Paranormal Erotic Romance Box Set (28 page)

“Wow,” James said.

“I know,” I said.

Mr. Conway twisted his hands away from Katt and grabbed
the receiver to the telephone behind the front desk.

“Miss Lawson,” Mr. Conway said, “I have indulged you for
far too long. You get out of my hotel this instant. Had I known you were
insane...well, people are staring and you are out of control.”

“Out of control?” Katt said and shoved her notebook into
her purse. “Out of fucking control, did you say? Let me tell you something, you
fucking little cocksucker, you have not even begun to see me out of control.”

“Oh shit,” I said.

“Darla, call Security,” Mr. Conway said and backed away
from the front desk.

“Yes, Darla,” Katt said, “call fucking security! While
you’re at it call the
Globe
! Better yet, call Army fucking Archerd!”

The guests milling about had long stopped in their tracks,
Darla called security and I turned to James and stared at him with my mouth
hanging open. I waited for him to tell me I could do something. He did not.

“Sophia,” he said and took two steps toward me, “I’m
sorry.”

No sooner than Darla hung up the phone, two burly security
guards ran around the corner and into the lobby. Mr. Conway pulled his pen out of
his pocket and pointed at Katt. I jumped in front of one of the guards and he
knocked me to the ground as he lunged for Katt.

“Oh, you were serious?” Katt said and spit in Mr. Conway’s
face. “And you are a fucking cunt, Darla!”

I sat on the floor as one of the guards picked Katt up and
slung her over his shoulder and walked toward the door.

“Just you fucking wait,” Katt said as she was hauled out
of the lobby. “Soon the world will know that this Conway cocksucker and
everyone involved covered up a murder. Sophia Pearson was murdered by Brandt
Therrault and Nellie Daniels at the Battleroy and they covered it up. I will go
to my death trying to prove this!”

“It’s okay, folks!” Mr. Conway said as he wiped the spit
off his face after Katt was taken out of the building. “She was just a colorful
person who obviously made a wrong turn. Bless her for she is not us!”

“I’m sorry,” I said as James picked me up off the floor
and carried me to the library.

“It’s okay, love,” James said and kissed my forehead.
“Katt will prove it.”

But Katt never did prove it. She did, however, go to her
grave trying to prove that Brandt and Nellie killed me.

Six months after she was dragged screaming out of the
lobby, Katt was killed in a car accident while traveling down Route 3. The
Globe
reported her car was filled with files and notes and newspaper clippings about
my murder and my case was once again front page news.

Brandt made a statement to the press saying that he was
always weary of Katt and that he told me many times it was obvious to him and
many others that Katt was obsessed with me. He even alluded to the fact that he
wouldn’t be surprised if she hired Bobby Allen to murder me as she was very
jealous of our relationship.

“I am rooted, but I flow.”

Virginia Woolf

In the six months preceding Katt’s death, I refused to
accept James’ notion that there was a possibility that I would not be able to
out Brandt and Nellie as my killers and see that Bobby Allen was freed.

The
Globe
reported that Bobby Allen was despondent
and spent much of his Barnstable County Jail incarceration in solitary
confinement. Negotiations began between Barnstable County and the Commonwealth
to transfer Bobby Allen to the Bridgewater State Prison for the Criminally Insane.

At this point, Bobby had yet to be tried for my murder and
it seemed that proceedings against him were unusually slow, even for that day.
He was appointed a public defender, a young attorney named Charles Featherstone
whose only defendants, up until he was given Bobby’s case, were public
intoxications and other non-violent, nuisance offences.

Charles Featherstone argued staunchly against having Bobby
Allen remanded to Bridgewater. He used a disturbing documentary movie which
showcased the prison’s abhorrent conditions in 1967 called
Titicut Follies
as the basis for his claim.

Titicut Follies
was banned virtually before
screening. A Massachusetts Superior Court judge named Harry Kalus, ordered the
film destroyed, but a few copies of the film were leaked to the
New York
Times
and the
Boston Globe
. Charles Featherstone lobbied to block
Bobby Allen’s transfer to Bridgewater based on what he viewed in the shocking
film.

“This boy will not survive that dungeon of horrors,”
Featherstone said to the judge during Bobby’s transfer hearing.

