Chapter 13
Olive Quimper didn't return to the cottage at all that night. Anne never gave it a second thought. She couldn't care less. She made breakfast, glad to be alone. Today she was going to blow the lid off Mekins and she planned to be far away before the explosion occurred. After eating, she dumped the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, then found some blank envelopes and affixed stamps to them.
At ten o'clock she was at the school library when it opened. She had skipped her first two classes without compunction. In the reference room she found a telephone directory which contained a listing of subscribers in Adam's home town. She found Betty Walker's name and copied off the address on one of the stamped envelopes.
Next she produced Adam's letters. She selected the most juicy and, grinning maliciously, tucked it into the envelope, then closed and sealed it. She addressed another envelope to Dean Hodgkiss and enclosed a second letter. Now she addressed a letter to the Reverend Thomas Adams, the school chaplain.
One envelope remained. So who'll I send it to? she thought. A wicked smile crossed her face. Who else, indeed, but Quimper? The old fool had tried desperately to try and steal the letters. Now Anne would give her one. She'll probably read it a thousand times, getting her jollies until the paper's worn out.
Anne thought of one more person to whom she should send a letter. She walked up to the desk and asked the girl in charge if she had a blank envelope and a stamp that she could spare. The girl had both. She returned to the table addressed the final envelope to Douglas Gaskins, captain of the football team. She thought happily, "'If that doesn't cook Mr. Adam Lombard's goose, nothing will."
There was a mailbox on the sidewalk outside the library. Anne dropped her letters in the slot and turned to find herself confronted by a man.
"Miss Yeaton."
"Yes?"
She recognized him then. He was Ben Hearst, algebra teacher and Adam's best friend.
"Oh, Mr. Hearst, I didn't recognize you at first." He was a tall, fairly good-looking man in his early thirties, extremely shy.
Ben Hearst said, "I was wondering-well, there's a good movie in town tonight-I was wondering if you'd like to go?"
Anne studied the young man's face for a moment. A wicked thought crossed her mind and she answered, "I'm not much of a movie fan, Ben. How about driving out to a motel and making love instead?"
Ben Hearst stared at her stupidly. He looked stunned. He looked like a man who didn't believe his ears.
"If you'd rather not," said Anne, starting away.
"No! Wait! Don't go! Please!"
Anne turned to face him. "Well?"
"Miss Yeaton. Anne, there's nothing in the world that I'd like to do more. I've thought about it. Believe me I have. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think it possible."
"Why?"
He stammered, "You're-you're so beautiful, so lovely, so-so desirable."
Anne studied him for a moment, gauging, estimating. "It will cost you fifty dollars."
Ben Hearst gulped. His eyes were filled with lust and passion. "I can pay it, Anne. I'll gladly pay it. God, it'll be worth every penny. What time shall I pick you up?"
"You won't. Every eye on campus would be watching. What color is your car?"
"It's a light blue, late model Chevy sedan."
"All right. There's a motel out on Milford Road called Trail's End. Drive out there around dusk tonight. Rent a room in the rear, then park your car in front of it. I'll be there shortly after dark."
"Oh, Anne, that's wonderful! You'll be sure to come?"
Anne smiled. "A girl in my business always keeps her word."
On Monday morning Adam called Jake Mallory. his assistant coach. "Jake, can you take over practice today? I have one of those damned headaches."
"Sure, Adam." Jake sounded worried. "You sound like hell. Is there anything I can do? How about if I send out Doc Wainwright?"
"Thanks, no. These things come and go. I'll be all right in a day or two."
"Well, if you're sure . ... "
"I'm sure, Jake. And thanks." Adam hung up. He hoped he hadn't sounded as drunk as he actually was. He hadn't shaved or bathed since Saturday night, just before Betty had arrived. He was still wearing his robe, and he had a monumental hangover. He'd tried to sleep Sunday night, but it wasn't any use. Twice he'd dozed off, but each time he'd roused up, gone into the kitchen and sat at the table, drinking Scotch.
He'd realized that sooner or later he'd have to get himself cleaned up and go out. He was running low on Scotch. He had never felt so miserable in his life, both mentally and emotionally.
Over and over he thought about the scene with John Bryant. Was the guy actually going to try to frame him for Nancy Poole's murder? He swore aloud. There wasn't a chance. He had no case at all. Yet, as before, an icy finger traced its way down Adam's spine. God, what a situation! Three weeks, just three lousy weeks ago, he'd been the happiest man alive, starting out on a new career with everything ahead of him, in love with a beautiful girl, their wedding planned.
Adam made coffee, fried a couple of strips of bacon and two eggs. But after the first mouthful, he threw up and the vomit dribbled down the front of his robe. He stripped it off and pulled on a pair of shorts. Afterward, he poured himself a straight shot. The whiskey settled him down somewhat, and he considered calling Betty. Twice before he had picked up the phone with this in mind, but both times he'd abandoned the idea. He wanted to be reasonably sober when he finally made the call.
Now he stood, returned to the bedroom, and looked into a mirror. The image that stared back at him was frightening. He had a two-day growth of beard. His eyes were bloodshot. Some of the vomit had caught in the hair on his chest. He caught sight of Betty's black underwear lying on the floor. He picked them up, smoothing out the panties and half slip as best he could with the flat of his hand. He sat down again on the edge of the bed, once more holding the undergarments in his lap.
God, what had he done to Betty? What sacrifice had he made her go through? She'd been a good, sweet, wholesome loving girl. Now she was ravaged, and he had ravaged her. Tears streamed down Adam's face. He began rocking back and forth, clutching the panties and half slip as though they were Betty herself, sobbing his heart out.
