“So what are you going to do today? Chew tobacco? Sit on the porch in a rocking chair?”
“Agan’s Point isn’t quite
that
backward. I’m just going to go for a drive into town this morning—”
“You shouldn’t be driving into town; you should be driving
out
of town.”
She just shook her head and continued. “And then I’ll probably just hang around the house and help Judy with some things.” She began to tell him about the big clan cookout tomorrow—if the Squatters still had it now—but as she talked, her focus dissolved. Was that a splattering she heard? Yes, and a hiss. She noticed then that her bedroom door was open a crack, and as she peered down the hall, she saw that the bathroom door, too, stood open a few inches.
Ernie’s in there taking a shower,
she realized.
He’s so used to having this wing of the house to himself that he forgot to close the door
. . . . This wouldn’t have meant anything to her, but . . .
She could see flesh.
A convenient angle allowed the shower to reflect in the bathroom mirror, which she could see a significant slice of through the crack in the door.
She kept talking to her husband without even thinking, and suddenly had gotten up and walked to her own door for a better view. She could see him in there, all right—he hadn’t closed the shower curtain.
My God, what am I doing? What if he saw me? He’d think I was a total perv . . . which I guess I am.
A female voyeur? Looking at other people in secret had never been a desire of hers, but then a lot of things about herself had changed since she’d gotten back.
What would Dr. Sallee say about this?
she wondered. It was just the midlife sexual peak of all women, so . . .
Was it that bad?
Her sense of guilt struggled to cut into her thoughts—as she continued to talk to her loving husband, no less—but she easily blocked them out.
And watched.
And then imagined.
Suddenly she saw
herself
in the shower with Ernie, and the more deeply she thought about it, the more clearly the vision focused. . . .
He wasn’t even surprised as she stepped in; it was as though he were expecting her, as though his flesh were a summons to her desire, and he knew it. When the cool spray hit Patricia’s breasts, her nipples shot right up. Something else shot right up, too, when she put her hand to his sudsy groin. She could feel it beating in her hand.
Then, in gestures that nearly seemed rough, his calloused hands spun her around by the hips, and then he was feeling her up into a suit of suds. He stood behind her, his manhood hot against her buttocks. He was manipulating her flesh the way a sculptor manipulated clay. Patricia grew short of breath at once, rising on her tiptoes, her mouth and eyes wide open. The rough fingers skipped back and forth between corkscrewing her nipples and massaging her sex. She just stood there and let herself be
felt
. . . .
She talked on to Byron, locked in some split stream of consciousness, communicating to him and regarding his replies with no real awareness . . . while the rest of her mind delved deeper into the sexual musing. Ernie still stood behind her, the shower hissing over them. One strong forearm locked around her waist, and then he was lifting her up. Her feet came off the shower floor. She could feel her buttocks sliding over his penis as she continued to rise, as if he would penetrate her from behind with her feet off the ground. Her sex burned; she was squirming—
Oh, God, no . . .
“Patricia?”
It was about to nudge into her all at once.
“Patricia? Damn, I think your cell phone cut out. Can you hear me?”
Her legs were tensing, her back arching as her inflamed breasts and nipples thrust outward, and she was already beginning to cli—
“Patricia!”
Reality slapped her in the face. No, she wasn’t in the shower with Ernie; she was talking to her
husband!
“I’m here,” she assured him, waiting for her heart to slow down.
“You sounded way off in space.”
Not in space,
she thought, visibly blushing.
Just in the shower
. “The reception down here isn’t always that great. When I call tomorrow, I’ll use Judy’s phone.”
“So how is Judy doing, considering?”
Patricia tore herself away from the gap in the door, then went back and sat on the bed. Her last real image of Ernie had been of him stepping out of the shower, in the reflection. She struggled to reengage her mind against a backwash of guilt. “Actually, okay, I think. She’s seemed to be handling Dwayne’s death pretty well since I got here, but now she’s kind of rocked by what happened last night. She even said something to the effect that it might be a good idea for her to sell the Point.”
“I think she should. Sounds like the whole place is turning into Drugtown. Sell it before all the property value goes down the tubes.”
“Really, Byron, it’s not that bad. There’re luxury condos going up on the other side of the river. That’ll drive any bad elements out faster than anything.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You get back to work now,” she said, “and I’ll call tomorrow. And there’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
“I love you,” she said.
“Well, I love you, too, so come back
soon,
will you?”
“I will,” she promised, and then they hung up.
Patricia sighed.
My fantasies
are
out of control!
It aggravated her so much now. But at least there was
some
solace:
Dr
.
Sallee said this is common for women my age. There’s no reason to feel guilty, because they’re just fantasies. I’d never really cheat on Byron. . . .
Before she could consider anything further, she spotted Ernie coming down the hall in a robe.
“Hey, Ernie?” she called out.
He stuck his head in, his long hair combed out in wet lines. “Oh, hey. I didn’t even know you were here.”
Yeah, I’m here, all right, spying on you in the shower.
“I meant to get up early, but it took me a while to fall back to sleep once we got back from the fire. How’s Judy?”
“It’s funny,” he said. “She’s more pissed off than depressed about the Ealds. She don’t like the idea that Squatters are makin’ dope on her land.”
“Well, it’s just a few of them.”
