Lesbian Romance, Lesbian
Story, Lesbian Encounter. Lesbian Couple, Lesbian Mystery
Liz
Bradbury
Here's a (kind of stiff) animated video I made of a scene
from my novel Angel Food and Devil Dogs - A Maggie Gale
Mystery - too bad you can't make the characters move toward
each other ...
Click
on the picture below to watch it:
Lesbian
Romance Novel
Source:
www.youtube.com
Excerpt
from Angel Food and Devil Dogs
by Liz Bradbury
Angel Food and Devil Dogs - Story
Description:
As private detective Maggie Gale works to prove the
innocence of a mentally challenged pinball wizard who's
been arrested for murder, she is called to college
president Max Bouchet's office to discuss the suspicious
suicide of a gay professor. There, Maggie shakes hands with
the attractive Dr. Kathryn Anthony, who smiles at her with
a faint but unmistakable touch of lust. Maggie is hired and
meets a collection of quirky suspects, one of whom might
just be a murderer. Maggie's humorous and caring friends
and family support her as she works against escalating
danger, and toward escalating romantic encounters with
Kathryn. Will Maggie untangle both mysteries? Will the
sexual tension swirling around Maggie and Kathryn pull them
together? Or will the murderer target Maggie before she
gets either chance?
In this excerpt, Maggie has already done quite a bit of
investigating and has determined, among other things, that
she needs to speak with English professor Dr. Kathryn
Anthony about some of the suspects. She had arranged to
meet Kathryn Anthony the day before, but a major incident
in the case kept her from making the appointment ... and
Kathryn was pissed for being stood up.
Now Maggie is hoping she has made it to the College in time
to meet Kathryn. And she's also hoping their relationship
might develop into something more ... intimate.
Chapter
22
It was
getting dark when I pulled into a parking place in front of
the Irwin College Administration Building. An icy wind
stiffened every muscle. I flipped my parka hood up against
the cold and began walking.
Suddenly I realized, that I really had no idea where
Kathryn Anthony's office was. I needed to find it fast.
Somebody must know, after all, everyone had to take
English, but the sidewalks were empty. There was no one to
ask.
I was thinking, you can never find one of those,
You
Are Here maps
when you need one, when I rounded a corner and ran full
tilt into one. I found the Language Arts Building on the
map and started down a path that went between the
Administration building and the Biology Lab into the quad.
The building I sought was the first one on the left. I
looked up at its dark windows. Suddenly I was gripped with
the realization that it was almost 6:00 PM, and that there
was a good chance Kathryn had already gone home. In fact,
it seemed ridiculous to imagine she would still be in her
office. What college professor in their right mind would
have late office hours on a Friday?
I felt a wave of disappointment. I'd been looking forward
to seeing her all day. I'd been confident that getting shot
at was a pretty good excuse for tardiness. Actually being
hit by a bullet was a better excuse, but I wasn't willing
to go that far, even for Kathryn. Well, maybe being grazed.
Now, however, I understood the chances of seeing her were
very slim and I was bummed.
The door to the building had one of those brass handles
with a release at the top that you depress with your thumb.
For a moment I was afraid it would be locked. But it
opened, making that squeaking noise that every school door
crafted between 1910 and 1960 makes. The door banged shut,
producing a crashing echo that everyone in the building
probably heard. If there was
anyone
in the building.
The directory on the wall said Dr. Kathryn Anthony's office
was on the second floor. Number 208. My footsteps made a
shuffling tap sound common to stairways made of slabs of
marble, slate steps and tile walls.
At the top of the stairs I pushed the brass bar on the fire
door and let myself into a dimly lit hallway. Low wattage
wall sconces with stained glass shades cast a pale yellow
light. The walls were terra cotta tile. Blue, green and
yellow figural Moravian squares, decorated with sheaves of
wheat, corn cobs, sickles, or plows, dotted the wall at
regular intervals. I slowed to look at them carefully,
forestalling what I now felt sure was going to be
disappointment.
