Chapter 1

"Mmmm ... yes, baby! To hell with little Miss Priss! Let's do it anyway! I need you ... your mouth ... your cock ... your big fat dick!"

She has got one of the men in there with her! thought Susan Polk, her cheeks flushing as she quit brushing her shoulder-length, soft brown hair and placed the hairbrush on her missing grandmother's vanity table. I wasn't hearing things! Those mumblings were voices! The nerve of that Miss Olson! I knew she was a slut the minute I saw her this afternoon! Why would Grandmother hire a hussy like that as a maid? And where is Grandmother? Could Miss Olson have anything to do with her disappearance? One thing's for sure-Grandmother would never have stood for such sinful carrying on by the servants, and I don't intend to either! I'm the mistress of Robards Manor, now! I'll just go over there and open the door and order them to stop acting like animals! I won't put up with her having men in her room!

Krista Olson, the blonde goddess Susan's wealthy Grandmother Robards had hired as her personal maid after Susan had gone away to college, wasn't even trying to keep her voice down. As Susan got up from the vanity table, clad only in house slippers and a sheer, pale-blue nightgown, she could hear the dreadful maid moaning obscenely. The twenty-year-old brunette began to tremble slightly as she moved across her mysteriously absent grandmother's room toward the lurid sounds seeping through the door which connected the maid's and mistress' rooms.

I'll unlock the door, throw it open, and order the man, whichever one of the three he is, to get out! thought Susan. She gathered her courage and righteous indignation, pulled her curvaceous, five-foot-two body up stiff and straight, then stamped silently on the thick carpet the rest of the way to the connecting door. I'll let them know right off that I won't stand for any nonsense!

The strait-laced young lady unlocked the door to the maid's room, but couldn't throw it open because it was locked on the other side, as well. Deciding to order Miss Olson to open the door, Susan raised her hand and readied her knuckles for a flurry of loud raps.

"Aaaah ... oh, yesss!" came the sound of female pleasure through the door, and now that Susan was closer she could hear it upsettingly well. She gulped and drew back her hand to knock. "THAT'S IT ... SUCK ME ... SUCK MY CUNT GOOD!!!"

The wanton tone of the .lascivious outburst made Susan terribly nervous. Her knees felt weak and her hand, trembling visibly now, remained poised but motionless.

He's sucking her! thought the morally upright Susan with a shiver that wasn't caused entirely by horrified disgust. How gross! How perverse! They must be naked! What'll I do now? For heaven's sake, I don't want her to open the door if they're naked! I've never seen a man that way ... and I don't want to now ... especially not one of the servants! It would embarrass me to death!

A rush of vertigo swept over the perplexed girl, and she had to lean against the door to keep from falling. Somehow her dainty ear became pressed against one of the door panels, and she was able to actually hear the wet sucking sounds of the nasty act her prim mind could almost see happening in the next room.

How revolting! she thought, her cheeks turning scarlet as she listened to the blonde maid's throaty murmurings. To her utter dismay, Susan realized she was becoming excited by the sounds of the unnatural act. I'II jump in bed and cover my ears so I can't hear them! Then I'll reprimand Miss Olson first thing in the morning! I can't do it now! I'm shaking all over! Good grief ... what's the matter with me?

But Susan couldn't seem to move, and her burning ear refused to part with the door panel. It was almost as if her ear were glued to the door and her feet rooted to the floor. She felt guilty for eavesdropping, because that certainly hadn't been her intention, but suddenly she wanted to hear everything they did. It didn't sound quite so disgusting to her now. What they were doing was wicked and blatantly perverse, and she knew it, but her curiosity was pricked to the point where she wished she could see as well as hear them. Feeling terribly sneaky, she yielded to the strange excitement welling up inside her and dropped to her knees.

I shouldn't look! she thought, even as she shut one hazel eye and brought the other to within a fraction of an inch of the keyhole. All Susan could see was one side of the bed. Evidently the buxom maid was lying on it sideways, because she saw her head. Miss Olson had a rapturous expression on her face. Her blonde hair was disheveled and her head kept lolling back and forth.

