Chapter 12
She tried to rake his face with her fingernails, but he held her arms against her sides as he carried her down the hall toward the stairs. He heard Mrs. Ainsworth come out of the front room, follow them. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned about, looked at her coolly.
"Do you want to join us?" he asked, looking at her heaving bosom.
Joan kicked at him and he had to hold her legs, too. He continued to look at Julia Ainsworth. She bit her lips, her face flushed with anger.
"Put her down, Mr. Deering," she said coldly. "I can't allow you to use force on my niece."
"Nuts," he said. "What you are saying is you don't want me to take her upstairs. You want to be the one, don't you?"
He did not hear her answer, if there was one. Joan was again kicking and struggling so hard he had to divert his attention to her. As she kicked, her skirt flew up on her thighs. He saw the silver-colored garters. What had she called them? Sin Seed? He grinned as he recalled the name. Sin Seed seemed an appropriate term. That was the reason he had been asked here in the first place-the seed of sin had been in the minds of these conniving women. It had not worked out the way they had planned. First of all, the seed had not been planted with success. Secondly, it would not have helped them. Not now. Harvey Ainsworth had lost his money. Because he had lost it, the women apparently had come up with another plan for money. Or at least it appeared that way. The insurance policy on Mark Harkins' life with the double indemnity clause had made John suspicious.
Joan stopped struggling abruptly. He looked into her dark eyes, saw the anger in them. Her long, dark hair was askew about her face giving her a wild look. She looked as though she could kill him, all right, if given a chance.
He saw her expression change a little. "Please, John," she said, with less sting in her words. "Please let's don't fight with one another. Put me down. No woman wants to be treated like a child. Please, John, put me down."
"Will you behave if I do?" he said.
"Y-Yes. But please don't force me to go upstairs."
He laughed shortly. "Force you? Don't kid me. I've never had to force you. You've always been more than willing." He put her down, and she walked a few paces away from him.
He should not have done this, for suddenly she ran down the hall, dashed into the music room, slammed the door and locked it as he crashed into it trying to grab her. He banged on the door, yelled at her, but she did not answer. He shrugged, knew he would get to her later, walked back to where Julia Ainsworth stood.
"John," she said strangely. "I wouldn't mind being raped."
He grinned, looked at her, saw her face break into a stiff smile. "I don't think you would at that," he said.
"Take me upstairs," she begged. "I won't kick you, run away from you. I want you, John. I want you very much."
He walked toward the front room, taking by the arm. They entered the room and he got them a drink. She did not want to drink hers, but he made her do it. She drank the whiskey, choked a little, and he took the glass from her hand.
"Now," he said. "Where were we before we were interrupted?"
She smiled coyly at him. "Like this," she said, and threw her arms about him, pressing her loins against him and writhing them about.
"I like that," he said, smiling. "You're a passionate gal, aren't you."
She pulled her breasts out, pressed them against him. He felt the hardness of himself. She too felt it, for she pressed her loins harder against his, her breath coming fast now. The writhing of her hips against him did something crazy to him. He wanted to do something wild to her. She sucked in air audibly, began to kiss his mouth wetly. He held her close to him and planted wet kissed on her mouth in return. She broke free of him, finally, stood panting, looking at him.
"Right here on the floor, darling," she said. "I can't wait to go upstairs."
A picture of Joan flashed through his mind. He saw her heaving bosom, her dark hair and eyes, her creamy thighs, the flat stomach, the wide, flaring hips. He knew, then, that he wanted her now, not Mrs. Ainsworth.
"Please, darling," she begged. "Take me on the floor."
He studied her, once more seeing the extreme lust in her eyes. He walked away from her, poured himself another drink, stood by the window sipping it. Gradually, his hard-on began to lessen.
She came over to him, looked at him strangely. "Are you turning me down, ridiculing me?" she asked, her eyes bitter.
"No," he said. "I'm not in the mood at the moment."
"Oh, but you are," she said hotly. "I can tell when you are."
"Mrs. Ainsworth," he said. "Please let me decide how I feel, will you?"
"You want her," she said, spitting the words out. "When it comes right down to it, you don't want me, you want only her. I'm a cripple. You don't want a cripple. Oh, I hate you!"
"Here we go again," he said. "One minute you're this way, the next minute you're something else. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm a woman, too," she said bitterly. "I don't enjoy being treated as second-best."
"Tough," he said, and took another sip of his drink.
He noticed her expression had changed rapidly. There it happens again, he told himself. She can change her feelings faster than anybody I ever saw. Her eyes were softer now, her face relaxed.
"I guess I'm not very smart," she said softly. "I can't compete with Joan. She is holding all of the cards."
"She has no cards at all," he said. Her hand flew to her lips. "You mean you like me better?"
He laughed. "I didn't say that. Isn't all this getting a bit silly?"