When this building was built by WPA artisans in the 1930s,
it had been a dorm for male students. The dorm rooms were
now offices. The doors were evenly spaced down each side of
the hallway, even numbers on the left. Their windows faced
away from the quad, toward the College Street side,
directly across the street from Clymer house where Amanda
Knightbridge's office was. So I couldn't have seen
Kathryn's window from the quad side. I was absurdly elated
by this glimmer of hope.
“Geez, am I really this hot for this babe?”
I
whispered to myself.
The door to office number 208 was slightly open. There was
a light on and there was someone typing on a computer
keyboard inside. I could have jumped up in the air and
cheered. Instead, I knocked on the door lightly.
“Come in... Please take a seat. I just have to finish
this,” said Kathryn Anthony as she continued to type. She
was facing away from the door, looking intently at her
computer screen, rapidly spell-checking an email.
What an attractive woman, even from the back, I
thought. Her
auburn hair looked thick and satiny; there was a gentle
strength in her shoulders, and her voice... commanding,
assured, but still soft and sexy. I was getting an answer
to my own question about being hot. I could feel it in the
pit of my stomach, and a little lower, too.
She hadn't turned to see who'd come in. She seemed to think
I was someone else. I sat down in a leather chair in the
corner of the small office. Just as I was thinking I should
say something, the phone rang. She sent the email, then
picked up the phone, still with her back to me.
“Kathryn Anthony,” she said into the phone. “Yes, yes, Paul
I sent the entire proposal at 5:30 PM and I just sent the
edited letter of support from the Chancellor a second ago.
No... the letter from Temple went... Paul, I've been
sitting here working on this since 7:00 this morning...Yes,
I am to... I think it will too.”
She still faced the computer screen while she spoke. She
held the phone in one hand and reached to knead tight
muscles in her neck with the other.
I took a moment to look around the room. It was
wall-to-wall oak bookcases with some comfortable leather
easy chairs and a few framed pieces of art here and there.
One was a Klimt print of two women hugging. One was a
Frieda Kahlo self-portrait reproduction. One was a small
landscape in Maxfield Parrish's style. It looked like a
real watercolor, not a print. On a wall shelf just behind
her desk was a ten inch bronze figure of a seated nude
woman reaching in the air with one hand. A lyrical tilt to
the bronze head made the figure seem animated. It was a
nice comfortable office, sensitively decorated by someone
who planned to spend a lot of time in it.
As she finished the phone conversation, Kathryn slowly
swiveled her chair back toward the front of the room.
Occasionally her voice ran lyrically up and down the scale
when she spoke, but most of the time it was a deep low
tone. She sounded wonderful and she was just talking to
some guy about a grant or something. What would she sound
like if she were talking about...
“OK Paul, I'm tired, I'm stiff as a board. I have an
appointment with a student now and I have another call
coming in.” She clicked the call waiting button and said
her name into the phone, then turned her chair more rapidly
toward me. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me; she'd
expected someone else, but that person was on the other end
of the phone line. Her eyes narrowed more with interest
than surprise and that excited feeling I'd felt a few
minutes before increased.
She said to the caller, “Mr. Fields, your appointment was
for 5:30... No, not tomorrow. Monday? All right then,
Monday at 4:00 PM. Mr. Fields, next time you cancel an
appointment, please do so before you're already late for
it. I'm not always...flexible.” She was looking right at me
as she said it. I got the message. She hung up the phone
and said evenly, “I'd almost given up on you.”
“Oh, dear, I hope not. You said evening and,” I looked at
my watch, “it isn't even 6.” I insisted with amusement.
“I am still unhappy with you about yesterday.” She leaned
back in her chair. She wanted to be stern but her voice had
a gentle deep undertone. At least she wasn't frowning at
me.
“I need to talk to you about the people who were at the
meeting...” Oh
crap, that sounded much too official.
“Ah,”
she said, in a formal clipped tone.
