"The Limelight"
A Maggie Gale Short Story
(This mystery is an R-Rated Story that includes a section
about women loving women - You must be over 18 to read
further.)
I’m
Maggie Gale, these days I’m a private detective, but this
story is about a case I investigated when I was on the
Fenchester Police Force, several years ago.
The Limelight
By Liz Bradbury
As I worked my way down a rabbit
warren of halls to find the Technical Services Department
of Irwin College, I was distracted by a picture of a
beautiful woman.
“Wow,” I whispered at the poster then read,
Poetry Reading
March 13th. Today was the 13th.
I mentally filed it under: You really should get out more.
Which is where most of my good intentions go to die. I
walked on. After all, I was on duty.
In a windowless workroom crammed with electronic gadgets, I
explained to Cam Lawrence, Irwin College’s geeky Director
of Tech Services, that I was there to investigate the
equipment thefts.
“We just found the discrepancies yesterday,” drawled
Lawrence lifting a stack of spread sheets from his desk.
“Here’s a list of what was, uh, stolen over the last two
years. We put this together yesterday.” I scanned it noting
the bottom line. The replacement value could have put ten
new cops on the streets of Fenchester for a year. He added,
“I have some work study students you should talk to,
they’re really the ones who, uh, uncovered the losses. ”
This was surprisingly frank. A circus parade of inventory
marched out of town right under Lawrence’s nose and he
hadn’t even caught a whiff of the peanuts. It was students
who blew the whistle.
******
“We come in at eight and each grab a handful of these green
or pink slips. Then we go around all day setting up
equipment or bringing it back here,” said Oren Baylor, a
college version of Beaver Cleaver.
“And when we started the inventory yesterday afternoon, it
was like, half the list was gone,” continued Tim
MacGonigal, a tall, lanky kid with sandy hair.
“Somebody must have been grabbing some of the slips. They’d
go pick up the stuff and just carry it off. The thieves
must have had keys.” Tim had emphasized thieves like one of
Scooby’s team, hot on the trail of a shifty suspect.
“The only record was the pink slip? What about the green
set-up slips, what happened to those?“ I asked as I took
notes.
“The green slips are missing too,” said MacGonigal.
“And... there was a theft the day before yesterday?” I
asked, flipping back over some briefing notes. They both
nodded. “Who reported it?”
“Some new English teacher,” said Baylor, “that’s when Mr.
Lawrence decided to do inventory. It’s been like, years
since anybody’s done it.”
Baylor started describing pieces of missing equipment, I
stopped him with, “Any ideas who’s doing this?”
He hesitated, then shook his head, “I don’t think so. I
mean, I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. It’s not like
I know anything...” He even had the Beaver whine down.
I didn't have time to wheedle the information out of him so
I said sharply, “Withholding information from the police is
breaking the law, we could continue talking about this down
at the station...” That’s me, good cop/bad cop, the economy
version.
Oren Baylor stared at me open mouthed, then said after some
thought, “I really don’t know anything, it’s just ... I
can’t see how anybody could do this unless they’d worked
here. I don’t mean Tim or anything like that.”
Baylor was right, the thief had to know the department’s
routine. “Who else has worked here in the last few years?”
I asked them.
Baylor piped up, “Just one guy I know, Gary Argon. He quit
a few months before he graduated, last year.”
“I don’t want to get anybody into trouble, either...”
balked MacGonigal when I turned to him.
I sighed, “Look Tim, don’t you think a person stealing a
bus load of equipment should get into trouble? Your tuition
dollars paid for that loot.”
He nodded, then shrugged, “Um, like Oren said, Gary was
here last year, and since then we’ve heard that people have
seen a ton of AV equipment at his parent’s house?” He
nodded at Oren for confirmation.
Oren nodded back slightly saying, “And Gary had a big
argument with Mr. Lawrence.”
I made a note to track down Argon after I spoke to the
professor who’d reported the recent theft.
*******
“Professor Pearson?” I asked the woman erasing the chalk
board.
“Oh!” she said turning, “I didn’t hear you come in,” She
paused, her eyes glancing over me for an instant then
resting on the badge I held up. She nodded. “Campus
Security told me you were coming over. I’m so sorry, I
can’t speak with you for very long. I have another class in
about five minutes.”
