by Kira Chase
Johanna shook her head. “No, I want you, sweetie. But first I need to dry you off.” She took her time drying every crevice.
Frankie shivered, but not from the chill of her bare flesh. Johanna’s touch always was a touch she craved and lived for. No other woman had ever totally satisfied her the way Johanna did.
Johanna threw the towel aside and then quickly moved a few things off one of the counters. “Sit up here, baby.” After Frankie was in position, Johanna smiled at her. She took her time exploring Frankie with her eyes. “Lean back, sweetie, and put your legs on my shoulders.”
Johanna’s smooth soft hands drove Frankie wild with desire. As Johanna moved closer to Frankie’s waiting pussy, she flicked her tongue enticingly around the crack before taking her fingers and spreading the lips. She sucked gently on Frankie’s clit. A shudder tore through Frankie. She’d hold back. She wanted this to last. The night belonged to them and Frankie knew that it would be a night of passion they both needed and wanted. They were one.
Frankie placed her hands palms down trying to hold back, but knew that the explosion that began to rock her body couldn’t be stopped nor would she want it to be.
Chapter 6
The following morning Selma was sitting at the breakfast nook with a cup of coffee, deep in thought, when Frankie and Johanna entered the room. “Good morning, Mom. Is something wrong?” Frankie asked noting Selma’s somber expression.
Selma shook her head. “I didn’t sleep well. I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
“You should have stayed in bed. You don’t have to always get up at the crack of dawn,” Frankie teased. “If I were you, I’d sleep ’til noon.”
“Not me. I’m always up the minute the sun rises. Ready and willing to greet the new day.” Her lips curled up into a faint smile.
“Old habits die hard,” Johanna said. “It’s hard to change something that you’ve done for years.”
“That’s right. Besides I enjoy the quiet peacefulness of early morning before the noisy hubbub of the day starts.” Selma sipped at her coffee.
Frankie walked to the coffeepot and poured two cups while Johanna seated herself at the breakfast nook across from Selma.
“So what do you do now with the case?” the older woman asked, looking at Johanna.
Johanna shrugged. “Wait for some information from George. There’s nothing else we can do until then. At least we got a feel for the neighborhood so we know what we’re up against.” She let her breath out slowly. “And we don’t have concrete evidence that Burrows is committing any crime to begin with. It could be someone else.”
“Why would the sheriff suspect him if he had no reason to?”
“Probably because he saw his record. We’ve always had break-ins, but not to the extent they’ve been occurring lately so he’d definitely be suspect. The timeline from when he moved here and the increase would make me suspect him, too.”
“Why is it taking George so long to fax over the information?” Selma picked up her coffee mug and rolled it back and forth between her hands.
“We discussed this last night, Selma,” she said gently. “I’m sure the murder investigation is taking up all his time. He’ll get it to us. If we don’t hear from him today, I’ll give him a call.”
Selma’s forehead creased. “Even though you two are no longer police officers, do you still have to follow the procedures to the letter? I mean can you do some things you wouldn’t be able to do if you were still on the force?”
Frankie shook her head as she walked to the table with two steaming mugs of coffee and set them in front of Johanna. “It depends, Mom. We get to bend the rules a little.” She cast a sly look at Johanna as she seated herself next to her.
“Sometime a lot,” Johanna added. “But we do have to make sure we don’t interfere with the sheriff’s or police’s active investigations. The wrong move by us could destroy a case.”
“Does George often ask you two to help out?” She set her coffee mug down.
“Not on something like this, but then this case is unusual in that while he’s investigating the murder of the Burrows’ son, Clyde Burrows may be involved in unrelated crimes,” Frankie replied. “There have been times we’ve inadvertently become involved in an active police case through one of our cases when that particular case takes a dark turn. Then we have to turn it over to George and he decides whether he can use our help.”
Selma folded her hands and set them on the table. “I wonder what that boy’s parents are doing right now? A child they brought into the world together. They have to be feeling something. At least one of them has to.” Her eyes met Frankie’s. “If one of them did do it how can they live with themselves? If the father did it maybe the mother is unaware. This crime is unspeakable.” She let out a long sigh. “I just don’t know what this world is coming to if a parent can murder his own child.”
“Mom, all through history there have been parents who’ve committed unspeakable crimes against their own flesh and blood.” Frankie saw the sadness and confusion in her mother’s eyes along with the yearning for a world without the tragedies of the present day. She wished that she could give that one gift to her mother, but all she could do, along with Johanna, was to try to make the world a little bit safer. She stood, walked over to her mother and sat next to her. She draped an arm across Selma’s shoulders.
“Crime is up everywhere, Mom. Unfortunately, with the sad state of the economy, it seems to go hand-in-hand. As far as Cody Burrows is concerned, I can only hope that he is at peace. We have no way of knowing what his parents are thinking. I hope to God that neither of them is involved in his death. We’ve been speculating and they may have had nothing to do with it. Maybe they are in mourning.”
Selma nodded. “Why would they go to a bar? None of it makes any sense.”
