One Deadly Sister sr-1 Read online

  The job had started well and his associates liked him. Nothing very threatening about Ray, an everyday forty year old, never quite made it to six feet, with short brown hair already thin at the temples. His face was “okay”—at least that’s how a girlfriend in college once described it. Another girl told him his black-rimmed glasses were unquestionably a date-loser. He’d always worn that kind, they fit fine and weren’t expensive.

  Each day after the market closed an attractive young stockbroker at the firm, Meg Emerson, would stride to the back office, still charged with energy, and chat with him to calm down after her hectic day. Meg was a sales whiz, the number one producer in the office. All the sales reports crossed Ray’s desk, so he knew she grossed twice as much as her boss. She could afford to dress in a fabulous manner, but he noticed she favored a conservative look and wore her blond hair short and straight. She pushed the upper limit on the height-weight charts, although she didn’t seem concerned.

  Ray was ten years older. He thought she had a wonderful mind. She wasn’t afraid to discuss serious subjects like art and antiques. There were several younger, better-looking guys around the office, yet for some reason Ray was the person she wanted to talk with. She never missed a day.

  It was Meg who invited him to the party that started it all. She just gave the party—he couldn’t blame her for his meeting Loraine there.

  When party day arrived, Ray was still settling into his new apartment. He needed to paint the place, and shop for a lamp, a screwdriver, and a can opener. He had little interest in going to a gathering of strangers and doing his wallflower routine while planning a polite escape. Not his idea of fun. Nevertheless, he did go. Meg had been so insistent.

  Meg gave him a warm greeting at her door, including an unexpected kiss on the cheek. A look around the room convinced him he had made a dreadful mistake. This wasn’t his crowd at all. The room glittered with classy people laughing and clinking glasses. She had suggested jacket, no tie. Her guests, however, seemed dressy to him. Meg wore a black linen cocktail dress with a breathless plunging V-neck.

  Ray came dressed in the same jacket he wore to work every day, and a lightweight turtleneck. He felt about as stylish as a dishtowel. If somehow he could ever get out of there, he’d never leave home again.

  Her beachfront condo apartment on the barrier island was impressive. The building sat on the narrow island between the ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway. Consequently, she had an expensive view from each end of her condo.

  “Realtors call it a front-to-front,” Meg explained. “Instead of a rear wall there’s a second balcony.”

  The layout amazed him. Some of her guests were on the ocean side balcony, almost the size of Ray’s entire apartment, looking down at the beach and out to the Atlantic. A more normal-sized balcony was at the opposite end of the expansive living room. From there, guests had a view of the waterway, a cove dotted with undulating boats on moorings, and on across to the lights of the city on the western horizon.

  She had decorated her home in subtle shades of high-level income. Although Ray was aware she had some money, he never suspected the engaging young woman who stopped at his desk every day enjoyed that manner of lifestyle.

  Meg wanted everyone to meet him and after graciously zigging and zagging the crowd for his wine, she introduced him around to get him started. He saw no other co-workers present, not even her boss; all these prosperous people must be clients or friends. The cordial group welcomed him to Florida and made the polite newcomer-fuss. Not so bad, in fact the evening turned out well. Or so he thought at the time.

  Two white wines later, after he had met a dozen mostly interesting people and forgotten their names, he noticed a woman with long red hair talking with a group out on that huge ocean-view balcony. Her back was toward him. The ocean breeze was seriously teasing the hem of her short green dress and that caught his attention. The somewhat tall woman in her somewhat short dress showing great legs was pleasing.

  When she turned, he saw she was older than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t certain just what gave him that impression. Her features seemed a little sharp, but he liked her face. There was a bangle on one wrist, otherwise he saw no jewelry. Her body needed no adornments, she stood erect, and her shape was trim. Whatever her age, she was confidently attractive.

