The Bone Bride

by Tamrie Foxtail

  Her muscles clenched around him, adjusting to his thickness. When he remained motionless inside her, she opened her eyes.

  He was braced above her, arms rigid, his brown eyes focused on hers.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

  “For you.”

  She shook her head, overwhelmed by the feeling that, at the moment, she was a part of something precious.

  He lowered his forehead to hers.

  “Look at me,” he ordered. “What’s past, is past. This is about the two of us now.”

  Her hands slid over his shoulders, clasped around his neck, and pulled him close. The tip of her tongue traced the seam of his lips. He opened to let her in. After a long kiss, he raised his head and at last began moving inside her.

  He was right. It was even better than before.

  Chapter Nine

  Daira half woke to something hard pressed against her bottom, and to a warm, firm chest against her back. She smiled, snuggling her backside a little more firmly against Rory.

  He kissed her neck, and the hand resting on her hip moved to her breast.

  She was caught in that wonderful moment between sleep and waking. They’d made love until the condoms were gone, leaving her exhausted and deliciously tender.

  She mumbled a protest when his body pulled away from hers.

  He kissed her cheek. “Someone’s at the door.”

  She rolled to her other side, watching as he pulled his jeans on. What was wrong with this picture? A half-naked man was about to answer her door.

  She jumped from the bed, grabbed her clothes, dressing as she followed him out of the bedroom.

  He grabbed his t-shirt from the living room floor and pulled it on just before he opened her front door.

  Her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Sanford, smiled up at Rory. Mrs. Sanford was the mother of the teen who’d seen her kissing Rory the night before. Mother and daughter were both neighborhood gossips. Daira could only imagine what the teen had told her mother.

  She moved to stand next to Rory. She was an adult, for heaven’s sake. There was no law against kissing a man in her own front yard, nor against his staying the night.

  She opened her mouth to say, “Good morning,” but gasped instead. In Mrs. Sanford’s hand was the scrimshaw doll.

  “Aaron and I were out fishing by Jeremiah’s Bridge,” she said. “Aaron’s my husband,” she explained to Rory. “He likes to go fishing on Saturdays. I usually go with him. It’s the only way I get to spend time with him, between work and the kids. Anyway, he hooked a plastic bag. He was mad, too. Talking about how people just throw their trash out the car window. Not that he meant you, of course,” she said to Daira. “I know you didn’t mean to throw this out. I just can’t imagine how it happened.”

  She looked at Daira, obviously expecting an explanation. Daira placed a hand over her mouth, certain she was going to be sick, and shook her head.

  “Well, I remembered the doll, of course,” Mrs. Sanford said. “I remember you saying it had been your mother’s. Such a unique doll. It reminds me of a moopet.”

  “A what?” Rory asked.

  Mrs. Sanford giggled, sounding more like her daughter than a woman in her forties. “My grandmother was Comanche and she used to tell me about the moopets. They were little devils.”

  Mrs. Sanford held the doll out. Daira could only stare, certain it was laughing at her. Before Mrs. Sanford could comment, Rory took the doll.

  “Thank you. I know how Daira feels about it.”

  Mrs. Sanford leaned close, saying in a loud whisper, “I’m so glad you’re getting on with your life.”

  Daira’s head moved up and down stiffly. Mrs. Sanford smiled and went back to her own house.

  Rory put a hand on Daira’s back, guiding her inside and closing the door. He held the doll up. “A moopet, huh? I can throw it away for you.”

  Daira hugged herself. “I’ve already thrown it away. Twice. It keeps coming back.”

  He tossed the doll onto the couch and folded his big hands over her shoulders. “Daira, listen to me. It’s just a doll. It is not cursed. Stop making it sound like something out of a horror movie.”

  She moved back, breaking his hold. “How do you explain why it keeps coming back? What do you think it is? Some kind of scrimshaw boomerang?”

  “Be reasonable. I brought it back the first time, and if you hadn’t put it in a plastic bag the second time, it probably would have sunk to the bottom of the Washita River.”

  He moved closer. She retreated.

  “Sweetheart, the curse is just an old superstition. You have to expect it with something that old.”

  Daira closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I can’t do this right now. I need time to think.”

  “Fine. We’ll go out to breakfast. Maybe you’ll think a little clearer after a cup of coffee.”

  She shook her head. “I need to be alone, Rory.”

  His mouth thinned, his eyes narrowed. She knew that look.

  She held up a hand to stop the argument before it started. “I’m tired. I’m frightened and a little freaked out. I’m used to handling my problems by myself.”

  His expression softened. “You’re not alone.”

  “Rory, please! Just give me some time to think.”

  He walked to the kitchen, tossed the doll in the trash, and headed for the bedroom.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m getting my socks,” he said without looking back.

  He returned a moment later, put his socks and shoes on, and hooked one hand behind her head.

  “This isn’t over by a long shot, sweetheart.” His lips pressed hers in a quick, hard kiss, then he was gone.

  She listened to his car door slam. Hands pressed flat against her front door, she looked out the peephole and watched him pull away.

  “It has to be over,” she whispered. “For both our sakes.”