Yipe! This was the poetry poster woman! Geez, what a
hottie. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a pretty face. And
her body was magnificent. Not skinny like snap-in-two
straight girls, her’s was full and womanly. Zoftig, like a
Reubens painting. The type to turn heads. Certainly lesbian
heads, mine for example. I nearly tripped over a box of
books reaching for her extended hand.
“I’m Detective Maggie Gale,” shifting from fluster to
business, I covered by looking at my notes, “you called in
the theft? What happened?”
Her hazel eyes flashed with amusement as she brushed a
strand of shoulder length blond hair behind her ear. “Not
sure I have that much to tell. Two days ago, I did a
seminar using a power point projector and then I realized I
needed it for my next class. So I locked the classroom door
and went to the office down the hall to call the tech
department to arrange it, but he said there was no record
of my having a projector. I didn’t know how to respond to
that. He seemed adamant about it.” She paused recalling it
with a wry smile, then went on, “I wasn’t sure whether to
insist he was wrong or just shrug and use it during the
next class. I finally suggested he send someone to pick it
up at 3pm, adding that it had the words Irwin Tech
Department painted plainly in white on its side. I even
remembered the painted inventory number; 105. He seemed to
believe me after that.”
“You remembered the inventory number?”
“I’m not Sherlock Holmes,” she laughed, “it happens to be
the same number as this room.”
“And you were talking on the phone to a student or...”
“Oh, it was Cam Lawrence, the head of the department. I
recognized his voice.” She was looking at me closely, her
head titled just a bit to the side. She said in a very
different voice, “What beautiful eyes you have, I don’t
know many women with green eyes.”
I could feel my face flush. “Thank you, that’s a nice thing
to say... um...then what happened...with the projector?”
“I came back here, unlocked the door to the classroom and
the projector was gone. I called the tech department back
but they’d all gone to lunch, so I phoned campus security.
Did I open a can of worms?” she asked curiously.
“More like a bucket of snakes on speed... is there,
anything else?” I asked meeting her eyes.
She shook her head then smiled. “Anything else would be
guessing...I’d rather leave something out than give you the
wrong impression. But...on a completely different
subject...” She invited me to her poetry reading that
night, then glanced at her watch and apologized for needing
to leave. The space was far less interesting without her in
it.
***************************
Gary Argon was running a computer repair business from a
one-story saltbox on Fenchester’s East Side. The tiny
postwar house didn’t even have a garage. There were
computer components on a work table in the living room.
Argon sat down at it, swiveling his chair to face me. “I’m
usually out on calls,” he said in a patient voice. He
sounded like Mr. Rodgers but he had a Barney shaped body.
He leaned back and asked, “What can I do for you,
Detective?”
I asked a few general questions, then landed on, “You
stopped working in the Tech Department last year
because...?”
Argon gazed at me for several seconds, finally he said,
“Somebody stole something, didn’t they?”
“Why do you ask that?” I returned passively.
“You’re a cop. You’re investigating,” Argon sighed, shook
his head and stopped sounding like Mr. Rogers, “look, Cam
Lawrence is a nice guy, but his system to track equipment
is 20 years old. All hard copy, no e-data, so easy to get
behind. It’s the tech department for chrissake. It wouldn’t
take a rocket scientist to steal anything out of there.
Shit, it wouldn’t even take a sociology major. I offered to
change the system over but he was against it. Lawrence said
something like, 'If it ain't broke why fix it'...but now it
is 'broke', isn’t it and the shit’s hit the fan?”
I nodded slightly, “How hard would it be to convert
equipment like that into cash?”
“Tricky. Used electronics aren’t worth much. Flea Markets
and auctions you get next to nothing...everyone assumes it
doesn’t work. Selling on-line leaves a trail. Best to go as
far out of the area as possible.”
“Your family lives in Fenchester, Mr. Argon?”
He shook his head, “Not now. This was my parent’s house.
They moved.”
“Not buried in the basement or anything like that?”
“Well, if they are, then why the hell is some little old
lady in Miami calling to nag me about not having a
girlfriend, every week?” He pointed at a framed snapshot on
the wall, a retired couple in Bermuda shorts waved back.
“Mind if I use your restroom?”
“Last door to the left. ” He waved down the hall toward the
back of the house.
I snooped Gary’s spartan bedroom on the way to the green
and black tile bathroom, then poked my nose into the other
empty bedroom on the way back.