“But please...please let, me explain why I was late...” I
sounded so pathetic, I surprised myself, but her formal
gaze softened. Maybe she liked begging.
Chapter
23
“Honestly?"
she said raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” I'd told Kathryn about Skylar and the police. Now,
she was resting her head on the high back of her chair. I
was appreciating how terrific she looked.
She said, “When Max called me yesterday he was in a hurry,
I guess he was just trying to alert everyone. We didn't
speak long but I wish he'd told me about you being there.
I'm sorry I was so angry with you. How selfish of me...” I
could just barely see she was blushing.
“Forget it,” I said lightly.
“Do you have any idea who killed (******)?” she asked
seriously.
“I've learned that there are a few people who couldn't have
done it. ...I'd like to get your impressions. Do you have
time now?” Her eyes were tired but that fascinating glint
was back in them.
“I've been working on that grant proposal since early this
morning. I'm tired of being here. Unfortunately for me, the
laundry room at the Hampshire has been out of order for a
week. So tonight, I have to go to the laundromat because
I'm out of clean clothes. And I haven't really had anything
to eat all day. I just don't think I could concentrate. I
wouldn't be of any use to you. Did I mention that I hate
laundromats?” she shook her head sighing.
I couldn't let her get away; my brain went into high
gear... “Well then, I have a deal for you. I have a washer
and dryer at my place. You can do your laundry there and
we'll order some take-out food to be delivered, my treat.
We can talk over dinner and you can wash your clothes
without having to go to the laundromat. How about that?”
Even as I outlined my proposal she was still shaking her
head no. She'd made up her mind and was too tired to change
it. Unconsciously she'd put her hand on her shoulder again,
kneading a place that was stiff from eleven hours of
computer work.
“And... I'll give you a massage,” I threw in.
She stopped shaking her head and looked up at me. The half
smile was back. So was the voice tone I'd been longing to
hear, a hint of a melodic humming growl before each
sentence. If there was a Disney cartoon with a female
panther, it would be Kathryn Anthony's voice they'd use.
“A real massage?” she asked softly, dropping her hand from
her shoulder and drawing her fingers down slowly to rest at
the opening of her shirt collar. She pushed herself up and
walked around to the front of her desk. She leaned against
it as she waited for my reply.
I nodded. The little voice in my head was singing, “Yeah
baby, you found the right bait for this panther.”
She lifted her chin and said with academic precision, “I'm
serious, I want specific information, you are offering me:
a place to wash my clothes, some dinner, and you will give
me a full massage?”
“And we talk about the case over dinner,” I added watching
her carefully, hoping she'd give in.
She clearly didn't care what we talked about, she knew what
she wanted, she pressed, “Not just a three minute shoulder
rub? The real thing?”
“Yes, the real thing, as long as you want and...I'm good at
it,” I said confidently in a lower tone.
“Hmmm, I like a woman who's sure of her skills.”
“So it's a deal?”
She crossed her arms and said, “Yes, it's a deal, but I
will be very disappointed if I don't get a good massage,
because I'm already looking forward to it.”
“You won't be disappointed,” I said casually. “Are you
ready to go now?”
She got her jacket and a small leather knapsack from the
closet and followed me into the hall, pulling the door
shut. It locked with a click. She walked down the echoing
hallway ahead of me. One of the many occupational habits of
my business is sizing up people. About 5'7", the shoes are
adding an inch, probably 140 lbs, hard to tell with the
sweater and jacket. Pretty trim. Wonder if the hair color
is natural.
She opened the stairwell door and gracefully gestured me
through first. Maybe she wanted a chance to look
me
over
from the back.
“To get to your place...?” She made it a question as we
went down the stairs. We both paused at the ground level
door.
“It's just off the Mews. You can follow me, it's only a few
blocks.”
“No, I have to go to my apartment and get my laundry, but
it will only take me a little while. I'm just around the
corner at the Hampshire.”
“I remember,” I smiled. “My building is near the corner of
12th and Gordon Streets, 1206, right across the street from
Moyer and Jones lumberyard. Do you know where that is?”