“Yeah, I know. She’ll be all right. It’s just too much goin’ on at once. She ain’t handlin’ it well.”
Patricia deliberately avoided eye contact. Just his being in the same room relit some of the shower fantasy’s fire. “I wanted to ask you something. Do you know who officially declared Dwayne dead? I know he was cremated at the funeral home, but where was he autopsied? Is there a family doctor or something?”
“It was the EMTs who picked his body up just off the Point,” Ernie informed her. “And they took Dwayne’s body to the county hospital there, to the county morgue. So I guess that’s where they did the autopsy, but that’s about all I know. You might wanna ask Chief Sutter.”
“I already did,” she said, looking off.
And he seemed vague.
“What’cha wanna know that for?”
She shrugged. “I just want to see the autopsy report. Nobody seemed to know any details about the murder, not even Judy.”
“That’s ‘cos Judy doesn’t want to know ’em. You know how she is. She coulda got a copy of the autopsy report, legal-like.”
Legal-like,
Patricia thought. Even the backwater way he talked seemed attractive. “I do know how she is, and I can’t really blame her. Learning the
details
of how her husband got his head cut off would just rub her face deeper in the tragedy. But I keep hearing funny things about the incident, and no one seems to know exactly what happened.”
Ernie nodded. “Just like any small hick town. Everything’s rumors.”
“What other rumors are there?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Well, over the past coupla months a lotta Squatters have disappeared—that’s the biggest rumor goin’.”
“I’ve heard something along those lines. But they didn’t really
disappear,
they just pulled up roots and moved somewhere else. Even Squatters can get sick of living in the same place.”
“Sure, and that’s probably true. But that’s what I’m talkin’ about. The way people are in a town like this. There’s always gotta be a mystery goin’ on, even if it ain’t true. Rumor is some of these Squatters was actually murdered. By Dwayne.”
The comment jolted her. “Dwayne?”
“Um-hmm. And you wanna know the rest?”
Now Patricia was almost laughing. “Of course!”
“Rumor is that Everd Stanherd used his boondocks magic to kill Dwayne—for revenge.”
“And people actually believe this?” she asked, astonished.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I don’t believe in ‘boondocks’ magic, and I’m sure you don’t either.” She paused, looking at him hard. “Do you?”
He paused himself, which seemed strange, then cracked a smile and said, “A’ course not. All I meant is to show ya how things work here. There’s rumors for everything. And that’d be great if you really
could
see Dwayne’s autopsy report, and put an end to
that
rumor.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
“I got work to do in the yard, so I’ll see ya later,” he said, and disappeared from the open door.
What a strange conversation.
But at least it got my mind off . . . him. Middle age is turning me into a closet slut!
And he was right about the rumors. People made them up to make their lives feel more interesting. Patricia had to admit she was intrigued herself, and that was why she picked up her cell phone again and called her office. Her associate put her through to the boss, the chief managing partner, Tim McGinnis.
“So how are things down there in . . .
where?
” he asked.
“Agan’s Point, southern, southern Virginia.”
“Never heard of it. Sounds like a hillbilly town.”
“It sort of is,” she said through a laugh. “D.C. and this place are two different worlds. Everything all right at the firm?”
“Well, other than the roof threatening to collapse since the day you left, things are great. I hope you get back here soon, because the Walton account wants to go to settlement.”
“Give it to the associates; I don’t have to be there.”
“They want you, nobody else. I guess you’re the only lawyer in D.C. they trust. Please come back soon.”
“God, you sound like my husband. Don’t worry; I won’t be more than a week.”
“Thank God.”
“But I also wanted to ask you something.” She got to the point of her call. “Didn’t you tell me once that some buddy of yours works for the governor of Virginia?”
Tim laughed snidely. “Yeah, but he’s not my buddy; he’s my brother. He’s the number four man in the state government, director of public safety. Oversees every police department in the state, every fire department, county sheriff’s—everything.”
Perfect,
she thought. “Are you in any position to ask him a favor?”
Now Tim laughed harder. “Since I practically put his boss in office with private fund-raising contributions, I think I can safely say my brother would shit turkeys and whistle ‘Dixie’ if I told him to. Why?”
Patricia was amused by the talk. “I need access to an autopsy report, and I don’t have the time to do a FOIA request. My sister’s husband—Dwayne Parker. Nobody knows the exact cause of death, and I want to find out.”
Tim’s incredulity could be sensed over the line. “I thought you said he got his head cut off! That’s the cause of death: head cut off.”
Patricia felt guilty getting a laugh out of the tragedy. . . .
But it is kind of funny when you put it that way.
“There’s this rumor down here that there was some oddity relating to the decapitation, and I haven’t gotten anywhere with the local police chief. I really need this, Tim. The autopsy report is in the morgue at the county hospital in Luntville.”
“I’ll make a call. Just go to the place tomorrow, and it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thanks, Tim. It’s just that there’s some weird stuff going on here, and I’m curious about it.”
“Hmm. Well, remember what curiosity did to the cat. I don’t really like the idea of my star attorney running around down in Hooterville inquiring about decapitations.”
“The weirdest part is that there have been several more murders just since I’ve been back—”
“What!”
“Drug-related stuff. It’s very uncharacteristic in a place like this.”
Now her boss lost his levity. “Why don’t you just come home? Don’t tell me some
other
people got their heads cut off too.”