I thanked Argon and gave him my card, “If you think of
anything, give me a call.”
In the driveway, I ambled to the side of the house and
stooped down to peek in the basement windows. Cement walls,
washer, dryer, furnace, some old milk crates and a
foozeball table. No mounds of freshly turned earth, no
weapons of mass destruction, nothing to write home about.
**********************
That evening, when Olivia Pearson came on stage after a
short introduction, my best friend Farrel Case sighed, “My,
my, your description was an understatement.”
“Uh huh,” I nodded.
Farrel shifted in the hard theater seat. Her partner
Jessie, was sitting beside her, they were holding hands but
Farrel leaned to me and whispered. “Don’t tell my beloved
spouse, but I’m straining to think of a way to get that
lovely young woman to pose for the life drawing class I’m
auditing. Not that I’d ever be unfaithful, but ...”
“You’d just like a peek?” I snorted.
“Well, the class is two hours, but OK, I’d settle for a
peek, wouldn’t you?” said Farrel glancing back at the
momentary object of her purely aesthetic desire.
“I’d like a lot more than a peek,” I admitted in a low
growl. My desire went beyond the aesthetic.
Jessie nudged Farrel, then said something in her ear.
Farrel turned back to me and whispered, “Jessie says we’re
sluts, but I think pigs might be a better description.”
“Oink,” I agreed.
Jessie laughed.
In the limelight, under a key spot, Olivia Pearson read a
group of poems to a large audience. The poems seemed richly
erotic, but maybe it was just my mood. On the other hand I
heard both Farrel and Jessie breathing a little more
rapidly after Olivia finished a poem about kneading bread.
Farrel whispered something to Jessie, who chuckled deeply
and distinctly whispered back, “Later.”
Before the next poem, Olivia Pearson looked out over the
audience. She focused in our direction and smiled. I felt a
tingle of sexual excitement while a little voice in my head
said, “This is why you should get out more!”
When the program ended, a score of English majors swarmed
the podium. I glanced around and saw Cam Lawrence waiting
for Olivia to finish so he could take the sound system back
to the horseless barn and lock the door.
I turned to Farrel and Jessie and suggested we ask Olivia
to come out with us for a drink or something. They smiled a
little too knowingly, but when we turned back toward the
podium, Olivia Pearson was gone.
“Oh crap,” I groaned with disappointment.
“I’ll find out where she went,” said Farrel. After speeding
down the aisle, Farrel came back saying the students
thought some other professors had taken Olivia out to
dinner.
Jessie said decisively, “Let’s go over to the Tavern for
some pizza. Who knows, maybe she’ll be there.”
********************
Minutes later we edged into the crowded College Tavern. A
group of Farrel’s students waved her over. One of them was
Oren Baylor, who nodded to me. Tim MacGonigal took Farrel
aside and spoke to her for a few minutes with Oren adding
comments. Tim’s face was ruddy with distress.
Jessie and I found a table as far from the jukebox as
possible.
“They keep turning it up, I really hate the loud music,”
said Jessie. We could see Farrel’s head nodding as she
patted Tim on the arm. Jessie and I ordered pizza, as
Farrel made her way back to our table.
Farrel’s voice was grave as she told us, “Tim and Oren are
being evicted in three days. Tim’s so upset, he says
they’re being cheated. He asked me to speak to the landlord
tomorrow.”
“I know those guys, I talked to them today. I didn’t
realize they were roommates. They’re your students?” I
asked with interest.
“They’re both woodworking majors, and don’t read anything
into the roommates thing, they really are just roommates.
Oren had this small place, a little apartment that used to
be part of the old College Inn Motel. Tim moved in to share
the expenses in January... Maggie, you’re investigating the
thefts in Tech Services aren’t you,” Farrel said
decisively.
“Nobody's supposed to know about that,” I returned flatly.
“Everybody knows about it Maggie. Hell, I knew about it
before Cam. I’ve heard some guy named Gary did it,” said
Farrel.
Jessie said emphatically to Farrel, “Those boys always want
you to be their mom. Why can’t you get them to come over
and do teenage son things for us, like mowing the lawn or
cleaning out the garage?”
“Jessie, we don’t have a lawn...” said Farrel.
“But still...” insisted Jessie who was far more practical
than Farrel.
Farrel sighed with concern, “Really, this is serious.