Susan felt a tingling sensation begin in her chaste loins. Now I know I shouldn't have looked! Goodness! Look at her! Miss Olson must really like the awful thing he's doing to her! Who is he? Which one has to got in her room? Simmons? No, it couldn't be Simmons! I've known him for as long as I can remember, and he'd never do such a vile thing! And it couldn't be Reyes, the gardener, because he's so big and dark and Miss Olson is so white! A white girl wouldn't let a Mexican make love to her ... even a loose-moraled maid! Would she? It's probably Charles, the chauffeur Grandmother hired while I was gone. But I've got to know! If Grandmother has been murdered, I need to know everything that's going on around here! Damn you, Grandmother! Damn you, whether or not you're dead! You put me in this dangerous situation on purpose ... and I hate you for it ... hate you more than ever! If I didn't need your money so badly, I'd get out of here right now and never come back! But I do need it!

"Ohhh ... oh, Jesus!" squealed the Nordic Krista Olson, just as Susan was struggling to stand up. "God ... what a tongue! Fuck me with it, baby! Tongue-fuck me real deep!"

Her shapely legs felt like rubber as Susan hurried across her grandmother's bedroom toward the French doors, but she had to know which of the men Miss Olson was carrying on with. Assuring herself that was the only reason for her daring action, Susan took a deep breath and kicked off her house slippers so she could move more quietly. She opened the door of the century-old house-Robards Manor was huge, having once been the mansion of a cotton plantation-and stepped out onto the veranda. It was a sultry night, and since she would be outside only a moment, Susan didn't bother to put on her negligee.

Wearing nothing but her sheer blue nightie, the tense, barefoot young lady slipped stealthily along the veranda toward the curtained French doors of the maid's room. Her heart was thumping so loud she could hear it, and she wished she could breathe without making so much noise. A melange of fear, curiosity and unwanted sexual arousal was having its effect on her. Her fear tried to hold her back, while her curiosity drove her on. Good sense told her she must know who the man was, because if her grandmother had actually been murdered-and it appeared likely that something drastic had happened to the mean old woman-Susan needed to know everything she could find out about each of the servants. She knew all too well that she might be living in the same house with a killer. The thought made her shudder, but she tiptoed on down the veranda.

With a stroke of double-barreled luck-good for her curiosity and bad for her sensual discomfort-Susan discovered that Miss Olson had been surprisingly careless. The French doors were actually standing open to catch the breeze. Of course, there was little likelihood that anyone would by chance see into the maid's room, since it was on the side of the house which faces only the woods, but Susan was astonished at the hussy's total lack of discretion.

The door opened outward. When Susan eased in behind the nearest one and peered through the crack between it and the wall, her hazel eyes saw more than she'd bargained for. There on the bed lay the well-formed young blonde, without a stitch of clothes on. A man was kneeling beside the bed, with his hands under Miss Olson's milk-white behind and his face hidden in the fleshy Y of her upraised, widespread thighs. Apparently unconcerned about being seen, the maid was sighing her pleasure as she writhed about and caressed the huge mounds of her own breasts.

"My clit, baby! Get my clit ... aaaah ... suck it ... oooh ... out into your mouth and ... ahhhh ... tickle it with your tongue! Yes, yes, yesss! Oh, God ... ohhhh ... Jesus ... unnn ... mmmm!"

Susan couldn't see who the man was, what with his face buried in the vulgar maid's crotch, and she wasn't about to leave until she had accomplished her mission and learned his identity. He was fully dressed. All she could really be sure of was that he was large and wore khaki trousers with a faded orange shirt.

I've got to know for sure! she thought. It's probably Reyes, because of his size, but it could be anyone!

Atlanta had grown tremendously during the three years since Susan had escaped her domineering grandmother's clutches. She had remained at college, without so much as a single visit to the house in which she'd grown up and the oppressive grandmother she'd learned to despise. Robards Manor still sat in the center of ten acres of planted woodland, but all around those ten acres now rested new homes, the cheapest of which was valued at fifty-thousand dollars.

