Chapter 10
Olive Quimper's wrath knew no bounds. It was after noon when she came out of her stupor. Well, no matter. It was Saturday. No classes. She remembered that the team was playing Glasgow Prep, and that she had planned to drive down. "To hell with it," she thought. "Sight of that miserable coach would only make me sicker than I am." Her head ached because of its forceful contact with the wall, and her stomach was sore as a result of Anne driving her fist into it.
Miss Quimper began to whimper. Her thinking, as earlier that morning, was unreasonable and irrational. "She's got my letter. That stinking little bitch has got my letter. She stole it She has them all. She's carrying them around in that tote bag she just bought. Now I'll never be able to get it back."
Without warning, Miss Quimper began to sob. Her body became wracked with ragged gasps for breath and pitiful, whimpering outbursts. Abruptly she stopped and lay still. From somewhere had come a rational thought. The tote bag. It was new. Obviously Anne had bought it so that she could carry the letters with her. But wait! Anne was a smart conniving cookie. Wouldn't it occur to her that she couldn't bring such a voluminous contraption into class? Wouldn't she leave it somewhere? Or wouldn't it occur to her that someone could easily snatch the bag from her shoulder? A girl as smart as Anne would realize that there was more danger of the letters being stolen if she carried them in the tote bag than if she hid them in some safe place? And where would that safe place be? In her room, of course. Because the little bitch would realize that that's where she, Quimper, had made her first find and Anne would reason that Quimper would never suspect that Anne would again hide the letters in the same place.
Heart thumping, Miss Quimper scrambled out of bed, straightened her clothing, and went out into the living room. The door to Anne's bedroom was open. There was no sign of the girl. "Probably out screwing some member of the faculty while she waits for Adam to get home from the game," the spinster muttered.
She stepped into Anne's room, and her heart leaped into her throat. The tote bag was lying on the girl's bed. Miss Quimper turned the bag upside down. Its contents tumbled out onto the bed. She wasn't surprised not to find the letters. The girl would have been a fool to have left them inside. Next, the spinster searched the bureau. She wasn't surprised not to find the letters there either. The black underwear, however, was back in place, neatly folded. In a sudden burst of rage, Miss Quimper yanked them out and sent them flying around the room.
She stood still then, thinking, looking around. The closet. She walked over and opened the door. Anne's sexy-looking dresses were hung neatly on a rod. Miss Quimper pushed them aside and peered into the depths of the closet. Nothing. Nothing that could even contain the letters. No boxes, bags, or purses. There was an overhead shelf. Miss Quimper stood looking up at it for a long time. It was too high for her to reach. By the same token, it would have been too high for Anne to reach. There were storage boxes up there and a couple of suitcases.
Determined not to pass up any possibilities, the spinster got a chair, placed it in position, and climbed up. She pushed aside the boxes and explored in behind them with her hand.
Her heart leaped. Her fingers contacted a package of letters tied with a ribbon. She picked them up and stepped down from the chair, almost falling in her excitement. She stared down at the package. They were the letters she'd been looking for. The sexy letters that Adam had written to his mistress. All of them. Overcoming an almost overwhelming desire to sit down and devour their contents, Miss Quimper returned to her room. She stuffed the letters into her purse, tucked the purse under her arm and triumphantly set out for the office of Dean Hodgkiss.
Adam and Betty had been awake on that Sunday morning for more than an hour. They had spent the time making love, enjoying each other, pledging their devotion.
Betty suddenly reached over and took hold of his manhood. "We are sexually compatible, aren't we dearest?"
He kissed her. "Beautifully so."
"Oh, I'm so glad I made the decision to come up and spend the night with you. You don't hate me for it, do you, darling?"
"I love you all the more for it."
"If this is a prelude to all the nights we're going to have together, I couldn't be any happier."
'Then be happy," Adam said, taking her into his arms.
It was just then that the front doorbell rang. Betty looked up at him questioningly. "You'd better answer it, dear. It might be something important."
"On Sunday morning?" Adam grunted. "Nobody ever calls on anyone around here this early on a Sunday morning." Nevertheless, he climbed out of bed, slipped into a robe and padded barefoot to the front door.
