Groundwork for Murder

by Marilyn Baron

  Mark was speechless. She was talking directly to him, in a roundabout and very suggestive way. He’d been off the market for a long time, but he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman as she paid for her earrings and waited for her purchase to be wrapped. She was drop-dead gorgeous, a thoroughbred to his wife’s plough horse.

  When Andre handed her the bag, she winked at Mark and walked away in slow motion with her hips swaying side to side, showing off her long legs and great ass in a tight red skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. She was offering herself up to him on a silver platter. Mark was sure she had no panties on under her skirt. He could almost visualize her naked body and what he would like to do to it, to her.

  “Miss…Bitsy,” Mark yelled, as she walked out of the shop. “Can I have your business card? I would like to take you out to lunch sometime as a thank-you for your fine suggestion.”

  “Sure, why not. I love doing things to, I mean doing things for, nice men like yourself,” she teased as she handed him her card. The card read The Diamond Gallery on the Beach. She had something to do with art, just like his wife. But that’s where the similarity ended. Any thoughts of his wife quickly flew out the window.

  He watched Bitsy pour herself into her red late-model convertible one hot sexy inch of her body at a time. She was reeling him in, hook, line, and sinker. Backing into the store, he watched her drive away. But he didn’t intend to let her get away.

  “Sir, are you going to buy that bracelet or not?” Andre asked firmly.

  Mark didn’t hear him. He didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing at this shop. He only knew one thing. He was going to call that Elizabeth Bitsy Diamond and ask her out to lunch. He wanted her for lunch.

  Ten minutes after he left the store he sat in his car and spent five long, thoughtful minutes contemplating why he shouldn’t call her and five long hard seconds rationalizing why he should. Then he pulled out his cell phone.

  “Hello, is this Ms. Diamond, the jewelry expert?” Mark asked.

  Mark heard a soft, sexy laugh. “Why, yes, it is. And by the way, I’m proficient at many things. This must be the good-looking guy that drives a hot, red sports car and buys his wife diamonds.”

  “You guessed right,” said Mark thinking he could have come up with a more clever line. But he was way out of practice, and frankly, Bitsy Diamond had him tongue-tied.

  “You didn’t waste any time calling me, did you? I like a man who knows what he wants, because I am a woman who does, as well.”

  Was there a trace of an accent there? Eastern European? Maybe Russian?

  “Are you free for lunch today?” said Mark, before he lost his nerve. “I like repaying my debts quickly.”

  “I hope you reserve time to do some things more slowly,” said Elizabeth in a sexy breathy tone.

  Mark could not believe he was having this conversation with a perfect stranger. And this woman was a perfect stranger. That made it all the more exciting. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself, and after all, he had nothing but time to devote to seducing this woman. She was actually seducing him, and he wasn’t putting up much of a struggle. He doubted she would either.

  “I suppose I could take time from the gallery to meet you for lunch. I have extra help today. You know, I have some wonderful food left over from my last show that I could never eat all by myself. I hate when something so tasty doesn’t get eaten. How about coming to my house for lunch, for just a quick nibble? I live just a short distance north from where we met. Right on the beach.”

  She was setting herself up to be devoured.

  “Okay, I’m really hungry for something tasty,” Mark responded in kind. “What is your address?”

  “I wrote it on the back of my card. I knew you would call me, just not so quickly.” Bitsy giggled.

  “You are hard to resist. And I am hardly about to turn down such an offer.” Had he really just said that?

  Mark couldn’t believe he was hurtling head on into an extramarital affair. He hadn’t been looking for it. Bitsy had just dropped into his lap, so to speak, with all the delicious images that picture conjured up. And he hadn’t thought about his unemployment situation since he’d met her.

  But was he ready to get involved with another artist? There was always so much clutter in the house. He could barely walk anywhere without bumping into one of Alex’s paintings. Elizabeth seemed more of a business woman. She owned the gallery. She was obviously wealthy, sexy, beautiful, and smart. How could he turn down this opportunity? It was fate. She had been the aggressor. So maybe he’d see her once or twice, and then it would be over. No strings attached.

