“I do miss those parties where everyone has a carefree joie de vivre towards life,” Trudie said, smiling at the memories the thought had conjured up.
“Oh, I have a carefree enjoyment of living, I just enjoy it more when a camera is pointed at me,” Krystal joked. “It’s more fun than the old fuddy-duddy’s I have to play nice to.”
“I imagine it’s been pretty hard on you, since your husband died.” Trudie stated.
“Yes, it has been. I’m barely thirty-one, and the board of directors are in their sixties and seventies. We don’t agree on anything.”
“It must be hard to get things accomplished?”
Krystal nodded. “In the five years since I’ve been in charge, I’ve only managed to bring in a couple of younger board members more open to my ideas.”
“Sometimes, progress is measured in inches instead of feet,” Trudie sympathized.
“In this case, it’s more like millimeters instead of inches,” Krystal complained. “Oh, well. Give me a hug and then it’s off to bed for this old girl.”
Krystal was very demonstrative, and Trudie found comfort in that because she used to be the same way.
Trudie laughed and hugged her, then walked her to the door. “Sweet dreams.”
*
Thunder rolled over the ominous clouds, announcing that a storm was coming. Lightning skittered in and out of the clouds, as if looking for something it had lost. Rain began to fall, pelting the ground with its thick droplets of water, soaking anything and anyone in its way.
Annie was in its way.
It was Friday evening. Annie had nowhere to go, nothing to do, and too much time on her hands to think about Trudie. When she woke up that morning, she was employed, and knew she could at least be in the same building as Trudie. But now, as she sat on a cliff on the north side of the river, watching the lightning show on the south side, she was unemployed, unhappy, and terribly lonely. And adding insult to injury, she was sopping wet. Rivulets of water dropped from her hair, down her cheeks, and off her nose. She didn’t care.
Her eyes were fixated on a metal and glass building across the river. The building was too far away to make out the details of Trudie’s floor, but Annie knew she was there. Was she looking out the window too?
Annie’s cellphone interrupted her thoughts, and she fished it out of her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway.
“Nichols.”
“Hey, Sarge. It’s Airman First Class Jeff Davis.”
“Yeah, sure, I remember you, Airman.”
“We’re hanging out at the pool hall tonight, wanna join us?”
“Sure. It beats the heck out of what I was doing. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Good deal. And, Sarge, bring some cash, we play for keeps.”
Annie laughed at the irony of finally having some money to throw away, thanks to the woman she couldn’t be with. Fate was a capricious bitch, but Annie was going to make her own fate. Something of a pool shark, thanks to her obsession with pool as a teenager, she was going to win as much at the table as she could, and send it to Trudie as her first installment on repaying the debt.
Twenty minutes later, Annie pulled into the parking lot of the bar and went in. Airman Davis saw her first and waved to get her attention. There were two other people around the table, each holding a cue stick.
“You have really good timing, Sarge. We’re just about to break,” Jeff said, then made the introductions. “That’s Airman First Class Fred Willard, and Senior Airman Bonnie Crawford. Our fourth guy is AWOL again tonight. Everyone, this is Staff Sergeant Annie Nichols.”
Annie nodded. “Good to meet you. So, what does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”
Jeff waved the waitress over. “What’s your pleasure, Sarge?”
“Beer in a bottle, please. Thanks.” As the waitress went to fill her order, Annie asked, “So, what’s the game and what are we playing for?”
“Eight-ball, and the breaker picks solids or stripes,” Bonnie answered.
“I’ve got a quarter right here, let’s flip for who breaks,” Fred offered, picking up a quarter next to three five-dollar bills lying on the green felt table. “Five bucks ante, five on the eight-ball pocket.”
Annie pulled a wad of bills from her leather billfold and pulled out a five. She added it to the pile. “Since this is my first time here, how about ten bucks on the eight-ball pocket?”
“I can cover that,” Jeff said, pulling out a ten-spot, and placing it on the table rim.
