Naked Frame (9 page)

"Uh..."

Gabby jumped in. "A '63 Catalina. 421 cubic
inch."

Calvin looked up. "Nice." He pointed to the
workbench. "Put your name and number on the list over there, and
I'll call you when I get an opening."

Gabby walked over to the workbench. "How
long do you think it will be?" When he picked up the clipboard, he
knocked off a large screwdriver. He jumped back in the nick of
time—before the sharp blade pierced the top of his shoe. He picked
it up and put it back on the workbench.

"I don't know. Could be months. But I'll
definitely give you priority. I'd love to get under the hood of
that sweet baby. I could max her out, and get that mother to do a
hundred miles per hour in under 15 seconds."

Gabby's eyes lit up. "Whoa."

Rebecca could see Calvin's passion for cars.
She knew that he and Carly had no sex life. Maybe this is what it
took to get his rocks off: classic muscle cars. "By the way, is
your wife home? I would love to show her my exciting line of
cosmetics."

"No. She's not here right now. Not sure when
she'll be back."

"Well, do you have a teenage daughter who
might be interested?"

"She's not here either."

"Okay, thanks. Maybe some other time."

Gabby was standing at the workbench,
perusing a Porsche brochure he had found there. He held it up. "I
wouldn't mind having one of these."

Calvin stopped working and stood up
straight. "Yeah."

Rebecca noticed that he seemed uneasy about
Gabby's discovery of the brochure. "You ought to buy yourself
one."

"Oh, I'd
love
to." Calvin laughed nervously.
"But I don't make that kind of money."

Rebecca stared at him—which seemed to make
him fidget.

Gabby followed her lead, walking over with
the brochure in hand. "Wow, it says here that the base price is
$62,000. But look how cool, Becca. It's a Porche Boxster Spyder. It
does zero to sixty in 4.9 seconds."

"Beautiful." Rebecca kept one eye on Calvin.
"Well, I guess we'd better get going and let Mr. Cinaway get back
to work."

"Yeah. We don't want to be pests." Gabby
took Rebecca's hand. "Thanks, Mr. Cinaway." They turned and walked
out.

"Sure thing," said Calvin.

Once they were back in Gabby's car, Rebecca
said, "You shouldn't have called me Becca in front of him."

"I know. I'm sorry. You think he figured out
who you were?"

"Probably not. And obviously, he hasn't
heard from the cops yet. But he's hiding something."

"You think he killed Big Bill? Or
Carly?"

"I don't think he's capable of killing
anybody. But he definitely got nervous after you picked up that
brochure."

**********

Calvin wiped off his hands, and took out his
phone.

"When are you going to bring my
money?...Cash, right?...Good. I'll be here."

CHAPTER 16 - Tuesday, 11:36 a.m.

Harvey Hamstel leaned back in his plush
executive chair and studied the artist's rendering of William
Smotherburn. The massive canvas was mounted on the wall facing his
desk. Each member of the senior management team had been blessed
with one.

It felt as though Big Bill himself was with
them at all times. Whether they were preparing a proposal, reading
a report, reprimanding an employee, or chit chatting over the
phone—Big Bill was watching, judging. Like Big Brother.

Each work of art was an original oil
painting, with a unique setting and pose. Some portrayed him hard
at work: sitting at his desk, studying some important document, or
standing with a construction foreman, holding a blueprint in one
hand while pointing at something in the distance with the
other.

There were also paintings that illustrated
his leisure life. At the helm of his 38-foot yacht. On the golf
course. Next to his prized sports car: a $150,000 black Maserati
GranTurismo.

Margie, a recently promoted female executive
was not at all happy with the painting in her office: Big Bill
enjoying dinner with friends at his own Café Nue, while a
well-endowed, bare-breasted waitress leaned over to refill his wine
glass. The artist's rendition of the young woman's chest was
breathtaking.

Harvey snickered. That painting would be a
constant reminder to Margie that she could never measure up to Big
Bill's standards.

