Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  “Who then?” Leslie asked, handing Molly a cup of steaming coffee.

  Molly shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Molly gave Leslie the quick tour, promising to do a better job the next time Leslie was there. Leslie mostly stared in disbelief, sipping her coffee, trailing behind Molly. She especially liked the home theatre and gym. The free-formed pool drew rave reviews. On the way upstairs to Molly’s room, Leslie paused to look at the photos on the wall. Pictures of Molly were neatly arranged in identical frames, posed with various women, some in formal wear, some in more casual poses. Leslie pointed at one near the bottom.

  “Is this you in the softball picture?”

  “Yes,” Molly answered. “I played for the Duke club team. We didn’t have an official school team like the other universities, but we competed. It was fun.”

  “My goodness, Ms. Kincaid — athletics, art, music, the law — you are a Renaissance woman.”

  “My dad,” Molly said, and then stopped to explain, “Donald Kincaid is the man I call Dad. He’s the only father figure I had, really. Anyway, he said he wanted to be a Renaissance man and since he missed that opportunity, he wanted me to have it.”

  Leslie smiled up at Molly, who was halfway up the stairs. “He did a marvelous job.” She continued up the steps, looking at the pictures, stopping again at the one with Molly and two other women, all dressed in white, and standing on the beach.

  “Who is this? You all look so happy.”

  “The dark haired one is my friend Lizbeth. The tall blonde is her wife, Gray. That was taken on their wedding day.”

  “If it wasn’t for this picture, I’d say this was your trophy wall, unless of course you and Lizbeth are lesbian friends in the intimate way so many are.”

  “No,” Molly said, but she could not help but laugh. “That toaster would belong to Gray. They met on Ocracoke Island. It was the classic straight girl falls for the lesbian story, but it’s very sweet. The rest are just memorable people or events, not a trophy wall.”

  Leslie resumed following Molly, but she was not done with comments on the pictures. “That makes me wonder what it takes to make it up on the wall.”

  Molly grinned over her shoulder. “Well, if you make it, you’ll know.”

  Molly opened the double oak doors to the master suite, crossed the room, and disappeared into the walk-in closet. She pulled open a couple of drawers, grabbing two of her favorite worn out tee shirts and some gray cotton gym shorts.

  Leslie called from the bedroom, “Would you mind if I use your restroom?”

  “No, help yourself,” Molly called out.

  She found a small bag to pack the clothes in and started to leave, but she remembered something Rainey said. She went to a panel at the back of the closet. It looked like just another piece of wall to the naked eye. Molly slid a piece of molding to the side and inserted her index finger. A small click was heard and then the panel opened, revealing Molly’s panic room. Fortunately, she was never forced to use the room for its intended purpose, but she was glad it was there. Intent on her quest, Molly did not shut the door behind her. She crossed to the wall safe, punched in a code and presented her finger again, for biometric identification. The safe lock clicked open. Molly opened the door and reached to the very back for a small, black, velvet covered box.

  On the day Joe told her Sarah Harris was dead, Molly was still wearing the key she gave her, the key to her heart. Molly wore it faithfully since the day of the fire, but when she thought her mother finally drank herself to death, she ripped it off and threw it across the room. Carol saved it, placing it in the little black box. Molly never put it back on, but she kept it, after Carol told her in time, she would be sorry if she did not. Carol was wise, because Molly wanted the key with her now. She opened the box to find it still there. Taking it out, Molly slipped it in her pocket, returned the box to the safe, and shut the door.

  “I’ve just walked into some lesbian’s fantasy.” Leslie’s voice startled Molly. She turned to see her standing in the doorway. She was grinning at Molly and continued her thought. “A Jodie look-a-like in a panic room.”

  “Some lesbian’s fantasy, not yours?” Molly asked, playfully.

  “You look like Molly now, so it wouldn’t work for me,” Leslie teased, then changed the subject. “I almost got naked and jumped in your shower, though. Now, that would have fulfilled a fantasy. I’ve always wanted to experience that many shower heads at one time.”