  Besides, he was at the age where men did crazy things like this, wasn’t he? Bought fancy sports cars, got laid on the side (better than being laid off), satisfied their urges? Now it was his turn to get what was coming to him. Mark tried to justify his actions all the way to Bitsy’s house. He could have turned around and forgotten the whole thing. But he had a hard-on the size of Greater Jacksonville.

  Maybe he was just imagining what she wanted. Maybe she just wanted lunch and conversation. But his gut and his lower parts said she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Even though she knew he was married. Was she that cold and heartless? Didn’t women all stick together? Girl-power, right? Most women wouldn’t go after another woman’s man, but this woman was different. Her name was Bitsy, for God’s sake.

  He loved the thrill of the chase, and it seemed that she did as well. His brain said turn around, but his other stick shift said stay the course. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on Bitsy’s body. And feel hers on his.

  He knew that made him a liar and a cheat, but he was hot for Elizabeth Diamond. He loved his wife but craved Elizabeth. Alex was mixed greens and Elizabeth was crème brûlée. And she was good for his self-esteem. Bitsy had been just what he needed to get over his temporary hump.

  He remembered pulling into this same driveway all those months ago and thinking—Elizabeth Diamond has a beach house. Maybe she was interested in selling. A primo listing like that could resurrect his career. But that’s not all he had been thinking. He had been determined to get a diamond that day, one way or another. Just not for his wife.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Get in Out of the Rain

  When Elizabeth pulled into her garage, Mark was standing outside her front door, dripping wet and looking livid.

  She didn’t need any of his attitude. Not after the trip she’d just had from the gallery opening. The sky was shedding rain in torrents, and her windshield wipers couldn’t move fast enough to deal with the low visibility. Her car had swerved and skidded across the highway, threatened with flying objects that just missed crashing into her vehicle by inches.

  The radio announcer was scaring the shit out of her, calling for all beach residents to evacuate in the path of one of the most dangerous hurricanes Jacksonville had ever experienced. Well, it was too late for her to board up or flee from the hurricane or from Mark’s anger. She was going to have to take her chances and face them both.

  “Where have you been, Bitsy? You kept me waiting long enough,” Mark called out. “You forgot to give me the key. You said you wanted to talk, so here I am.”

  “Let’s get in out of the rain,” Bitsy suggested, annoyed.

  Mark followed Elizabeth into the garage, and they rushed into the house together before she had a chance to shut the garage door.

  “I was a little preoccupied,” Bitsy explained. “I had to close the gallery and put the checks in the safe. We got scads of money, darling. This was the most profitable night I’ve had since I opened Diamond’s.”

  “I don’t care about your gallery,” Mark snapped. “I want to make it perfectly clear that it’s over between us. I tried to tell you at the gallery, but you were too busy falling all over the homeless lawn man.”

  “I don’t even care if he is homeless. I don’t care if he lives in a clam shell. He’s my gravy ticket.”
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  “What you do with your life is no longer my concern. This relationship is over. I have a family to think about. I thought I’d give you the courtesy of telling you in person. I feel I owe you that much. Now I have to go home to my wife.”

  “Darling,” Bitsy said, her voice level but her anger rising with each breath, “you know you don’t mean that. I’m not ready for this relationship to end. Here, let me get you out of those wet clothes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Attack

  Even over the howling wind, Nick could hear Mark and Elizabeth argue as he approached her patio and moved closer to the sliding glass doors. He looked into her living room, shocked at the torrid scene playing itself out inside.

  First, he witnessed a huge fight. Next, Nick watched as Mark tried to choke Elizabeth. She scratched and pounded and bit her lover before they clung to each other, him on top of her, Bitsy crying, then screaming out in pleasure.

