Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  “I don't see how this could possibly have any bearing on your book, Leora. The fact is, Tim decided to stay in Dot, but I was not so sure about it myself. I needed to be alone for a few days to think things through."

  “My source says you had sex with Baxter in his study—rough sex."

  Sandra's eyes blazed. “Your source is a damned liar.” She stood up. “I've told you all I know about John Baxter. Now you must excuse me. I have work to do."

  * * * *

  “Welcome back,” Detective Cranfield said on hearing that Borders had obtained a private detective license.

  “Bud, there's something I'm been meaning to ask you for a long time,” Borders said.

  “Shoot."

  “You've been a detective for four or five years now. Why do you continue to wear a deputy's uniform and that broad brimmed hat like state troopers wear?"

  Cranfield laughed. “About six years, now, Borders. You know, you're the first person to ask me. You guys go on the assumption that wearing plain-clothes lets you work more effectively. In many cases, you're undoubtedly right. But the uniform commands respect from the punks we usually deal with. I can always switch to a cheap suit like you wear,” he laughed, “but I have seldom felt the need to do so. The uniform is a tool that fits my style of working."

  “And the hat?"

  Cranfield looked around and leaned forward. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a cowboy."

  Borders roared with laughter.

  “Anything new on the Elliott murders?” Cranfield asked.

  “I was going to ask you that."

  Cranfield shook his head. “Since we ruled Eddie Crow out as a suspect we've come to a dead end."

  “Bud, I was wondering if you could print out a copy of all the info you have on the case. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes when I go over the record carefully I find a stone or two unturned."

  “No problem.” Cranfield turned and brought up the Elliott file on his computer and clicked on the printer icon. “It won't take long to print out,” he laughed. “There just isn't that much to it."

  “My wife latched onto a rumor this morning,” Borders said. “It doesn't have anything to do with the case—just gossip really, but it has my curiosity up. Do you know anything about Sandra Dollar?"

  “Sure,” he said. “She's a nice lady and rich as hell."

  Borders laughed. “That she is. What I mean is, do you know anything about her past—before she came to Dot."

  Cranfield looked at the older man blankly and shook his head. “Should I?"

  “Maybe not. It's just that I seem to recall a case involving her three or four years ago when Matt Dilson was sheriff. I didn't work on the case myself, but I think she may have been marginally involved in something or other."

  “Borders, if you want to spend some time for research on the computer, feel free. Dobson's out on sick leave. You can use his office."

  “What's wrong with Dobson?"

  “Hemorrhoids, I think."

  “Ouch."

  “Yeah,” Cranfield smiled. “You remember how to use these marvels of technology, don't you?” he asked as he patted the top of his monitor.

  “Thanks, Bud. It's probably nothing, but, like I said, Leora's gossip has my curiosity up."

  Borders closed the door to Dobson's cubicle and switched on the computer. Immediately the program called for a password. He was certain his password would no longer work, but he tried it anyway and was surprised when the program opened. He ran a search on ‘Dollar’ and found many entries. Most concerned land transactions and legal matters, but when he clicked on ‘Dollar, Sandra” the monitor displayed a single word, “confidential—top security required.” He typed in his security code. The screen flooded with tiny, hard to read, print.

  He leaned forward until the print focused through the lower part of his bifocals. For thirty minutes, he read page after page. Finally he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and exclaimed, “Holy cow!"

  * * * *

  Greta was working in the living room when she noticed Sandra climbing the spiral staircase. Literally on tiptoe she followed and inched up to the bedroom door. She heard water running in the Whirl Pool and smiled. She rushed to the kitchen and retrieved the equipment she needed to use as props from the utility closet. She hurried back upstairs and paused briefly at the closed bathroom door. She could hear the hum of the motor and an occasional splash as Sandra moved in the tub.

  Greta swung open the door and quickly entered the room, her bucket banging against the door. “Oh, mercy, Mrs. Dollar,” she gasped as she looked at the startled woman in the Whirl Pool. “I didn't know you were in here."