“Okay, then why don’t you two play first, so we can see what kind of skill the Sarge has,” Bonnie suggested.
“I’m okay with that,” Willard agreed.
“Works for me,” Annie said, walking to the rack of cues and picking one out. She rolled it on the table to be sure it was straight and true, then she chalked it.
“I’ll take heads,” Jeff said.
Fred flipped the quarter in the air, letting it drop to the table. “And heads it is,” he said, making sure everyone saw the coin before he picked it up.
As Fred racked the balls, Jeff looked at Annie with curiosity.
“Did you get caught in the rain, Sarge?”
Annie smiled and ran her fingers through her wet hair. “No, not exactly. I was enjoying the lightning show from the north side of the bluffs.”
“Oh, that is so romantic,” Bonnie said.
“Not when it’s forbidden romance,” Annie quipped.
Bonnie thought she heard a tinge of sarcasm in the tall woman’s voice. “Uh-oh. Someone’s got issues.”
Annie instantly regretted verbalizing her frustrations.
“Was it that author who had a thousand pictures taken of you and her together? She didn’t do that with me,” Jeff teased.
“Oh, do tell.” Bonnie smiled Annie and looked back at Jeff who just smiled back. “No, seriously, tell us who you’re talking about.”
“I can do better than that,” Jeff bragged as he retrieved his cellphone from his jacket. “I took pictures of them taking pictures of the Sarge.” He scrolled through photos of his dog until he came to one of Annie and Trudie together. He showed it to Bonnie and Fred.
Bonnie’s mouth fell open. “Hey! That’s Trudie Youngblood, the author of the Southern Belles in Prison series. I can’t wait to get the third book.”
“The Sarge has all of her books, and even got them signed by the author herself,” Jeff said proudly.
“Yeah, well, can we get back to the game, please.” Annie didn’t want to discuss her broken heart to a bunch of strangers. It would take a lot more than beer to loosen her tongue.
“All right, Sarge,” Jeff said, leaning over the table. He lined up the cue ball and cracked the stick into it, propelling the ball into the fifteen object balls, sending several of them in every direction. One ball went in the pocket, leading Jeff to say, “Looks like I’m stripes.”
“Good, solids bring me luck,” Annie claimed.
***
Fresh from the shower, Trudie walked nude into the kitchen to pour herself another glass of wine. She finger-combed her hair to help air dry it, took a sip from her drink, and then walked back to her office. She sat down at the computer and hit the spacebar to wake it up.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she said as she opened up a blank Word doc.
Dear Diary,
I find myself at a crossroads yet again, where I must decide on the purpose of my life. And once again I find that I no longer have a purpose. What the hell do I do now, diary? Do I keep living in this prison, only seeing family and a few friends? Just when I was feeling the urge inside, to step outside again... just when I thought I had the courage, had the desire and the willingness to be with Annie… just when I was ready to live again… just when…
I pushed Annie away, and even had her fired. I doubt she will ever forgive me, but in time she will forget me and move on, and I wouldn’t blame her. It’s been three years and the murderer is no closer to being caugh
t. How could I ask anyone to wait for me when I don’t know how long the wait will be?
Fate is punishing me for being famous. I never wanted to be famous. Well, maybe a little bit. But who could have known that fame would have demanded such an unthinkable compensation? I feel like I sold my soul to the devil himself and am in hell here on earth.
Secretly, between you and me, dear diary, I still hope Annie will rescue me.
Trudie picked up her wine glass and leaned back. She could still hear Annie’s raspy voice in her ear and feel her soft touch across her fevered brow. The remnants of the heat she felt from Annie’s closeness still lingered in the pit of her stomach, and a single touch could easily rekindle the embers. Trudie closed her eyes and let Annie’s smiling face touch her deep inside. She could feel Annie’s long fingers penetrate her depths and she rose to capture them, possess them, urge them. As the vision of Annie drove her to orgasm, Trudie cried out her name.
