With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  “Ya in?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, reached across the front of the nervous librarian, grabbed the door handle and pulled it closed with a slam.

  Jasper gave her a reassuring nod, extended his left leg, pressed the clutch to the floor, grasped the gearshift knob and thrust it into first gear. Releasing the tension on the clutch and applying the opposite amount of pressure on the gas pedal the little truck pulled away from the curb and rumbled down the street.

  “You new to Georgia?” Jasper asked.

  “Yeah, only been here a couple of days, just started a new job at the library.”

  “You, a librarian, fine looking woman like you? Shoot, wished we’d a had a school librarian nice to look at as you.”

  Blanche tightened her grip on the door handle and replied, “Uh thanks, you sure you know where this place is?”

  “Sure nough, drive by it all the time on the way to work over in that new housing development, swing a hammer for a living,” he said, as he smoothly shifted the gear box up and accelerated.

  In an attempt to keep the conversation light and her mind at ease, Blanche asked, “You read much?”

  “Nah, not really, like to read but hard to find the time. Ya know, with work, chasing girls and working out, I have a hard time finding time to do much of anything else. In fact, I was working out when you showed up, try to get at least a couple hours in a day.”

  “That’s quite a commitment,” she assessed.

  “Tell me about it, would like to be Mr. Universe one day,” and he laughed. “Seriously, would like to try, but got to git bigger to go up against them boys. I’ll be competing in a little event, Mr. Muscle, in a few weeks, you should come,” he said, letting his eyes drift from the road long enough to take in her bosom one more time. “Would be nice to have a beautiful lady, like yourself, rooting for me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, knowing in the back of her mind she could never see herself at such an event, however, that was the old Blanche.

  Thankfully, the chauffeured ride took less time than Blanche had anticipated, and she let loose a noticeable sigh of relief when he pulled in front of Caroline’s.

  “There you go, safe and sound,” he said, smiling broadly, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Well, Jasper, I just don’t know how to thank you enough. Don’t know what I would have done without you and your dad’s help. It’s certainly much appreciated.”

  Jasper bent over to the right as she exited the car framing his face in the car window as she closed it behind her.

  “Know how you can repay me?” Jasper said, winking at Blanche as she stooped to say goodbye.

  “How’s that?” she replied.

  “Come watch me at the competition in a couple weeks,” still grinning ear to ear.

  “Well,” she hesitated, “can’t say for sure but I will try.” But she was quick to add, “No promises though.”

  Jasper clapped and rubbed his hands together, “That’s good enough for me. I’ll drop by with the details later, now that I know where to find you.”

  With that, Blanche offered a wave of her hand and turned to face the B&B. Behind her she heard the Datsun’s engine rev and thought she heard Jasper exclaim as he pulled away, “Hot damn!”

  “Oh my gosh! What have I done?” she said aloud.

  Then it hit her, “Pot”, that was the smell she’d noted at Rufus’s.

  “Just great!” she thought, “I’ve just led a steroid pumping, pot smoking, boob crazed, Neanderthal right to my front door.”

  Even as one side of her was cursing the turn of events the other side was somewhat intrigued by her newfound ‘friend’, and a wry smile curled across her lips as she ascended Caroline’s steps.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next few days passed quickly, her library responsibilities well in hand, she was able to relax and settle in not only to ‘home’ and work but the community at large. Blanche was learning to love the area and the people, so gentle, kind hearted and the pace of life in general was just so easy going. It didn’t seem that anyone was ever in much of a hurry unless it was the ‘Clueless Wonder’ sharing the bathroom with her on the second floor. Without fail, every morning just as it was her turn for the facility, he would charge down the hall, shaving kit, towel and magazine in hand, rushing into the loo and setting up camp for the next 45 minutes. Blanche had taken to showering at night and wearing her hair up to work so she didn’t have to worry about the time it would take in the morning.

  Standing in front of the mirror, Blanche ran her fingers through her strawberry-blonde mane, gently working out the snarls. In no time, the brush slid easily from root to tip. Winding a red, silk scarf among the threads of her hair she quickly manipulated her locks into an impressive updo. Satisfied with her handiwork, she inspected her five and a half foot frame in the long mirror. Freckles, lightly sprinkled across her nose, highlighted her beautiful face and soft complexion. Tan lines strategically marked her most delicate features. Miles across the desert floor were visible in every line, sinew and muscle insertion from her ankles to lower back. She held her shoulders square, trying always to follow the advice of her mother, “Don’t slouch dear, no need to hide what God gave you.” Over the years Blanche had taken special precautions to keep her back muscles in top form. Images of her breasts hanging to her waist had been the source of great motivation and she daily stretched, lifted weights and did push-ups in an attempt to deny gravity the win.

  No doubt Blanche was a remarkably beautiful woman but her most striking feature was her eyes. They were absolutely crystal blue, like glacier water reflecting sunlight, changing color relative to her surroundings. An overly large iris diameter and wide lid fissure presented these sapphire gems for the world to behold. It was not unusual for complete strangers to stop Blanche and ask where she got her contacts, commenting on how beautiful they were.

