She pulled over to the side of the highway
and watched the taillights of the red convertible get smaller and
fade away. Now she would have to call for a tow truck. She was
disgusted with herself. The noise had started weeks ago. Why hadn’t
she taken the time to get it fixed then?
No sooner than she had called for a tow, she
saw headlights coming up behind her. Maybe it was state trooper.
But she couldn’t see any lights on top. A man got out of the car
and walked to her door.
“
Hey, Lady, got
trouble?”
He leaned down to look in the driver’s
window and saw a pistol pointed at his face.
“
Whoa, take it easy,
Rebecca. It’s me—Sandy.”
She lowered the gun. “What are you doing
here?”
“
I was driving home—like
you. And I saw what I thought was your car on the side of the road
and figured you were in trouble. I just wanted to help. But I
nearly got my head blown off. You’re dangerous, Woman.”
“
I’m sorry, Sandy. Have you
been following me all the way from Coreyville?”
“
No, like I said, I wasn’t
even sure this was your car. I drove through McDonalds on the way
out of town, so you had some lead time.”
“
You were hungry again?
After all those sandwiches you ate at the reception?”
“
Yep. So, what’s wrong with
your car?”
“
Rear U-joint.”
“
Huh?”
“
You’re not a car guy, are
you?”
“
I just drive ‘em. Can I
give you a lift?”
“
No, thanks. I can ride in
on the tow truck. I just called them.”
“
Well, then I’ll just hang
around until they get here.”
“
Oh, I hate for you to have
to wait. I’m sure you’d like to get on home.”
“
I don’t mind.”
“
Well, okay.
Thanks.”
**********
Chaucey checked the site for the fourth time
in five minutes. What was taking him so long? She needed to read
the next chapter.
She searched for another online book to
read. Most were not as good as his, but she needed something to
occupy her time while she waited. She was a voracious reader. And
she had plenty of time to read. At 27, she lived alone in her
apartment in Katy, Texas, just west of Houston.
Chaucey Reed was the product of an English
literature professor and a psychiatrist. They had agreed to have
but one child, which would be a boy. But, she had disappointed them
by being a girl. It had been her mother’s plan to name her son
Geoffrey Chaucer, after her idol, the English author, poet,
philosopher, and diplomat.
After a brief disagreement,
the Drs. Reed decided to use the name anyway. Geoffrey Chaucer
Reed. They would call her Chaucey. Yes, that was perfectly
acceptable. To
them
. She hated her name. But
she did, begrudgingly, admire Chaucer. And she had read his works
numerous times.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman with
long, dark brown hair. Upon entering a room, men would flock to
her. But one by one they would walk away disappointed—not because
they were rejected, but because of her snobbishness. She was always
the smartest person in the room—and she’d let you know it. Not that
she’d been in many rooms with other people recently.
She made a good living as a free-lance
graphic artist. And her work rarely required her to leave her
apartment. She had become a hermit—only venturing out when
absolutely necessary. She didn’t even go out to shop. She had
groceries and other items delivered to her door. Anything she
needed could be ordered online.
There was not one television in her home.
She didn’t care for the medium. Why let actors attempt to tell her
a story that would play out much more vividly in her own
imagination. The only way to get the full impact of a story was to
read it. She didn’t understand why everybody didn’t feel that way.
Ignorant peasants were they.
Few of the walls in her apartment could
still be seen. She had neatly stacked her thousands of books from
floor to ceiling along nearly every wall.
She couldn’t bear to part with any of her
precious tomes, yet there was no room to add more. Her solution was
to begin reading electronic books. She scoured the internet for
books she could read online or download. Some were free, others
were not. It didn’t matter. Money was not an issue. She just needed
a constant supply of new reading material.
She found a huge volume of older literature,
which she did enjoy. But she preferred modern mysteries and
thrillers. And, at a rate of two books per day, it soon became
clear she would eventually run out.
Some unpublished authors were posting their
novels online. She liked perusing their books, but found most
lacking in quality.
Then she came across a new mystery being
written by Barry Undermine. She had never heard of him, but thought
his style sounded familiar. She found herself strangely fascinated
by his writing. Unlike the work of many would-be novelists, his
characters and story rang true. And she had become hooked.
But the problem was that she couldn’t zip
through this book in her usual manner. He was posting each chapter
as he wrote it. It was driving her crazy having to wait.
And the more she read, the more enthralled
she became with the writer. To her, the man was powerful and
dangerous and sexy. She wished she could meet him. And it took a
lot to make her want to venture out of her apartment.
And in his tyme swich a conqueror,
That gretter was ther noon under the
sonne.
She would throw off her
cloak of fearfulness and plunge headlong through the dreaded maze
of ignorant masses—
if
her journey would lead her
into the presence of this intriguing, mysterious man. But she
wondered…was she drawn to the writer…or to his murderous main
character? Or were they one and the same?
She was frightened, yet invigorated by her
wild, impetuous thoughts.
Barry’s story was taking place in East and
North Texas. And he seemed to know that part of the country so well
that she suspected he lived there. Perhaps she would write to him
and propose a meeting.
She had a picture she could send him. It was
four years old, but her looks had changed very little in that time.
It was one of those glamour shots taken in a studio. She was lying
across a white furry blanket in a bikini. The photographer begged
her to go out with him. She refused.
The picture was for a doctor ex-boyfriend
she was trying to win back. Her plan failed.
What if she sent Barry Undermine that
picture, along with an offer to satisfy the darkest desires of his
heart?
Could he resist such an offer?
She trembled at the thought.