Miss Olson's lover might not be one of the servants after all, Susan realized suddenly. He could be one of the men living nearby! In one of the new houses! But I've still got to know who he is! Grandmother is missing ... and if I'm not careful, I might disappear, too!

"HARDER ... AHHH ... SUCK HARDER ... OHHH ... DAMN, DAMN, DAMN ... I'M COMING ... OOUUU ... COMMINGG ... COOMMIINNGG!!!"

The raspy sounds of Miss Olson's climactic utterings rang lewdly in Susan's straining ears. It sounded so vulgar, yet it-was fascinating and exciting. The uptight girl wanted to turn away until it was over, but she couldn't force herself to do it. The obscene tableau was right there before her, only a few feet away, and her eyes nearly bulged out of the sockets. The hairy crevice between her shaky legs was getting uncomfortably hot and tingly.

Hurry up, damn you! she thought, fighting down her panic and squirming about. Get up! All I want to do is see your face! I've got to know who you are before I go back to my room!

"Ohhh ... ohhh!" Krista Olson sighed. "Oh, Jesus, that was good! You've really got me in the mood, now, baby!"

"You want some fucking, huh?" the man asked as he wiped his face on the insides of her thighs.

"Shit yes! I need it! Get out of those clothes!"

Turn around ... turn around! Susan's whirling mind screamed as she watched the man stand up and begin removing his shirt with his back toward her. Who are you, damn it? Show me your face!

He kicked off his shoes and tossed him orange shirt aside. The skin of his muscular back was deeply tanned, either that or he was in fact Reyes the gardener. He dropped his khaki pants and white shorts at the same time, then kicked them away and leaned over, standing on one foot then the other as he pulled off his socks.

This was Susan's first view of a man's bare rump, but that part of his anatomy didn't upset her nearly as much as the heavy bag of testicles swaying between his legs. The sight of his hairy nut sac left the proper young lady with a gaping mouth and eyes big as saucers. It also sent an illicit thrill racing zigzag up her spine. The tingling sensation in her vulva moved inward, affecting her internal parts and becoming acutely distressing.

Shocking as the sight of a naked man's backside was, Susan wouldn't be swayed from her primary purpose. She couldn't return to her room without learning who the man was. Every bit of information she could gather was important, because there was no telling which would be useful and which wouldn't. The identity of the man in Miss Olson's room could very well prove to be the key with which she might unlock the mystery of her grandmother's disappearance. And it was either solve that mystery or spend the next seven years of her life at Robards Manor-with a possible killer or killers she couldn't evict because her grandmother had forbade her firing the servants in the trust deed by which she'd taken possession of the old woman's estate. If her missing grandmother should fail to reappear-and her reappearance seemed highly un-likely-Susan, as the sole heir, would inherit in the neighborhood of a million dollars. But the old woman had set up the trust deed in a sadistic way. Either she was found and proved dead or Susan would have to live in the house on an allowance-with all four of the possible murderers-for the full seven years required to assume Mrs. Robards legally dead.

Then the man turned around, with his side toward her, bringing Susan's mind back to her immediate problem. From his profile, she recognized the nude man. It was indeed Jesus Reyes, the Mexican-American gardener, whom she had never seen until her arrival that afternoon. There was no longer any need for her to remain, but she didn't move.

She blinked, gulped, then drew in a deep breath of air and stared with stunned fascination at the bronze column of masculine turgidity angling upward from the dense patch of crisp, black hair below his abdomen. From books-Susan was very interested in sex, even though it scared her to death-she knew that the average organ is five to six inches long during erection. Jesus Reyes had an erection, all right, but there was much more of it than a mere six inches. Susan's prudish mind wasn't prepared for such a fearsome sight as a nine-inch .hammer, and it plunged her into a state of total consternation.

The breeze had been bandying the curtains on the French doors. Just then a stronger gust blew into the room and whipped the curtain around so Susan couldn't see. It lodged on some unseen object inside the room and remained over the crack through which Susan had been peeking.

I should go back to my room right now! she thought, but she didn't.

