Dyed and Gone to Heaven (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #3)

by Aimee Nicole Walker

  By the time I finished with the hair emergency fix that doubled as an interview, I had landed myself a segment on Channel Eleven that would begin filming after we finished the series on weddings. Cindy said the camera loved my face and she loved my personality and talent. She wanted me to film three segments each week where I gave tips on hair and makeup, provided makeovers, and tested out new products. The great part was that I could film all three segments every Monday and it wouldn’t interfere with my schedule at the salon.

  I was excited to see Gabe and tell him the good news, but I wasn’t too excited that I forgot to stop by Kinky Kim’s on the way home to get Gabe’s punishment device. There was no way in hell he would be prepared for what I had in mind for him.

  Gabe was home in the bedroom waiting for me when I got home, wearing nothing but a cocky smile. “What’s in the bag?” He waggled his brows when I held it up for him to see. “Kinky Kim’s, huh?” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Of course, I’m not sure why I’m in trouble. It’s not like I took them up on their offer, or even was tempted by it, for that matter.”

  I set the bag at the foot of our bed and slipped my thumbs beneath my suspenders and ran them up and down the length, causing Gabe’s nostrils to flare. “Baby, you’re not really in trouble, I wouldn’t be scheming to blow your mind if I was mad at you. Just maybe you tell me when stupid shit happens because it always seems to get back to me.” I reminded him of running into Paul at the club. “I’m not talking about random dudes who give you the eye, but if it’s guys you’re working closely with…”

  “Not closely,” Gabe said. “Besides, Paul wanted you too.”

  “What?” I asked in disbelief. “Get out of here.”

  “Okay, but can I wait until after I see what’s in the bag?” He gave me his puppy dog eyes and batted his lashes. “Seriously, I cut him off before he could finish because I knew where the dumbass was going.”

  “Huh,” I said, perking up a bit.

  “Oh, so now it’s okay,” Gabe said accusingly. “I will never share you, Josh.”

  “Who said I wanted you to?” I asked him. “It’s just a little flattering. And Sneaky Silver? What’s this about him flashing his cock at you?”

  “He flashed Dorchester too,” Gabe said, causing me to raise my brows.

  “Those Cincinnati boys are kinky,” I said. Gabe laughed and told me how it all played out. I couldn’t help but chuckle when he told me about John telling Silver to put his gun away too. The twin brother remark wasn’t as funny, but I couldn’t stop my brain from wondering what the answer was to the question.

  “No, they’re not identical,” Gabe said with a wry smile because he knew what I had been thinking.

  “So, there’s no way Jonathon took over Nate’s identity?” I asked.

  “Definitely not,” Gabe said emphatically. My mind immediately began to work out the differences between their two cocks. Length? Girth? Both? “Cut and uncut,” Gabe said, answering my unvoiced question.

  “Really?” Somehow that didn’t occur to me.

  “According to Silver, Nate was given up for adoption, but he remained with his mom. I think there’s a huge story there, but I’ve not pressed him because it hasn’t been relevant to my case,” Gabe said. “Can we start talking about our cocks now, because as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only two that count.” He chewed on his lip while stroking his erection. “Show me what’s in the bag.”

  I reached inside the bag and took my time pulling out the first item. “Vanilla whipped body butter,” I announced and held it up like I was one of Barker’s Beauties. “I plan to lick it off your sensitive, erect nipples…”

  “What about my erect cock?” Gabe asked eagerly.

  “I was getting there, but you didn’t let me finish,” I said with mock annoyance.

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t.

  I pulled out the next item in the bag and held it for him to see. “Cock ring,” I announced as if he didn’t already know what he was seeing. “I’m going to see how far I can push you.”

  “Bring it on,” he said arrogantly.

  “I’m going to kiss you, lick you, and ride you like I never have before,” I unclipped my suspenders, pulled them off my body, and held them in front of me, “all while your hands are tied so you can’t touch me.” I saw his smugness fade. “Lie down,” I demanded.

