Beloved Wife
November 12, 1954 – January 11, 2011
Wait for Me
THE END
Hi there. It’s me, the author. If you enjoyed this short story about Beatrice, please read on. I’ve provided a sample from my mystery novel, “Ten Little Lesbians.” Ten women are stranded at an inn in the Cascade Mountains. One goes missing. One is killed. More than one is not who she pretends to be, and every one of them has a secret. When another woman is attacked, it becomes clear there’s a killer in their midst, and it has to be one of them. Beatrice and her niece Tish try to find out who it is, before it’s too late.
Ten Little Lesbians - sample
The Highway meandered over the Cascade Mountain Range through Tumwater Canyon from the north edge of Seattle to Leavenworth, smack dab in the middle of Washington. It was narrow, winding, and infinite. The view was beautiful, apparently, at least according to those in the front seat, but Tish wasn’t interested in looking at the scenery. It was bad enough to be forced to sit sideways in the back seat to support the column of plaster encasing her right leg, but to be so nauseous from the turns and curves that she couldn’t even hold down a pain pill just added insult to injury. They’d already had to stop the car once so she could be sick. The second time there was no possible place to pull over, and Tish was forced to puke into Aunt Bea’s litterbag.
You’d think someone who was so careful to always be correct about every little thing, right down to having an official Department of Transportation issued litterbag in her energy efficient Ford Fusion, would show a little empathy for a sick and broken niece in the back seat, but all Aunt Bea said was, “Serves you right.”
Even Carmen, who rarely thought of anyone but herself, said, “She’s not getting sick on purpose.” Aunt Bea ignored her.
They didn’t stop when they reached Leavenworth either, but continued on up into the hills north of it via a road even more steep and twisting. By the time they reached the Adelheid Inn, Tish was so shaky she could barely prop herself up on her crutches, but Aunt Bea and Carmen just left her to deal with her own backpack while they cruised their four-wheeler bags inside.
Tish leaned against the car, examined the Inn, and tried to quell her dizziness. She took deep breaths. A range of mountains formed a picturesque backdrop for the Inn, its highest tips white with snow, which seemed odd when the air was still so warm. The Inn was surrounded by trees, and the air was scented with pine. It helped calm her tummy, but she was in no mood to appreciate it.
She stared at the toes peeking out at the end of her cast. She’d needed a new pedicure even before the accident, and now the ruby polish was chipped and ugly. She wiggled her toes to make sure they were still hers. The end of the cast seemed so far away, it was hard to be certain. White plaster. No pretty pink cast protector for her. It would have been too easy to hide contraband, they said. God. It was so white it glowed, and it looked as big as a whale sticking out from beneath her skirt. It was heavy as one too. She sighed, looped her backpack over her shoulders, tucked the crutches under her arms, and lurched her way over the gravel driveway.
The Adelheid Inn was a bland two-story wooden building, its white walls and brown trim barely hinting at the Bavarian theme that was so popular in Leavenworth. Its only unusual feature was the tower on the left front corner. It wasn’t much of a tower, really, but it was round and stood a full story taller than the rest of the building. It was built of volcanic rock, and a black wrought iron fence surrounded the top. Tish wondered if the fence was real and if guests were allowed up there.
She navigated her way up two shallow stairs, flanked by square rock pillars that matched the tower, and entered the lobby. It was spacious and somewhat bare. Golden wood floors gleamed, and the paneling on the bottom half of the walls matched the floor exactly. A rag rug woven in rainbow colors covered a large rectangle of floor. It was laid across a wide-open doorway, half of it in the lobby and the other half in a darkened room beyond that appeared set up for dining. The registration desk was on the right, a massive wooden bar like something from an old saloon. The woman who stood behind it was so short her shoulders barely cleared it. She was plump and had spikey hair, bleached white but dyed black at the tips, and she wore silver earplugs at least an inch around with tiny feathers dangling from them, like miniature dream catchers. Aunt Bea and Carmen waited their turns behind two girls. Hot girls, from what Tish could tell from their backs. She felt a slight lift in her spirits. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be all old people after all.
