Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (17 page)

“Randy did. It loses so much definition when enlarged that the resulting image is useless."

Borders nodded.

“I heard a whale of a tale about Baxter this morning,” Leora said with her eyes twinkling.

Borders sat on the bed. “From the look on your face, it must be juicy."

Leora swiveled her chair to face her husband. “I talked a little bit with Mrs. Morgan while I was at the church this morning."

“Who is Mrs. Morgan?"

“Vera Morgan. She cleans houses for a living. She was working at the church this morning."

“Oh, Widow Morgan—Billy's mother."

“That's the one. She..."

“That's a strange situation,” he interrupted.

“What's a strange situation?"

“That Billy Morgan. He works for Penny Swanson but lives with our next door neighbor. You think he's having sex with that crippled girl?"

Leora's eyes twinkled again. “If he is, she's one lucky gal."

“Why would you say that? Billy's bulb barely glows. Hell, he isn't as bright as the Crow woman."

“Maybe not, old-timer, but he has a body like a Greek god."

“Yeah, but I always thought there was more to sex than looks,” he mumbled.

“I certainly hope so,” she laughed.

“I interrupted you. What were you saying about the Widow Morgan?"

“I asked her if she remembered Preacher Baxter. She said she did. I asked if she knew why he resigned and left town in such a hurry. She claimed it had something to do with Sandra Dollar."

“Sandy?"

“Vera said that just a couple of days before Baxter disappeared, she saw Sandy accompany him into the church study. Later, while she was cleaning the Sunday School classrooms in the basement under the study she heard sounds like they were having sex—rough sex."

“Come on, now. Sandra Dollar having an affair with the preacher?"

“Could be. Not all preachers are angels, you know. And Sandy is a sexy little thing."

“Hey, I know more nasty preachers than honest ones,” Borders said. “I was thinking of Sandy. Tim's a good looking guy, and rich as hell. Sandy's no dummy. She wouldn't jeopardize her relationship with Tim for a roll in the hay with some sawed off preacher man."

“Not necessarily true. Lust is a dangerous emotion. Maybe Tim was too tied up with his business interests to meet her needs."

“I think it's a stretch, Leora. But then, if it did happen, maybe Tim found out and ran the preacher out of town with a shotgun."

“I think I'll see what Sandy has to say about it."

“Leora, for crying out loud. You'll either embarrass her or make an enemy. Even if the story is true, what difference does it make? Surely you would not include that in your book."

“No, but like they say, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought him back."

“It's gossip, Leora—nothing but gossip. I strongly advise you to drop it."

“Thanks for your opinion,” she said coldly, but then smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion and I'm entitled to the right opinion."

He laughed, got up and kissed the top of her head. “Don't you know you are supposed to love, honor and obey your husband?"

“I didn't think you were paying attention to Mack during the ceremony,” she joked. “I persuaded him to leave out the ‘obey’ part."

He squeezed her breasts gently. “I wouldn't put it past you,” he laughed. “Listen, I don't smell any good aromas coming from the kitchen and I just don't care for a sandwich today. I'm going to grab a bite at Dot's Diner and go back to Charlotte. Now that I'm officially back in the business, I think the boys might let me have hard copy of everything they have on the Elliott case. I want to go over it carefully. Maybe we've missed something."

She stood up and hugged him. “I'll go with you. I'm hungry too."

Tim came through the front door sorting the day's mail. He put Sandra's on the hall table and headed towards his study. “Bills,” he muttered as he shuffled the dozen envelopes he held in his hands. “All I ever get is bills and junk mail.” He glanced in the library—Sandra's study—and smiled at Leora who was sitting across from Sandra at the mahogany table.

“Hello, Mrs. Borders,” he said. “I didn't know you were here."

“Hello yourself,” the white-haired lady responded. “I haven't seen you in a long while."

“Busy, busy, busy,” he laughed.

“I just stopped by to discuss the church history with Sandy."

“How's it going?” he asked.

“I'm almost through with the first draft,” she replied. “I just have a few loose ends to tie up."