Oren’s been through so much. Last year his parents were
killed in a car accident in Europe and just a few days ago,
someone smashed a project he’d been working on. Really
crushed it, just before it was due. I had to give him an
incomplete. It’s so tense in the workshop. Up until this,
the students all had unlimited access, but what do I do
now? I may have to lock it down. Suspicion is so thick you
can cut it with a dovetail saw ... I can’t figure it out
... to destroy someone else’s work ... why? So cruel and
pointless. It just doesn’t make sense.”
I thought back 15 years when I was in art college in one of
Farrel’s woodworking classes. She was a great teacher,
willing to give all her time and support to any student,
but she expected dedication, insisted on hard work,
ruthlessly stuck to deadlines, wouldn’t tolerate excuses
for late projects and urged the very best from everyone.
Her majors understood it was Farrel’s guidance that built
their foundations for success. Some of Farrel's past
students were now the finest woodworkers in the country.
“Was it a great piece?” I asked.
“A small carving of a poplar moosehead. At the half-way
mark it was promising, but it’s splinters now. His other
work has been fair to middling. He’s not going on in
woodworking. He’s going into the Coast Guard in the
Spring.”
“Who did it, do you have any ideas?” I asked.
“Oren said another student named Rob doesn’t like him, but
he wouldn’t go so far as to suggest Rob did it. Some of the
other guys think it was Rob. But I don’t think Robbie did
it. He’s not the type ... This really scares me Maggie,
it’s freaking the students out too. Would you investigate
it?” Farrel’s expression lightened, she quipped, “After you
finish legal beagling the stolen tech dreck, will you work
on the mystery of the unpopular poplar?”
I groaned then laughed, “Farrel please...stop. Promise me
you’ll never say anything like that again and I’ll try to
look into it.”
“Maggie, don’t laugh, it only encourages her,” said Jessie,
then with a quick intake of breath she nodded at a table
near the door, “look, there she is, sitting over there with
Kay and Howie Standard.” Olivia Pearson was sandwiched at a
small table between two of Irwin College’s dullest
professors, nodding her head politely with a slightly
glazed expression.
“Maggie, you’re staring,” said Jessie nudging me, then she
said to Farrel, “let’s introduce Maggie to Olivia.”
“What a very good idea,” smirked Farrel, “and I bet Howie
and Kay would love to leave her in someone else’s company.
They hate to be up past 9:30 and it’s already 10:00. Look,
Kay is stifling a yawn...and Olivia looks pretty desperate.
C'mon.”
Farrel and Jessie threaded their way past crowded tables,
greeting people they knew. I followed, suddenly feeling
shy.
“Kay, Howie!” called Farrel above the jukebox, then facing
Olivia, Farrel said, “I can see why even my students, who
frequently brand themselves illiterate, have been raving
about your seminars... we loved your reading.” Farrel
introduced herself and Jessie, and then me.
Olivia rewarded me with a lovely smile saying, “It’s so
nice to see you again.
“I enjoyed it very much,” I said.
“May we join you?” said Farrel, making a brilliant
strategic move. There was barely room for three people,
impossible for six.
Howie, desperate for a polite exit-line chimed, “Hey, it’s
late and we have to go, take our seats, you’ll see that
Olivia gets back to where she’s staying, won’t you?”
Mouthing goodbyes, Kay and Howie zipped out the door like
Cinderella hightailing it for the last pumpkin.
Jessie leaned to Olivia and said with amusement, “Whew, I
thought they’d never leave.”
Olivia bent in conspiratorially, touching Jessie’s arm and
said, “I have to admit, I have no idea what Howie was
talking about. Something to do with a grad student who...I
really think Howard said this ...isn’t inarticulate, he
just doesn’t use words well!?”
Olivia turned to me and asked, “That really doesn’t make
sense does it? Or am I missing something?”
I responded, “Not long ago, one to of inspectors told me
and the other cops all about a perp who was guilty of
bigotry. He went on and on until I finally said, ‘Joe, I’m
against bigotry as much as the next guy...but do you mean
this perp was married to more than one woman?’” I liked the
way Olivia laughed, I went on, “It’s good to wonder about
people who don’t make sense. In police work, everybody who
gets bilked says something like, ‘Now that I think about it
it doesn’t make sense!’ It’s always too late by then. I
guess when people hear a statement spoken definitively,
especially from more than one source, they believe it. It’s
dangerous, believing things people say, just because they
say them with sincerity.”
