by Fran Rizer
Though the sun didn’t set over the ocean, we enjoyed that lovely effect of dusk descending over the sand and water. Soon stars danced out into the night sky. Levi went inside and came out with glasses of sweetened tea with sprigs of fresh mint.
We sipped our drinks and talked about the things most people do on first dates. He said he’d never been married and had no children. I told him I’d been married and divorced one time, but I didn’t go into any details about Donnie.
“This is a first for me,” he said. “I’ve never dated a teacher.”
I almost replied that I’d never dated a delivery boy, but this house indicated that Levi might actually be working there to learn about the business. I confess I’d really figured that was just a line to excuse having a low-paying job when he was obviously in his mid thirties.
The thought even crossed my mind that instead of owning this property and living here, perhaps he was a hired house-sitter. When the mosquitoes started biting, he invited me inside.
The house was big, modern, and exquisitely furnished. I’d always considered beach houses informal, but this place had both a formal living room and dining room that could be seen through the door of the room we entered. Those areas had massive furniture made of deep polished wood and brocade upholstery.
We stood in what I would call a den. Three huge leather couches created a conversation area facing a gigantic fire-place. I wondered how often a fire had been lit there. It’s pretty warm around here most of the year. Behind the couches had been designated a recreational area, with pool table, foosball, brass and glass octagonal table with several decks of cards on it, and a bookcase filled with boxed games. I wondered where the GameCube was.
I sat on a couch and looked around. Quite a comfy setup. Levi picked up a remote control and the wall beside the fire-place disappeared, revealing a gigantic plasma-screen television.
Monk.
“Do you like this show?” he asked and sat beside me. Close, but not touching.
“Yes,” I said and sipped my tea while Monk neurotically solved the mystery.
When the program ended, Levi pressed a few more buttons, and soft, shimmery colors played across the screen like those old lava lamps my brothers used to have. Soft jazz filled the room. Levi moved closer and I knew he was going to kiss me.
No doubt about the chemistry between us. His kiss was tender but it shot flames. He took his time—sweet and gentle—and the longer his kisses lasted, the more sense Jane’s advice to live for the moment made.
Levi leaned back and pulled me over onto him.
My mind remained focused on his kisses. And his hands. He’d been stroking my behind. Problem was I couldn’t feel it. He stopped kissing and moved his mouth and tongue to my neck and throat. He nibbled my ears. I loved every minute of it. Then I realized that he was touching my breast. Not really. He was cuddling my inflated bra. I couldn’t feel a thing.
I’d thought the heat of the moment and gentleness of his touch were keeping his hands from hurting my bruises, but no. The padded and inflated garments beneath my dress were protecting me from feeling pain. Would it hurt to be touched when my clothing came off?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Oh, my heavens!!!
Holy moly!!!
Good grief!!!
Dalmation!!!
If I took my clothes off—or let him remove them—Levi would know that the body he saw when he looked at me in my black dress wasn’t mine. My chest was, in reality, as flat as a pancake, and my bottom was even flatter.
I gently put my hands over his and removed them from my bosom. I sat up straight and adjusted my dress. Levi had gotten a glance at a lot of leg. At least my legs are my own and not padded or inflated.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking. Let me look in the bedroom. Surely, there’s something in there.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. You’re right. The chemistry’s great, but I’m not ready.” How many men had I told that to in the past year or so? I’d been determined to be in a real relationship, possibly even married again, before allowing such closeness.
Now I wanted to forget all my lofty ideals. I really wanted the comfort of this man’s arms. The pleasure of his touch. I wanted all that, but I couldn’t let myself.
I could be self-righteous and say I came to my senses, but that wasn’t it at all. I simply couldn’t bear to think of seeing the look on Levi’s face when I took off my clothes. It would be a whole lot worse than that song about the man marrying the woman who took out her glass eye and her false teeth, then pulled off her wig when she went to bed on the first night of their honeymoon.
Levi did the gentlemanly thing. He got us each another glass of tea and found a good movie on TV. He sat close with his arm around me but didn’t touch any personal spaces again. He took me home before it got too late, kissed me gently at the door, and told me he’d call me at work the next day.
Standing for a moment in the open door, I watched Levi walk back to his car and drive away. I really liked that man, and not because he was from a wealthy family. In fact, that could be an obstacle. Opposites attract, but our attraction had nothing to do with our social standings, and I’d already been in a relationship with a guy from a higher socioeconomic standing than mine. Donnie’s family had money, but that had actually almost prejudiced me against the so-called upper classes.
Frank’s Jeep hadn’t been there when Levi pulled up. I wondered if he’d gone to pick up a pizza or something, and if so, was Jane with him or waiting for me inside?
“Jane,” I called as I turned around and stepped into the apartment. Good grief! The place was a shambles. Couch cushions lay on the floor beside overturned end tables. The splintered glass top of the coffee table reminded me of the family car’s windshield.
“Big Boy! Big Boy!” I shouted frantically and ran to the bathroom, hoping that Jane and Frank had locked the dog in there before leaving. I looked in the bedroom, dreading finding Jane or the dog injured or—let’s be truthful—dead. There were no signs of life or death in the apartment. Just trashed furniture and clothes. The closets and drawers had been emptied and everything thrown all over the floor.