“Everyone mourns in his or her own way. I try not to judge anyone until I meet him or her face-to-face.” When she glanced at Johanna and saw the skeptical look on her face, Frankie quickly amended her last statement. “Well, most of the time I try not to.” She sighed. “Is there anything special you’d like to do today? Or just relax and watch some movies?”
Selma was thoughtful for a minute. “I hope George gets those pictures and information to you soon. I’m curious to see what the parents look like.” She swallowed hard. “And what the boy looked like before—” Her voice trailed off.
Johanna reached across the table and patted Selma’s hand. “I’ll check in a few minutes. If nothing’s come through, I’ll call George instead of waiting to call him tonight.”
“Mom, most of the people in that neighborhood are just like the couple we saw last night. They’ve either been forced into a life of poverty and have just given up or some of them once lived respectable lives, but because of a drug addiction have ended up there. Don’t even get me started on the slumlords. I still say if they were forced to live for a month in the conditions their tenants have to live in year after year, they’d soon rush to repair the buildings. But the tenants are afraid to rock the boat. Without their dingy apartments, they’d be homeless.”
“But still there is hope. There’s always hope. That light I saw in the wreath in that apartment window and that child’s innocent face. I pray that child has a brighter future than what she now has.”
“I hope so, too, Mom,” Frankie said softly.
Johanna chewed her bottom lip. Frankie knew what she was thinking. The child would only have a chance to get out if he or she didn’t become a victim of a bullet from a gang banger or join their ranks as one of their drug runners in a few years. But some did get out and went on to bright fulfilling futures and lives. “Let’s check the fax and computer, Johanna. Maybe George sent some information.”
Johanna stood. “I’ll check.”
“We’ll come with you,” Frankie said, rising and then helping Selma to her feet. They followed Johanna to their home office.
Johanna walked over to the fax machine and pulled some pap
ers from the tray. She studied the pictures that George had obviously faxed to them in the wee hours of the morning. Selma and Frankie stood peering over her shoulder. She turned slightly and looked at Frankie. “Brenda Burrows is the exact opposite of what I had pictured her as. Look at these.” She held up the photos. “Of course the picture of her isn’t a recent one. It looks like it could be a high school or college picture.”
“It stands to reason if she had no criminal record that there wouldn’t be a current photo.” Frankie’s eyebrows shot up as she scrutinized the picture of a beautiful woman with shimmering auburn hair, a curvy figure and a bright winning smile. “What the hell does she see in Clyde Burrows?” The picture of Clyde Burrows depicted a homely shaggy-haired man about two inches shorter than his wife with a stubbly growth on his face and cold dark eyes, which matched his dark hair color. There was no discerning feature that could warrant him being classified even remotely as a good-looking man.
Selma’s concentration was centered on the picture of Clyde and Brenda’s son Cody. The photo was obviously a high school picture. His hair was a reddish blond worn a little long, but well groomed. He had the same captivating smile as his mother. He was an extremely handsome young man. As Selma continued to stare at the picture a tear slid from her eye.
The tear didn’t go unnoticed by Johanna who immediately flung her arms around Selma. “I know how you feel,” she whispered. “Only a monster could have done such a vile thing to this boy.”
Frankie balled her hands into fists. “Any ideas, Johanna? Do you still think Brenda Burrows did it?”
“What?” Selma pulled back and searched Johanna’s face. “You think that mother could have done this to her sweet child?” She glanced again at Brenda’s picture. “I don’t believe that for a minute. If that boy was murdered by one of his parents, then my guess would be the father. Look at his eyes.” She shuddered. “There’s no warmth in them.”
Johanna shifted her body uneasily. “I hadn’t seen the pictures when I made that comment.” She eyed Frankie sharply. “But, Selma, we have to look at all the angles. Sometimes the person who committed the crime is right under our noses, but we’re too busy searching out someone who fits the profile. And not everyone fits neatly into that package.”
Selma adamantly shook her head. “Not this woman. Look at her eyes. You can tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes.” She frowned. “No, I’d bet my life that this woman had nothing to do with her son’s death. I also don’t believe she knows who killed him because if she did she’d certainly report him.”
Frankie caught Johanna’s eye and arched an eyebrow. “Mom, sometimes it does happen. Johanna’s right. If I was basing my opinion on just these pictures, then I’d have to say no, I don’t think she had anything to do with it. But we have to check out all the angles…I mean the sheriff and police have to. If while investigating Burrows we find something that connects to the murder, then we’ll let George take it from there. The murder investigation doesn’t concern us.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t speculate,” Johanna added.
Frankie grinned and gave her a quick wink.
“And there is a big age difference,” Selma reminded her. “Clyde is at least fifteen years her senior according to George’s report. Why would a woman with her looks stay with a bum? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Frankie scratched her head. “I definitely have to agree with you on that one, Mom. She was a senior in college…about twenty-one or two and she gets pregnant by a man thirty-six or seven. Look at her. I can’t believe she’d choose him when she most likely could have had her pick of any man on campus.”