  Sickening as the scene was, he couldn’t tear his face away from the glass, like a voyeur gaping at a hideous auto accident on the freeway.

  Things seemed calmer now. He was glad he hadn’t interfered. Elizabeth lay naked and sated, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, tears pooling in her eyes as she sprawled on the couch, touching the tips of her breasts with one hand, the other wrapped protectively around the tiny mound of her belly. Her bleary eyes tracked her lover into the kitchen. She looked like a Madonna or the Mona Lisa with a delicious secret. He would draw her that way one day. He was sure of it.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed Mark moving stealthily toward Elizabeth with a large steak knife. His heart stuttered as Mark raised the knife. He pounded on the glass pane to distract Mark and catch Elizabeth’s attention. Elizabeth must have heard the sound, because she bolted upright. Nick exhaled as he watched Elizabeth duck and roll off the couch mere seconds before Mark slashed the knife down toward her breasts and ripped open the couch cushion. His movements were slow and sloppy. He was obviously drunk.

  They struggled some more. Elizabeth looked terrified this time, not turned on. Unclothed, she ran outside through the sliding glass door, into the rain, beyond her pool patio, and toward the beach. Mark, in hot pursuit, reached for her, the flash of the steel blade glinting in the patio lights.

  “Mark, you’ve got to stop it,” Bitsy yelled. “You’re scaring me. I’m pregnant.”

  Mark’s jaw dropped, and the hand that held the knife collapsed to his side.

  “Holy shit, Bitsy.” Mark grabbed one of her shoulders, shaking her and digging his nails into her flesh. “This is a joke, right? I don’t need this right now.”

  “No joke. You’re going to be a daddy again. And I couldn’t be happier.”

  “That’s impossible. I’m forty years old.”

  “But I’m not, darling. And my biological clock is a ticking time bomb.”

  “How could this have happened?” Mark railed.

  “Simple, darling. We fuck like rabbits at every available opportunity, and you refuse to use a condom.”

  “This can’t be happening to me.”

  “It’s not exactly happening to you, is it? Deal with it, lover. I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought you said you loved me and that I was your family now. Instead, you come at me with a knife in your hand, like a common criminal. What’s wrong with you?”

  Mark looked like he was going to be sick. He raised his hand and lunged at Bitsy again with the knife.

  “You’re ruining my life, you bitch,” he shouted over the wind. “I don’t want to lose Alex and the girls. I don’t know how I got myself into this mess. No, I’m going back to my wife—if she’ll ever forgive me.”

  Nick caught a glimpse of Bitsy doubling back toward the patio, searching frantically for something with which to defend herself. She picked up the edger, his edger, the one he’d leaned up against the cabana door yesterday after edging her yard.

  She faced her attacker, wielding the tool like an angry goddess, strands of wet blonde hair twisting wildly in the wind.

  Forcefully, she struck Mark, knocking the knife out of his hand, and thrust the tip of the edger blade into his belly until she was sure he wasn’t in a position to attack her again.

  Mission accomplished, Elizabeth struggled with the strength of the wind, and threw the edger down. It clinked loudly on the concrete pool deck, like the doors of a prison slamming shut. Fearing Mark might try to strangle her again or use the knife, she ran into the house and locked the sliding glass doors to the patio, completely shutting him out.

  Bleeding profusely from the slash wounds she’d given him, Mark staggered to the patio and pounded on the sliding glass doors.

  “Let me in,” he screamed.

  Elizabeth stood her ground. Mark was bleeding, but his cuts didn’t look life-threatening. She decided to keep him out until he sobered up and came to his senses. She loved Mark and she knew he really loved her. It was just his fear about the future that caused him to hurt her when he heard the news about the baby. Once he got over the shock, everything would be okay. She was counting on that.

  “Bitsy,” he cried plaintively.

