Distant Obsession

by Gold, Ciara; Davis, Michael

  Well, there was that, but the real truth? She wanted to meet her obsession. She craved finding out if there was more to her infatuation than pure idolization and an appreciation of the male form.

  Was her sailor and pilot a man worth getting to know?

  She threw her friend a skeptical frown but didn’t comment. Instead, she slipped the oil into its box and put it on the cart. Once they had them all stacked on the dolly, they took it to the trailer hitched on the back of her jeep.

  The show had resulted in only two sales this go around, but she couldn’t complain. At least she’d sold something, which made all the work of hanging and tearing down a viable proposition. And fun. She enjoyed meeting the various patrons who frequented the surrounding festivals. The weekend treat forced Lilah to be sociable and kept her from withering away in that self-imposed prison.

  “Thank you for suggesting this venue for my art. I love all these fall events.” She closed the trailer door and checked the lock mechanism for the hitch.

  Rose smiled. “You’re welcome, but I should be thanking you for being a valuable client whose sense of color and composition outshines the other local competition. Your talent amazes me.”

  “You’re good for my ego.” Lilah leaned over and wrapped her arms about Rose. The older woman and manager of The Soul Full Gallery returned the hug, leaving a lingering trail of Estee Lauder perfume.

  “Okay, enough. We need to wrap this up. I’ve got a hot date with Sam from the floral shop. He’s taking me to a ritzy joint in Bristol.” Rose bolted for her silver Buick LaSabre and made quick work of getting in, starting the ignition, and driving off.

  Lilah laughed, loving the older woman’s zest for life. She was one of the few people in the area that knew her true identity. Perhaps she should have confided her concerns about the hit man to Rose. On the other hand, she didn’t want to cause the woman needless worry. Until Lilah had further information on the man, she’d keep the information to herself.

  Nine

  Thirty minutes ‘til eight. Still on standby ‘til nine.

  Reece raced the little fourteen-foot jonboat out the cove and halfway down the creek; his heart accelerating with each meter as he drew closer to his destination.

  I do love a mystery.

  Straight across from Miller’s old barn, he stopped the motor, and the boat glided another twenty yards before coming to a halt midway in the channel. He studied the photo on his cell phone, then the red building half way up the hill.

  Not far enough.

  Reece used the paddle to advance another thirty yards along the length of Bear Creek.

  This should be it.

  The angle on the fallen door appeared right. Just like in the picture, he could see all the way through the barn and out the loft window to the barren dead oak tree in the backyard.

  Remarkable detail. I can even see the chain and hook dangling from the lift. A truly gifted artist.

  Reece turned his gaze one hundred eighty degrees to triangulate on the potential site of his targeted subject. Directly within the line of sight depicted in the image were two possible candidates for the painter’s location.

  Your secret hiding place is about to be busted, Carmen.

  The new, two-story house to the left looked out of kilter to the view required for capturing such detail.

  This lady clearly paints from a large vista, not a small side window.

  He considered the second possibility, the old, single-floor, log cabin built thirty years ago before the commercial growth around the lake. The enormous double picture window was an anomaly for the rustic exterior flair of the fishing lodge style dwelling, yet perfect for the keen eye of a talented artist.

  Bingo, Got ya. Now what do I do?

  A visit was in order, but not yet. First, he’d do a little spying of his own.

  Need to investigate what I’m dealing with before we hook horns.

  Reece turned the boat around, headed back to his dock, and tied to the floater. He marched forty-three steps up the mild climb to his cedar planked porch and examined the small cabin two hundred yards up the creek to the right.

  Binoculars won’t do it. Going to need my telescope to make out her face.

  He entered the house, walked past the unfinished jigsaw puzzle on the card table and the triple Decker shelf of suspense and mystery novels, then removed the stargazer tripod with scope from the closest.

  Damn thing’s dirty as hell.

  Reece stole a dark green towel from the adjacent bathroom on the first floor and dusted the device.