Against the wall opposite the registration desk was a long table with a computer and printer on it and a chair in front of it. Tish made her way there, shrugged out of the backpack, and lowered herself very carefully to the chair. It had wheels. The last thing she needed was for the seat to roll out from under her and drop her to the floor. She leaned the crutches against the table and examined the girls.
They were nearly perfect photographic negatives of each other, one blonde and the other dark. They were identical in shape and size, both tall and athletic and so slender they looked like they could be folded in two without straining a muscle. Volleyball players, Tish guessed, or basketball. The girl on the right had hair that fell in a shiny black plank nearly to her waist, and she wore tight jeans with a hundred rhinestones on each pocket. The other girl had short blonde curls, like a kewpie doll, and she wore a pair of shorts so skimpy that her butt cheeks would have drooped out the bottom if her rump wasn’t so small and tight. Her legs were muscled, tan and smooth, but Tish found her eyes kept returning to that ass.
Aunt Bea cleared her throat. Tish looked up and saw Aunt Bea frowning at her. Tish swiveled her chair and turned her back on all of them. Jesus. Aunt Bea acted like Tish was planning to rape the girl or something, never mind that the girl was a foot taller, ten years younger, and wasn’t weighted down with a twenty-pound plaster cast. Aunt Bea was letting her power kick go to her head. The terms of supervision didn’t say a damn word about what Tish could look at.
The computer in front of her was old. The monitor was five inches thick. An ancient printer perched next to it, and a sign above the table read “Business Center.” She’d already been warned that there would be no cell phone service up here, but she pulled her phone from her pocket anyway, just to make sure. Yep, nothing.
“I upgraded you to the third floor tower room,” the short woman at the counter told the girls. “There’s no elevator for it, but you look like you can handle stairs okay.”
“Will it cost more?” the dark girl asked.
“No. We have a lot of singles coming in this weekend, and that room’s got a king sized bed. We can’t waste that on a single girl, can we?”
The dark girl giggled, and the blonde said, “No way.”
Tish swiveled her chair half way around again. She had a hunch the blonde was wiggling her tush, and she was right.
“You have a hot tub, right?” the blonde asked.
“You know it,” the woman at the desk said. “It’s just past the patio behind the gazebo.”
The blonde nudged the other girl with her elbow. “Told you so.”
“Of course, no suits allowed on Women Only Weekends,” the woman at the desk said. Tish glanced up in time to see her give a quick wink.
“Oh yeah.” The blonde pumped her fist. “We’re in Washington now, baby. Same-sex marriage and legal weed and naked hot tubs. Everything’s legal here.”
Carmen laughed. “You girls let me know when you go in, okay? There’s nothing I like better than getting high in hot tubs with naked girls.”
“Are you getting married?” The woman at the desk frowned and flipped through some papers. “There’s nothing in here about—”
“No,” the dark girl said with a prim reprimand in her voice that made Tish think she’d grow up to be just like Aunt Bea. “We’re not getting married and we’re not smoking pot and we’re not hot-tubbing naked.”
The blonde slipped her key into her back pocket and shook her head. �
��I don’t know, Amy, you heard the woman. Rules are rules.”
Tish accidentally breathed a laugh, and the blonde looked her way and grinned. She had turquoise eyes, dimples, and skin China doll smooth except for a few freckles the size of peppercorns on her cheeks and nose. The girl was lethal.
“There’s a garage on the east side of the building,” the woman at the counter said. “You can move your car after you unload your things.”
The dark girl, Amy, turned. She bit her lip like she was trying not to smile or cry. It was hard to tell if she was Asian or Indian or Spanish or something else, but whatever it was it worked for her. She had skin like a caramel latte and the bone structure of a supermodel.