“You don’t believe what people tell you?” Olivia asked,
touching my arm now.
“I listen to everything. If it all makes sense, good, if
not, usually somebody’s lying. Last January I questioned
the wife of a local drug runner who really believed the
reason her husband was gone every Sunday was because he was
playing golf...she didn’t process that two feet of snow on
the ground made sinking putts unlikely.”
The deep curve of Olivia’s neckline revealed a lovely hint
of cleavage that was making me vibrate. I noticed a thin
gold chain at her throat with a tiny gold labrys. Yep, the
double ax, the ancient symbol of Amazon women warriors, and
the modern symbol of lesbians. She was a scholar, she knew
the meaning of that little gold flag.
Jessie caught my eye. I gave her a tiny nod. She turned to
Farrel and said, “It’s late.”
Eighteen years together meant they had their signals down.
Farrel said, “Olivia, it’s been so nice, but Jessie and I
have to go. Maggie will take care of you, won’t you honey?
You can give Olivia a ride back to...where have they put
you up?”
“It’s a room in the married student housing dorms.”
“Oh, no! Not MSH!” said Jessie and Farrel in mock horror.
Olivia shrugged.
Farrel and Jessie shook Olivia’s hand, hugged me and were
out the door just as fast as Kay and Howie. So now I was
on, and I’d have to say something witty, erudite and
smooth. I turned to Olivia and said, “Well...” and I
couldn’t think of anything else. What a dufus.
But Olivia talked about an art show at the college that
Farrel had been in, and conversation began to flow. After
she’d told me about some new poems she was working on
Olivia paused then asked, “Did your friends set us up?” The
sexy glint in her eye, made my ego soar.
I exhaled, “Kind of seems that way doesn’t it?” A tiny dot
of glitter flashed on her cheek and then a second later one
flashed below her collarbone. A smile played at her lips.
Someone turned up the jukebox. I spoke near her ear, “Does
it bother you? Being set up?” She smelled like flowers and
spice.
“What bothers me is having to shout a conversation,” she
replied.
“Shall we go somewhere else? Some place quieter, for
coffee?”
She leaned in very close and said, “Yes, I’d like that.”
*********************************
In my car moments later, raindrops pelted the windshield as
I headed toward the Washington Mews Coffeeshop. She asked,
“What do you do when you are not solving crimes?”
“I’m a mild mannered reporter for a great metropolitan
newspaper...”
“No... really, tell me,” she laughed.
“Let’s see, well, in the summer I teach art classes to
inner city kids.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It is. What do you do for fun in Oregon?”
“Nothing as interesting as crime-solving. Tell me how you
do that, it’s dangerous isn’t it?” Her voice was warm and
sensual but she also seemed to be avoiding talking about
her own life.
“It’s a jungle out there... gangs, terrorists, the red hat
society,” I said, “I get the facts, I follow leads, I talk
to lots of people. Sort it all out.”
“How?”
“Sometimes I make a drawing to help order my thoughts,
sometimes I just try to think about things abstractly. Then
I formulate questions and try to answer them...usually, the
top questions are; who’s lying and who benefits...or,
maybe...” I thought for a moment then added, “who benefits
the most. ”
She faced me with interest, then reached out and brushed a
raindrop from my cheek. She said faintly, “People generally
act in their own self-interest, don’t they?” Her touch sent
a spark all the way to my toes. Yet, I couldn’t help notice
something tinting her tone, wariness maybe when she asked,
“Can you always tell when someone’s lying?”
I glanced at her, “Not always, but someone’s lying big time
in this case. It doesn’t add up.” I thought about that
silently as I pulled in front of the dark coffee shop. “Oh
crap, it’s closed. I’m sorry, I’ll think of someplace
else.” Rain beat the windshield. We could barely see
through it.
“I’d invite you to my place at MSH,” she said, “but your
friends were right, it’s grim. I wouldn’t inflict it on
anyone.”
“Give me an example of its grimness,” I asked with
amusement.
She ticked off things on her fingers, “The walls are paper
thin, the lights are fluorescent, the color scheme is
institutional green, the sink drips. The couch and easy
chair are both made of hard orange plastic...”