  Been a while since I’ve had you out on a mission.

  He flung the cloth over his shoulder, carried the telescope unit upstairs and started to set up next to his main window.

  Don’t be stupid. This close and someone will report you as a peeping tom.

  He backed into the kitchen, pulled one of the stools to the inside of the see-through bar and sat up his surveillance station.

  No, I’m still too damned exposed.

  Reece went into the garage, emptied two storage boxes, took them back into the house, and placed one on both sides of his scope so that just the nose of the sighting tube stuck through the opening. He placed the dark green towel above the gap in the two boxes, slid the louver blinds open across his viewing portal, just enough to vector on his target, then returned to his observation post, and waited.

  After twenty minutes, he detected motion at the far end of the bedroom through the window.

  Figured you were safe through the pine trees, didn’t you.

  The owner of the cabin left their curtain exposed, but a sufficient gap existed between the dozen-ponderosa firs and cedar trees for a clever detective to eye his subject with a high-powered telescope.

  A door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. An image formed, oblique at first, reflecting off the dresser mirror, and moving in and out of the fog bank.

  Stand still, will ya.

  Finally, enough of the vapor dissipated for a figure to come into focus. A thigh, bare, a towel stroking up and down along its smooth tapered length.

  Holy shit.

  Next, half a buttocks, and then the appetizing curve leading up to a seductive dimple. The object rotated into view, presenting a delicious portrait of every male’s delight, an inviting visual stimulus to all his primal senses.

  Reece pulled back from the scope and gulped a gallon of air before talking to a stirring appendage below his waist.

  Settle down, ya pervert.

  A mild pane of shame rolled through his skull, one suggesting the intrusive nature of his folly. A game, advancing first from a playful exercise to gain information about one that had spied on him, to what some would consider deprived, ensued. The voice grew louder: guilt, invasion of privacy. His cell phone interrupted the words from his shoulder angel. He backed from beneath the cover of the protective shroud and took the call.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Edwards. This is Sally at the Cantar Airline scheduling office.”

  He scanned the clock above the kitchen sink and noted the time, ten o’clock. “Hi, Sally. What’s up?”

  “One of our connecting flights from Atlanta has been deleted due to mechanical problems. We need a pilot qualified on the DHC-8 De Havilland to transfer one of our airplanes arriving at TRI in one hour.”

  He lied. “Sorry, Sweetheart. I’d love the extra money, but I came off standby an hour ago. Already downed two beers.”

  “I understand, Mr. Edwards. Figured it was a long shot. I’ll keep checking around. By the way, next time you’re delayed in Atlanta, stop by and see me again.”

  “Will do Sally. Bye.”

  Reece flipped the cover on his phone and returned to his spy post, the affects of the momentary bout with his conscious gone. He peered back through the eyepiece only to see a woman with her hair rolled in a towel staring back through her own telescope toward his dock.

  “What the hell is she looking at?”

  He followed the di
rection of her attention.

  Of course, my sailboat.

  “You’re obsessed with that damn thing, aren’t ya girl.”

  A rush of male pride shook into his libido as he considered maybe it wasn’t his play toy at all that drew her repeated admiration. Perhaps the focus of her interest was its captain. He shifted his scope back to the fellow peeping tom in the distant observation post only to come eye to eye with the owner of the house staring directly at him.

  “Jesus!”

  He immediately slid off the stool and hid behind the bar counter.

  “Wait a minute, what am I hiding for. You started this game.”

  Carmen ventured the first invasion of his privacy with her camera and canvas. The lady was obviously curious beyond mere photographs. The ball was in his court. Time to up the ante.

  “Okay, let’s have a little fun; see how you react.”

  Reece removed a yellow legal pad from his clipboard on the counter top and scribbled the message in bold lettering; Need to move your mirror, and held it above the boxes before looking back through the scope.