Tim noted the irritated look on Sandy's face. She seemed to get irritated with him frequently these days. “I'll get out of your way and let you ladies go back to it,” he said. “Sorry I interrupted. Nice to see you again, Leora."

“Nice to see you, Tim."

His eyes returned to the envelopes in his hand, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he went through the open study door. Greta was dusting his desk; her back turned to him. She must not have heard me come in, he thought as he watched the voluptuous woman bend over the desk to dust the far side. He felt arousal building as he watched the hem of her dress ride up and stop just above her anus.

He swallowed and glanced back at the empty hallway. Quietly he closed the door and turned the lock. His mouth parted as he watched her bottom sway in counter motion to the movement of the dust cloth in her hand. The flesh on her upper thighs was very white, but her buttocks were badly bruised—almost black. As she stretched the cloth to reach further to her right, she parted her feet a little. His erection started pounding as he stared at the hairless lips of her vulva.

Quietly he placed his mail on the lamp stand and moved across the carpet to a position directly behind her. Softly he said, “If you are going to wear miniskirts, you should also wear panties."

“Oh,” she said, feigning surprise and flattening her breasts against his desk. “You startled me."

“How did your bottom get so bruised?"

She pretended to cry. “I'm sorry you saw that. Eddie ... he ... he gets his kicks out of hurting me."

“Bastard,” Tim said as he lifted her skirt higher, leaving her naked from the waist down. “He should treat a beautiful woman like you gently, like this.” He placed his fingertips on the cheeks of her swollen bottom, leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck as she moaned softly.

“No,” Sandra laughed stiffly. “Of course I met him, but I didn't know John Baxter. He left town right after we arrived."

“My source tells me that you met with him one day in his study."

“I did. As I said, Tim and I had just arrived in Dot. At first we did not plan to stay, but when we changed our minds, I talked with Rev. Baxter about joining the church."

“My source tells me that the very next day you left Dot and did not return until after Baxter disappeared."

“I don't see how this could possibly have any bearing on your book, Leora. The fact is, Tim decided to stay in Dot, but I was not so sure about it myself. I needed to be alone for a few days to think things through."

“My source says you had sex with Baxter in his study—rough sex."

Sandra's eyes blazed. “Your source is a damned liar.” She stood up. “I've told you all I know about John Baxter. Now you must excuse me. I have work to do."

“Welcome back,” Detective Cranfield said on hearing that Borders had obtained a private detective license.

“Bud, there's something I'm been meaning to ask you for a long time,” Borders said.

“Shoot."

“You've been a detective for four or five years now. Why do you continue to wear a deputy's uniform and that broad brimmed hat like state troopers wear?"

Cranfield laughed. “About six years, now, Borders. You know, you're the first person to ask me. You guys go on the assumption that wearing plain-clothes lets you work more effectively. In many cases, you're undoubtedly right. But the uniform commands respect from the punks we usually deal with. I can always switch to a cheap suit like you wear,” he laughed, “but I have seldom felt the need to do so. The uniform is a tool that fits my style of working."

“And the hat?"

Cranfield looked around and leaned forward. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a cowboy."

Borders roared with laughter.

“Anything new on the Elliott murders?” Cranfield asked.

“I was going to ask you that."

Cranfield shook his head. “Since we ruled Eddie Crow out as a suspect we've come to a dead end."

“Bud, I was wondering if you could print out a copy of all the info you have on the case. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes when I go over the record carefully I find a stone or two unturned."

“No problem.” Cranfield turned and brought up the Elliott file on his computer and clicked on the printer icon. “It won't take long to print out,” he laughed. “There just isn't that much to it."

“My wife latched onto a rumor this morning,” Borders said. “It doesn't have anything to do with the case—just gossip really, but it has my curiosity up. Do you know anything about Sandra Dollar?"

“Sure,” he said. “She's a nice lady and rich as hell."

Borders laughed. “That she is. What I mean is, do you know anything about her past—before she came to Dot."

Cranfield looked at the older man blankly and shook his head. “Should I?"

“Maybe not. It's just that I seem to recall a case involving her three or four years ago when Matt Dilson was sheriff. I didn't work on the case myself, but I think she may have been marginally involved in something or other."