  “I wanted to strip you down,” he said petulantly but did as I asked.

  “Another time,” I told him as I wove the suspenders through the ornate wrought iron headboard and wrapped them around both wrists until he was tied firmly to the frame but not too tight that I cut off his circulation. I removed the condoms and lube from the bedside table drawer and set them on the bed next to him with the body butter.

  I slid the rubber cock ring down the length of his erection then secured his balls tightly in the second ring made to restrict them. Gabe’s cock was already leaking, and he arched off the bed the second my hand touched his dick. I turned undressing into a striptease by moving seductively to music I heard in my head. Gabe’s eyes glittered with unbridled lust while he yanked on his restraints. Oh, I was going to have so much fun with him.

  Once I was naked, I straddled his sexy body and wiggled my ass against his erection while I squirted body butter on his sexy, pert nipples then slowly slid down his body so that I teased his hard-on with the friction. I swirled my tongue slowly around his areola before I sucked his stiff peak in my mouth. I knew how badly he wanted to tug my hair, but I wasn’t giving in. I squirted the cream down his torso and enjoyed the sweet treat on my path down to the promise land.

  By the time I reached his cock, he was leaking a lot of pre-cum and he became my favorite sweet and salty treat of all time. His thigh muscles bunched and felt like stone beneath my hands; it thrilled me to know I could rev him up so much. I worked his dick slowly in and out of my mouth until his body shook from the restrained pleasure. I let his dick slip from my mouth once I reached the point where I couldn’t wait for another second to feel him inside my ass. I slid the condom down his length before I oiled it generously with the lube.

  I didn’t stop to stretch myself that time; instead, I lowered myself on his dick until he was buried to the hilt. Once I adjusted to his size, I began my slow, torturous ride. It felt so damn good I felt tears of happiness spring to my eyes. I ran my hands up and down my torso and teased my nipples like he would have if his hands had been free. Gabe’s pupils were blown, and his gorgeous brown eyes were unfocused from the lust pumping through his veins.

  I reached down and stroked my cock to match the up and down rocking I was doing on his erection. It wasn’t long before my body was trembling just as hard as his with the need to come. I didn’t hold back; I painted his chest with my spunk. Gabe looked smug with the knowledge that he was going to get his opportunity to come soon.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” I warned him.

  I removed the condom from his dick and tossed it aside then started to blow him again. It was more than he could take. He groaned and pleaded with me to put him out of his misery, but I knew the intensity of his orgasm was going to be worth the torture. I slipped a lubed finger beneath his balls to tease his puckered entrance before I slid it inside him, aiming right for his prostate. I kept the pad of my finger pressed against the bundle of nerves and circled it around to give him the most stimulation while I took his cock to the back of my throat again.

  I kept at his torture until I worried he would bruise himself from yanking on his restraints. I released the rubber circle from around Gabe’s sac with my free hand, then massaged his swollen balls that were ripe and ready to release their load while I simultaneously worked his cock and prostate.

  “Fuck me!” Gabe shouted before he came in my mouth. It was so thick, and there was so much of it that I could barely swallow it all down, but I managed. “Untie me, you little imp.” There was no heat behind his words, so I let him loose and massaged his wrists. “Mind you, I’m
not complaining, but what was the purpose of this exercise?”

  “Hands off,” I told him. “It’s to remind you of what you’d lose should you ever take another guy up on his offer.”

  “Sunshine, I’d never hurt you like that,” Gabe said. “No fucking way.” Gabe pulled me down until I lay on top of him and I didn’t even care I was lying on top of a puddle of my own spunk when his arms were around me. “You’re my whole world, and I love you.”