  The female on the other end of the visual exchange jerked rearward, stood, studied the dresser mirror against the wall, then glanced toward the bathroom. She disappeared from his field of view.

  “Where’d ya go?”

  Ten seconds later she returned with a pad of paper and projected her own message written in bold red letters, possibly using lipstick. What, didn’t you like what you saw?

  “Cute, very cute. She’s a frisky lassie, this Carmen.”

  Reece replied with a follow up note, Of course I did. Followed by, Just didn’t want some pervert getting a free show.

  She returned the communiqué. Oh, you mean like you.

  Reece laughed. “Ouch but good sense of humor.” He transmitted another quip. Touché, you got me.

  To which she replied, No problem. I watched you work out last night. Nice ass.

  “Damn, she is a bold little thing. Wish I could see her face.”

  He jotted down another message. Is that one pervert to another?

  Only her mouth was exposed below the binoculars, but enough was showing to witness her long distant chortle. Touché. Gotta run. Same time tomorrow?

  Before he could scribble a response, the mystery painter leaped from her chair and headed into another room.

  His clandestine admirer was no longer a secret, and the exchange across the creek had left Reece unexpectedly excited over what lie ahead for their first face-to-face encounter.

  So much spunk, such a zest for life. Definitely got to meet this girl.

  Ten

  The drive gave Lilah plenty of time to reflect. At thirty-four, the need to re-invent herself after so much heartache had driven her actions of late. Perhaps, that’s why avoiding the sailor seemed so petty and childish. She’d missed the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation, to meet the man and apologize for not contacting him sooner. Insecurity had flooded her thoughts when faced with the proposition. She needed more time to plan a strategy for dealing with the man and facing her inhibitions.

  When she pulled into the driveway, Ashley met her outside, a terry cloth towel in her hand. “Did you have fun?”

  “Of course.” Lilah motioned her to the back of the trailer. “You’re timing is awesome. You can help unload.”

  “Why? You’ll just have to load them again next weekend.” Ash made no move to help her with the first few boxes but continued to rub her damp hair.

  “The changes in temperature will ruin the paintings if I leave them too long in the trailer.”

  “Oh.”

  Her sister tossed the towel on a chair and lent a hand. Together they had the merchandise unloaded and stored in short order. As soon as they finished the chore, Lilah offered Ash a cold beer. She hesitated then nodded her head. “I’m planning to leave in a little while, but one brew won’t hurt.”

  Lilah immediately propped her feet on the coffee table and sighed. “I’m not used to standing the whole day.”

  “Did you sell many?”

  “Just two, but that’s pretty good for that type of show. I usually just make contacts who purchase paintings later. So what did you do today?”

  Ashley’s face lit like a tree on Christmas morning. “I spent my time on the computer applying to three different schools. I’ve decided to go back for my masters.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “I took the GMAT last spring for grins and scored high. A Masters in business should take me places.” She curled her legs beneath her and leaned back in the overstuffed brown leather armchair. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Detective Ames called looking for you.”

  “You must have given him my cell number. He found me.”

  “And?”

  “A witness placed a known hit man in the vicinity on the night of Ben’s murder.”

  “Hit man? As in the mob?” Ashley’s mouth gaped.

  Lilah snorted beer from her nose and quickly brushed it aside. “Let’s not get melodramatic. There was no mention of mob activity. But he did want to warn me in case I see a man fitting the description.”

  “Let me guess. Black hair, beady eyes, and a scar across his face.” She wiggled her brows and hummed scary music to emphasize her comment.

  “Close.” Lilah chuckled. “He’s tall, medium build, and – oh drats, I can’t remember the rest. No, wait. Dirty blond hair.”

  Ashley snickered. “The only dirty blond I know is Scott.”

  Lilah dug for her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Detective Ames.” She made an exaggerated show of punching numbers.

  “Quit funning. You haven’t even met Scott and already you don’t like him.”

  “Why should I? No man will ever be good enough for my baby sister.” Lilah put the phone away and lifted her half empty beer bottle high. “A toast.”