“Sounds like a bus station!” I chuckled, holding up my
hand. “Shame on the College for making you stay in a place
like that. Um...we could go to my apartment. It’s right
over there.” I pointed to the Dakota apartment house at the
other end of the Mews. “And I happen to have a very
comfortable couch.”
“Perfect... I’m easy to please,” she said in a low voice. I
looked into her eyes. There was lust there. Then she turned
to look out the windshield.
“How easy?” I breathed.
“Maybe you’d enjoy finding out,” she replied watching
raindrops race each other down the glass.
********************
I parked behind the Dakota. The night sky opened, pouring
buckets of water on us as we dashed for the lobby. We
dripped a pond on the elevator floor as we went up to six.
“It’s wonderfully quiet here. I’ve been missing that,” said
Olivia as I unlocked my door.
“It’s not much. Just two good-sized rooms ... but I like
the view. Something to drink? Coffee, tea, I have some wine
...”
She’d caught site of a bottle of Jose Cuervo on the kitchen
counter as she shrugged out of her wet jacket. “We could do
a shot of tequila, do you have any limes?”
I laughed, “Seriously? I got that tequila months ago as a
Christmas present.”
She nodded as she turned to look out the windows over the
city. “Good God, this is the penthouse! Is it just you up
here?”
“There are two apartments. A lawyer and his glamorous wife
used to live in the other one but they moved to
Hooterville...”
“Oh ... and then George and Weezie moved in?” she laughed.
“Brad and Angelina... ” I got a lime out of the
refrigerator, cut it into sections and put them on a plate
with the salt shaker, then explained, “Really... it’s not a
penthouse, just the top floor with a nice view, and it
would be better if it actually overlooked the Mews, but
we’re in the back of the building.”
“May I see the rest?” she asked drifting toward the
bedroom.
I followed her to the bedroom door, all the while noticing
her damp blouse clinging to the lovely contours of her
breasts. Her light jacket hadn’t been much protection.
Olivia leaned into the bathroom saying, “Nice,” she turned
back to me adding, “the water pressure at MSH is like a
kindergarten drinking fountain. Would it be all right...”
she stopped, smiled a little. Then she began again, “May I
take a shower?”
“Now?” I asked incredulously.
The phone rang. The caller ID flashed. “It's my boss,” I
said with annoyance, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” She
nodded, then purposely stepped into the bathroom and closed
the door. I wondered if she was serious about the shower as
I carried the phone into the living room. Then I heard the
water come on and the naughty side of my consciousness
assumed a carnal expression.
I briefed Lt. Ed O'Brien on the tech case for a few
minutes.
He said, “The College President is on my back, Maggie. I
need you to solve this, pronto.”
“I’m working on it Ed, as a matter of fact, I’m beginning
to think this case is ... ” Suddenly, Olivia was there in
the living room in front of me, damp hair glistening in the
gentle lamp light. She had a sultry expression ... and she
was wearing my bathrobe. The light terry cloth drawn snugly
across her chest made it clear she wasn’t wearing anything
underneath. I lost my train of thought. She turned to look
out the window.
“Maggie?” tossed Lt. O'Brien into the wordless pause.
“I’m sorry Ed,” I said snapping back to the phone, “I’ll
nose around tomorrow. With luck I’ll get some results, but
for tonight ... I have something else to ... investigate.”
“Huh?” he said as I hung up.
Olivia was standing close to the window, looking up at
lightning bolts tearing across the black rainy sky. The
view was wonderful. For both of us.
Without turning she said, “I hope it was all right to
borrow your robe ...”
“It’s never looked better,” I said softly, wondering ahead
about getting her out of it.
She turned slowly. The open collar plunged. I stared.
“What are you thinking, Maggie?”
I said honestly, “That you’d be quite a muse.” I shifted to
make more room on the couch. “Were your clothes very wet?”
“I hung them up in the shower.”
“Are you warm enough?” I asked glancing at the contour of
her breasts for an answer.
“So far,” she whispered, sitting beside me. “Remember this
afternoon when I asked you to my poetry reading...you
hesitated. Why was that?”
“I was trying to think of a more emphatic word than yes ...
Shall we do a shot of tequila?” I could smell soap and
shampoo. Her skin was like pink tinted cream. I hesitated,
checking to see if I was reading all the signals right.
Mental head slap. Oh Maggie, get real, she’s in your
bathrobe!
She picked up the bottle, “The seal’s still on it. Is this
... something you really want?” Maybe she was checking the
signals too.
