off the dress.”

  Imagining how the broken bra strap would look, she reluctantly undid the two buttons that closed the cross-over sheath at the waist. When she hesitated, he said, “Off—unless you don’t want to be able to wear it again.”

  Sandy took the dress off and put it on top of the apron.

  She held up the bra cup where the strap had snapped.

  “Let it go. You look good just the way you are.”

  Like the bra, her yellow wisp of a thong was printed with green polka dots, and her garter belt matched. Ivory hose with deep lace tops barely cleared midthigh.

  “You love sex,” he said. “You think about sex every moment you’re awake. You walk around knowing what you’re wearing under your clothes and wanting to feel a man watching you. And his hands stripping you.”

  “Maybe I do.” Sometimes she did.

  “Walk for me.” When she didn’t move, his lip curled and he flapped a hand at her. “Strut. Go on. Get the tits up. Good. Now turn around slowly. Put your foot on the chair. The right leg, whore. I want to see your pussy from a different angle. Oh, yeah, baby. Oh, yeah. Stand up again.” When she did, he gave her bra one hard yank, and she was left with her panties, garter belt, stockings and shoes. “Walk some more. Keep ’em up. That’s right. You know how, woman. Hands on your hips and shake your shoulders.”

  She did it. She did whatever he asked. All she did was put her body to work for her. What was so wrong with that? Everyone used their strongest talents to make their way.

  John unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. While he watched her, he stroked, but not hard enough to take anything away from what he intended to do to her.

  “Stay where you are.” He walked behind her. “Grasp your ankles.”

  She moaned a little. It would be good…and painful. But she did as he told her.

  “Mmm-mmm, sweet ass.” She heard him drop his pants, then felt his fluffy little pen slip into her slick folds. He flipped it back and forth and laughed. She panted, and he laughed again. “Know how lucky you are that I like to see you get off first?”

  “Yes,” she said, and she did. “You’re a fantastic lover, John.”

  “You really think so?”

  She sighed and said, “The best.”

  John replaced the pen with his fingers and worked her so close to a climax, she made high, moaning noises. He moved in front of her and caught first one, then the other of her swaying nipples with his teeth. He knelt between her feet with his tongue doing a much better job than the pen or his hands, then reached up and wiggled her nipples convulsively.

  Sandy heard her own thin scream as she came, and caught at his shoulders when her knees wanted to buckle. Laughing, he jerked her upright, resumed his place behind her and grabbed the hair at the base of her neck. He pushed her head down over the back of the upholstered chair.

  He went wild, pumping into her, forcing her high heels off the floor. She tossed her head and guided his hands back to her breasts. A minute, two, she didn’t know how long they slapped together before she howled with pleasure and John bit into her shoulder. He poured into a condom. She felt the heat.

  As he spun her around, squeezing her over and over again, John’s face gradually calmed and his lips closed over his teeth, over the two sharp incisors that showed when he went into a kind of rictus with his release.

  He had kept all of his clothes more or less on. Zipping his partially tumescent penis away, he pulled out the samples again and opened them. “Hold out your hands,” he said.

  Trembling, afraid he would change his mind, Sandy cupped her hands.

  John Sims poured out a stream of pills in different sizes and colors, all of which she recognized like old friends. Sandy bent over them and giggled. She fell to her knees thanking him and giggling.

  “Put them away,” he snapped. “Is that your purse?”

  She looked behind her and nodded, then went quickly to drop his payment for the use of her body into a big side pocket.

  John raised her chin. “Heard anything about restarting construction at the Willows?”

  She tried to pull away, but he held her too tightly. “Not much,” she said.

  “The owners are going under?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. What I just gave you won’t last so long…”

  “They’re goin’ under.”

  “Thank you, babydoll. And lover boy and his friends intend to pick up the parcel for peanuts—or maybe pine nuts? And certain incentives?”r />
  She couldn’t answer him but looked directly into his eyes.

  “I heard they might have another property interest. A big surprise. Know what it is?”

  “No. I swear I don’t.” And she didn’t.

  “What I want, I want, and I want better connections in this town,” he said. “Get me some invites. I hope we understand each other.”

  11

  Emma let the black van go.