However, that seemed to be the point as Charles
Featherstone’s request for Bobby to remain at the much more civilized
Barnstable County Jail was denied and he was sent to Bridgewater. Bobby Allen
was now a resident at an institution so horrid, even Albert DeSalvo, the Boston
Strangler, escaped in an attempt to shed light on the disgusting conditions at
the facility.

After Katt’s death, I read Charles Featherstone’s account
of how Bobby Allen, a boy who was once a robust and healthy seventeen-year-old,
was virtually disappearing before his eyes after his incarceration at
Bridgewater. I started to believe that James was right, that perhaps there was
nothing I could do. That Brandt and Nellie got away with killing me and Katt,
indirectly, and they would continue to spend my money until gone and laugh at
me.

But then, as January turned the hotel cold and dark,
something happened that gave me renewed hope of Bobby Allen’s freedom through
my vengeance.

One afternoon, Céline and I walked through the lobby
looking for Patrick and James. The four of us were thick as thieves and the
majority of time that James and I didn’t spend with each other, was spent with
Patrick and Céline both in and out of bed.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Céline said as we toward the
front desk, “Heinrich promised to make Baked Alaska for Jennie-Lynn’s birthday
party tonight.”

“I can’t wait,” I said and guided her toward the front
desk and out of the way of a group of horticulturists who were in for a
convention. “The last time he made it, Jonas and I almost got into a fist fight
over the last piece.”

“I remember,” Céline said and giggled, “so funny. Sophia
look, it’s the new guy!”

Céline and I stopped and stood at the front desk, in front
of the Battleroy’s newest reservation clerk, Tommy Chartrand.

“Isn’t he a dreamboat?” Céline said and sighed.

Tommy was the typical handsome, all-American, Ivy League
frat guy. I shuddered.

“He reminds me of Brandt,” I said and made a face as I
pulled Céline away. “Come on, let’s find the guys. Hey, what time is the--”

“Mrs. Therrault?” Tommy said from the front desk.

“Party?” I said and stopped. “Did you hear what he said?”

Céline looked at me with her mouth hanging opened and
nodded.

We turned and walked back to the front desk and Tommy was
on the phone.

“It’s not a terribly common name,” Céline said. “Brandt’s
mother, perhaps?”

“Yes, just a moment and I will check on that,” Tommy said.

Tommy put his call on hold and placed the telephone’s
receiver on the front desk.

“He’s writing something,” I said as I tried to peer over
the marble desktop. “What’s he writing?”

“I don’t know,” Céline said. “Why are you whispering?”

“Habit,” I said and shrugged.

Mr. Conway came out of his office and walked toward Tommy.
Since the horrid way he treated Katt when she questioned him about my murder, I
stayed away from him for fear I’d stab him through the eye with a letter
opener.

“How are we doing out here, Tommy?” Mr. Conway asked and
clapped Tommy on the back.

“I was just coming to get you, Mr. Conway,” Tommy said and
held the notepad up. “There’s a Mrs. Therrault on the line, she said she has a
free stay coming to her and she wants to book the dates for she and her
husband.”

“Holy shit,” Céline said and grabbed my hand.

Mr. Conway stared at a floral arrangement sitting on one
of the tables across the lobby and shook his head.

“Mr. Conway?” Tommy said.

Mr. Conway nodded and tapped his fingers against his
cheek.

“Mr. Conway, I just need to know how to enter this
reservation,” Tommy said.

“Y-Yes, of course,” Mr. Conway said. “Uh, you said
Therrault, you’re sure? Ask their names.”

“I told you, Mr. Conway, it’s Therrault,” Tommy said.

“No, first names, Tommy!” Mr. Conway said and grabbed
Tommy’s arm. “I’m sorry I yelled. Can you just ask their first names, please?
As if you’re making the reservation.”

“Of course,” Tommy said and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, ma’am? Yes, sorry about that. Ma’am may I have your first names so I
can make the reservation? Yes, thank you. Just one more moment please.”

Tommy put the call on hold again and looked at Mr. Conway
who dripped with sweat.

“Mr. Conway, are you sure--” Tommy said.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Mr. Conway said and pulled a
handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped his face. “The names, please?”

“I already know the names,” I said.

“Brandt and Nellie Therrault,” Tommy said.

“Goddamn!” Céline said and slammed her hand on the desk.