There was an odd feeling down low in her stomach. It was a bit difficult for her to breathe. Her legs felt weak and her heart was racing faster. All this just from seeing the large man's huge, dark penis.

Why should it excite me so to see his thing? she moaned inwardly. It's so big! I can't believe it's really that large! I've got to have another look ... just a quick one ... then I'll go!

Susan bent over from the waist and put her hands on her dimpled knees, bringing her eye below the caught curtain which had blocked her view. The sight she wanted to see was denied her, however, because Jesus was climbing onto the bed and getting between Krista's legs.

They're going to do it! Susan thought. He's going to put that big thing into Miss Olson! How awful! There! Now I can see it again! It's too big! It'll hurt her ... won't it? But she wants it! Oh, look at the hussy ... grabbing it in her hand and helping him! For heaven's sake, I can see right up between their legs now! Good grief! It'll never fit!

The spectacle of male and female genitalia about to be joined was a compelling sight for the inexperienced Susan. All thought of returning to her room was gone. She felt feverish, yet she was shivering.

This is wrong! she thought. I shouldn't spy on them! But I want to see! I've got to see if he gets that enormous penis into Miss Olson! It would split me ... I just know it would ... but she's bigger than I am and ... oh ... there it goes! The front of it! More! Oh, good grief ... he's got it every bit inside her now ... and listen to her carry on!

Jesus Reyes had his long, bronze dick balls-deep into Krista Olson's puffy blonde pussy when she let out the ragged breath she'd just taken. "Aaaaah ... ooooh ... oh, Jesus ... baby ... God, what a cock! You sweet bastard ... you've ... ohhh ... ruined me! I'll never be satisfied with an average man again!"

"I'm going to fuck your ass off!" he said with a grin, and began sawing his pole in and out of her quivering pink hole.

Krista laughed throatily, then sighed and flung her arms around his barrel-like body. She kissed him wetly, stroking his back and locking her legs over his.

The lascivious display held Susan transfixed. She knew she shouldn't be watching while they had intercourse, but it was strangely exciting to see them engaging in the vile act. Susan would never do such a sinful thing herself, but she reasoned that it couldn't hurt for her to watch while they did it. No one would ever know, and her curiosity would at long last be satisfied.

"Un, unn, unn," Krista chanted as she writhed beneath the humping man, and the sounds of her carnal pleasure drifted out to Susan's alert ears.

She gripped her knees and bit her lower lip. From her secret vantage point, Susan could see and hear everything. They're like animals! she thought. What they 're doing is vulgar and obscene!

Susan had to keep reminding herself of that, because the longer she watched the less vulgar and obscene it seemed. The primal scene was having a strong effect on her. Beads of sexual secretion were forming on the walls of her vagina and oozing out over the swelling lips of her hair-ringed slit. She felt sneaky and sinful herself. It was a brand-new feeling for her, one that was troubling but rather delicious.

Nothing of any importance was hidden from her. Her unblinking eye took in the arcing of the gardener's tensed buttocks, the swaying of his hairy testicles as they splatted into the fleshy valley of the maid's undulating rump. It was thrilling to see. The most thrilling thing of all was the way his dark penis glistened wetly as it retreated from her belly with her pink sex folds drawing out around it and distending from her crotch. Or were the sounds affecting her more?

The rhythmic squeaking of the bedsprings, the female moans and the masculine grunts? Susan didn't know. All she knew was that it was becoming torturous for her. She felt hot and itchy and moist between her trembling legs.

I've got to get out of here! she thought with alarm. I should never have watched them! It's doing something to me! I feel so strange ... so uncomfortable!

"Harder, baby!" Krista panted, and threw her legs up around him. She locked her ankles over his pistoning butt and began spurring him with her heels. "GIVE IT TO ME! YES, DADDY ... OH, YESSS ... FUCK ME LONG AND HARD!!!"

The old four-poster bed started snapping and popping as the large man responded with gusto. His ass fairly flew up and down within the maid's encircling legs. The bedsprings raspingly protested their furious fucking motions, and the sounds grated lewdly in Susan's ears.