  “No way!” was often the response when Blanche indicated that they were all natural, and that went for all of her as questioning eyes were often drawn to her bustline as well.

  With so much going for Blanche she still found it difficult to believe that men found her attractive. There was always something lacking perfection that drew her self-confidence and assurance askew. She was happy with who she was and what she looked like but had no intention of flaunting herself for anyone's benefit.

  Satisfied that all was in order for another day of work she put on her most conservative, bust reducing bra, beige slacks and modest cotton blouse and headed down the stairs for breakfast with her host and other guests.

  “Good morning dear, did you sleep well?” Ms. Carmichael greeted her as she moved between the kitchen and dining area as if on roller skates. “I trust you are finding the accommodations to your liking.”

  “The room is fine, Ms. Carmichael, the bed is actually really cozy and the pillows must be down. Is that right?” Blanche questioned, trying to keep the conversation going.

  “Why yes they are. Not many guests mention that, so nice of you to notice. I’ve always tried to provide only the very best you know. What would you like this morning? Got some grits a cookin’ if you like or there’s fresh fruit and yogurt on the table.”

  “I’ll be fine with the fruit, thank you.”

  A handful of guests were huddled around the table each with a newspaper in hand and talking back and forth, apparently about a particular article that had caught their attention.

  “Can you imagine waking up like that?” Mrs. Muir said, sipping her coffee and pointing to a picture and article on the front page of the Valdosta Daily Times.

  ”She must have crapped herself,” ‘Mr. Wonder’ eloquently pronounced. “Really must have been an eye opener for sure,” he continued.

  “What’s going on?” Blanche questioned.

  “You haven’t heard?” Mrs. Muir inquired.

  “No, what’s up?”

  “Well, you won’t believe this but the headline this morning is about some nut job t
hat snuck into this ladies house,” pointing at the cover picture, “put on her undergarments while she was asleep then took a picture of himself and left it on the pillow next to her. Is that creepy or what? Just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Now Mrs. Muir, don’t go scaring Ms. Delaney, after all she’s single as well,” cautioned Caroline.

  “Guy must have balls of steel,” concluded ‘Clueless’, “He’s just asking to get caught leaving behind a picture and all. Bet the police have him by the end of the day.”

  “You certainly have more confidence in the constabulary than most of the locals,” Caroline asserted.

  Blanche took a seat and pulled a copy of the Times within range for her inspection. Sure enough, there on the cover was a picture of Mrs. Thelma Riddle of Valdosta, GA holding a picture of some guy with his face obscured, wearing a pair of her panties and bra, standing in a bedroom with a sleeping Thelma in the background. He’d obviously not used a flash in an attempt not to awaken the slumbering woman but the quality was good enough to make out what was going on. Between bites of fruit and gulps of juice Blanche read the police report describing the scene upon their arrival in the early morning hours.

  They had been called, responding to a hysterical woman’s 911 report of a home invasion on Cat Creek Road. Two squad cars had arrived at approximately 5:30 a.m. to find Mrs. Riddle on the front step, shotgun lying loosely across her lap, head in her hands apparently sobbing. The officers led Mrs. Riddle to one of their units, assured her of her safety, and then entered the premises. They found nothing out of the ordinary, no indication of a break and enter. Locks all appeared to be intact, windows all closed with no breakage and no sign of forced entry.

  Once the scene was secure they interviewed Thelma who reported, “I always have to get up about four or five o’clock to go pee but this morning when I went back to bed there was this picture on my pillow.”

  The officers reported that she was still shaking from the ordeal and would be staying with friends for the next few days. The paper went on to detail that nothing in the home appeared to be tampered with other than a few of her drawers and clothing. How the perpetrator managed to gain entrance to the home was still under investigation but they believed a door may have been left unlocked. No further information was available at the time the paper was published.

  The small talk continued another 15 minutes before the guests got up to begin their day.

  Caroline hurried into the room. “Listen ya’ll,” she said, in her best Southern accent. “We’ll be welcoming a young couple later today celebrating their wedding and spending a few days of their honeymoon with us. I’d sure appreciate it if ya’ll would be extra nice to them while they’re here.”

  Blanche tossed in a cheerful, “Sure,” as she sidestepped ‘Clueless’, controlling the urge to plant an elbow in his ribs; then skipped up the stairs to brush her teeth, grab her umbrella and head to the bus stop.

  Tonight would be her first late shift and she wanted to get a few things done before having to check in at the library by noon.

  Over the past couple days she’d spent her spare time looking through the paper and online at condo listings hoping to find something small, affordable and now more than ever, safe! Blanche was quite pleased with the modest nest egg resting in her Georgia Trust Bank Account. Not enough for anything extravagant by any means but nonetheless would hold her over in an emergency or make a nice little down payment on a small home or condo. The idea of a condo was appealing, no maintenance, no yard to mow and neighbors close by. From prior experience Blanche had learned that having neighbors nearby could be a double-edged sword. There’s always the jerk with the music too loud, the parties too often, the shirts unbuttoned to the navel with the gold chains and beer gut.

  Blanche had often thought to herself when confronted with these brutes, “Are there really women out there that find you attractive, and if there are then God help us.”