*
Sitting alone in a dark room, where the only illumination came from a computer monitor setting on a desk, an individual was panting like a rabid dog, pumping and pushing, but still could not come to climax. Frustrated, they pulled their pants back on and leaned back. They smiled as Trudie stood up, glistening from her orgasm, and walked across the hall to her bedroom.
The stalker touched the monitor, and said, “Until next time, my darling.”
***
Annie walked the length of the table, examining every path the cue ball could take to successfully knock the eight-ball into the pocket. At stake was several hundred dollars. After hours of shooting stick, Annie had accumulated four hundred dollars, and now she was betting it all on which pocket she would sink the eight-ball in. After taking Jeff and his friends for all the money they were willing to lose, Annie drew the attention of a biker club whose members were also looking for some action. When the lead biker walked over to Annie, she was dwarfed by his bulk and slightly intimidated by his skull and crossbones tattoos. Having switched from beer to whiskey shots an hour ago, Annie was feeling brave.
“Let’s make this interesting,” she said, pulling her last hundred-dollar bill from her wallet and laying it on the pile. “Here’s another hundred on the eight-ball.”
If I sink the ball, this guy is going to either pay me and then leave, or kill me, take my money, and then leave. She pointed to the pocket with her stick. “Cue ball off the cushion twice, eight ball in the corner pocket.” All eyes were on the cue ball as Annie pumped the stick twice and then hit the ball with the tip, sending it rolling toward the head rail cushion. Just as she said it would, the ball angled off the cushion twice and lightly tapped the eight-ball into the corner pocket.
“Come to Momma,” Annie said, picking up the thousand dollars. After collecting her winnings and shaking hands with the surprisingly gracious loser, Annie took her drink to the bar for a refill. After playing nice all night, she was ready for some solitude. Unfortunately for Annie, Jeff had other ideas.
“That was crazy, Sarge. Where’d you learn to shoot stick so well?”
“Picked it up as a kid hanging out at the skating rink,” Annie replied. She tapped the whiskey glass on the bar and the bartender topped it off again.
“I like you, Sarge, so I’m going to give you my professional opinion based on one semester of college psychology. You’re broke and broken hearted. I can’t help with the being broke part. You’ve got my paycheck already. But I am a good listener, if you need someone to talk to?”
“What are you, like eighteen or nineteen years old? What would you know?”
“Yeah, like you’re so much older than me,” the Airman countered.
“Have you ever been to Afghanistan, Airman?”
“No, not yet. I’m on rotation though and expect to be deployed in the summer. Why do you ask, Sarge?”
Annie had finally had too much to drink, and she was going to set the young man straight about the facts of life. “Because I’m just twenty-six and I’ve been to war twice, shot at three times, in love once and brokenhearted once, and now I am completely fucked up for the first time in my life.”
“Shit. She dumped you, didn’t she?”
Annie looked at the young man, impressed with his intuitiveness. “Yes she did. In fact, she had me fired from my civilian job.”
“Damn, that’s twisted,” Jeff said, taking a hit off of his beer.
“Nah. What’s twisted is that she did it to protect me.”
Jeff shook his head. “I don’t get it. How does being unemployed protect you? Wait. Does it have to do with the stalker she used to have?”
“It does. Apparently he’s back, and apparently, he threatened me, which apparently scared the shit out of Trudie.”
“That’s a lot of apparently, Sarge.”
“What else could it be? One minute we’re falling in love and the next I’m out on my ass.”
“My girlfriend is a huge fan, and she tells me that the author hasn’t been out of her condo since the murder. Is that true?” Jeff questioned.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if it is true, then how did the stalker know about you?”
Annie’s mouth dropped open and her eyes squinted, as if trying to pull the answer from her alcohol-soaked brain. “Damn, you’d make a good detective, Davis.”