A surge of excitement rippled through her. She forgot about returning to her room for the time being. The abandoned sexual union held her spellbound. She squirmed with sensual discomfort as she became totally engrossed in the illicit act. The furry slot between her legs was hotter than ever now, and itching something fierce. Susan had to fight her hand to keep it away from her dribbling, soft pink crevice. Look at them! They're going like crazy ... and it sounds awfully good! They're horrid people! They don't care that it's sinful and wicked! Damn it! What's happening to me? I should go to my room! But I don't want to!

Susan was so caught up in her voyeurism that she failed to notice Miss Olson's boxer returning from his nightly romp in the woods. The magnificent animal weighed about seventy-five pounds, and his tan coat was sleek from daily brushing. As he neared the house, his pug nose began sniffing the air. He followed the scent up onto the veranda and had his muzzle stuck under Susan's blue nightgown before she was even aware of his presence. Because of her stooped posture, Susan's fragrant vulva presented an easy target at the top of her slightly parted legs. The dog wasted no time. Even as his head was diving under her blue nightie, his tongue was sliding out of his mouth.

The boxer's cold snout nudged the girl's rosebud anus only a split second before his long tongue snaked through the inflamed folds of her out-thrust hairy sex slit. It was the first hint Susan had that she was no longer alone. A stab of pleasure shot through her. She sucked in her breath and shivered, then greeted her unknown licker with a strangled little cry of pleasured shock.

What in the world? she gasped mentally. My heavens!

Evidently the boxer liked the taste of Susan's plushy little gash, because he licked it several more times in rapid succession before the startled girl could collect her wits and swing her rear out of his reach.

She straightened up and tugged her nightgown down as she spun around. The boxer's sad eyes gazed up at the horrified young lady. His tongue was hanging out and his stubby tail was wagging.

"Woof!" he barked, and attempted to stick his head under her sheer nightie from the front.

It was all Susan could do to keep from screaming. She clapped her hand over her mouth and darted up the veranda and into her room, barely getting the French doors shut in time. The dog was hot on her heels, but she managed to close the doors with him outside. She was shaking all over.

"Wooof, woof, woof!" the animal barked, scratching at the doors.

"My God!" Susan muttered. "What'll I do? That awful dog!" She locked the doors and knelt beside them, calling as loud as she dared, "Go away, dog! Go away!"

The sound of her frightened voice made him bark all the louder. He began whining and scratching frenziedly at the door.

Susan thought she was going to faint. If the beast didn't shut up, the maid and gardener would suspect she'd been out of her room and spying on them. She didn't want that. But there was nothing she could do to stop the barking and whining and clawing-nothing short of letting the animal into her room, which was out of the question.

He wants to lick me some more! she thought, her confused mind spinning. The nasty thing! I can't let him do that! It felt good, but I didn't let him do it! He sneaked up on me and ... go away, dog! Ohhh ... go away!!!

Deciding that all she could do was ignore the dog and hope for the best, Susan dove onto her grandmother's massive, ornate brass bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She lay there shivering with a melange of totally incompatible emotions, listening to the howling boxer outside the door and the toe-curling sounds of the sexual crescendo drifting in from the maid's room.

A couple of minutes later she heard footsteps in the next room, then the husky voice of the gardener calling, "Perro! Shut up, you stupid! What's the matter with you? Come on ... come on!"

Susan heaved a sigh of relief when the dog went away. She lay quietly for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath and tried to compose herself. It was a hot night. She'd already had a bath, but she felt so feverish and sticky that she got up and went into her grandmother's private bath for a cold shower.

Reyes was still in Miss Olson's room when she finished her shower. Susan could hear their voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. She wondered if she ought to go over to the door and eavesdrop, but decided no, that she'd had enough of that for one night. Instead, she returned to the vanity table and started brushing her hair again, preparing to retire and get some much-needed rest. She'd ridden the bus back to Atlanta, arriving only that afternoon after a three year absence at college, and she was beat.