A stranger stood on the porch outside. He was, Adam judged, a man in his early fifties, almost as tall as the coach, stockily built. He was well dressed, and was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Without knowing why, Adam had an uneasy feeling.
"Yes?"
"Your name Lombard? Adam Lombard?" The stranger's voice boomed throughout the cottage.
"That's right."
"I'm John Bryant. Lafe's father."
"Oh. Well, look, Mr. Bryant, could you come back later today? As you see, I'm not dressed yet and-"
"No, I couldn't come back later today." John Bryant stepped inside, unceremoniously shouldering Adam aside. He closed the door and stood with his back to it, glowering at the coach.
Adam's uneasiness, now tinged with resentment, grew. He wished to hell he'd closed the bedroom door. Then he mentally shrugged. Even with the door closed, Betty would be able to hear every word spoken by that booming voice.
John Bryant produced a thick manila envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. He crossed to the living room table and dropped it. It fell with a thud. Turning, he looked at Adam with a glint in his eyes. "Young man, there are fifty thousand dollars in that envelope. It's yours, tax free." He paused, watching for the effect of his words on Adam. There was none. Adam merely stared. There was a sort of numbness creeping through his body.
Bryant went on, "Know what that envelope says? It says that my boy was here last Wednesday night between eight and ten o'clock. You were helping him with his homework."
Adam at last found his voice. "If Lafe told you that, he was lying."
John Bryant's eyes blazed, and Adam for the first time felt the power of his personality. "My son doesn't lie, Lombard. Not to me, he doesn't."
"If he told you he was here last Wednesday night, he was lying." A stubbornness, a belligerence had crept into Adam's voice. Too late he remembered Lafe's threat.
Bryant smirked. "What's the matter, coach? Trying to protect yourself? Perhaps you were fucking some broad in that bedroom of yours."
"Why, you-" Adam started forward, but Bryant stopped him by stepping up and thrusting a powerful hand against his chest.
"Don't start anything, Lombard. If you do, you'll wish you hadn't. I can take you apart in nothing flat, despite your youth and size. Used to be a boxer. Used to play professional football."
Adam felt sick. He didn't doubt that the older man could take him. The hand that had pushed against his chest had muscle behind it. But even if he'd wanted to fight, there'd be a scandal-and Betty Walker was in his bed.
"Lafe gave me a pretty good rundown on you, Lombard. He said that you were fucking half the women on the faculty. Oh, don't look so affronted. And next time you'd better make sure that the drapes on your bedroom window are closed completely. Lafe says you put on a pretty good show for him. He said it was better than any pornie movie he'd ever looked at."
Adam's mind was reeling. God! Was this actually happening? Betty was hearing every word.
Bryant glanced toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. "Bet you've got a cunt waiting for you in there, right now. Shall we see?"
Bryant took a step in the direction of the hall, and Adam leaped in front of him. "One more step, old man, and you'll get your chance to take me apart."
Bryant took one look into Adam's anguished face and leered. "Ah hah! So I was right. Is that the cunt's car out front? I wrote down the registration number, just in case we want to check on her later."
Adam felt hatred burning in him like a disease. "You filthy-minded old goat. Get out of here!" .
"Well, look who's calling someone else filthy-minded ! According to Lafe's description of your antics with broads in that bed of yours, you win the fur-lined piss pot. And I'm including sodomy."
Adam's face was white. He was trembling and felt chained, helpless. If Bryant attempted to look into the bedroom again, and Adam failed to stop him. ... He left the thought unfinished.
Bryant returned to the table and picked up the envelope. "Oh, I don't condemn a man your age for getting his tail wherever he finds it. Natural. I know, for example, that my boy was fucking the Poole girl. More power to him. But do you know what? She told him that you'd been screwing her too. She must have been a pretty good lay. Maybe it was you who beat her up.
All of the pent-up rage in Adam's being burst their bonds. With a savage, animal-like scream, he lunged forward. The trouble was, he went at the attack blindly. It didn't occur to him to think of strategy, or trying to defend himself. He just hurled himself, wildly swinging his fists, but he ran into a straight-armed fist. The blow landed squarely and Adam dropped like a log and lay still.