“I’m up for it, if you are.”
“Hmmm, I could skip the shot,” she said in a low voice, “I
like the lime and salt part best. I don’t need anything to
break down my inhibitions. Do you?”
I took a long slow breath, then dipped my finger into the
salt and touched it to the tip of my tongue. I picked up a
lime wedge and lifted her wrist. The robe slipped down her
arm to her elbow. I pressed the lime to her smooth skin,
then drew it along her inner arm. Tilting my head, I slid
my tongue over the inside part of her elbow, licking up
slowly to the inside of her wrist, where I lingered,
sucking the tart juice off her skin, feeling her warm
pulse, trailing my lips over the surface.
She exhaled sensually, reaching to stroke my face as I
continued to kiss her wrist, biting gently. She shifted her
fingers to lift my chin, guiding my mouth to hers. I
savored the softness of her lips, teasing and coaxing. She
responded with ardor, pulling my body to hers, holding me
tightly, as though she feared I’d draw away.
I did pull back, but only to say softly, “We have all
night.”
I eased her against the couch. “Slow down, Olivia, there’s
plenty of time for us to share all sorts of pleasures.”
She watched my hands as I opened the robe. I took more than
a peek.
“How lovely you are ...” I whispered letting my fingers
play sensually over her skin. She leaned her head back,
responding to my exploration, convincing me to go on. She
gasped, arching to offer me more, as arousal coursed
through her.
“I need to feel you,” she said hotly.
I was struck with the searing desire to thoroughly satisfy
her. I began to taste her. Starting at her throat, trailing
sensually down to her breasts, I sucked them roughly to her
obvious aching delight. Nipping her nipples to impossible
hardness I continued to tease her breasts firmly with my
hands as I went on down with my mouth...moving slowly to a
target not ripe for an arrow, but for an endless velvet
caress.
Later in the bedroom, she made love to me with tantalizing
intensity. She'd brought me to the edge several times with
her skillful darting tongue, then backed off, making me
desperate for release. Finally sensing I couldn't be more
aroused she ruthlessly worked my most sensative areas until
I was thrashing with climax. She’d accepted that we had all
night. We used every minute of it, yielding to each other,
sensing that this might be our only encounter, losing the
past and future, concentrating on the moments we had.
That morning, I watched the the sky lighten as she slept by
my side. I thought about my life, my work, my solitude. The
solitude part didn’t seem very appealing at the moment. I
thought about asking if she had a girlfriend. Whoa
detective, you’re spoiling the moment.
My mind drifted to other things; the vandalism in Farrel’s
class, the equipment thefts at Irwin. Related because some
of the actors held roles in each. Lt. O'Brien wanted
action. I needed a short cut. Easy; just answer two simple
questions. Who benefited from the thefts and who wasn’t
telling the truth? I thought about whom I’d interviewed,
Cam Laurence, Oren Baylor, Tim MacGonigal, Gary Argon
and...Olivia too. I shook my head... Olivia wasn’t a
suspect...but there was something...what had she said...”
I imagined it all as a series of pictures. Kind of like a
'Highlights' search; find the coffeepot in the drawing of
the garden. Find the person who benefits ...
I strained to sort it ... but finally my mind shifted to
the other problem. The smashed project in Farrel’s
woodshop. I wanted to fix it for Farrel, she was a great
friend and a great teacher. Uncompromising when it to came
to class work, but she’d do anything for her students; stay
late to work with them, photograph their portfolios, listen
to their problems. She was even going to confront that
landlord today. I remembered Farrel saying, 'To destroy
someone else’s work...it just doesn’t make sense.'
I felt Olivia shift against me. I touched her hair. She
smiled and settled back into sleep. She seemed to have
gotten what she wanted from me, and honestly, I guess I’d
gotten what I wanted from her...it fit with what she’d said
last night, “People generally act in their own self
interest, don’t they?”
Yes, that was it. The pictures shuffled and now I had it.
Both cases, one solution. It all made sense; who was lying,
who did what, all I needed was a little proof. I got up and
made a quick phone call, then slipped back into bed.
I felt Olivia touch my hip under the covers. She smiled at
me. She began to sit up saying, “I’m so sorry, I have to
catch a plane in the afternoon and I have to pack.”
“How long does it take to pack?” I asked gently.