Broke, too. And an orphan. The father Susan Polk had never known had been an army lieutenant. He'd gone to Korea and died in battle. She'd been raised in the big old house which was now hers under the screwy trust deed her missing grandmother had set up. Susan's timid mother and domineering grandmother-a witch of a woman who'd hated men and dominated a constant string of male servants-had raised the girl until Susan's first year of high school. Her grandmother had done something to her mother then, something her mother couldn't talk about or live with. To this day, Susan had no idea what it was. But she knew it had snapped something in her mother's mind, because she'd hanged herself in the cellar of Robards Manor soon afterward.

It was after her mother's unexplainable suicide that Susan had grown to hate and despise her demanding grandmother. As soon as she'd been graduated from high school, she'd gone away to college, intending never to return. But the money her mother had set aside for Susan's education, from her father's insurance, was gone. Inflation had eaten it up in three years instead of four. Susan was penniless, with another year of college to go before she could qualify for her teaching certificate.

And now she was back at Robards Manor, under mysterious and potentially dangerous circumstances. Susan couldn't help but wonder if her scheming grandmother had set the whole thing up in order to trick her into returning. Was the old witch dead? Had she wandered off suffering from amnesia or something? Or had she taken a pleasure trip of some sort and made it only appear that she'd vanished? Would she return in a few days or weeks and try to take control of Susan again, then attempt to break her will and keep her at Robards Manor until Susan committed suicide to escape, the way her mother had done?

All these questions ran through Susan's troubled mind, but there were no answers. She simply didn't know. Her grandmother had cajoled and threatened in her efforts to lure Susan back. That she knew. She also knew that her grandmother was worth more than a half-million dollars in cash, stocks and bonds, and that subdividers had offered a quarter-million more for the old house and its surrounding acres of choice woodland.

Susan was the sole heir to an estate worth at least three-quarters of a million dollars. If her grandmother didn't reappear, it was all hers under the trust deed. All she had to do to claim her inheritance was accept her allowance and live for seven years in the house with four servants she was forbidden to evict. And any or all of the four could be murderers.

Not Simmons, she thought. I've known him nearly all my life. I trust him more than Grandmother. He could never kill anyone. He's too meek. He's jumped to Grandmother's orders since I was a little girl. I used to wonder why he stayed on as butler when none of the other servants would put up with the old witch for more than a few months. But he did. Because he'd made that way, I guess. No, I'm sure that Simmons didn't kill my grandmother. He wouldn't be able to do it, even if he wanted to.

With her mind once again dwelling on her grandmother's puzzling disappearance, Susan decided that perhaps she should attempt to overhear what the maid and gardener were talking about, after all. The lawyer administering the trust deed had said she ought to keep her eyes and ears open, and that anything suspicious should be reported to the police.

Again she went to the connecting door and pressed her ear to the panel.

"Hand me my pants, Krista," Susan heard the gardener saying. "I want to show you something."

"To hell with your pants. I want you to show me nine inches of stiff cock again now. Shall I kiss it? Suck it a little for you? Would that bring it up nice and hard again, do you think, baby?"

Susan was fairly well calmed down, and she didn't want to hear or see any more of their obscene sexing. She was about to leave the door when Jesus Reyes said:

"Later for that. Get your book out. I've found another one."

"Really?" Krista squealed. "Where?"

"In the flower bed at the front of the house. The one on the left side."

Krista laughed excitedly. "I wondered why you spent the whole day digging out there. What did you find? A good one? Just one?"

"Just one, but it's an old sonofabitch. Brand-new but old, and sealed up in a little plastic case. You get the book while I get it out of my pocket."

Book? Brand-new but old? In a plastic case? What are they talking about? Susan wondered.

"Okay, I've got the book," Susan heard Krista say. "Now hand it to me and let me check it under the light ... I'll be damned! It's in perfect condition, Jesus! Hey, this has got to be worth something! Let me open the book and check it out!"

Susan thought she could hear pages flipping. She was more puzzled than before. What book? she felt like yelling. And what are you checking out? What's in that plastic case?