  His eyes wandered around the room but kept going back to the redhead, green dress, and legs. He stood with his wine glass trying to appear casual and watched her mingle. She seemed to drift nearer to where he stood. Minutes later, she was much closer and held her gaze on him. Him? She came over and introduced herself, Loraine Dellin. He fumbled a few words expecting her to ask why he had been staring, but she started right in with party talk.

  She made drawn out comments about what was good and what was a shame. She frequently reached over and touched his arm to emphasize a point he usually didn’t get. All very polite and clever. It was easy going, he just smiled and nodded, grateful for her casual rambling that kept the conversation running without his input. Silence would mean death.

  The wine tasted good, he felt comfortable, and was now enjoying the party. She stood quite close to him and with heels was eye to eye. It was enjoyable having this attractive woman standing right there with those pale green eyes focused on him. Her face showed deep lines around the eyes, but that didn’t seem important. He was careful about looking down; she couldn’t have known just how loose fitting her neckline was. There seemed to be quite a bit unconstrained down there.

  She wanted to know about him. “So, you’re down here alone, no wife, no kids, no attachments?”

  “Just a sister up in Philadelphia, we don’t keep in touch much.”

  She asked how he knew Meg.

  “We work at the same firm,” he explained. “Nothing exciting, my office is buried in the back.” He tried to sound smooth but his mouth was dry and not working well. She nodded approval and said she happened to have an account with his firm.

  After a few minutes, she stepped back. So, that’s it, he guessed, now comes the polite “nice chatting with you” part. Well, it had been nice. Coming to the party had been worthwhile after all. He certainly had received more than his share of her attention. He assumed she was parting to resume mingling, but she just reached to the table for a canapé. She didn’t seem to notice her breast brushed hard against his arm.

  Events moved fast from then on.

  Abruptly, she whispered something about leaving the party. He thought she meant later and alone. She meant right then and with him. He went over and thanked Meg for the invitation. She apologized for not getting free to talk with him and suggested he stick around. They could talk after the party. But Loraine was already waiting by the door so he supposed he’d better go. Meg appeared troubled.

  As soon as they got outside, Loraine grabbed his arm and started to walk fast. “Let’s go.”

  “You want a ride home?” he asked.

  “Anything to drink at your place?”

  “My place? Uh, wine?” He should explain his new apartment was barely furnished.

  “What kind?”

  “Not sure—it’s white.”

  “How cute, it’s white. Christ. Is it at least fresh? Never mind. Your place will do. Where’s your car?”

  “That’s mine over there, the green one.” He pointed.

  “You’ve got to be joking. We’ll take mine.”

  She started off and he hurried after her. Understanding women wasn’t one of his strong points.

  At the end of that night with Loraine, there was no doorstep affection, no exchange of phone numbers, and no promise to meet again. He gave her an awkward little grin meaning such casual sex was unusual for him. She, no doubt, had already figured that one out.

  And that was it. That’s what he thought.

  She phoned a week later on Saturday morning. He was making instant coffee and his biggest problem was whether he could get by that day without shaving. Regrettably, he answered the phone.

>   She wanted to meet him at the InnTowner motel. Sounding frantic and insistent she hung up without explaining. At that point, he didn’t think she was actually nutty, only a bit off, and he could live with that. Normal women weren’t within the range of his experience anyway.

  Why the call? Wasn’t their night together supposed to be just a party thing? Of course, one-night stands do happen all the time—well, not to him. Perhaps he’d been better in bed than he thought. Deciding on a Saturday morning rendezvous with a woman wasn’t difficult even if it meant changing out of his sweats and sneakers. He didn’t want the relationship to go anywhere, but would he like a second go around? Sure. Counting the months before the divorce and the time after the divorce, he had a lot to make up for. And there was available and willing Loraine perhaps phoning for an encore. Whether a woman desires only a one-night stand had always confused him.

  He realized his fantasies might be getting ahead of him. This could be one of those “be careful what you wish for” deals. Why else the troubled voice? Likely, she wanted something else from him, wanted him to do something expensive or stupid, maybe both. But the least he could do, he decided, was to show up and see what she wanted. Wouldn’t most people say, don’t ask too many questions, just go?