“That little Thai restaurant is near there, isn't it?”
“Right. Thai Kitchen is about five buildings up the block.
Mine is a converted factory. There are offices downstairs.
I live on the third floor. The building is the tallest in
that part of the neighborhood, you can't miss it.”
“Sounds interesting.” She was considering me intently, with
her head tilted just a little to the side. “It's a loft?
The top floor of an old factory building?”
“The two top floors, but I've only finished one of them.
There are two doors in the front. The one on the left is
white. That one goes to the first floor. The one on the
right is red. That's my door. There are two doorbell
buttons by the side of the door. The bottom one is for the
law firm. Ring the top bell and I'll buzz you into the
lobby. Here's my card,” I said fishing one out of my pocket
and putting it in her hand, “call me if you can't find it.”
“Red door, top button. I think I can handle it. Is there
parking?”
Good question. The whole area of Washington Mews is
notorious for lack of parking, especially in the evenings
and weekends.
“There are private parking places right in front, nobody
will be using them at this hour so you'll have no problem.
My van will be parked there. You can park right next to
me.”
“All right then, I'll see you in about half an hour." She
gave the brass bar on the door a push.
“Wait,” I said calling her back.
She turned with the door slightly open. She'd zipped up her
jacket and tossed her red scarf once around her neck. Her
eyes flashed with a curious energy.
“You're hungry,” I went on, “how about something from Thai
Kitchen. I could order it? They deliver. It should be there
by the time you arrive.” She was nodding her head
enthusiastically, I asked, “What would you like?”
“I'm so hungry just talking about food is going to make my
stomach hurt. Hmm, pad
Thai with
shrimp, papaya salad or if they don't have that, the
regular salad with peanut dressing.” She sighed shaking her
head and then laughed, “I'm desperate, I'll eat anything
they have.”
“Fine, I'll order it and see you soon.” We both went out
into the city wind, with our heads down, going separate
ways.
I took out my phone and speed dialed Thai Kitchen. I go
there so much I have an account and am on a first name
basis with the family who owns it.
Kathryn Anthony had taken my breath away, literally. I'm
hyperventilating, I thought, I have to control myself or
I'll have to put a paper bag over my head. No, wait I
should breathe into a bag. Yeah, that would be safer than
trying to drive with my head inside
a bag. I
was frantic that I may have left my place in a total mess.
I was racked my brain to remember if I'd left a pile of
dishes in the sink.
It was very dark in my small parking lot, with a few slushy
snow piles here and there. I let myself in and made sure to
turn on the front door light so the parking lot would be
illuminated. I ran up the stairs taking two steps at a
time. I'm in pretty good shape, but I was gasping when I
got to the second floor entrance of Sara and Emma's
offices. Slow down and get a grip, I had to tell myself
again, you don't want to have a breakdown just before she
gets here.
Emma
Strong, bundled up in coat and hat, was just leaving the
office. “Whoa, what's your hurry,” she asked as I dodged
crashing into her. She took a step closer peering into my
eyes with the calculation of a hot dog trial lawyer, then
straightened up with an in-drawn breath. “Maggie, you have
a date! And it's a hot one...too. Aren't you cute when
you're excited!”
“Well, I...”
“Don't bother to deny it, I see that glint in your eye,”
she said smiling. “Good for you honey. I have a date too,
and I'm late. Oh, the list of people who were at Daria's
apartment came back from the credit checking service.
Nothing much, but it would be good if you could look it
over.” She stepped back into the office, grabbed the list,
and handed it to me. “Will the criminal information be here
by Monday?”
“Probably by Sunday, I rushed them. I'll check over both
lists. Daria was a social worker right? These were people
she worked with?”
“Mm hmm, from the office, the counseling clinic and the
homeless shelter, but don't work on this tonight Maggie,
concentrate on the task at... hand.” She glanced up the
stairs, “Is she coming here? I'm going to want details,”
Emma teased as she locked the office door.