In books, villains sometimes leave messages written in lipstick on mirrors. I always thought that was kind of hokey, but now it happened for real.
“Callie, I know what you’re doing” was lettered across the mirror above my dresser.
After searching the closets and under the beds, I called Sheriff Harmon and put on a pot of coffee. Like caffeine would calm me down. I knew the sheriff would ask what was missing, first thing, but I didn’t feel like looking. He’d want to see the place like I’d found it anyway, and I couldn’t know if anything had been stolen until things were back in order.
“Whew! Looks like that storm turned into a hurricane and went through here,” the sheriff said when I opened the door for him. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“No idea at all, but there have been some strange happenings lately.”
“What kind of events?”
“I think I hear someone at the windows, but when I look, no one is there.”
“Which windows? The bathroom?”
“No, generally it’s a side window. By the bedroom.”
“Could be a Peeping Tom, but they generally try to watch women shower.”
“I haven’t noticed it when I’ve showered, but the curtains overlap on the bathroom window. It would be hard to see in there.” I’d better check my bedroom drapes. Big Boy was barking at the window when I changed clothes. Had someone been outside, looking in at me? I’d thought there might be a squirrel outside. Maybe it was a rat instead. A human rat.
“What’s missing?” Sheriff Harmon stared all around the room, as though he could see beneath the clutter.
“I don’t know. I haven’t moved anything since I came in except I made a pot of coffee. Do you want a cup?”
“Sure, since yo
u’ve already touched the pot, I might as well.” His gaze darted around the room again. “If you have any disposable cups, use them.”
Personally, I felt that if the intruder had bothered the cups in my kitchen cabinet, they would be broken and scattered across the floor like everything else. That’s what I thought, but I was too tired to argue, and my pain medicine had worn off. I didn’t complain, just poured two cups of coffee and handed him one before loading mine with sugar and cream. I confess. I was upset, needed comfort. I put four spoons of sugar into my cup.
“I see that your electronics are here,” he said. “Television, DVD player. What about your computer?”
“I don’t have a computer.” I didn’t bother to explain that my dog kept eating up my savings.
“What about your guns?”
Should have checked them first thing, I thought. If burglary was the intruder’s intent, guns don’t even have to go to pawn shops. They can be sold on the street.
“Let’s go see,” I answered and led him to my bedroom. I opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the .38.
“This one’s here,” I said and put the weapon back. Sheriff Harmon knew all about my firearms. I once shot an intruder with the revolver. In the knee. Didn’t kill him or I’d probably never have seen that one again. Sheriff Harmon is quick to impound evidence. Like my Mustang.
Opening the closet door, I stretched to the highest shelf and pulled down the double-barreled shotgun and rifle my daddy lent me. Daddy keeps all weapons in a gun safe, and I’d thought about buying one, but I kept thinking I’d give all three or at least the shotgun and rifle back to him.
“How about Jane?” the sheriff asked as I stood on tiptoe to return the guns to their place at the back of the shelf.
“I hope that Frank took her and Big Boy off.”
Sheriff Harmon sat down and flipped open his cell phone. “First, let’s call your dad’s house and see if Frank is there.”
That’s when I realized there was a possibility that whoever had trashed the house had taken Jane and my dog. Jane had been kidnapped once before. The thought of her being at the mercy of some psycho again made me tremble.
“Hey, Bill,” Sheriff Harmon said into the telephone, “I’m trying to locate Frank to see if Jane Baker is with him. Is he home right now?”
The sheriff listened silently.
“Okay, well, there’s been a little problem here at Callie’s apartment. We just wanted to make sure everyone’s okay. No, Callie isn’t hurt. Just a bit upset, that’s all.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Frank took Jane and Big Boy over to your dad’s for supper, and they’re watching television. Do you want them to come back here or do you want me to take you over there?”
“Neither. Tell them to spend the night. I’ll be fine.”
Sheriff Harmon frowned at me, but told them to stay at Dad’s. He’d call back if we needed them.
I sat and drank coffee while the deputies photographed the apartment and bagged some items like the lipstick tube on the dresser. It appeared to be the color that was used to write the message. They fingerprinted a lot of surfaces, leaving fine black dust for me to clean up after they left.
When everyone had gone except the sheriff, he insisted that I let him take me over to Daddy’s. I refused, and he couldn’t legally make me.
After several more tries, he finally gave up and went to the door. “Okay, but call me if you hear anything or even if you just get the heebie-jeebies. I’ll be right here.”
As I closed the door behind him, the sheriff said, “Now be sure this door is locked.” Is there anyone in my life who thinks I have enough sense to lock my doors without being told what to do?
Chapter Thirty
Two hours later, most of the clutter was reorganized. Belongings were back in the proper drawers and cabinets except for what was broken. The glass-topped coffee table and end tables were a lost cause. It would probably be as expensive to replace their tops as to buy new ones.