  At the motel, he found her in a poolside setting lifted straight off a Florida postcard: a lounge chair by a palm tree, a green bikini, sunglasses, and a floppy straw hat. She even had the requisite one-knee-drawn-up pose.

  She didn’t look bad. The unforgiving bikini provided no place to hide physical flaws but presented no problem for her body. The bikini top was crowded but borderline respectable. The scanty bottom, however, belonged on some topless rollerblader down at South Beach. Loraine had put it all there to be looked at.

  The pool area, circled by the small three-story motel, wasn’t crowded. November was warm but still too early for many snowbirds. A young mother waded with her three children at the far end. Across the pool, two women sat on the edge talking and dangling their feet in the water. A balding, overweight man had strategically located himself in the center of the pool in line with Loraine’s legs and enjoyed what he considered his good luck. A bikini can unlock a lot of imagination. She seemed to notice but ignored the sneaky peeks.

  After greetings, Ray sat on the edge of a lounge chair facing her. Up close for the first time in daylight, he noticed the lines across her forehead. Her nose seemed more pointed, and she was even older than he had supposed at the party. He chalked it up to the wine then and the bright Florida sun now. She had tied her red hair back. Oversized sunglasses hid those unflinching pale green eyes.

  He felt this calm poolside scene didn’t match her frantic phone call. “What’s this all about, Loraine?”

  “I enjoyed last week at your place. I’m glad we hooked up.”

  “Yes, it was fun. I never expected a follow-up call.” He started to relax, must have overreacted. How bad could the situation be? She was there lounging about poolside as carefree as a puppy. “You sounded as though you needed help. You didn’t mention this poolside event and the green bikini.”

  “Chartreuse. Do you like it Ray?”

  “I just decided it’s my favorite color.”

  “First time I’ve worn it. It’s a thong in the back. Want to see?” she teased.

  “No! Stay still. Don’t move anything.” So much skin made him uncomfortable. He glanced around quickly to see who else was taking an interest. A young man with a towel around his neck appeared, from somewhere, and sat a few chairs away. Ray guessed soon another man, and then another, would show up to enjoy a look at the pool. He began to think he had given her too much credit for being clever.

  “Can’t wait to go to the beach,” she said as though reading his mind and confirming his judgment.

  She seemed completely cool now, not agitated as on the phone. He tried again to get her on track. “Your phone call, what’s up?”

  She was quiet for a moment then, “I do need your help. Maybe I’m in trouble.”

  “Okay. Before you start a public disturbance, can we end the show here and talk in your room?”

  “Well, just let me tell you. Ah….” She appeared serious now. She sat up and arranged her beige see-through beach shirt around her shoulders. Then she blurted out, “My best friend was raped.”

  “My God! That’s what this is about?”

  “Happened in her apartment, night before last.”

  “They catch the guy?”

  “Oh, we know who did it, Sonny Barner, her boyfriend. Her bastard boyfriend.”

  “Date-rape? How is she?”

  “Beat the hell out of her, blackened one eye. I told her to call the police. She was shook. Kept mumbling about maybe it was her fault; maybe she teased him—all that cliché crap. Next day she was still hurting, still curled up.”

  “Rape by a boyfriend tough to prove, he-said she-said. Is she going to let him get away with it?”

  “The next day she decided to call the cops.” she shrugged. “But by then it was too late.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had already shot him.”

  Chapter 3

  Ray scanned the circle of windows that looked down on the pool, certain the entire town was watching and had heard what she said. At first, he could only stare, giving her a look a father would give a child. He grabbed her arm. “To your room, now—fast!” She led the way up the steps to her second floor room.

  The motel room was dimly lit, heavy drapes drawn. She blocked his hand when he reached for the light switch. “Don’t spoil the mood.” She tossed her sunglasses on the nightstand, kicked off her sandals, let her hair fall loose, and got onto the bed. She adjusted the bikini and leaned back casually against a mound of pillows. “I liked your dimly lighted bedroom when we made love at your place last weekend.”