  “I love you too, Gabe. Sometimes it still scares me, but I’m done living in fear,” I told him. “I used to be afraid of people finding out that I was gay. Then I was scared that I would never find someone who would love me as I was and would be proud that I was his man.” I lifted off his chest enough so I could look into his eyes. “Then you came along, and I was afraid to believe, but you wore me down, and I quit running. You made me proud of who I am, confident to stand beside you, and believe that I deserved the life that only you could give me. I’m done being afraid.”

  “Those are some beautiful words,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “You’re a beautiful man,” I repeated.

  “You’re the beautiful one,” Gabe countered. “I’m going to be the one fighting them off when you get your show on the news channel.”

  “I didn’t tell you I accepted the offer,” I told him.

  “You didn’t have to, Sunshine. No one sticks around for four hours for an interview if they’re not interested. I knew you were going to blow them away. I can’t wait to hear about it, but do you mind if we get cleaned up? Your spunk is starting to dry in my chest hair, and it hurts.”

  “You’re so high maintenance, Gabe.” I pushed myself off his body and removed the rubber ring from his spent cock. “I told you I was going to put a ring on it.”

  “I thought maybe you had another ring in mind,” he said teasingly before he got up and walked into the bathroom. “Can you guess which kind?”

  I stood there in the middle of the bedroom, paralyzed by his words. My heart and my mind started to race. Were we ready for such a big step? What if…. No! I meant what I said. I was done living with doubts and fears. “How about a Ring Pop?” I hollered after him.

  Gabe’s laughter echoed in the bathroom. “Close, but not quite. You’re a smart fella, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “So long as it isn’t ringworm,” I told him.

  “Get your ass in here and quit playing around. Don’t freak out either. We’ll know when the time is right to ‘put a ring on it.’ Come tell me all about your big adventures in television.”

  “You won’t believe it,” I said as I entered the bathroom.

  “Try me,” he said with a smile.

  SOMETIMES A MAN WAKES up, and he just knows it’s going to be a great day. He starts his day by waking up next to the man he loves after a night that physically and emotionally rocked him to his core. His first cup of coffee is perfect in every way with just the right balance between sweet and bitter. He gets a goodbye kiss that curls his toes and knows an even sweeter welcome home kiss awaits him.

  Then sometimes that same man arrives at work, and his conviction is shaken. He’s reminded of how motherfucking cruel the world can be when faced with a brokenhearted widow whose entire world had been ripped apart by ugliness she can’t possibly comprehend. She’d been hospitalized for treatment the night she discovered her husband’s body and I hadn’t tried to see her again until Monday. Her sister told me she was still heavily sedated and promised to bring her into the station the next day. Dinah Spizer didn’t look anything like the woman in the photo on her husband’s desk. I could tell by Rick’s appearance in the picture that it had been taken recently, but the woman who sat before me looked like she had aged twenty years in a few days.

  After introducing ourselves, we handed her a copy of the suicide note. Her hands shook violently, and she sobbed loudly while she read what Spizer wrote.

  “Rick didn’t kill himself, Detective,” she said pleadingly. “We didn’t even own a gun. He had seen enough violence in the military and wanted nothing to do with them.” She sat shredding the tissue she held between her hands. “I don’t know why he’s taking responsibility for these deaths, but I know he didn’t kill them.” There were dozens of legitimate stores he could’ve recently purchased the gun from without her knowledge, not to mention all the illegal options as well.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Spizer, but we do need to ask you some questions.” She closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks, but she nodded for me to continue. “Can you confirm that this is your husband’s handwriting?”

  “Yes, but…” She stopped talking and nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “Had you noticed a difference in his personality recently? Had he been more withdrawn or had trouble sleeping lately?” I hated to ask those questions and cause her more pain, but I had to weigh hard facts against her unwillingness to believe her husband was capable of hurting others and taking his own life.

  “Yes,” she said softly between tears. “Rick had only been sleeping a few hours a night, if that, for the past few months. I asked him about it and he said his back was bothering him again. He’d grown sullen, but I had blamed it on his lack of sleep. I had no idea…” She shook her head vehemently. “He didn’t do those things, Detective. I’ve known Rick since we were kids. He was a good person.”