“I'll have the lists for you by Monday and I don't know if
there'll be any...details.”
“We can always hope!” Emma called after me as I turned and
sped up the next flight.
As I reached the third floor landing, I suddenly realized
it might have been a tactical error to give Kathryn my
card. Now she had my number so she could call to cancel if
she really felt too tired. Damn.
I'd
already begun to imagine the massage. I had to take a very
deep breath to compose myself. The disappointment would be
crushing if she didn't appear. On the other hand, she
agreed it was a
deal. She
didn't seem like the type to bail after making a deal. In
fact, if she was, I'd be less interested.
I'd gotten this building as payment from a grateful client.
I'd solved the case, but almost lost my life in the
process. I'd thought he was kidding about the building, but
he really did it. It was scary taking on a big piece of
real estate after years of renting an apartment in a high
rise, but things seemed to be working out, knock-on-wood.
Before I let myself into the loft, I sent the freight
elevator down to the ground floor. Once inside, I ran over
to the kitchen area. I took my breakfast dishes out of the
sink and put them in the dishwasher. The laundry room is
through my bedroom so I straightened out the quilt and
fluffed the pillows on my king-sized bed. Thinking again, I
decided to change the sheets. Be
prepared. That
done I scanned the room for other telltale signs of
disorganization, then proceeded to the bathroom.
There are two bathrooms in the loft. One next to the guest
room that's rarely used, so I figured it was clean. But the
bathroom off my bedroom, the one I use every day, needed a
quick once over. Scrub, wipe, flush, arrange, done. In the
laundry room next to the bathroom I checked for giant lint
bunnies in the machines. Everything seemed fine in there.
Back in the bathroom again, a dozen things flashed through
my mind. Could I take a shower in three minutes? Sure, my
hair is short, it would dry. I speed showered, used the
blow dryer and changed clothes. I put on a soft button down
shirt. I think buttons are sexy.
“What else?” I said out loud.
A few days before, I'd been working on some watercolor
sketches. The paints, paper, and unfinished work were still
on the long dining table. They were pretty good. I decided
to leave them there. Instead, I cleared some books off the
smaller kitchen table near the windows and flipped a
tablecloth of light purple cotton over it.
Good china or Fiesta? Is that a gay question or what? I
opted for Fiestaware, better color choices. Dark green
dinner plate and salmon colored salad plate with a bright
yellow napkin for her. For me, light green dinner plate
with a dark blue salad plate and a bright orange
napkin. Hey,
I went to art school, it's what I do.
I set
out silverware and water glasses, and put wine glasses on
the counter. I picked two different kinds of white wine and
put the bottles in the refrigerator, I left some red wine
on the counter. I made a few lighting decisions, but
decided against candles. Too obvious.
I looked around again and tried to take a calming breath,
which ended up stuttering down my throat. I figured I was
ready if I could just breathe like a normal person.
I looked out the window into the parking lot below. A blue
and white BMW Mini Cooper had pulled into one of the
spaces. I had the vague feeling I'd seen that Mini before.
Kathryn was opening the hatch back, getting out her laundry
basket. She had really arrived. I let out a sigh of relief.
The doorbell rang. I pressed the intercom button,
“Kathryn?”
“Yes,” she called.
“I'll buzz you in. Just wait a minute in the foyer, I'll be
right there.”
I pressed the buzzer, then sped down the stairs. I tried to
compose myself when I got to the landing. There she was,
looking up at me, with that half smile and eyes I felt
touching my soul.
“Hello,” she said smiling radiantly. She'd set her laundry
basket and a duffel bag on the floor. Her small leather
knapsack was over her shoulder. She reached to pick up the
laundry basket.
“Here, let me open the elevator door,” I said walking down
the rest of the flight. “It's slower, but easier than
climbing the stairs. There are a lot of them.”
“It would be nice not to have to climb any more stairs
today. Not only is the laundry out of order at the
Hampshire, but now it seems the elevator has also broken
down. I'm beginning to hate that place.”