  Greta wondered, Why in the world would Tim want to poke me when he sleeps with that curvaceous body every night? “I ... I can come back later,” she said.

  The speechless woman in the tub covered her breasts with her arms. Greta turned her back and pretended to start for the door, then stopped. “Ma'am,” she said. “I don't mean no disrespect, but I used to be a masseuse a long time ago. I worked for a chiropractor—not in one of them massage parlors. I really know how to do it. You are awfully tense. The muscles in your shoulders look like knots of rope just under the skin. I could loosen them up for you in just a few minutes if you want me to."

  “Were you really a masseuse?"

  “Yes, ma'am.” She kept her back turned to Sandra.

  “Sounds like a good job. Why did you quit?"

  “I didn't. He wanted to fuck me and when I wouldn't, he fired me. I tried to get other jobs as a masseuse, but he put out the word I was having sex with his patients, so nobody else would hire me.” Slowly she turned and looked at her naked boss. I'll be damn, she thought. She bought it.

  “I have been under a lot of stress lately,” Sandra said, “and Leora upset me with some things she said."

  “Leora?"

  “The lady who visited me a couple of hours ago."

  “Oh,” Greta said as she stared at the tiny breasts that were no longer covered.

  “If you don't mind, I would love a massage."

  Greta knelt beside the beautiful woman and began to work on her shoulders. “Try to relax, ma'am."

  Sandra leaned forward. “Your hands feel wonderful."

  “Yes ma'am. I can feel those muscles relaxing already."

  “Can you work on down my back?"

  “Yes ma'am. Lean forward a little more, please."

  Sandra groaned as Greta applied rotating pressure to her vertebrae.

  “Ma'am,” Greta said as she looked appreciatively at the visible part of Sandra's buttocks, “I know I ain't worked here but three days, but am I doing okay?"

  “You're doing fine, Greta, but I wish your English were better. I'm afraid Junior will pick up some of your expressions."

  “I like Junior.” Greta reached the midpoint of Sandra's back. “He wanted me to learn him some new words this morning. I explained that I can't read very good, so he said he'd teach me. He didn't teach me nothing I didn't already know, but he seemed to enjoy reading to me."

  “That's good,” Sandra said dreamily. “I would prefer to be his only teacher, but anytime he wants to read to you it will help him."

  “Yes, ma'am. Ma'am?"

  “Yes?"

  “Your lower back is really messed up."

  “Un-mess it,” Sandra laughed.

  “Yes, ma'am. The thing is, I could do a better job if I was sitting behind you in the tub."

  “But you'd get all wet."

  Greta laughed. “You have towels, don't you?” She stood up and posed in front of Sandra as she quickly removed her clothes.

  “Greta, I don't know..."

  Greta didn't let her finish. “Scoot down a little, ma'am.” She climbed behind Sandra, slid to a sitting position behind her boss and immediately began working on the small of Sandra's back. “Ma'am,” Greta said as her fingers continued their performance, working lower and lower, “we have one of these fancy tubs in the house me a
nd Eddie rent. They're wonderful."

  “Yes,” agreed Sandra, “and so are your hands.” She felt her muscles relaxing and she sighed. For a moment, when she felt Greta's finger working between the hemispheres of her buttocks, she thought that she should call a halt to the massage, but it felt so good.

  “You like this, ma'am?"

  “Hmmm."

  When Greta's finger lightly prodded her anus Sandra knew it had gone too far. She resolved never to allow this to happen again, but it felt too good to interrupt now. Greta reversed course and moved her probing fingers up Sandra's back.

  “Loosen up a little, Mrs. Dollar. Just relax. That's it.” Her hands moved to Sandra's shoulder blades and then to her arms. “Now just lean back, ma'am. That's it. I need to do your chest muscles. Go on. Lean back. My titties won't bite you. That's it.” Her hands probed Sandra's upper chest and caressed her throat.

  Sandra knew she shouldn't find pleasure in the sensation of Greta's hard nipples against her back and it troubled her. She felt her vaginal moisture begin to build as Greta's fingers gently spidered her shapely little breasts.