  “You’ll have to do that next time,” Molly said, hoping there would be a next time when all that was on her mind was Leslie.

  Leslie winked at Molly. “You keep saying next time. Pretty confident I’ll come back, are you?”

  That was it. Leslie was taunting Molly and the swaggering Renaissance woman was unable to take it any longer. She took the first strides toward Leslie with purpose, a purpose that Leslie appeared to comprehend when Molly was just two steps away. Her eyes grew bigger and she involuntarily put her hands out, in a weak attempt to stop what was happening, but it was too late. Molly slid a hand to the back of Leslie’s head and pressed into Leslie’s hands that were still extended in front of her. Molly could feel the heat from Leslie’s palms and fingers pressing into the muscles of her abdomen, which made the next part so much harder to do.

  Molly pulled Leslie’s lips to within a breath of touching her own. She felt Leslie’s sharp intake of air. Their eyes glued to each other’s, Molly whispered, “Would you like to come back and find out what happens next?”

  Leslie was dumbstruck. She could only nod for a second, but just as Molly released her, she regained some of her own seductive qualities, and whispered back, “You’re in real danger of finding out now.”

  Molly froze. She wanted more than anything to take this woman to bed, but there wasn’t time, not the kind of time needed to explore Leslie from head to toe, and that’s what she fully intended to do. Molly slid her arms around Leslie’s waist and pulled her close, feeling the tight muscles under her fingers. Oh, what treasures lay beneath those clothes. This was going to harder than she thought.

  With all the strength she could muster, Molly said, “I’m not accustomed to being enchanted, but you Leslie Walker, fascinate me. This is very out of character, but I don’t want to rush into bed with you.” Leslie smiled, but let Molly continue, “When all this dust settles around me, I hope you’ll still be here. I want to give you all of my attention, and that just isn’t possible now.”

  Leslie freaked Molly out, causing her nearly to lose her resolve, when she laid her head on Molly’s shoulder, snuggled close to her neck, and whispered, “Ooh, I love this part.”

  Molly let out a nervous chuckle. “What part would that be?”

  Leslie snuggled in closer. Molly tightened her arms around her, feeling every nerve in her body go on high alert. The skin on her neck, where Leslie’s breath was falling, burned hot. Leslie’s breasts seared into Molly’s chest, and she was struck by the way their bodies fit so completely together. This was not helping at all.

  Leslie finally answered Molly’s question, her lips nearly touching Molly’s neck. “The part building up to the first big kiss, then sneaking kisses and holding hands when no one is watching, followed by some heavy petting and snuggling, before you finally give in to my charms and have your way with me.”

  Molly could take it no more. “We might be skipping a few stages if you don’t take a step back.”

  Leslie popped off Molly’s shoulder, kissed her quickly on the lips, and then turned, walking out of the panic room, through the closet, and into the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Round one to Leslie. You’re behind, Kincaid, better work on your game.”

  Molly stood there, staring after her. Oh my, this one was definitely going to be a challenge.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On the way back to Waitesville, Molly listened as Leslie told her about growing up as an Air Force brat, moving three times before she was ten. Her pilot father then became an in
structor at the Seymour Johnson Airbase in neighboring Wayne County. Her parents liked the small town better than the more populated Goldsboro area. Her father remained at the base until he retired.

  “So, I consider Waitesville home, though I was born at Edwards Air Force base outside Los Angeles,” Leslie was saying, when they dropped off I-40 onto US 70.

  “You said you have two brothers,” Molly prodded, intrigued by all things Leslie, at the moment.

  “Yes, I’m the baby. Scott is six years older than me, and Greg is four years older. They are both married, with kids, and live in Virginia. We’re close, but I don’t see them as often as I should. Mom and Dad go visit a lot.”

  “Where did you go to college?” Molly asked.

  Leslie turned to face her, wearing a wicked grin. “You’re not going to like that, Ms. Dukie. I’m Tar Heel blue, through and through.”