  ****

  I shouldn’t have given up smoking, Janet thought. She could use a little something to de-stress. She bit down lightly on the tip of her thumb. Using the little bit of info she had on Daira G., she’d spent hours searching for her online. Who, in this day and age, didn’t have a page on Facebook? Of course she might be a very old woman. She hadn’t said when her mother bought the doll, only where. No, that didn’t work. She’d been tracking the doll for years. Daira G’s mother had to have acquired it not too long ago.

  She frowned. Daira G. couldn’t be very smart or she wouldn’t have thrown away the doll.

  Janet resisted the urge to throw something. The doll was the key to her future.

  Too bad she couldn’t shoot Daira G. for being stupid. Well, she could, the problem was getting away with it. Think.

  She bent over the laptop and began to type.

  Chapter Ten

  Misti sat on Daira’s couch, legs pulled up, looking closer to sixteen than twenty.

  Daira sat in a chair with Lemon on her lap. The cat’s gold eyes were half-closed, his trim body vibrating with the force of his purrs.

  “Lucky wants a mommy,” Daira said.

  Misti sighed. “I know. It seems like the guys my age are so immature.” She looked at Daira from the corner of her eyes, lips twitching as she tried not to smile. “Rory’s not looking for a mommy. He’s all grown up.”

  Daira fixed her gaze on the cat and shrugged. “I really don’t care what Rory is or isn’t looking for.”

  Misti laughed as she swung her bare feet to the floor. “You might be able to get that lie past someone who doesn’t know you.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  Misti stood, tilting her head back and stretching her arms toward the ceiling. Her stretch finished, she turned back to Daira. “I saw you yesterday morning, remember? Rory was here and your lips were nice and swollen. I don’t think you had a shot of short-acting collagen. I’m going out to the kitchen. Want anything?”

  Daira shook her head.

 
“Hey!” Misti called out a second later, reappearing with the doll in her hand. “Why are you throwing her out? Don’t you realize she’s valuable? I’ll take her if you don’t want her.”

  No! Daira wanted to shout the word. What might happen if the doll passed into Misti’s keeping? She didn’t care for Lucky, but she didn’t want to be responsible for his death, either. She sat Lemon on the arm of the chair and stood. “I put the doll on the counter. It must have fallen into the trash by accident.”

  Misti handed the doll to her. Daira hated the feel of it in her hands, cool and slick.

  “Take better care of it,” her sister said. “It’s valuable. And it was Mom’s. That makes it like a family heirloom. Something for you to pass along to your own kids.”

  Daira shuddered at the thought.

  ****

  Janet stretched out on her queen-sized bed, dressed in a lacy bra and matching panties. A girl had to feel sexy sometime.

  Her hand rested on the thirty-eight where it lay on her flat stomach. The metal was chilled, but warming rapidly from her body heat. It had warmed up much faster when she’d fired it at David.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the startled look on his face as he raised his head when she called his name.

  He held up one hand. “Janet. I can explain. It’s not what—” The gun bucked in her hand. His little slut screamed from underneath him.

  “You killed him! Why? Why did you do that?”

  Janet shifted the gun in her direction. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

  Shit. What had she done? She hadn’t meant to kill him, had she? She’d brought the gun to scare him, to make him realize she was serious when she said she wouldn’t tolerate a cheater.

  Janet bit her lower lip and touched the tip of the barrel to her chin, startled by the metal’s heat.

  The slut pushed against David’s chest. His body toppled from the seat to the floorboard.

  The slut’s hands covered her face as she sobbed. What the hell was she crying about it? It was Janet’s lover lying on the floorboard.

  Think.

  She looked at the other woman. Her unclasped bra still clung to her shoulders. There was no blood on her. That surprised Janet. The bullet mustn’t have gone all the way through. Too bad. It would have been much more convenient if one bullet had taken them both out.

  She leaned to the side and glanced at the ignition. No keys. Of course not. David’s car pinged if the keys were in the ignition when the engine was off.

  Still keeping an eye on the slut, she shot a glance to the dash. Bastard hadn’t changed much. David had brought her to this same spot a couple of times, tossed the keys on the dash, and coaxed her into the back seat. Janet snatched his keys and put them in the pocket of her jeans.

  “Listen to me, slut. I want you to climb into the front seat.” No way did she want to let her out of the car so she could go running off into the woods.

  The woman looked at her in shock.

  Janet pointed the gun at her pretty face. “Do you hear me, slut?”

  “My name’s Tiffany.”

  “Your name’s slut. Now climb over the seats. Touch a door handle and I’ll shoot you.”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway,” Tiffany/slut said.

  “I have to,” Janet said. “I’m not about to go to jail. But you get to choose whether I put one bullet in your brain or whether I shoot your hands and feet off, then use the rope in the trunk of my car to tie you to a tree and leave you there as a little snack for the wolves.” Janet wasn’t sure if there were wolves in Oklahoma, but it sounded good. Besides, there were coyotes, and they’d do just as well.

  Tiffany/slut climbed over the seats. Janet opened the passenger door.

  “Get behind the wheel.”

  How about that? Tiffany/slut was listening.

  “Start driving,” Janet said.

  “Where?”