Through the window next to the foyer door I caught a
glimpse of someone carrying a white paper bag. “Oh good,
Kenny's here with the food,” I said as I went to let him
in. “Kenny, you're right on time.” I took the bag from him
and pulled out the bill.
Kenny Sakda is the youngest son of the family who owns Thai
Kitchen. He just started high school. He works in the
restaurant most evenings, and when he's not working, he's
there doing his homework. I help him sometimes. There's a
good chance he's gay. I think he's working up the nerve to
talk to me about it. He'd just gone through a growth spurt
and is about my height now. Like a lot of teenage boys, he
has the metabolism of a mosquito. Eats all the time, but
thin as a rail. His short brown mop of hair was carefully
uncombed and he was wearing his Fenchester High School
letter jacket.
“The me
krob is
bangin,” he grinned, “Mom just made it.”
Kenny caught sight of Kathryn, then saw the basket of
laundry. He glanced back at Kathryn and covertly eyed her
up and down. He grinned at me again even harder this time.
I felt myself blush.
“This is Dr. Anthony, she's new to the neighborhood,” I
said formally.
I turned to Kathryn, “This is Kenny Sakda, his family owns
Thai Kitchen.”
With the duffel bag now in her arms Kathryn couldn't shake
hands, but she said in a charming voice, “It's very nice to
meet you. Please tell your family I enjoy their restaurant
very much.”
“Awesome, I'll tell 'em. Have a good dinner.” He walked to
the door, but as he passed me he whispered, “Hottie,” just
loud enough for me to hear.
I pushed opened the elevator doors, then stepped in, and
put the bag of Thai food on the shelf. I got Kathryn's
basket and put that on the shelf too. I'd built it in the
elevator for this very reason. All elevators should have
shelves. Especially the ones whose doors require two hands
to close.
Stretching to push the gate all the way up I explained,
“The elevator is very slow, we could walk to the third
floor faster than the elevator can make it to the second,
and for some reason it's even slower going down.” Kathryn
stepped beside me. I pulled down the safety gate, then
reached up and pulled the strap on the metal door. Half
came down from the ceiling. The other half came up from the
floor clanking together in the middle. I swung the locking
mechanism in place. “If I don't do this all correctly the
elevator won't go. It took me a month to learn. It looks
old, but it's safe.” I twisted the control lever.
“I've worked in many old buildings and ridden in all sorts
of contraptions. This is palatial...and in contrast to the
Hampshire, it works!” she said leaning against the shelf.
Her eyes showed weariness, but they also had an amused
gleam.
“So you have a Mini Cooper? I love those cars, what's it
like to drive?”
“I sort of fell into it, it was my brother's. He owns a
restaurant in Portland. I was visiting him and he was
complaining that the Cooper was too small. I was saying
that my car didn't get good mileage. So we traded,” she
said conversationally. “It's fun to drive, but it's the
smallest car in the world. At times I think it should only
be driven with clowns stuffed in the back seat.
Fortunately, I rarely need a bigger car. The food smells
wonderful. The kid seems nice...”
“Oh yeah, Kenny and I are pals. I'm sure he's running home
to tell his mom all about you.”
“Really? So is Thai Kitchen the gossip nerve center of
Washington Mews?”
“It's a major relay.”
“And is who you're having dinner with a news flash?” she
asked. Gentle laugh lines appeared at the corners of her
eyes.
“Kenny thinks you're hot,” I said watching the floor
numbers.
“Hah,” she snorted. She paused, then said, “How long have
you lived here?”
“About six months. It was pretty raw when I moved in but
I've put a lot of work into it. I still have more to do,
but I like the space.”
“Do you have a long term lease?”
“Well I guess you could say that. I own the building.”
“Really?” She was impressed.
“Yeah, it's still hard for me to believe. I got it in
exchange for solving a case.”
“You must be some crackerjack private eye.”
It was my turn to snort, “Yeah, I'm a pistol.”
*************************************
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