  “I like your tits, ma'am,” Greta cooed. “They're so firm and responsive."

  Sandra knew she must stop this. She pushed her head back against Greta's shoulder and opened her mouth to protest. Greta filled it with her tongue as her hand slid down Sandra's belly, over her navel, through her pubic hair and between her legs. Sandra tried to close her legs, but they felt like jelly. The girl's pulsating tongue was so full and her saliva so sweet.

  * * * *

  “I see that damn Maggie brought you home,” Eddie greeted as Greta entered the house.

  “Honey, it's a long way to the Dollar place. With you working, I had to walk this morning. Maggie said she didn't mind bringing me home."

  “I don't want you getting too chummy with that bitch.” He pulled his right hand from behind his back displaying the pair of pliers he was holding. “Remember the last time I used these on you, bitch?"

  “Oh, God, Eddie. Don't pinch my clit with those things again. What do you want, honey? A blow job?” She dropped to her knees.

  He yanked her back up. “I don't want a damn blow job, bitch. I'm going to work over you clit tonight and every night until you tell me you've gotten at least one of the Dollars in bed."

  She grinned although he continued to pull her hair. “Can I pinch your balls with them pliers when I do get the Dollars in bed?"

  “You have something to tell me, Greta?” he asked, releasing his grip.

  She nodded as she began to strip for him. “I bagged both of them today. I showed Tim my bare ass and he was humping me within two minutes. I used the old professional massager bit on Sandy and she bought it faster than any john I have ever tried it on."

  “What was she like, baby?"

  “Sandy? Well, she ain't much in the titty department, but she has huge nipples. The first time she came, I was just twisting them a little. She's got a tight little pussy. She must have had it stitched up after Junior was born. I had trouble finding her clit, but when I did, boy, did she blow all her fuses."

  “Did she do you, Greta?"

  “Well, she didn't get her tongue where I wanted it, but she made that thing move so fast inside my mouth she brought me off that way.

  “About that blow job you offered me..."

  Chapter Twelve

  “God, I hope Eddie don't find out I was gone all day,” Greta said over the hum of the Blazer's motor. “What if he came home for lunch?"

  “Quit worrying, Greta,” Maggie replied. “You've already told me he doesn't do that."

  “There can always be a first time.” Greta watched telephone poles whiz by. “Course, he's banging that black girl now, so I guess that's how he spends his lunch hour."

  “What black girl?"

  “I think her name's Sueanna. She's a waitress at the Korner Kafe."

  “Sewana,” Maggie corrected. “I would not have thought she would stoop so low."

  “Eddie has a big one and most girls go for that."

  “Does she work weekends?"

  “Yeah. I think so."

  “I don't know what you see in that man, Greta. As you once told me, he treats you like dirt. Maybe he does have a big penis, but the middle finger on your right hand can accomplish the same thing."

  “It don't bother me much. He's always screwing somebody. Only, in this case, I think he really likes the girl."

  “Hey, cheer up. I learned a lot today. How about you?"

  Greta relaxed. “Yeah,” she said and a smile returned to her lips. “We know what a gold nugget looks like now, and a gold flake, and a panning dish."

  “I didn't find the video they showed very helpful, but getting my feet wet in the creek actually panning for gold was fun, even if I didn't find anything and you did,” Maggie teased.

  “It was just a little nugget."

  “Even so, the man said it was probably worth twenty dollars or more."

  “Maggie, I wish I could help pay for the equipment."

  “Don't worry about it. The three panning dishes I bought were only fifteen bucks. I can get the rest of the stuff from the hardware store for fifty dollars or less. You can pay me back when we strike it rich."

  A broad smile grew across Greta's face. “When are we going to try our luck?"

  “Why not tomorrow? I've spent many hours studying Ida's gold map. I believe the mine on the Dollars’ farm is upstream of the little creek that feeds the two lakes in front of the Dollar's house. I followed the creek yesterday as far as I could on the golf cart. I found several bends in the creek and a couple of fallen logs that look like good places to search. If we do find some gold, we'll know we are on the right track and work our way upstream. Eventually we'll find the old mine."