Tish couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen in real life one woman as perfect as these girls were, and here she was stuck all weekend with both of them. She ignored Aunt Bea’s glares and swiveled her chair further to watch them walk out the door to retrieve their luggage.
“One of you must be Carmen Chang,” the woman at the desk said. “Three rooms?”
“That’s me,” Carmen said. “This place is adorable. Didn’t I tell you, Bea? It’s all lesbians all weekend, right?”
“It’s Women Only Weekend,” the woman said. “We get mostly lesbians, but we don’t actually check.”
“That’s okay,” Carmen said. “Any straight girl who shows up on Women Only Weekend is fair game, by my rules.”
“Do you have any adjoining rooms?” Aunt Bea asked.
“The northwest room has an adjoining room, but it only has twin beds. People put their kids there sometimes.”
“That’ll do,” Aunt Bea said. “Put my niece there.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Tish asked, but she was ignored. She turned back to the computer and turned it on. There was a long buzz, and a minute later the screen lit up.
“The password is rubyslippers,” the woman at the desk called out. “All one word. But it’s very slow.”
“Tish, don’t,” Aunt Bea said.
“I just want to check my e-mail,” Tish said.
“Why?” Aunt Bea asked.
“God, Bea, let her,” Carmen said. “She’s not twelve.”
“Then she shouldn’t act like it,” Aunt Bea said.
“Oh, never mind,” Tish said. There’s wasn’t any point to checking her e-mail with Aunt Bea peering over her shoulder. She powered the computer down. There would be time. Aunt Bea couldn’t hover forever.
Holly directed them to the elevator and watched them leave the lobby. Weird. The girl on the crutches had to be thirty years old, but her aunt treated her like she was a kid. Maybe she was mentally deficient in some way. She was kind of cute, though, and those Mormon girls who checked in first were good looking too. The average age of guests at Women Only Weekends was usually around fifty, but three of the five already checked in were young. This could be a fun weekend.
The front door opened again, and two more women entered. She gauged the age of one at sixty and the other in her thirties, so they were right on the money, age-wise. “You must be Paula and Veronica,” she said. They were the only other couple expected.
“I’m Paula,” said the older woman. The younger one merely smiled.
They were an old school butch and femme couple like you hardly ever saw any more. Paula was about five and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, and fit-looking for such an old girl. She wore a white button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into low-hanging cargo shorts, with a braided belt in the loops like older women didn’t usually do. Her hair was short, steel gray, and swept to the side, and she wore black horned rim glasses. Veronica was a couple of inches taller. She had dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders, glossy and straight, like she must have soaked it for an hour in coconut oil. She ducked her head frequently, which made the hair fall forward into her face. She swept it back behind her ears at least fifteen times in the few minutes it took them to check in.
“I’ve put you in the second floor tower room,” Holly said.
“One room?” Veronica glanced from Holly to Paula and back. “I thought…I mean, I thought I would have my own room.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. She had a double earring that connected two holes with a tiny silver chain.
“Oh?” Holly flipped through the reservation book. The Adelheid Inn took reservations on-line, but the Internet service was so irregular that most reservations still came in over the phone.
“Yeah, check your records,” Paula said. She walked over to examine the Business Center and then cruised to peer into the dining room. She was the sort who couldn’t be still, had to prowl. “It should be for two rooms.”
“Right,” Holly said, but not like she believed her. Paula wasn’t the first person to ever play that trick on her date. She found the reservation in her own handwriting. “No, here it is. A phone reservation. One room, two people, king size bed.” She sent Paula a shitty look and made sure Veronica saw it. “Do you need a separate room? We’re full, but I could give up my room. It’s not as nice as a regular room, or as big, and it’s kind of messy. I mean, I live in it. But if you need it—”
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Veronica said. Her fingers played with a set of charms that dangled from a chain at her neck. “I’m sure it will be fine. I just…” She gave Paula a tiny smile, raised a finger, and wagged it back and forth. “You have to be good.”