Selma grunted. “If her parents kicked her out it probably also meant they cut off all support, including paying for her education. Where could she have gone? She was probably scared and alone and that monster took her in. He had everything to gain and she had everything to lose.”
Johanna nodded. “Good point, Selma.”
Frankie snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Maybe Clyde Burrows isn’t the father, but took pity on her situation.”
“I can’t believe she’d be so desperate that she’d marry him out of gratitude,” Johanna said. “Why didn’t she go to the baby’s father for help?”
Frankie shrugged. “Maybe he blew her off and Clyde was her only hope. What options did she have? She was young, scared, no money, no family support…it stands to reason.”
“Possibly her family gave her an ultimatum to be reinstated in the family if she got rid of the baby and she chose to keep her baby,” Selma interjected.
Johanna frowned. “It still doesn’t explain why she’d stick with him all these years. Look at the picture of her,” she insisted, waving the photo in the air. “Certainly someone would have told her she had options. She could have received welfare until she got her life on track.”
Frankie shook her head. “If she’d go to all that trouble to keep her child, then why murder him now?” she reasoned. “That makes even less sense.”
Selma’s brow puckered. “She doesn’t look like she’d be strong enough to get his body to the tree farm in the first place.” She looked sharply at Johanna. “If she did it then she certainly had help. And what possible rage could have driven her to kill her own flesh and blood?” Her eyes narrowed. “If she had done it then why in such a horrible manner? Why wouldn’t she have just shot him? No, I don’t think she carved up her son and I’ll never be convinced otherwise unless I hear it from her own lips.”
Johanna ran a hand through her hair. “Frankie and I will sit down together later this afternoon and plan our strategy for tailing Clyde Burrows.”
“What I’d like to do is pay a visit to the Burrows.” Selma’s jaw was set firmly.
Frankie exhaled loudly. “Mom, that’s impossible! That’s not how we operate. We’ll start staking them out tomorrow as soon as we come up with a plan. I doubt Clyde Burrows is going to be robbing any houses in the next few days. His mind most likely will be focused on planning his son’s funeral.” She let her breath out in a rush. “I hope for Clyde’s sake that he isn’t the culprit George thinks or else he’ll be behind bars instead of attending his son’s funeral. But if he is committing the robberies, maybe being locked safely behind bars will give George the opportunity to see if Burrows will spill his guts. That is if he knows who murdered his son.”
“Why not just pay them a nice friendly visit? We can go under the guise of offering condolences,” Selma offered. “Like we told that couple.”
Frankie frowned. “No, Mom, we can’t do that.”
Johanna looked intently at the older woman. “This isn’t some made for television movie, Selma. This is real life. It’s not going to be wrapped up in a neat little package in two hours.”
“Maybe you girls will be able to pick up a clue. Or maybe one of them will slip up and say something. It beats just sitting in the cold car and staking out their building.” Her eyes pleaded with the investigators. “I promise that we won’t have to stay long.”
Frankie looked sharply at her mother. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“What do you think?” She smiled broadly.
Frankie turned to Johanna and shrugged. By the look in Johanna’s eyes, she knew she wasn’t thrilled that Frankie had left the burden on her shoulders. There’d be hell to pay later, but she was out of excuses and knew her mother well enough to know that once Selma made up her mind about something, she wasn’t easily dissuaded.
Johanna hesitated briefly. “I’m not thrilled about this.” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at Frankie, then at Selma. “Selma, I want you to promise that you’ll let Frankie and me do the talking.” She paused. “If either of us sense danger, on our signal, we need to leave immediately.” She frowned. “I definitely don’t like it, though. But promise me you’ll do as I said. I don’t want this to turn ugly and put you or us at risk.”
Selma looked quizzically at her. “You have my wor
d. What’s the signal?”
Frankie thought for a moment. “I’ll say that we need to pay a call on another family.” She rubbed her temples. “But in any event we aren’t staying long.” She hesitated. “This could blow up in our faces. It’s going to be difficult to tail him if he’s already seen us, but I suppose we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Chapter 7
Frankie rubbed her nose and tried to ignore the rancid stench in the hallway of the filthy building. Discarded mail consisting mostly of flyers and old newspapers littered the narrow passageway along with the remnants of fast food containers, empty beer cans, whiskey bottles, and cheap wine bottles. The walls were painted a dull gray or maybe it was the dirt. It was hard to tell with all the graffiti. She kicked a few empty beer cans out of her way and turned her head to peer at Johanna and her mother. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Johanna said, relieved.
“No,” Selma replied, stubbornly. “We’re here so we might as well do what we came for.” She continued down the hallway.
“It’s not safe, Mom. I never should have agreed to it,” she whispered firmly. “This place should be condemned.” She shook her head. “Every one of these slum landlords should be forced to live in one of their apartments for a month. Maybe then they’d fix them up.” She gritted her teeth.
“You’ve all ready said that, babe,” Johanna reminded her. “At least a hundred times.”
“Well, it bears repeating until something is done,” Frankie replied.
Selma’s eyes filled. “I keep thinking about that child I saw in the window the other night.” She held a tissue to her nose. “What will become of her being raised in this squalor?”