Ben Hearst stopped on his way to the Trail's End Motel and bought a bottle of Scotch and a six pack of soda. Then it occurred to him that Anne might not like Scotch, so he added a bottle of bourbon.
Ben was grinning when he set out again for the Trail's End. He'd never been more excited. Thinking of the lovely Anne, his heart began to thump. He could hardly wait. His loins felt warm. It was hard to believe that such a beautiful girl could be a hooker. He wished that he'd found out sooner. He felt that he'd missed a lot. His eyes began to gleam. There was a whole school semester ahead. He'd make up for lost time, if she were at all agreeable.
The Trail's End Motel was set some distance back from the road. The young clerk waited patiently for Ben to sign the registration card. Ben hesitated a moment, then Wrote "James Harrison, 118 Main Street, Traversack." He knew there was a Traversack somewhere. He wasn't sure where and he damned well didn't know if it had a Main Street. He didn't care.
The clerk glanced at the card. "Very good, Mr. Harrison. Will that be a double or a single?"
Again Ben hesitated briefly. "I'd like a large single room with a big double bed, as far back as possible." He yawned elaborately. "Been traveling all day. Dead tired."
The clerk nodded. He was used to renting rooms to single men who wanted to be far back, who wanted a double bed and who said they were dead tired because they'd been traveling all day, but who looked as fresh as a daisy. He took a key from a peg and handed it to his guest. "The last one in this row," he said. "Number one hundred and two. I think it will suit your needs. That will be twenty dollars."
Ben produced his wallet and extracted a twenty dollar bill and a five. The clerk looked at him in feigned innocence. Ben grinned. "Just make sure I'm not disturbed. I really want to sleep."
"I understand sir. Thank you, and have a good night."
The room was in a cabin by itself. It was large and was furnished with a king-sized bed, a bureau, two chairs and a luggage rack. There was a spotless bath and a kitchen alcove containing a tiny refrigerator, sink, two-burner gas stove and a small table.
Ben deposited his bottles of liquor on the table, looked around and grinned. "Perfect," he said aloud. "Perfect." He opened the refrigerator and pulled out an ice tray. It was full. He upended the tray in the sink and started water running on its bottom. When the cubes fell out, he removed the dividers from the tray and replaced the loose ice cubes. After that, he removed the two bottles of booze from their sack, opened the Scotch, pried the top from one of the bottles of soda, and mixed himself a drink. Ben wasn't much of a drinker, but this was his night to howl, and he intended to howl.
It was dark outside. Ben glanced at his watch. Damn it, she said she'd be here as soon as it got dark. Where the hell was she? He sipped his drink and waited. Fifteen minutes passed. He was about to step outside and look around, when there came a light tap at the door. He jerked it open and Anne stepped inside. She looked ravishing and sexy in a dark blue dress with a V neck, revealing the swellings of her breasts. Ben took one look, sucked in his breath, and took her into his arms. He began to work his mouth over hers.
She let him have his way for a minute, then pushed him away. "Let's take things in order, my dear. There are a couple of things we have to settle first."
"Like what?"
"Well, first, there's the matter of our business arrangement."
Ben stared at her for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, that. Oh, sure." He reached into his pocket, produced his wallet and extracted two twenty dollar bills and a ten. "Is that what you had in mind?"
"That's it," said Anne. She took the money, stuffed it into her handbag and dropped the bag onto the bureau.
"Anything else?" Ben had begun to tremble.
Anne glanced at the bottles on the table. "I'm glad to see you brought along some liquor. I always like a drink before being screwed. It fires me up." And she added, "You'd better toss off a straight shot yourself. I don't appreciate being laid by a man who's trembling."
Ben walked into the kitchen alcove. "Scotch or bourbon?"
"Scotch."
He built her a stiff drink and freshened his own. They sat facing each other at the table.
Anne said, "Now let's have a friendly little chat. Are you married, Ben?"
"No."
"Have you ever been."
"No."
She took a sip of her drink. "Ever fucked a girl?" she asked point blank.
Her use of the word didn't shock him. "Of course."
"How many girls? How many times? You don't look the type."
He glared at her defiantly. "Well, I am the type. I've fucked plenty of girls."
"Tell me about one of them. Describe it in detail." She saw defiance in his face and she said quickly. "Oh, don't be so shy. I like to hear about men and women fucking. It makes me horny. You'll find how horny it makes me when we get into bed."
Ben took a long swallow from his drink. He described a mythical screwing. He told about how he'd been taking this girl out. He'd made passes at her and hadn't gotten anywhere. Then one night they were in the back seat of his car on a deserted road. At first she'd resisted him. But finally she'd permitted him to take her panties off, and he was home free.
Anne's eyes were shining lustfully. She asked a few pointed questions, and Ben gave her pointed if imaginative answers.
Satisfied, Anne turned her back. "Unzip me."
Ben did so, his fingers no longer trembling. Anne walked to the center of the floor and let her dress drop. She stood before him, stark naked. Ben sucked in his breath.
"Like me?"
"You-you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Take your clothes off so I can see what you look like."
Ben stripped in a matter of seconds. She looked him up and down. "Not bad," she commented. "Not bad at all." She came to him, threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body close. "How would you like it-a straight fuck or a blow job?"
Ben leered at her lewdly. "Let's take them in that order," he said as he picked her up and threw her down on the king-sized bed.