  But his voice was drowned out by the bands of wind passing over the ocean’s surface. Elizabeth faced the ocean and saw the swells had reached monstrous proportions. Except for that outrageous weather report on the car radio, she had ignored the warnings of the last few days, not wanting to think about anything that could stand in the way of a successful opening. But this storm seemed much worse than any forecaster could have predicted.

  Bitsy lowered the blinds on the sliding glass doors that faced the ocean, visually shutting Mark out. The howling sounds of the flapping shutters on the rest of the house were frightening. Anything not tied down slammed against her walls with intermittent crashes, making her even more jumpy.

  She didn’t know if the noises were from debris hitting her home or Mark desperately banging on the glass in an attempt to get in. Maybe she should reconsider.

  The pounding stopped for a while. Mark had probably given up and gone home. It was too dangerous to go out and search for him now. She had barely been able to keep her balance for the few minutes she had been outside. This storm must have morphed into a full-fledged killer hurricane.

  Usually icy cool under pressure, Elizabeth was shaken to her core by the storm and the scene with Mark. With Mark wandering down the beach somewhere and all her neighbors evacuated, she felt totally isolated. The lights flickered, and she remembered she hadn’t gathered her candles and flashlights yet. How many times this week had the weatherman said to do just that? Be prepared, he had warned. She had been prepared for her art show, but totally unprepared for the horror show going on outside.

  Elizabeth moved to the sliding glass doors and raised the blinds. She watched the water rise as she stood there naked against the plate glass window, her body pressing against the cold surface. The hurricane-force winds blew all of the thoughts out of her head. She stared into the darkness. Mark was gone.

  Living on the beach was spectacular—except during storms like these. The storm had moved in quickly. Surely the Butler Bridge was closed, so even if she wanted to leave, and could drive in the blinding rain storm, there was no easy access out. There was no choice but to hunker down.

  Numerous times during the night, huddled under the covers in her bedroom, she was in complete darkness, while the power flickered off for longer and longer periods of time. Several times she heard the glass break in other parts of the house. The sounds of the storm were maddening. Had something crashed through a window? Was it Mark? She thought she heard the knocking sound again. She went to investigate. Now the knocking was inside her head. Would wind get into her home and rip off the roof?

  She aimed a flashlight toward the beach and saw the waves lashing dangerously close to her home. There was not much sand left between the unforgiving fury of the ocean and the usual calm blue water of the swimming pool she had always considered her refuge. Th
ere were even unsettling waves in her pool. The water splashed over the top of the tiles and flooded the little bit of lawn that grew between the deck and the walls of her home.

  Her deck chairs were gone. They had long since tumbled down the beach, along with the Mexican terra cotta potted plants, the end tables, and the leftover bottle of wine she had been drinking before Mark showed up as she was getting dressed for the gallery opening.

  Signs from neighboring businesses flew by in sync with other objects turned projectiles. She hoped Mark was safe. She really hadn’t expected him to react with the same rage as the storm going on outside when she told him about the baby. She needed him. Only a wall separated her from Mark and the storm, and both seemed to be equally furious at her and intent on blowing her house down and killing her.

  After some hours, her vigilance slipped, and she felt sleep overtake her, though she struggled to fight it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  What a Pretty Picture We Make

  Bitsy discovered Mark asleep in the garage. He’d found some reasonably good shelter, so he was more resourceful than she had given him credit for. But he was crazy if he thought he could leave her. She’d make sure that would never happen.

  She retrieved the power edger she’d used to attack Mark earlier and lowered it to her lover’s chest, driving the rotating wheel blades deeply into the soft folds of his skin, separating it from solid bone. The ugly puncture wounds seeped blood.

  The jolt of electricity jump-started her heart. She smiled, although it was backbreaking work. At one point she stopped to stretch.

  The machine was noisy, but no one could hear the sounds out on the beach with the storm raging and the thunderous rumbling of the gathering clouds. On her portable radio, she heard forecasters talk of hurricane-force winds, winds that would whip the waves into a frenzy and carry off the evidence of her crime.