  “Follow that little path that goes into the woods.”

  “But this isn’t a four-wheel drive.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re not going far.”

  The pond was no more than thirty feet into the woods. The little path was simply two ruts worn into the earth by lovers driving out to the pond for privacy and romance.

  Tiffany/slut drove slowly. The younger woman took Janet by surprise when she threw open the car door and dove out. Janet barely had time to aim the gun and pull the trigger.

  The slut screamed like one of the bimbos in a slasher film.

  Janet grabbed the gearshift, slammed it into park and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Tiffany/slut sat on her bottom, not more than ten feet from the car, wearing only a pair of bright red panties trimmed in black lace. At least the blood matched.

  The slut pulled her thigh up to her chest, hugging it as if she could kiss it and make the pain go away.

  Janet had never shot at a moving target before. She’d been aiming for the slut’s back. She’d hit her on the outside of the lower thigh. The wound didn’t look all that serious.

  “Get back in the car or I will shoot your knee.”

  Tiffany/slut managed to get to her feet, limped over to the car, and got back behind the wheel.

  Stupid idiot. She was going to die anyway. “Put on your seatbelt.” At least that would slow her down if she tried to escape again.

  A groan rose from the back. Both women startled.

  “It’s David,” the slut said. “He’s still alive. You have to let me take him to the hospital.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Stop here.” Janet got out of the car and closed the door. “Now drive into the lake.”

  She saw the flash of hope on the other woman’s face. Let her think she’d be able to get out of the car.

  The car began moving down the incline toward the pond. Before it could pick up speed, Janet pointed the gun in the passenger window and pulled the trigger twice.

  The car continued on its own, entering the water with a splash and sliding beneath the surface, the blue of the car blending with the blue of the water.

  Janet stood for a long time, watching to make sure the slut didn’t make it out. Finally, she walked back to her own car and drove home.

  ****

  Daira stared at the computer background, a picture of Lemon asleep on her keyboard. Her hand folded over the mouse. She hesitated a moment, then clicked onto the Internet. A few more clicks found her on the doll’s site.

  She wrote a short post, explaining that she had thrown the doll away twice, wondering if Rory throwing it in the kitchen trash counted as a third, and each time it had come back.

  She started to leave the site, but one of the pictures caught her eye. She leaned closer and read the caption. The doll had been used as a movie prop in the ’40s. Figured. The love lives of Hollywood stars were screwed up as it was. Hollywood must have been a dream come true for the doll.

  She rubbed her eyes. The damn doll was messing with her mind.

  ****

  Daira G. still had the doll!

  Janet held both hands over her mouth to keep her shriek of delight in.

  Her fingers danced across the keyboard. She’d have the doll soon, and it would take care of everything. She wouldn’t be forced to deal with cheating boyfriends anymore.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daira opened the front door to let Lemon out. It was more proof of how crazy the last week was making her. She always let Lemon out before her shower, letting him in afterward.

  She forgot tonight, stepping out of the bathroom to find the cat sitting on her bed, the picture of indignation. Judging from the way he stomped out the door, tail high and rigid, he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

  Daira yawned, hand over her mouth. She had a few minutes to kill until Lemon was ready to come in.

  The computer seemed to draw her in. She sat in the desk chair, staring at the blank screen. After a full minute, she pressed the power button.

  The computer whirred to li
fe. She brought up the doll’s site.

  Her eyes moved to the hallway. The doll was once again in the closet. This time she had wrapped it in an old towel and stuffed the towel in a cloth bag.

  There was one new post on the doll’s site. Numbers Lady saying once again that she wanted to buy the doll.

  Don’t you understand? Daira typed. The doll is cursed. Evil. The men you love die.

  She stared at the blinking cursor. The men you love. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but she had fallen in love with Rory Trent all over again. She couldn’t bear to lose him for a second time.

  She was frightened at the thought of loving again, but couldn’t even take the chance. She had to give him up before that damn doll killed him like it had Hagan and Ted.

  ****

  Janet tossed two aspirin in her mouth, filled a paper cone with water, and swallowed the pills. The tiny cups didn’t hold much water, so she started to place it under the nozzle again.

  “Oh, sorry,” a sugary voice said, bright red acrylic nails holding a cup under the nozzle.

  Janet barely knew the woman, but she was certain she’d had a boob job and one too many shots of collagen to plump up her lips.

  Light caught the diamond sparkling on the woman’s ring finger. Janet refused to comment on it. Miss Bimbo had bragged often enough about her good-looking, rich boyfriend.

  “Headache?” Miss Bimbo asked, pointing to the small bottle of aspirin on top of the water cooler.

  “Hot date,” Janet lied. “Too much champagne, too little sleep. You know how it is.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Oh,” Miss Bimbo said, her voice practically a purr. “You might be surprised who I know.”

  Janet imagined Miss Bimbo looking her over, judging herself to be younger and more attractive than Janet. Just the thought set her teeth on edge.

  “Daniel’s an attorney out of Dallas. He makes a special trip to Oklahoma City every chance he gets.”

  “That’s nice,” Miss Bimbo said doubtfully.

  Janet spun on her heel and stomped down the hall. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.