Chapter
15
As Larry made notes on his laptop, he kept
one eye on the front desk. Hours earlier he had stopped at a flower
shop a few miles from the hotel and paid $50 for a lovely bouquet
of red roses in a red vase. Hopefully they had already been
delivered to Greg and Cynthia’s room.
He had slipped the clerk an extra $50 and
made it very clear that it must be delivered that evening. The
clerk had assured him it would be done as he requested.
A couple walked through the entrance toward
the front desk.
She hasn’t changed at all, thought Larry.
She is so beautiful. And she’s finally going to be mine.
He closed his laptop, put it in the leather
bag, and picked up the newspaper he had purchased earlier. Then he
got up and walked toward the elevators. When Greg and Cynthia
passed, he was standing there with his laptop bag hanging at his
side, reading the Dallas Morning News. As soon as they entered the
elevator, he followed them in, never lowering the newspaper from
his face.
Greg pushed the fourth floor button and
turned to Larry. “What floor would you like?”
Larry peeked around the side of the paper
and saw the fourth floor button glowing. “The same—fourth.
Thanks.”
Cynthia was totally oblivious of Larry. All
she could think about was Greg and what she was about to do with
him. They had waited until they were married to have sex. All those
months of pent-up desire were about to be released in a single
night. She looked into his eyes and thought, how could he possibly
want me as bad as I want him?
Larry was glad he had the
laptop bag to hold in front of himself. He thought of a nice
simile: just being in her presence had shot him up,
like an elevator
,
to the top floor. He knew he would go through the roof the first
time he touched her.
When the doors opened, Larry nodded for Greg
and Cynthia to go first. He followed them at a distance to their
room, and then casually glanced at the room number as he passed
by.
Greg slid in the key card and opened the
door. Cynthia was about to walk in.
“
Wait. Let’s get it right,”
said Greg.
“
You want to carry me over
the threshold?”
“
Yes, Ma’am.” He
grinned.
She spoke more softly. “You
sure it won’t hurt your back? ‘Cause you’re going to need a
strong
back.” She
smiled seductively.
“
Oh, really? So, you’re
gonna work me hard, huh?”
“
You bet I am,
Mister.”
“
Don’t worry. Nothing can
slow me down tonight.”
He scooped her up and carried her into the
room. “I love you, Mrs. Tenorly.”
“
Not as much as I love you,
Mr. Tenorly.”
He kissed her set her down and went back out
to the hallway to get their two overnight bags. Their Disney World
luggage was in the truck of the car. They wouldn’t need it until
tomorrow. He dropped the bags and rushed back to her arms.
“
Nice room,” she
said.
He rubbed up against her.
“
What
room?”
“
Oh, my.” She reached down
felt it. “That’s quite a handful, Mr. Tenorly.”
“
Let’s get out of these
clothes.” He began to unbutton her blouse.
“
Hang on there,
Buddy.”
“
No, please don’t make me
wait any longer.”
“
I want to take a shower
first.”
“
Okay. And then I’ll take
mine. But please hurry.”
She snatched up her bag and hurried into the
bathroom. Then she stuck her head out the door and said in a
singsong voice, “Don’t start without me.”
I’ll
try
not to, he thought. Maybe he
would jump in the shower with her. But she might not like that. At
least not before their first time. And he sure didn’t want to do
anything to spoil it.
He imagined for the
thousandth time being in bed with her…against her naked body…her
arms wrapped around him…her legs. But tonight he didn’t
need
imagination.
This was the real thing. Settle down, Greg! You’ve got to hold on
just a little longer…
The phone on the nightstand rang and
startled him. He felt embarrassed—as though the caller could see
the big lump in his pants.
But who would be calling at this hour? It
was after midnight. What was the caller thinking? It’s probably
Sandy, he thought. That turkey. He decided not to answer it.
But what if it was Beverly? She might be
checking to make sure her daughter and new son-in-law arrived
safely.
“
Hello?”
“
Hello, is this Mr.
Tenorly?” The man had a very strong Texas accent. He sounded like
an older gentleman.
“
Yes, it is.”
“
Mr. Tenorly, I am so sorry
to bother tonight, but I’m afraid I have bumped into your car in
the parking lot.”
“
Are you sure it’s
mine?”
“
Yes, sir, I’m pretty sure.
I gave the license number to the front desk clerk and she looked it
up on her computer. It’s a big red Pontiac convertible.”
“
Yeah, that’s
mine.”
“
So, like I said, I’m really
sorry. But I thought you would want to come down and take a look at
the damage. And let me give you my insurance
information.”
Greg looked at the bathroom door, and
pictured Cynthia in the shower. Why did this have to happen
tonight?
“
So, do you want to come
down and meet me in the lobby?”
“
Sure. I’ll be down in a
second. What’s your name?”
“
Merle Steeler.”
Greg hung up and went to the bathroom
door.
“
Sweetie?”
“
I’m hurrying—I
promise.”
“
That’s okay, Honey. Take
your time. I’ve got to go down to the lobby.”
“
What’s the
matter?”
“
Some old guy ran into my
car.”
“
Oh, no. I’m
sorry.”
“
I’ll be back as fast as I
can.”
“
Okay, Baby.”
**********
After Larry had hung up the phone, he walked
across the lobby and took the door to the stairs. In his earpiece,
he had heard Greg talking to Cynthia through the bathroom door. And
he had heard the door close when Greg walked out of the room.
The money he had spent on the flowers and
the bribe had been well worth it. And the little bug he had
attached just inside the vase was working as advertised. If he
strained, he could even hear the shower. What a brilliant man he
was.