  All the way up C Street from Oakdale Mansion, she’d stayed close behind it, a shiny new van with no license plate and rain bouncing off its waxed finish. At the junction with Circle, which more or less went all around the town, she watched him turn right and pulled her own vehicle to the side of the road.

  What would she do if she caught up with him?

  She didn’t want to catch up with him.

  Her cheek, just below her right eye, stung, and when she touched it a spot of blood came away on her finger. The envelope had ricocheted off her face and landed on the passenger floor mat. She leaned down, picked up the envelope and pried the flap open.

  Emma only slid the contents halfway out. Immediately she jammed them back inside and tried to reseal the self-sticking flap.

  She drove too fast to the center of town, her mind like a tangled cat’s cradle. Pain, real pain, tightened her chest and gripped her head. Where could she go? Home? Where was home? She needed a place where no one would think to look for her, a place where she could be quiet and calm down…and make plans.

  Easing back on her speed, she passed the corner of Rice Street and wondered if Orville even found excuses to go there and plot at Damalis’s in the middle of the day. She was sure her dear, upright husband spent most of his waking hours plotting his way to real power.

  Limbs on oaks lining the street slashed to and fro, and bundles of dry weeds jumped and rolled along the road. A rising wind buffeted the SUV.

  Mill Alley came and went. She needed her friends, and she hoped Sandy wouldn’t forget to make arrangements for tonight.

  A sword of lightning shot into her sight and sliced straight to earth. The rain grew heavier, but she didn’t hear thunder, probably because the engine drowned it out.

  Ona’s could make a good refuge. There was Ona’s Out Front, where all the men and the breakfast crowd went, and Ona’s Out Back, a small area with a corrugated, semitransparent plastic roof, old armchairs around an assortment of low tables, and enough plants to make a person wonder if Ona really wanted to serve in there or if it was just supposed to be her greenhouse. Emma had met friends there before and found it peaceful.

  Steering down the alley beside the shop, Emma parked at the back and just sat there, her purse and the envelope on her lap. Ideas shot through her mind, each one sounding good until another came along.

  She answered the ring of her cell phone. “Yes, Orville?”

  “Did you get the invitations off?”

  Her face felt stiff. “They’re going in the mail shortly.”

  “This is goin’ to be a test balloon, sweetheart. I’ll talk, but I’ll keep it short, and the response will be obvious. I expect it to be a success, a big success. I want you to help me polish what I’m sayin’. You were always good with that stuff, and that way I don’t have to risk someone leakin’ what I’m gonna talk about. My manager’s working on press coverage.”

  “You settled on a manager?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? Carl’s got all kinds of publicity experience, and he wants to do it. I decided to let him, and if he’s not up to it when I get further along, I’ll just have to make a change. There won’t be any room for sentimental stuff in this game.”

  When has there ever been room for sentimentality when it comes to your plans, Orville? You’d better pray Carl remains the saint he’s always been where you’re concerned.

  “Honey, I’ve already made some stabs at my speech. I’ve got a meetin’ tonight, but d’you suppose you could put together some comments and suggest changes before you go to bed?”

  What a surprise, Orville had a meeting tonight. She thought rapidly. “I’ll be at Secrets this evenin’, so I may not see you. I’ll look at the speech in the next couple of days. And don’t worry about the party. I’ve got Holly Chandall doing the food, and she’s really good.”

  “Her husband isn’t any more pleased with her hangin’ around that Angela than I am with you.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said, and felt absolutely calm.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He dropped his voice. “I owe you apologies for my lack of sympathy last night. I don’t know what came over me, except I got scared for you. I was thinkin’ you might like it if we had dinner with the Viators at Patrick’s. It’s been too long and I know you love it there.”

  She’d never liked the place or its ostentatious presentations. “We should do that,” she told him. She didn’t want a protracted war with him, she just wanted out, so the fewer opportunities she gave him to argue with her, the better. “Let’s think about a date when we can do it. What on earth made you invite Finn Duhon to your party, Orville? You’ve already shown you don’t like him.”

  “Our party. And I don’t like or dislike him. You know me and how I am when it comes to you. I don’t want any other men sniffin’ around you, and I thought that’s what he was doin’. I should have known better. I should have trusted you.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I hear your Finn is a really successful businessman, like you said. His money’s the same color as anyone else’s. What did you think of my speech on the radio this mornin’?”