  Her last residence in Arizona had been a condo unlike any other she’d lived in before. The people were respectful, hard working, quiet and for the most part stayed to themselves, but were always pleasant when opportunities for interaction arose. On the other hand, she had lived in units where everyone knew or wanted to know everyone else’s business with a peeping tom thrown in for good measure. The last thing she wanted to do here in Valdosta was buy something before knowing all the facts. Like she’d heard a hundred times, location, location, location and being new to town she needed some help.

  On this particular morning she had made an appointment with Beverly Davis of Southern States Realty. Her ad had been prominently displayed along with many others in the local paper but there was something about her smile that prompted Blanche to phone her. A five-minute conversation left Blanche with the following observations; Beverly was Southern, through and through, with a thick accent and an immediate distrust of Yankees. She was quite pleased to see that her latest client was from the West and not a Northerner. The realtor was anything but soft spoken, their conversation could have been heard at least one county over and Ms. Davis’ laugh began at her toes and worked up volume as it traveled upward. Blanche was pleased to discover that Beverly was a seasoned professional, appeared to know the area well and had the time to show her the town.

  The meeting was scheduled at 10:00 a.m. with the office located not far from the library. Blanche arrived a few minutes early to make a positive impression and sat in the waiting room while the receptionist called Ms. Davis.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if Harvey says that property line is wrong or not, we had a surveyor out there last week to confirm that he’s squatin’ on my client’s property and he better get his act together or we’ll move our litigation forward!” A woman’s voice echoed down the narrow hallway promptly followed by a phone being slammed down on a cradle.

  “What is it?” again from the back room as the receptionist made contact with the unmistakable Beverly in the rear office.

  “Your ten o'clock is here.”

  Then a more subdued voice, “I’ll be right out."

  A moment later a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, short and thick, came walking briskly down the hallway, black curly locks swaying from side to side and the distinct sound of nylon on nylon with each advancing step.

  “Well I’ll be, lookie here, you must be Ms. Delaney all the way from Arizona,” she said, extending her warm little hand, taking Blanche’s in a wrestler’s grip and pumping it up and down. “If you aren’t the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in some time. Men back home must be havin’ fits, losin’ one of the good en’s.”

  It didn’t take Blanche long to recognize that the picture from the paper must have been at least 15 years and 50 lbs ago but she couldn’t help but like Beverly.

  Ms. Beverly Davis, formerly Mrs. Beverly Davis Newton Marshall, had married her high school sweetheart, then 18, resulting in two children now grown and on their own, both living in Atlanta or “Hotlanta” as they liked to tell her. A few years back, in an effort to reduce and simplify her life, she had dropped the Newton and Marshall from her name and went back to her maiden name, Davis. Beverly had never been much of the motherly type, and really not much of the ‘loving wife type’ either. Thus her first marriage ended in a mutual parting of the way with no money, assets or property to dispute. Both sides were quite sure they didn’t want exclusive custody so joint custody was easily negotiated and the next 13 years were spent bouncing the kids back and forth a few weeks at a time.

  Beverly had tried her hand at marriage a second time a few years back. Married a wealthy landowner from Charleston, with a love of bacon and all things deep-fried, that suffered a massive heart attack two years into the marriage resulting in his death. The past eight years had been spent fighting his estranged son over the estate, and just recently had signed the final documents entitling her to 50% of the assets after the complete liquidation of the estate. Her lawyer estimated this would come to a cool 36 million once the
legal firm got their cut.

  She had started this journey an attractive businesswoman, eager to advance her position and anxious to help the buyers who trusted her expertise. Her journey, now ten years after her second marriage, much heavier, cynical and untrusting of people in general but still eager to please and she put on a good show. It didn’t take long for Blanche to learn all this and more about Ms. Davis as they cruised the streets of Valdosta looking over the neighborhoods and condo complexes.

  By the end of the two hours Blanche was no closer to being a homeowner than she was prior to their meeting, but she had forged almost an instant bond with a woman who was funny, insightful and as her dad would have said, “full of piss and vinegar.” Beverly pulled her BMW coupe in front of the library, dug through her purse for a business card, extracted one and handed it to her client.

  “I’ll do some searching and let you know what I find. I think I have a pretty good idea of what you want and need. I have to tell you though, I had the best time today and I’m not just saying that. Didn’t know the gals from the Wild West were so fun.”

  “I’ll take that as a complement,” Blanche said, offering her hand in a warm embrace while exiting the car.

  “So should I just wait to hear from you or what?”

  “I think we should get together again in the next few days, if not to look at condo’s, I’d like to trash talk men again for a few hours,” Beverly said, with a laugh that made her jiggle all over.

  “Sounds good Beverly, I’ll wait for your call.”

  Beverly didn’t pull away from the curb until she saw Blanche enter the building. “Now that woman has got a nice can,” she said, as she thumbed through her Day-Timer looking for what she might do to fill the balance of her day. “Nothing for a couple hours, Dunkin Donuts here we come,” she thought, cranking up the tunes and engaging the autopilot in her head that knew exactly how to get to the closest donut shop.