“Nellie?” Mr. Conway said.

“Yes sir, that’s what she said,” Tommy said and looked at
his notepad. “Brandt and Nellie Therrault. Should I make the reservation, sir?”

“Did that animal marry her?” Céline said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “No, surely not. He wouldn’t
risk falling out of favor with my parents and arousing suspicion so soon.”

“Yes, make the reservation,” Mr. Conway said. “But only
one night, Tommy.”

Mr. Conway leaned over and planted his elbows on the desk.
He rested his chin on his hands and mumbled to himself. I leaned toward him and
touched the tip of my nose to his. I looked into his watery eyes and smelled
his fear.

“I hope you’re thinking of what Katt told you,” I said. “I
hope you’re thinking real hard, you piece of shit.”

“Of course he is,” Céline said. “You said Katt told Mr.
Conway her name, right?”

“She sure did,” I said as I turned away from Mr. Conway’s
face.

“Uh, hello? Yes, thanks for waiting,” Tommy said after he
picked up the phone. “Yes, ma’am, I spoke with our manager and he confirmed
this. For one night gratis. Yes, one night.”

“Figures,” I said to Céline. “You know, she’s probably
calling from my pink princess phone in my bedroom.”

“We just need the date,” Céline said and put her hand on
my arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy said,” you are certainly welcome to
stay as many nights as you want, but--”

Mr. Conway gripped Tommy’s arm and shook his head as if he
had an earful of bees and poor, confused Tommy just shrugged.

“Or...” Tommy said and held up his finger, “I need to
check the books, I think we have a big convention.”

Mr. Conway nodded and Tommy smiled.

“Which room? Let me check,” Tommy said and put the call
back on hold. “She is requesting Room 165, Mr. Conway.”

“That was--” Céline said.

“Yep, what a sick fucking bitch,” I said.

“Give it to her,” Mr. Conway said and bowed his head. “She
can have the room, but just for the one night.”

“Ma’am? That’s fine. Okay, which date? I’m checking,”
Tommy said and flipped through the reservation book. “You’re in luck. One
night, February 14th.”

“How sweet, Valentine’s Day, “Céline said.

“Come on,” I said and grabbed Céline’s arm, “let’s go find
the guys.”

We ran through the lobby and found Patrick and James
lounging in the chaises by the pool laughing hysterically as Judah Roderick
told a story.

“Hello ladies,” James said and wiped his eyes as he stood
from the chair, “grab some chairs. You’re just in time to hear Judah tell the
story of his passion-filled evening with a sixty-eight-year-old Lebanese
prostitute named Mark.”

“Yes, in a minute,” I said and tugged on James’ suit
jacket. “Guess what?”

“And she didn’t shave, don’t forget that ravishing
tidbit,” Patrick said and turned to Céline. “Come and sit in Papa’s lap, kitty
cat.”

“That’s nice,” I said to Patrick. “But guess what?”

“Excuse me,” Judah said and held up his hands, “but she
was sixty-seven and her name was
Marta
, not Mark! And yes, she may have
had a few errant chin hairs, but she was certainly no bearded lady.”

“Whatever, old boy,” Patrick said and kissed Céline on the
top of the head after she sat in his lap. “You know what they say about the
Nile and denial.”

“Listen,” James said, “if Professor Cock, as she liked to
call him, had a penchant for alternative lifestyles--”

“Guys!” Céline said. “Would you shut the fuck up already?
Sophia has news.”

James turned to me and put his hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry, baby. What’s up?”

“Guess who’s coming to stay here this Valentine’s Day?” I
said.

“Lucille Ball?” Judah said and rubbed his hands together.
“Tell me it’s Lucy! God, I will break into her room and rub my cock all over
that sex goddess’ face.”

“You’re sick, Judah,” I said and shook my head. “You need
a session with Dr. Newlander.”

“Aw, come on, daffodil tits,” Patrick said, “Professor
Cock can’t help it if he loves Lucy!”

The men broke out into hysterics at Patrick’s pun.

“You know what, just forget it!” I said

“No, no,” James said and wiped his face with his sleeve,
“we’re all ears. Who is gracing us with their presence on Valentine’s Day?

“Brandt and Nellie,” I said and stared into James’ eyes.

“What?” James said and cleared his throat. “How do you
know?”