  Leslie was referencing one of the oldest rivalries in college sports, between the University of North Carolina and Duke University. The two powerhouse schools stood within a few miles of each other, but deep loyalties divided them. There was no gray area between the Duke and Carolina blues worn by the fans of the two universities.

  Molly slapped the steering wheel in mock disgust. “Well, that settles that. Wish you had told me. I may not have let you in my house.”

  A beat fell, before they both burst into laughter. It was easy to laugh with Leslie. She calmed Molly’s spirit. The sexual tension was still in the air, but Molly relaxed against the seat, simply enjoying Leslie’s company. She wanted to know more about the dark-haired woman beside her, which was unusual. Molly avoided conversations with women who wanted to tell her their every hope and dream, but that wasn’t the case with Leslie. Molly wanted to know it all. She continued delving into Leslie’s world.

  “How long have you been working with Joey?”

  “I was introduced to Joey when he was four years old. It’s been a process. Each growth period presents its challenges. We started out with intensive training. It wasn’t just Joey I was working with. I had to teach Cheryl and Joe how to handle him as well. After fourteen years, he’s still a work in progress.”

  They had just come out of Smithfield, closing in on Waitesville, when Molly noticed the front end of what looked like an unmarked Dodge Charger, police cruiser, poking out of a farm path. The Dodge’s headlights flashed on as soon as Molly passed. She glanced down at her speed. She was going two miles over the speed limit, not enough to warrant a stop. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time a cop pulled her over, just so he could tell his buddies back at the station about the LFA he chased down. There was never any chase and if there had been, he would not have caught her. The Dodge made no move to charge after her. He was hanging back, changing lanes with her, and waiting. Waiting for what, Molly wondered?

  Leslie must have noticed Molly’s attention was not on her anymore. “What’s the matter?” She asked.

  “I think there is a cop behind me. He pulled out after me, but he’s just hanging back there,” Molly said, checking the rearview mirror again.

  “He probably just wants to look at your car. You’re not speeding.”

  Molly felt uneasy, but she tried to relax. She kept an eye on the Dodge and asked Leslie another question. “What made you decide to work with kids with autism?”

  “I did a practicum in the autism program at the UNC School of Medicine. I was hooked immediately…”

  Leslie chatted away about her first experiences with kids on the autistic spectrum. Molly tried to listen, but the Dodge was gaining on her as they approached the turn-off to Waitesville. She turned on her signal to exit the highway. Molly was not surprised when the Dodge did the same thing and changed lanes to fall in behind her. Once they were on the dark two-lane just outside of Waitesville, the game changed. There were no other cars on the road and the Dodge began to creep up close behind her. She realized Leslie had stopped talking and was looking into the side mirror at the reflection of the Dodge’s headlights.

  “That’s not a cop, Molly,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  Leslie turned to face her. “There’s no decorative State plate on the front. They all have those.”

  Molly sped up. The Dodge suddenly charged, roaring up behind them, and then Molly heard a pop, followed immediately by the sound of a bullet hitting the back of her car. In a flash, she reached for the mode control, threw the car into sport drive, and downshifted, forcing the engine into instant overdrive. She hit the gas and they left the Dodge scrambling to keep up. She nearly redlined the RPMs, causing the tachometer to flash red accompanied by warning beeps and blings, before upshifting and throwing them both back against their seats.

  “Call 911,” she barked at Leslie. “Tell them I’m coming into town hot.”

  Leslie did as she was told, giving the dispatcher the information. Molly was concentrating on driving and the headlights she could not completely out run, because she had to slow for the snake like turns in the road. She rocketed the car out of the apex of each curve, only to have to slow for the next one, giving the Dodge time to recover some ground. The driver of the Dodge had the advantage of knowing what lay ahead. Molly’s advantage was the lightening fast response from the LFA’s engine. It was the only thing keeping the Dodge at bay.

  She heard Leslie shout into the phone, “Hell no, we’re not slowing down. Did you miss the part about the bullet hitting the car?”