Paula smiled one of those naughty little boy smiles that femmes seemed to find so cute. “I’ll be an angel.”
Aunt Bea would shit bricks if she knew what Tish could see from her window. After all her efforts to remove Tish from temptation, she’d given Tish a prime viewing spot of the two most beautiful girls she’d ever seen. The blonde hadn’t been kidding about wanting to use the hot tub. They apparently couldn’t wait until dark. And they were naked.
Tish checked the lock on the adjoining door between her room and Aunt Bea’s—a feature the woman at the front desk had failed to mention—and returned to the window. She perched her butt on the side of the armchair, rested her cast on the windowsill, and braced her left foot on the floor. A dirt path led to a wooden gazebo about forty feet behind the Inn, and right beside it was the hot tub. A line of small trees blocked the view of the hot tub from the lounge downstairs, but there was nothing blocking the view from Tish’s room.
The two girls played like children for a while, ducking and splashing. They brought their heads together to kiss now and then, and rubbed their slippery bodies against each other. Occasionally, when they got too hot, they pulled themselves out of the water completely to sit on the edge, showing off their flat bellies, their long firm thighs, their pert breasts. They seemed completely unaware that they might be watched.
Eventually, like she knew they would, they made love, and Tish settled in to watch the show. The blonde pulled Amy to her, kissed her breasts, and dipped her hands under the water. Tish felt a tingle on her cheeks and between her legs. Amy put her hands on the blonde’s shoulders, bobbed up and down a few times, head bent, then arched up and back, nearly out of the water, like a dolphin. She braced herself with her hands behind her, head thrown back and white skin shimmering in the afternoon sun as her stomach pulsed, her nipples erect and seeming to point straight at Tish.
One advantage of being forced into a skirt was that the goods were easy to reach. Tish stuck her fingers inside her panties, stroked herself, and let herself come right alongside Amy. She didn’t feel guilty. When would she get a chance like that again? But Aunt Bea would shit bricks.
Beatrice’s window had much the same view, and she too sat at the window and watched the girls in the hot tub. She didn’t spare a thought for Tish. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she watched the girls play in the water, make love, and play some more.
“Oh, Leigh,” Beatrice said aloud, but softly, as if she didn’t want to wake someone up. “Were we ever that young? We were ever that happy?”
Leigh answered. She sometimes did. “Of course we we
re. Remember the deck pool in Puerto Vallarta?”
Beatrice smiled through her tears. “I remember. They put something in those drinks, I swear.”
“I know, I know. You only had two.”
Beatrice’s smile faded. “The problem is, I know we were happy. I can remember that we were happy. But I can’t remember the feelings. What did that feel like, to be so happy?”
Leigh was finished talking.
Beatrice stroked the wooden box on her lap and let the tears fall on it, new water drop marks joining the old. She couldn’t remember the last time she was happy.
If she couldn’t remember the feelings, were they still real?
About the Author
Kate McLachlan lives in the Pacific Northwest with her wife, Tonie, and their various cats and dogs. Kate works in a respectable legal job all week long, but on the weekends she dons her rainbow striped SuperWriter cape and creates adventures, failures, triumphs, and love for her very real imaginary friends. Learn more about Kate by visiting her website: https://www.katemclachlan.com.
Other books by this author
Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by Kate McLachlan:
The Rip Van Dyke Time-Travel Series
Rip Van Dyke
Rescue at Inspiration Point
Return of an Impetuous Pilot
Mysteries
Hearts, Dead and Alive
Murder and the Hurdy Gurdy Girl
Ten Little Lesbians
Romance
Christmas Crush (Lambda finalist!)
Connect with Kate McLachlan
Follow me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mclachlan.kate
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/katemclachlan
Visit my website: https://www.katemclachlan.com
E-mail me at: [email protected]
Seasons of Deception Page 3