  To tell him she hadn’t heard it could bring on another tirade, and it wasn’t worth the effort. “Very reassurin’,” she said, crossing her fingers.

  “That’s what everyone says. Carl reckons I made good points and should have the town calmed down and believin’ what happened to Denise was a random thing by some low life passin’ through town.”

  “I’m sure that’s right.”

  “Can’t get home tonight, sweets. I’m sorry you’re goin’ out, though. I miss knowin’ you’re there waitin’ for me.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m already committed. I learned how important commitments are from the best. You, Mayor Orville Lachance.”

  He chuckled. “That’s right. Okay, I’ll check in with you later. I do like a lot of showy flowers, hon. For the party. And people still seem impressed by a champagne fountain if the champagne’s the best. I want an ice sculpture of the state building. Do and pay whatever you have to. Plenty of help, too—the kind who know what they’re doin’. I thought it might be fun to invite people to stay late and go in the pool or the hot tub if they feel like it.”

  Finally he let her go, and she slipped the phone away. He used it like a lifeline—or maybe a noose.

  There were plenty of cars angle-parked by the windows of Ona’s Out Front, and the place looked crammed with customers. The area behind Ona’s place was mostly deserted, and Emma figured it was a little early for the back to be crowded. She took a chance and made her way in that direction, with her purse shielding her hair from the rain.

  She’d been right. Not a single customer sat in one of the sagging, overstuffed chairs. Emma took one in a corner where she could see the whole room. A customer couldn’t go from Out Front to Out Back without walking outside, because the only other way would be through the kitchen, and Ona wasn’t the type to invite customers in there.

  Emma didn’t care if Ona never realized she was around. Maybe she would get lucky and hours would go by uninterrupted. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back, angry and, yes, sorry for herself. She moved her fingertips over the envelope. Dry the tears. You’ll figure it out.

  A table loaded with orchids in colorful bloom shielded her view of the alley. Some of Ona’s ivy plants and philodendron vines climbed sturdy stakes all the way to the corrugated ceiling, where fine creepers managed to cling and spread.

  An ancient upright piano stood against the common wall with Out Front. A white crocheted runner and a r
ow of lush violet plants decorated the top.

  “Hello.” A slim blond woman Emma hadn’t seen before walked straight toward her from the kitchens.

  “Hi,” Emma said. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been here several weeks now. I’m Annie Duhon. In addition to traditional dishes, we have fresh sandwiches and salads. And there’s pastries and hot tea, if you’d like. Or iced, of course. Lemonade, coffee.”

  Emma only vaguely heard what Annie said once she announced her name. Should she ask if this was a relative of Finn’s?

  Rubbing her forehead, she tried to think.

  “Do you have a headache, ma’am? Oh, you cut your face. Looks like you nicked a little vein or somethin’.”

  “No. It’s nothin’. Everythin’ sounds so good, but I have to behave myself and choose just one thing.”

  “Well…” Annie gave a shy smile. “Just one to start with, maybe, then see how you feel?”

  “I’ll try some hot tea. It sounds good today. You bring me what you think I’d like, because I don’t know one thing about it. And if you have a really yummy cookie, I’ll take that, too.”

  Annie put silverware and a napkin on the table. She had smooth, shiny patches on her hands where they must have been burned. Emma glanced at her face again and realized Annie probably wasn’t thirty yet.

  Once she was alone, she listened to the rain on the plastic roof and thought about Finn. She had seen and felt his interest in her. At the moment she could be dangerous to be around, unavailable or otherwise.

  If she would quit trying to fool herself, she would admit she thought about him a good deal of the time. She felt like he was the one person she would like to talk to right now. She’d brought the envelope in rather than risk leaving it in her vehicle. Each time she glanced at it, her stomach turned over.

  One day she would be in a different position, free to make new friends without feeling guilty. A bitter smile pulled the corners of her mouth down. By then Finn Duhon would have decided what to do with his life, and even if he stayed here, he would have met more people, more women, perhaps one special woman who didn’t have the kind of baggage Emma hauled around.