  Ashley followed suit and lifted hers as well. “To?”

  “To being here together. To men we were smart enough to leave alone and to our future happiness with those we’re destined to love.”

  The toast had a bittersweet ring, but Lilah meant every word. Even Ash seemed to understand the poignant meaning behind her verbal wish. One day soon, they would both find the life they were destined to live.

  “I’m so glad I came.”

  “Me, too.” Having you here makes the loneliness bearable.

  Ashley set the glass down as if just remembering something she’d forgotten. “By the way, I’m headed for Knoxville tonight to spend a few days. Monday, I plan to check out the University of Tennessee’s grad programs. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

  “It’s almost ten on a Saturday night. Why not wait until tomorrow?”

  Ashley shrugged. “You know me. Always on the go. At least I told you this time where I’m going. I figure to do a little bar hopping, take in the nightlife, enjoy the scenery. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried, but what about Scott? I thought you were considering going out with him again.”

  “Sure, but this has nothing to do with Scott. Besides, he’s just too – gung-ho. I figure time away will slow him down a bit or scare him off. If he’s still around when I get back, then I’ll consider another date with the man.”

  “I wish I had your devil-may-care attitude.” Lilah envied Ash’s ability to enjoy life without stressing over little things.

  “No you don’t. If you did, you’d lack the commitment needed to be such a great artist.” Ash gave her a hug before snatching the discarded towel. “I’ve got to pack.”

  Lilah snorted, used to Ashley’s erratic behavior at times. After all, she’d chosen an odd time to be heading out. But then, Lilah understood some of Ash’s restlessness. Being stuck in the country with little to occupy time took getting used to.

  Ash stopped midway to her room and turned with a wink. “I expect you’ll be thanking me after today.”

  “For what?”

&nb
sp; “It’s a surprise, something I think you need. Not sure when it will arrive, but I’ve no doubt the gift will make an appearance soon.” She wore a speculative grin, an expression that didn’t necessarily bode well for Lilah.

  Lilah frowned, wondering what devilment her sister planned this time.

  Eleven

  Reece followed Crane road around the lake until he reached Bear Creek Lane and turned left.

  Wonder why she never came back for our scheduled rendezvous.

  Maybe second thoughts? Cold feet? A dozen reasons could have made his secret aficionada not appear in the window for their second scheduled encounter. Above all else, the one characteristic he possessed was tenacity.

  Unless she slams the door in my face, I won’t give up that easily.

  With all the roadblocks in his life – the broken hearts, the near failure out of flight school, the attempts to break his spirit by his father and sibling – he refused to succumb to adversity.

  What is a man without fortitude and grit? A pussy.

  Reece pulled into Carmen’s circular driveway, stepped from his pickup truck, and advanced twenty paces along the winding gravel sidewalk lined with purple-stemmed liriope.

  He returned to the last time he’d walked down this particular cottage, two years ago before the previous occupant, Mrs. Johnson, had passed away. Full of stories, especially those about her two daughters, she’d invite him to sit on the back porch and enjoy both company and homemade desserts.

  What a sweet old lady. Loved her chocolate chip cookies.

  A melancholy thought flickered by; so many older women left solitary around the lake, divorced or widowed, never again connecting with another. He snickered at his musing.

  Hell, could be me in twenty years.

  The likelihood of such a scenario caused ripples to dance across the back of his neck.

  At the porch, he shifted, first on his left foot then his right.

  Why am I so damned nervous? Not like it’s a date.

  The chance of a fresh start, the possibility of what lie beyond the door, that was the thrill, seasoned with a sprinkle of anxiety. None of his attempts to connect with another, not even his wife, had materialized into what he really wanted; the joint exchange of everything to become a unified spirit traveling the same path. Yet, with all the dead ends, the encounters with those more about the peripherals of marriage than the union itself; he never stopped, and he never would, until his course intersected with the one.