"Hurry up!" Reyes urged. "See how much it's worth!"

"Don't rush me!" Krista snapped. "This is a rare one! I've got to find it in the book before I can tell you anything!"

"I bet it's worth a hundred dollars, anyway," Reyes said.

"Easy," Krista agreed, flipping pages. "Probably a lot more than that."

Susan pressed her ear tighter against the door. This could be important, she knew, and she had to hear everything.

"Aaaah," Krista sighed as the page flipping ceased. "Here we are, baby! Right after the small cents! Two-cent pieces, eighteen sixty-four to eighteen seventy-three, bronze."

"It's an eighteen seventy-three," he said.

"I see it is ... and it's got a closed three. It's a proof, Jesus! That's all they made that year! My God, it's worth seven-hundred dollars! This is the most valuable one any of us has found so far!"

Jesus whistled. "Give it back. I'll keep it where I've got my other coins hidden. Damn ... seven-hundred for one little coin! I sure would like to find that big bunch she hid all together!"

"You and all the rest of us," Krista said. "What do you think we're sticking around for? Out of respect for the old bat? Hah! If it weren't for her coin collection, the bitch would have been living here by herself."

"How much is it worth, Krista? The case with most of the coins in it. Tell me again."

"Bitch Robards didn't tell me exactly. All the old shit did was hint. Around two-hundred thousand. I don't know if that's the whole collection or just what's in the hidden case."

Jesus whistled. "I'd sure like to find that case!"

"We've got to find it, Jesus. Either you or me. Then we'll go away together and really live it up. Piss on Charles and Simmons, right?"

"Right, baby," Jesus said. "You and me."

Krista Olson smiled inwardly. She was thinking how stupid men were. Each of the three expected her to run away with them. And if one of the men found the case of coins, she would take it all and run away from him. If she herself found it, she planned to disappear without the men being any the wiser.

"I wonder where she is," Jesus said absently.

"Bitch Robards? Hell, you're the man with the shovel. Where did you bury her?"

"Come on, Krista, I didn't kill her!"

Krista laughed. "You said you were going to kill her. Lots of times, you said it."

"I said I felt like doing it!"

"Did you kill her, Jesus?" Krista asked in a teasing tone. "You can tell me, honey."

"If I did, I wouldn't tell anyone. Let's get off the subject. Here, maybe this will shut you up."

"Mmm," Susan heard the maid sigh, and then for a moment there was nothing but wet sucking sounds. After a lewd smack, she heard Miss Olson exclaim, "What a man! It's hard as a rock again ... and so fast! Lie back, honey! Let me get on top this time!"

Shaking with fear, Susan left the door and began pacing the room. They'd been talking about her grandmother's coin collection, which Susan had seen a few times but paid little attention to. She wondered if it was worth two-hundred thousand dollars. They'd found part of it, a few coins by each of the servants, from the way they talked. And they thought her grandmother had been killed, which probably meant that she had been.

Susan shuddered. Did they kill her for her coin collection? she wondered. Miss Olson asked Reyes if he did it, and he said no. Does that mean Charles killed her? Or did they suspect I was listening and say that wanting me to hear? They're plotting together, planning to find the case and leave together. Could they have murdered Grandmother together?

Again Susan shuddered, because she knew they could have done exactly that. She stopped in the center of her grandmother's bedroom, wringing her hands and thinking hard. Grandmother is missing. That's a fact. She could have gone off somewhere in order to trick me into coming back, but I don't think so now. The coin collection throws a different light on her disappearance. Some of her coins have been found. How many ... and by whom? Why is part of the collection apparently scattered about? Why is any of it here in the first place? She kept it in a safe deposit box, didn't she? Oh, dear Lord, there's so many questions and no answers! Grandmother is dead, though. I'm almost sure of it now! I've got to have help! I'm living with a killer! I'll go talk to Simmons. He's bound to know something ... or at least suspect something! He'll tell me. I can trust him. He'll help me if he can. He's got to! Where else can I turn? I've got to talk to Simmons ... now ... or, dear God, I'll start screaming!