  “What if the Dollars’ catch us?"

  “I've thought about that too. I think we need to ask permission to pan on their property."

  “As money crazy as they are, they'll probably want to share the profit with us."

  “Yes, and I think that would be fair."

  “Maggie, why did you buy three panning dishes?"

  “The little one is for Junior. I'm fond of the little rascal and as much as he likes to fish, I think he would enjoy panning for gold."

  “You're going to let the kid go with us?"

  “Why not? That's one way to get the Dollars to agree to let us use their land."

  “I reckon it's okay. It's just that..."

  “What?"

  “I don't want to get too attached to the kid."

  “He's a sweetheart, Greta."

  “Yeah. That's why I don't want to get too attached."

  “That doesn't make any sense."

  “Well, if I get to loving the little fellow and something happens, it'll hurt real bad."

  “What could happen?"

  “Well,” Greta said, stalling until she could think of something other than the planned kidnapping, “well, like maybe Eddie will get tired of Dot and drag me away. I'd miss the little guy something awful if I got to loving him."

  “If Eddie decides to leave Dot, it will be the best thing that could happen to you. You don't have to go with him, you know."

  “He's mean, Maggie. He'd make me go with him."

  “Greta, I've been thinking that you ought to tell Eddie what we're doing."

  “You don't know him like I do, Maggie. He'll want everything we find. I'll wind up doing all the work and he'll get all the gold."

  “No he won't. We won't let him know how much we find. I'll keep your share for you. We'll give him a little from time to time. He won't know the difference."

  Greta grinned.

  “A little gold, Greta. Gold,” Maggie laughed.

  “He might prefer the other. He told me one day he'd like to fuck you."

  “That'll be the day."

  “I'm serious. He's said it more than once. One time he made me wear a ball cap while he did me. I know he was pretending it
was you he was humping."

  Maggie wrinkled her nose and shook her shoulders. “Change the subject, Greta. I'm about to throw up."

  “You know, if I do tell him about us hunting for gold, I can quit worrying about him finding out and beating the shit out of me."

  “That's exactly my point."

  “Should I tell him about Miss Jenkins?"

  “I don't think so. Tell him it is a hobby of mine and you'd like to try it. Promise to give him all the gold you find. Even if we don't find anything tomorrow, give him the little nugget you found today at the Reed mine. It'll give him gold fever."

  “What if he wants to come with us?"

  “Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. That's one we'll have to play by ear."

  * * * *

  “Is it good, honey?"

  Eddie sucked a dangling strand of pasta into his mouth and smiled as he chewed. “One of the few things you do well is make spaghetti,” he said. “Don't look like you got much house keeping done today, though."

  “I'm sorry, Eddie. I didn't do much. I ... I wasn't here most of the day.” She braced for the verbal attack she expected.

  “Where'd you go?” he asked absently.

  “Eddie, let me tell it all before you get mad at me. My bottom still hurts from the last time you whupped me."

  “Have you done something that's going to make me angry?"

  “I hope not,” she said as she pushed away from the table. She walked to the counter, picked up the tea pitcher, returned and filled his glass.

  “The skin on your ass has returned to its normal color, Greta. Maybe it's time I blistered it again."

  “It hurts so bad, Eddie, but it was my bruised ass that turned Mr. Dollar on. Mrs. Dollar didn't see it until yesterday, and she was real sympathetic. She even kissed my butt, like that would make it well."

  Eddie laughed. “I'll bet Tim would like to have been the one who beat you. Why don't you suggest it the next chance you get? Then, when Sandy sees your bruises, you can still blame them on me."

  His good mood baffled Greta. “I don't know, Eddie. Mrs. Dollar is the one who seems to be angry all the time. She might enjoy taking it out on my hide. She slapped my butt after kissing it, but it didn't hurt."

  Eddie laughed again. “Two sadists in the same family. You make them happy any way you can. Now then, what is it you have to tell me that is going to make me angry?"