Just looking at the broken furniture and knickknacks made me jittery. I gathered the smaller items and shattered glass into trash bags and took them to the Herbie Curby at the side of the building. Then I dragged the wooden and wrought-iron parts of my tables out the front door to cart them around there, too.
I heard what sounded like a cat or other small animal rummaging around in the shrubbery at the rear.
Dropping the armful of furniture pieces, I picked up a wooden table leg and ran around to the back of the house, eager to chase away the raccoon or whatever was there. I didn’t stop to think that it might not be a four-legged animal.
What if the noise was from a big two-legged creature? I pictured him bolting from my backyard as I turned and took off around to the front door. I slammed the door behind me and locked the deadbolt without anyone telling me what to do.
If I’d had a car, I would have jumped in it and driven away. I hadn’t really seen whatever made the noise out back. I wasn’t even sure that I’d heard anything, but what if it had been a person? What if he came back? I went into the bedroom and took my .38 from the bedside table.
I looked in the closet. Both my shotgun and rifle were on the top shelf where I’d put them back while the sheriff was there. To think I’d considered taking them back to my daddy. No, sirree. The way I felt right then, I wanted a loaded piece in every room.
Strange that someone tossed the apartment and didn’t seem to have stolen anything, not even guns, which could easily be sold on the street. Nothing appeared to be missing. Was I overlooking what had been taken or had the place been ransacked looking for something I didn’t have? Or was all this just to frighten me? Or to scare Jane, since she lived with me for the time being?
With the shotgun on the floor beside the bed, the rifle on the other side, and the .38 on top of the bedside table, I tried to go to sleep. Wide awake, I read, but my mind kept wandering to who might have been here. I kept thinking I heard something. I got up and walked through the apartment with the shotgun in one hand and revolver in the other. The next three times I checked out the door and windows, I left the revolver by the bed. I’d realized it would take both hands to fire the shotgun, but the scattered pellets were more likely to hit someone than a bullet from the .38 with my hands shaking like they were.
When my alarm clock chimed eight o’clock, I got out of bed without a minute’s sleep all night. I was glad Big Boy had spent the night at Daddy’s. I would have been scared to take him outside for his morning walk.
I set a cup of last night’s coffee in the microwave to heat and went to shower. The night before, I’d removed the makeup but had been too scared to shower. Afraid the noise of the splashing water might cover the sound of someone creeping around or breaking into the apartment.
After blow-drying my hair and finishing my coffee, I called the funeral home.
“Middleton’s Mortuary. Odell Middleton speaking. How may I help you?”
“Odell, I want to come to work, but I don’t have a way.”
“Otis is here and I’m going to Shoney’s for breakfast. I’ll swing by and pick you up. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Good, you can have breakfast with me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Since I was dressed and had cleaned up the apartment the night before, I tried to read. Neither my eyes nor my mind would focus. I dropped the book onto the floor where my coffee table had been before last night.
My apartment had always suited me, felt like home. No more. My eyes darted around as though I’d never been there before. I kept thinking I heard something outside. Maybe a branch brushing against a window. Then I thought I heard someone in the apartment with me. I went into the spare room and looked at the books stacked everywhere. No one could possibly walk around in that room.
The kitchen and living room are visible from each other. I opened both bedroom doors and the bathroom door. By sitting at exactly the right place on the couch, it was possible to see every r
oom in the apartment from one position. Maybe I’d start sleeping on the couch and let Jane have my room if she agreed to keep all the interior doors open when we were home.
Too much. Too much. Dr. Melvin dead with no known cause. Ms. Lucas murdered on Jane’s steps. My one dependable brother about to abandon his wife and family. My best friend dating my brother. The good Lord only knew what that could turn into. I wanted them both to be happy, but if that relationship soured, I’d be torn between the two of them.
All of that was bad enough, but worst of all was that someone had tried to kill me, had been peeping in my windows, and had gone through everything I owned. Was it all being done by the same someone? It had to be.
To top it off, Jane and Frank had taken my cookies and someone had gone into my car and stolen Jane’s thongs. Sure, I’d told myself a possum or squirrel had taken them, but that was ridiculous. A small animal might have carried off one or two pair, but not that whole pile.
Someone. Someone. Someone. Someone was out to get me.
The thought made me so frightened that by the time Odell arrived, I was nauseated.
Chapter Thirty-one
Shoney’s clientele looked like a rerun from Dr. Melvin’s funeral the day before. Roselle and several tables of the people who’d been introduced as her relatives from Georgia filled half of the dining area. Odell and I sat in a booth toward the rear of the restaurant.
The line for the breakfast buffet was l-o-n-g, but I knew Odell would be willing to wait. We both ordered the bar.
My nausea had subsided, and I fixed myself a plate that looked like a typical southern breakfast—grits, scrambled eggs, a biscuit, and a small slice of country ham. Odell brought two plates back to the table from his first trip. One plate was filled with grits and eggs topped with sausage gravy; the other, several biscuits and servings of every meat on the bar. Bacon, sausage links, sausage patties, country ham, chicken nuggets, and fried fatback. I’m sure he was disappointed that barbecue wasn’t available for breakfast.