  “Mrs. Spizer, I want you to know that we’re taking this case seriously and looking at all the evidence. We’re not just going to rule his death a suicide because it’s quick and easy. That’s not how we operate,” I told her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Please call me one way or the other. I’ll never believe my Rick was capable of doing those things he said in his letter. I just can’t.”

  Dorchester walked her out of the interview room to help her find her way out while I stayed behind and thought about what she said. No matter how much my heart ached over what she was going through, I had to find the truth. There was nothing about the scene that said it was a homicide made to look like a suicide. The angle and trajectory of the bullet plus the way his body and the gun fell afterward all lined up with a self-inflicted gunshot. It wasn’t that the CPD wasn’t listening to what she said; it was a situation where facts pointed to one thing while her feelings pointed to another. Cases didn’t get solved and closed on feelings. I was starting to think that Rick Spizer did take his life over the guilt of what he had either done alone or with someone else. If he had an accomplice, I wanted to know about him or her.

  Dr. Espinoza studied all four cases and determined that a .45 caliber pistol was most likely the gun used each time. We had the gun used in Spizer’s death, but we couldn’t be sure the other victims were killed with the same gun unless we could find the bullets removed from the other three scenes. If we recovered the bullets, a ballistics expert could compare them to see if they all had the same striations as the bullet fired from Spizer’s gun.

  Dorchester returned minutes later and said, “Damn, I hate those kinds of interviews. I feel terrible for that woman. To find her husband’s body like that and then read the horrible things he’d confessed to doing.” But was it a confession?

  “This part of our job fucking sucks,” I told Dorchester. “I felt like we twisted the knife that reality had shoved into her heart.”

  “Pretty much,” he agreed. “What’s next? None of the evidence points to anything besides suicide. His files are off limits because privilege remains intact for his clients after his death.”

  “We march on with our plan to interview the main players at McCarren Consortium,” I told Dorchester. “I meant what I said about making sure we don’t leave any loose threads.” The CPD might refuse to hire an expert to analyze the handwriting on the suicide note, but talking to McCarren’s employees cost them nothing.

  “Let’s do it,” Dorchester said. “It’s been a while since you dusted off your bad cop.”

  I followed Dorchester out of the interview room. �
�Are you accusing me of going soft?”

  “That sounds like a personal problem and none of my business,” he said cheekily. “All I meant was that we haven’t had to go hard at anyone lately.”

  “True,” I admitted. “Today is the day. Let’s take a copy of the letter that Larkin sent Robertson.”

  It turned out that both Dorchester and I dusted off our bad cop routines for the interview. The poor receptionist looked terrified when we glowered at her and showed her our badges. “We want to talk to McCarren, Larkin, and Thompson. Now.” I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to ask them because all my questions had been prepared before Spizer’s death.

  “J-j-just a minute,” she said, holding up a finger. “M-m-mr. McCarren, there are two detectives here to see you, Mr. Larkin, and Mr. Thompson. Okay, sir. I’ll call him.” She hung up the phone and buzzed us through the glass door. “Follow me,” she said skittishly as if she was afraid to turn her back on us.

  We followed her through the private offices of a man with more money than sense. The money spent on the opulence throughout the space could’ve fed every starving family in America at least twice. I had a feeling that the paintings hanging on the walls were originals valued in the millions rather than a knockoff you’d find in most office buildings. It was something you’d expect to see in New York City, not a place like Cincinnati that was once referred to as Porkopolis.

  “In here,” she said, pulling open two black doors.

  I heard the doors close soundly behind us after Dorchester and I entered McCarren’s office, which was as ridiculous as the rest of the office building. I never harbored ill will toward people who were successful, but this was a man who I felt probably didn’t come by it honestly, and I’d have a problem with that all day, every day.