“Borders, if you want to spend some time for research on the computer, feel free. Dobson's out on sick leave. You can use his office."

“What's wrong with Dobson?"

“Hemorrhoids, I think."

“Ouch."

“Yeah,” Cranfield smiled. “You remember how to use these marvels of technology, don't you?” he asked as he patted the top of his monitor.

“Thanks, Bud. It's probably nothing, but, like I said, Leora's gossip has my curiosity up."

Borders closed the door to Dobson's cubicle and switched on the computer. Immediately the program called for a password. He was certain his password would no longer work, but he tried it anyway and was surprised when the program opened. He ran a search on ‘Dollar’ and found many entries. Most concerned land transactions and legal matters, but when he clicked on ‘Dollar, Sandra” the monitor displayed a single word, “confidential—top security required.” He typed in his security code. The screen flooded with tiny, hard to read, print.

He leaned forward until the print focused through the lower part of his bifocals. For thirty minutes, he read page after page. Finally he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and exclaimed, “Holy cow!"

Greta was working in the living room when she noticed Sandra climbing the spiral staircase. Literally on tiptoe she followed and inched up to the bedroom door. She heard water running in the Whirl Pool and smiled. She rushed to the kitchen and retrieved the equipment she needed to use as props from the utility closet. She hurried back upstairs and paused briefly at the closed bathroom door. She could hear the hum of the motor and an occasional splash as Sandra moved in the tub.

Greta swung open the door and quickly entered the room, her bucket banging against the door. “Oh, mercy, Mrs. Dollar,” she gasped as she looked at the startled woman in the Whirl Pool. “I didn't know you were in here."

Greta wondered, Why in the world would Tim want to poke me when he sleeps with that curvaceous body every night? “I ... I can come back later,” she said.

The speechless woman in the tub covered her breasts with her arms. Greta turned her back and pretended to start for the door, then stopped. “Ma'am,” she said. “I don't mean no disrespect, but I used to be a masseuse a long time ago. I worked for a chiropractor—not in one of them massage parlors. I really know how to do it. You are awfully tense. The muscles in your shoulders look like knots of rope just under the skin. I could loosen them up for you in just a few minutes if you want me to."

“Were you really a masseuse?"

“Yes, ma'am.” She kept her back turned to Sandra.

“Sounds like a good job. Why did you quit?"

“I didn't. He wanted to fuck me and when I wouldn't, he fired me. I tried to get other jobs as a masseuse, but he put out the word I was having sex with his patients, so nobody else would hire me.” Slowly she turned and looked at her naked boss. I'll be damn, she thought. She bought it.

“I
have
been under a lot of stress lately,” Sandra said, “and Leora upset me with some things she said."

“Leora?"

“The lady who visited me a couple of hours ago."

“Oh,” Greta said as she stared at the tiny breasts that were no longer covered.

“If you don't mind, I would love a massage."

Greta knelt beside the beautiful woman and began to work on her shoulders. “Try to relax, ma'am."

Sandra leaned forward. “Your hands feel wonderful."

“Yes ma'am. I can feel those muscles relaxing already."

“Can you work on down my back?"

“Yes ma'am. Lean forward a little more, please."

Sandra groaned as Greta applied rotating pressure to her vertebrae.

“Ma'am,” Greta said as she looked appreciatively at the visible part of Sandra's buttocks, “I know I ain't worked here but three days, but am I doing okay?"

“You're doing fine, Greta, but I wish your English were better. I'm afraid Junior will pick up some of your expressions."

“I like Junior.” Greta reached the midpoint of Sandra's back. “He wanted me to learn him some new words this morning. I explained that I can't read very good, so he said he'd teach me. He didn't teach me nothing I didn't already know, but he seemed to enjoy reading to me."

“That's good,” Sandra said dreamily. “I would prefer to be his only teacher, but anytime he wants to read to you it will help him."

“Yes, ma'am. Ma'am?"

“Yes?"

“Your lower back is really messed up."

“Un-mess it,” Sandra laughed.

“Yes, ma'am. The thing is, I could do a better job if I was sitting behind you in the tub."