Harvey Hamstel was the
President of Smotherburn Technologies. A small man with enormous
ambitions. And he admired ambition in his managers—to a point.
Their job was to make
him
look good. What was good for him was good for
them. But any manager who sought to make
himself
look good would soon find
himself unemployed.

He, and he alone, had the ear of the CEO,
William Smotherburn. Harvey was the ultimate Yes Man. Whatever Big
Bill wanted, Harvey got it done for him. No questions asked.

But after twenty-three years, Harvey was
tired of being Big Bill's errand boy. He was ready to take over as
CEO. And now it would happen. Soon it would be his image in those
paintings. Standing at the podium, giving the Annual State of the
Company Address. Sitting at the head of the executive conference
room table.

Perhaps he would take up cigars. He would
look dashing on a sailboat, smoking a fine Cuban.

Harvey imagined how the management team
would react to Big Bill's death, and how he would reassure them. He
would tell them Kimberly Smotherburn was committed to the goals of
the company. She would not sell it or make any drastic changes.

The grieving widow would appoint Harvey as
CEO. And once the dust settled, they would be wed, and fly off for
a two-week honeymoon at some tropical resort.

But first Harvey would need to unload his
current wife. It would not be difficult. She had been unhappy for
years. And lately he had been deliberately antagonizing her. He
would offer her a generous settlement, and she would tearfully
agree to a divorce.

Mrs. Kimberly Hamstel. He liked the sound of
it. And he could not wait to get that young, hot thing into bed.
How had she put up with Big Bill and his philandering?

Good riddance to the old fat ass.

CHAPTER 17 - Tuesday, 11:44 a.m.

"How was it?"

"Mind blowing, as always, Baby." Kimberly
rolled over to her back and pulled the sheet up over her curvy,
naked body.

"Big Bill was so fat. How in hell did you
ever—"

"—he pretty much just laid there like a side
of beef. I did all the work. But that's what happens when a
twenty-four year old marries a guy twice her age and three times
her weight."

"I wish I hadn't asked. Now all I can see is
his big old ugly naked butt. I'm never going to get that picture
out of my head."

Kimberly laughed."What about me? I've been
seeing it for five years. I'd pay anything if I could have those
memories surgically removed."

"I'll bet."

"But that's okay. The money will help me
forget."

The phone rang. Kimberly picked it up as she
watched her lover get dressed.

"Hello?...how are you, Harvey?...sure, how
about eight o'clock?...yes, I'm hot for you too, Babe...see you
then."

"You're not actually having sex with that
little runt?"

"Of course not. I'm just stringing him
along."

"But now that Big Bill's dead, The Hamster's
gonna want to get naked with you."

"The
Hamster?"

"Yeah. That's what everybody calls him
behind his back."

"Well,
The Hamster
is a pushover. He's easy
to handle."

"Okay. Good. I've got to go. I'll give you a
call later, Sweet Cheeks."

Kimberly slithered out of the satin sheets
and walked into the bathroom. She stood naked in front of the
full-length mirror, admiring her physique. All original equipment,
and still perfect.

She spun around and looked back over her
shoulder. Her tight little butt drove the boys crazy in high
school—especially in her cheerleader outfit. Go Bulldogs. Go
horndogs. Kimberly loved to get the boys all hot and bothered.

A lot of them claimed to have nailed her.
Everybody thought she was easy—which made the boys lust after her
even more. She loved having a reputation. But in truth, she wasn't
about to give anything away for free.

Five years ago, she was just another sexy
young woman applying for a job at Café Nue. She stripped naked in
Big Bill's office like the rest of the little fools. But when he
told her she would need to meet him in a motel room to continue
their interview, she told him to go screw himself, and walked
out.

Two days later Big Bill called and asked her
for a date. She hung up on him. But she knew he would call back. He
was hooked. And at that point, Kimberly knew she could get whatever
she wanted. And what she wanted was his money.