She fell back into my arms and we began to kiss again.
“Maybe not that long,” she murmured. “Maybe I have an hour
or two...Oh!...” She arched as I stroked her in just the
right place. “Ah...I’m pretty sure I have a couple of
hours...if you do that again... ”
Two hours later, well more like three, I drove her back to
the MSH dorm.
“When you finish packing, give me a call and I’ll drive you
to the airport,” I said as she got out of the car.
She looked back at me with her head tilted to the side.
“Too bad we didn’t meet when I first got here. You’re
pretty wonderful Maggie. I’m sorry I have to go.”
“Maybe I’ll come and visit you in Oregon sometime?”
“That would be fun. But you know what, I think some lucky
woman is going to snatch you up long before we have the
time to see each other again, and you don’t seem like the
philandering kind. You’re not, are you?” I shook my head.
“I didn't think so,” she said softly.
I drove over to Farrel and Jessie's. On the way, I made
phone call. Farrel and Jessie live in a rowhouse, also in
Washington Mews. They were having breakfast, the fabulous
multi-part kind that Jessie is famous for making.
*****************************
“You slept with her didn’t you,” said Farrel forking a hot
waffle on to a plate for me. It wasn’t even a question.
I just grinned and reached for the syrup. “I didn’t come by
to gloat, I’ve solved your problem and the tech case, too.
I’m on my way to the station, but I figured you’d want to
know.”
Farrel dropped her fork, Jessie leaned forward, I
explained, “Both these little problems were about lies and
motive and they have the same solution. One pathological
liar, and he’s responsible for everything. So ask yourself
Farrel, who benefited from smashing Oren Baylor’s project?
There’s only one person with a clear motive.”
Farrel shook her head slowly, almost as though she didn’t
want the truth to surface. Suddenly an expression of shock
and then sadness clouded her face. “Shit,” she said,
“...Oren?”
“Yeah, Oren himself. Face it Farrel, you’re a hard nose. If
he hadn’t finished his project, you would have failed him.
He wasn’t done, so he smashed it. It was the only excuse
you might fall for.”
“But the tech thefts, he did those too?” asked Jessie.
“Uh huh. Once I realized he wasn’t telling the truth about
his smashed project, it was clear that Oren’s not just a
run-of-the-mill liar, he’s compulsive and he’s a pro. He
dropped bogus hints everywhere that Gary Argon had Irwin
equipment in his house. But I checked, and there’s nothing
from Irwin there.”
“I heard it in the shop...that Gary had the equipment...”
said Farrel thinking back.
“Yeah, a kernel Oren planted in a dozen fields. He’d told
everyone, 'people had seen the stuff there'. Why not
believe him? He didn’t act like it was a theory. He stated
it as fact. He’s lied about everything with such
conviction, he snowed everyone. I’m sure when you contact
Tim’s landlord today, you’ll find that Tim was subletting,
he was paying rent to Oren who was supposed to give it to
the landlord. Tim paid Oren, and Oren pocketed the money.
Eviction takes a long time.”
“Will there be some kind of a trial? Oren’s going into the
Coast Guard this Spring...” Farrel said.
“Farrel honey, pay attention,” I demanded, “Oren’s a
compulsive liar! Where did you hear that he’s going into
the Coast Guard? From him? Oren made that up too! And guess
what, his dead parents, well, they’ve recovered. They live
in Paoli. I called a Paoli cop friend of mine, who just
confirmed there are 32 boxes in the Baylor’s basement
filled with Irwin Tech Department equipment. Oren told his
clueless parents he was moving to California in the summer.
He probably planned to sell the stuff there, if that’s
where he really goes.”
**************************
“Olivia?” I asked quietly as I helped her put books into a
box, “Do you have someone waiting for you in Oregon?” I'd
realized that was the thing she'd been keeping to herself.
She paused, holding some books in midair, staring into
space. After a long moment she put the books down and faced
me. She said honestly, with a hint of sadness ... “I don’t
know ... She told me there was someone else in her life,
just before I came here for the semester. I'm not looking
forward to going back, but I have to.”
I reached over to hold her hand, “Do you want to talk about
it?” I asked. She looked up at me, I put my arms around her
for a hug that comforted us both. Finally I said, “Why
don’t you stay one more day?”
She sighed, then nodded ... and then asked with a sweet
smile, “Do you have any more limes?”
**************************
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