Skin burning with shame and horror, tears streaming from her eyes, Betty Walker tossed aside the sheet that partially covered her naked body, sat on the edge of the bed, put on her shoes, then wriggled into her blouse and skirt. The black panties and black half slip lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Last night they had been a source of excitement when Adam had eagerly removed them. Now they were an object of shame and disgust. A sob caught in her throat. How many other girls' underwear had he removed with his eager lustful hands? A fresh burst of tears streamed from her eyes.
Taking care to avoid the under things, Betty crept to the window and looked out. A vacant field stretched away in front of her. Her car was parked around a corner of the cottage to her left. She felt reasonably certain that no one would be abroad on this early Sunday morning. No one, that is, but Adam's visitor, the man who had ruined her life.
Half blinded by tears, Betty noiselessly opened the window. She put one leg over the sill and was disgusted when her ridiculously short miniskirt scooted up to reveal her pubic hair. Swiftly, she swung her other leg over the sill and slid to the ground. She ran to the corner of the cottage and peered around it. Her compact was still parked at the curb; nothing else was in sight. As she started to run toward the car, she thought she heard a dull thud inside the cottage. She didn't know what it was, nor did she care. She only wanted to get away from there.
John Bryant stood for a moment looking down at the inert body of Coach Lombard. He straightened at last, shaking his head. "The dumb bastard. He could have taken me if he hadn't lost his head. Well, it isn't the first time I've bluffed a man into blowing his cool."
A car started up out front. Bryant ran to the window. He reached it in time to see it being driven away by a girl. He grinned. "Not a bad-looking little piece," he thought. "Can't say as I blame Lombard for banging her. All those women! Wonder what the guy's got that I don't have?"
He went back and picked up the envelope from where he'd dropped it when Adam charged him. For a moment he stood in deep thought, absently tapping the envelope against the palm of his left hand. Things weren't working out exactly as he had planned. From Lafe's description of the coach he'd figure that Lombard would be a pushover for fifty grand. If the guy had any sense at all, he'd take the money and the girl he'd been shacking up with and get to hell out of the country. But, no! The coach had to protect the honor of the girl. Bullshit! Sooner or later, this young gent would learn that a good piece of ass could be found between any girl's legs.
Bryant sighed deeply and stuffed the envelope back into his pocket. He glanced down at Adam. "Sorry, old man," he muttered, "but you goofed. Instead of being a happy man with fifty thousand bucks in your pocket, you're going to be framed for murder. Tough." He turned and stalked indifferently out the front door.
Minutes later, Adam stirred. Remembrance came slowly. His jaw ached and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Well, at least nothing was broken. Groggily, he got to his feet. Man! That old gent sure packed a wallop. He had been a fool to lose his head, but even now a new rage rose in his chest as he remembered what had happened.
Bracing himself against the wall, he staggered down the hall to the bedroom. He wasn't surprised to find the window open and Betty gone. He didn't blame her. He didn't blame her at all. He noticed the black panties and half slip lying on the floor. He picked them up and sat on the edge of the bed, holding them almost lovingly in his lap. God! Had all this really happened, or was it a dream ? It was no dream. It was stark reality. He could imagine Betty's humiliation and shame when Bryant's booming voice reached her ears. Adam cringed. The worst of it was he hadn't denied any of the charges. He couldn't have denied the charges. To do so would have meant a heated argument and more charges, with Bryant probably bursting into the bedroom while Betty was still here and in bed, naked.
A picture of Lafe Bryant's ugly little face projected itself in Adam's mind and he swore aloud. Could the sneering sonofabitch actually have been watching him and Anne perform in bed ? The thought appalled him. He got up, went to the window, closed it and pulled the drapes. He stared incredulously. The bottom of the drapes fell over the inside edge of the sill. There was a small V-shaped opening between them and the window jam.
Christ! Adam began to tremble at the thought of the little bastard's eyes glued to the opening while he and Anne rolled around on the bed. They had showed no restraint. It must have been something to watch.