  “I didn’t have a lamp.” He leaned against the desk, away from the bed. That was as close as he dared. Was she wild enough to kill a second man? “Now call the police!”

  “Don’t shout. I’m sorry now I killed him, but it’s not as if anyone knows I did it. Nobody even knows I was there.”

  “Well everyone knows I was here. You had us down there chitchatting about your bikini. Call them now.” In a high-pitched voice he said, “Yes, Officer, that’s the man who was sitting by the pool with the bikini murderer.”

  “No! I don’t want to get involved.”

  “A bit late for that, Loraine.”

  “What I meant was they don’t know I’m involved.”

  “Did you give a second thought to getting me involved? I can’t believe this. Of course, they’re going to catch you. You didn’t kill a stranger, you knew this guy. You’d be a suspect in any case. Just as I’m now a suspect because I know you. Know you? Hell, I slept with you. I slept with a murderer.”

  “Do you have to use that word? Well, what do you want?”

  “I want the clock turned back. I haven't been here, you haven't seen me, nobody has seen me, and I haven’t been out of my apartment all morning.” He wanted to shake her by the shoulders. “And I want you to put on some clothes.”

  “In a minute, I’m still a little warm.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well, Tammy Jerrold is my girlfriend and Sonny Barner is one of her men friends. She’s popular if you get my drift. When I went to Tammy’s place, Norma Martin was already there. Norma’s her best friend, after me of course. We saw Tammy and felt so sad for her. You should have seen her. Norma told her to let it go. She and Tammy are truly a pair, shuffling men back and forth. But I couldn’t stand it. Men shouldn’t do that. I was mad.”

  “You went after him.”

  “I got his address and went to his house to tell him off. I figured it’s the least he had coming. Didn’t want him to get away with it by claiming she agreed or something, you know. Well, he got mad at me. Can you believe it? The rapist, or whatever you call him, gets mad at me. He told me to get the hell out of there. We started a
rguing and when I didn’t leave he got his gun out.”

  “You stood there, he pointed a gun at you?”

  “Yeah, but guns don’t bother me, grew up with them. You should have seen the expression on his face when I just grabbed the damn thing. Bastard was shot with his own gun. Now that’s some sort of poetic something.”

  A wild story but it described self-defense. Ray felt slightly better.

  “I know all about guns. My daddy had guns.” She pointed to a small box resting on top of an overnight bag against the wall. “That one’s about as small and light a .38 you’re going to find. Feels good to a woman. Don’t bother with peashooters, that’s what daddy called .22s, not enough smack. Take a look.” She pointed to the glossy cigar-box-size carton sitting in plain sight.

  Ray was startled. “The gun’s in there?”

  “No, no, that’s a different gun, that’s my gun. Bought it yesterday. Was going to use it to shoot him but got scared. As it turned out, I didn’t need to buy it anyway.”

  Ray turned on the desk lamp and carefully picked up the new gun box by the corners. On the top was a multi-color picture of a small revolver nestled in the folds of an American flag. Printed across were the words Ladysmith Special. Cautiously he opened the box, handling it by the edges. Inside he saw a small revolver, only about six inches long, wrapped in plastic and nestled in Styrofoam. It appeared the gun hadn’t been fired, never even unpacked.

  “You say this gun has nothing to do with the shooting. Where’s the actual murder weapon—as they say?”

  “Guess it’s still there, beside Barner. Should we go get it?”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Why did you bring that new gun with you here?”

  “Would look funny if they found it at my place, I’d have to explain.”

  “The police could be swarming your place right now.”

  “Don’t need it now. Maybe I’ll take it back to the store for a refund. What do you think?”

  “You shouldn’t go anywhere near that store ever again.” He realized the police would construe any advice he gives her as conspiracy.