“Thanks. But I’m more interested in computer programing, on Uncle Sam’s dime, no less.”
“So how would he know?” Annie asked herself, putting her hand over her glass when the bartender offered to fill it up again.
“He’d have to see you with her… wouldn’t he? But how could he? Unless he was in the apartment the same time that you were.”
Again, Annie’s mouth dropped open. “Shit, some cop I am. And who says it has to be a guy? Most of the people Trudie lets into her apartment are women. They either come see her or she chats with them over the webcam.” Annie shivered. She was sure she was on to something, but she wasn’t sure which way to look. There were plenty of suspects granted access to Trudie in person. And just as many who talked with her on the webcam, but the video chat wouldn’t allow for the stalker to touch Trudie, something Annie thought most stalkers would need to get their fix from. Of the ones she knew about, Noella was her first pick, not from deduction, but from loathing.
“Okay, let’s figure this out. The stalker is back and knows that I was getting close to Trudie. He… or she, didn’t like that.”
“What do you mean, back? Where has he been?” Jeff asked.
“No one knows. After he killed Leigh, he just disappeared.”
“Because he could be close to Trudie now, without getting caught.”
“Exactly,” Annie said excitedly. “Because she could be close to her.”
“Sounds like you’ve got someone in mind, Sarge.”
“Oh, I sure do,” Annie replied.
“Care to share?”
“I can’t, man, I’m sorry. I have to think of Trudie’s privacy.”
Jeff held up his right hand. “Even if I swear on a stack of Bibles that I’ll keep it to myself?”
“Even keep it from your girlfriend?”
“Hell, yeah. And do you know why?”
“There’s always an ulterior motive. Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”
“Because, when we catch the bastard, I’ll be a hero to my girlfriend and the guys on the base.”
“Is it worth dying for, to be a hero in her eyes? Remember, the stalker has already killed once. They won’t hesitate to do it again.”
“All the more reason to catch them, before they kill someone else. Besides, they’ll be coming after you, not me,” Jeff said with a grin on his face.
“Well, you’ve been a big help already, so I guess two heads are better than one. Let’s go get something to eat, and talk.”
“Uh, Sarge. I’m tapped out.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, the least I could do after taking all your money is—”
“Give it back?”
Annie laug
hed. “Uh, no. I won it fair and square, and I don’t want to impugn your manhood. But I will spring for your meal. Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a mystery to solve and girlfriends to impress.”
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday morning found Trudie back at the computer talking with her mother via webcam. She still felt the tingles of longing between her thighs, but she woke resolute that pushing Annie away was the right thing to do, even if it led to sleepless nights.
“Good morning, Mom. How’s the vacation going?” Trudie asked after slurping a generous portion of coffee from her cup.
“Buon pomeriggio. It’s afternoon here in Rome, and— honey, are you all right? You look like hell,” Louise stated.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. So, where are the photos you promised to send me?”
“Your dad will email you some tonight,” Louise said, looking off camera.
Troy leaned into the camera frame. “That’s right, honey. I’ll send you some tonight of your mother frowning at the camera.”
Louise shook her head. “Well, if you would give me some warning first instead of always waiting until I have food in my mouth.”
“Well, if you would stop eating long enough, maybe I’d get a better picture,” Troy quipped.
“Look who’s talking,” Louise retorted. “Keep it up and I’ll send her the picture of you making love to Armando al Pantheon.”
“Wait, who’s Armando al Pantheon?” Trudie asked.
“It’s food, honey. Veal wrapped in prosciutto and sage, then marinated in white wine and fried,” Louise explained. “Your father had several helpings.”
Trudie loved seeing her parents tease each other. To outsiders, their marriage looked blissfully happy, but Trudie knew of the struggles they faced and admired their determination to stay together. They’d truly loved each other through the worst parts, through sickness and health, and debts and profits. They’d taught her by example what a marriage should be like, and for a few short years, she’d shared that knowledge with Leigh.
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