Within a month Kimberly was standing at the
altar with him. Her conditions had been met: a two-carat,
princess-cut diamond ring and no prenup. And she would be the
perfect little wife. She would do whatever he asked. Ride him all
night, every night, if that's what it took.

And so she waited...for the
perfect moment to eliminate him. And maybe she wouldn't have to do
anything. With his high blood pressure and diabetes, Big Bill could
have dropped dead at any moment. It was a miracle he had lived so
long. A little
too
long.

Kimberly was well aware that her husband was
having sex with every waitress he hired for the club. He had
promised her he would cut it out when they got married. But she
knew better. And she didn't really care. According to her source,
he always used protection. And it meant less bedroom
responsibilities for her.

It made her smile to realize
that his disgusting way of
vetting
the women for employment was the very thing that
led to his death. If he hadn't screwed the Cinaway girl, he would
have still been alive. The massive piece of crap got exactly what
he deserved.

Now Kimberly would be the Chief Executive
Officer of a multimillion dollar enterprise. If Smotherburn
Technologies were a public corporation, Harvey might have been able
to convince the board of directors to crown him CEO. But it was a
private company, formerly owned by one man: William
Smotherburn.

And now it would be all hers.

CHAPTER 18 - Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.

Gabby watched Rebecca devour the first bite
of her Whataburger. "I've never known another woman who could eat
the way you do—and stay thin." He took a bite of his chicken
sandwich.

"But can't you see that I've cut back? I
used to order these babies with double meat."

"Oh, that's right." He laughed. "And didn't
you eat a triple burger one time?"

"Yeah. But it made me sick. And it was your
fault."

"
My
fault?"

"Yeah. You bet me ten bucks I couldn't eat
one."

Gabby laughed. "That's right. But you paid
me back."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You got sick as a dog, and on the way
home you threw up in my car."

"Oh, yeah." She laughed. "And you wanted
your ten dollars back. You said it didn't count if I couldn't keep
it down."

"Those were fun times."

"Yeah."

The man sitting in the booth behind Gabby
finished his meal and walked out.

Rebecca got up and grabbed the newspaper the
man had left on his table. She sat back down and began thumbing
through it.

"What are you looking for? Surely you don't
think—"

"—no, no. I want to check out the business
section. Maybe there's something in here about his company. Some
new product. Whatever."

Gabby loved to watch Rebecca working a
problem. How many times had he seen her feverishly sketch out a
plan to defeat a rival basketball team? Her studies were put on the
back burner. Movies became unimportant. The only thing she could
think about was how to overcome her enemy. And she nearly always
succeeded.

He looked over the top of her newspaper.
"Grasping at straws?"

"Yeah, I guess. Oh—maybe I should try this."
She showed him an advertisement.

"You
could
."

"I was kidding."

"No. You could definitely pull it off—if you
could handle the nudity."

"Maybe if I could work one shift—that might
be enough. Girls talk. But what if Joey recognized me last
night?"

"He didn't act like he knew who you were.
Besides, I can give you a drastically different look. We'll need to
go shopping for clothes again. But first—put down the paper and eat
your lunch."

"Now I'm too nervous to eat."

Gabby recognized the look on her face.
Determination. She had always loved pushing herself to the max.
"Take a few deep breaths and relax."

Rebecca followed his advice.

He leaned in, so as not to be heard by the
mother and children walking by. "Now eat. You're going to need your
strength—to hold up your boobs."

She punched him in the arm.

"I'm kidding. They're nice and perky."

She cocked her fist for another wallop.

He held up his hands. "Enough. I'm sorry.
But, hey—I think it worked. You seem more relaxed now."

Rebecca grinned.

"Eat."

CHAPTER 19 - Tuesday, 2:18 p.m.

Joey Ketrousie sat behind his desk, puffing
on his cigar. "What's your name, Honey?"

"Heather Dreslaw," said Rebecca.

"How old are you, Heather?"

"Twenty-five." She could
still hear her father's words:
To be a
private investigator, sometimes you have to lie
. Good thing she had listened and learned, because right now
she was lying her butt off.