  Molly was working her way through a series of small curves, reminiscent of a slalom course. She did not take her eyes from the road, when she asked, “What’s ahead of me? I don’t know this road well enough.”

  Leslie answered, “A big hook to the right, thirty-five tops in my car. After that, the little bridge and then another big one to the left, banked, forty-five if you take it hot, watch the hump on the exit.”

  If she had not been so scared, Molly might have commented on Leslie’s apparent habit of taking these roads as fast as she could. Molly downshifted and took the first curve at forty-five, the LFA’s onboard computer making minute corrections to keep them on the road.

  Leslie dropped the phone to her lap and grabbed whatever she could, saying, “I wouldn’t push this next one that hard.”

  Molly slowed into the curve with a quick glance in the mirror, trying to locate the Dodge. She could not see its headlights anymore, but she was not going to slow down enough for him to catch back up. As soon as she could see the road was clear coming out of the curve, she dropped to the bottom edge of the embankment, and hammered the accelerator to the floor.

  She heard Leslie say, “Whoa!” as they crested the hump and caught air.

  Molly was nearing ninety, when she recognized where she was, and applied the brake for the last long, flat curve into town. Downshifting twice, she was about to put her foot down on the accelerator, when she saw the first flash of blue against the trees. She hit the brakes hard, as a line of law enforcement vehicles rapidly filled her line of vision, blocking the road. Molly had completed exactly one J-turn in the LFA, on a flat, wide track. Thank God for badass carbon-ceramic brakes, Molly thought, jamming her foot on the pedal as hard as she could. At the same time, she pulled simultaneously on the paddle shifters, slipping the transmission into neutral, and turned the steering wheel a hard ninety degrees to the left. The rear end of the LFA swung around in a screeching, smoking arch. She threw the transmission into drive and jammed on the accelerator to stop the sideways momentum. Reapplying the brakes, they came to a stop, facing the direction from which they came.

  Molly and Leslie’s chests were heaving, as they tried to catch their breaths. Surrounded by cops and safe at last, their eyes met, followed shortly by huge grins on both their faces.

  Leslie was the first to speak. “That was freakin’ awesome!”

  Molly laughed, adding, “Except for the gunshot, I’d say that is an excellent assessment.” Molly heard the bullhorn order her to shut down the car. She warned Leslie, “These guys are pumpi
ng adrenaline. Do whatever they say, until they figure out we’re the ones that called. Stay in the car until they tell you to get out.”

  Molly shut down the car and listened.

  “Driver, roll down your window and show me your hands.”

  Molly followed the instructions to the letter. She made no attempt to identify herself. This guy did not give a damn who she was. All he knew was a fancy sports car just came barreling toward his town.

  “Using your left hand —” The voice paused and then Molly heard, “That damn thing don’t have no door handles.” A moment more of silence, and then a different but familiar voice said, “Molly, is that you?”

  Molly looked back at the blinding lights, all aimed at her. She called out, “Brad, how many of these cars have you seen in Dobbs County?”

  A silhouette started toward her. She could make out Brad’s shape and relaxed her still raised arms.

  “You can put your hands down, Molly,” Brad said, as he came closer. He bent down and looked at Leslie. “I might have known Richard Petty over there would be in on this.”

  Leslie shot back, “I was not driving, and hey, shouldn’t you be asking us why we were going so fast?”

  By now, a highway patrolman and several other cops were standing around the car. Molly asked, “May I exit the car? I’d like to see where the bullet hit.”

  The highway patrolman said, “Right here. Went through the side panel.”

  Molly got out and walked to where the patrolman was pointing. The bullet left entry and exit holes just above the left rear tire.

  A frustrated, “Damn,” left her lips. “That’s going to cost a bundle.”

  “You’re lucky,” the patrolman commented. “Not too many other places that bullet could have gone, without causing major damage to the car or its passengers.”

  Brad was looking down the road at approaching headlights. He kept his eyes on the lights and asked, “Didn’t dispatch say that was a Dodge Charger chasing you?”