"John," she said, coming close to him. "Why don't you stay here ... with the two of us? We could have a swell time, the three of us."
"One thing wrong with that," he told her coolly. "I don't have enough money for you."
"Oh, don't worry, we'll have money eventually, John darling."
"From Mark Harkins' insurance?"
Her face clouded. "Poor Joanie. She won't be able to collect on it. She forgot to pay the last premium."
This struck him as being funny, very funny. He threw back his head and laughed. "That's too bad. So what is your plan now?"
She looked away from him. "Plan? What do you mean by that?"
"For money," he said bluntly. "You obviously can't get any out of your husband when he divorces you. He has no money. I don't have any. Your father-in-law has none now. So what's the deal?"
"Oh," she said softly. "You know about Keith's father losing his holdings. Tell me, how did you know that?"
"He told me."
She came still closer to him, put her arms about him. "Why talk," she said, "when we can spend the time more profitably?"
"You mean like on the floor?"
"Upstairs ... in my room."
"That's all you can think of, that and money, isn't it?"
"What's wrong with that? You seem to like it, too."
He glanced sharply at her. "Do you really want me to live here just so I can love you?"
"Y-Yes," she said, biting her lips.
"But wouldn't the two of you be jealous of each other? Seems to me I just saw evidence that would prove that point."
"We ... could get rid of ... Joanie, darling, couldn't we?"
"You mean kill her?"
Mrs. Ainsworth looked away again. Then she turned back to him, looked up strangely into his eyes. "Maybe," she said.
He laughed. "I'm not a killer. Who would do the job, you?"
"Maybe it wouldn't be necessary. Maybe she would leave, if we asked her to. Then there would be just you and--"
"Just the two of us," he finished for her. "Is that your idea?"
"We could certainly have loads of fun together, darling."
"Mrs. Ainsworth," he said, examining her eyes closely. "Are you high on Benzedrine?"
Her face stiffened and hate returned briefly to her eyes to be replaced by a look of lust. "So what if I am?" she declared. "What's wrong with getting high? You drink a lot, you know."
"I was merely asking a question. I wasn't judging you. I don't care if you're high."
She pressed her loins against him. "Make me, honey," she begged. "Make me instead of arguing with me."
"I wasn't arguing," he said, and picked her up in his arms.
He carried her upstairs, pausing by the music room and seeing the door was still closed. He took her to her room, placed her on the bed. She lay there looking up-at him, her lips parted, her breathing coming fast.
She pulled her slacks down over her hips and lay exposed to his view. He caught his breath at this vision of loveliness, but then did a strange thing. He turned around, walked out of the room. A picture of two silver garters had come to him.
"Come back," she screamed after him. "Come back or else."
He did not answer her, kept on going, walking down the stairs to the music room. He tried the door, was surprised to find it unlocked. He pushed it open, stepped into the room. It was dark in the room. He searched for a light-switch, did not find it. He saw a lamp on a table at the far end of the room. He walked toward it, wanting to turn it on so he could see better. The door behind him slammed shut. He whirled about, saw Joan standing with her back to it, her hands behind her.
"I want to ask you one question, John Deering," she said stiffly. "Do you know about ... things here?"
He moved toward her, stopped, studied her eyes. "Just what things are you referring to, Joanie?" he asked.
"Do you know or don't you?" she said, her face tense.
"You mean," he said casually, "about the two of you hammering tacks into the old carpet last night?"
Her face was a study in something, fear perhaps, he did not know. "Then you know about it," she said, and pulled her hands from behind her. He saw the tiny gun.
"Come off it," he said, taking another step toward her. "Put that gun away."
"No," she said. "Don't come any closer. I want to know what you know."
"I don't know anything," he said, "except that I want to make love to you."
Her fingers trembled, he saw. "Are you sure?" she said, looking uncertain momentarily.
He sprang at her, grabbed the gun from her easily. He looked at it, saw it was loaded. He removed the bullets, put them in his pocket, threw the gun on a chair. "Little girls," he said evenly, "shouldn't play with lethal weapons. They might just go off and kill somebody."
She put her hand to her eyes, began to cry. He made no move toward her, let her cry it out. After a time, she stopped, wiped her eyes with her kerchief, looked at him defiantly.
"Men," she said. "Damn men."
He laughed. "Come on, Joanie, you don't hate men. That's something you've picked up from your aunt."
"My aunt?" she said scoffingly. "She can never get enough men. She's crazy over men."
He shook his head. "No, she isn't. She loved the sensation of being made by a man, but inwardly she hates them. She hates them because none will have anything to do with her now."
"Because of her legs?"
"Sure. I'm probably the only guy since her accident who has-" He stopped.
"You don't have to be reticent in talking about her, John. After all, I was the one who induced you to come here to make love to her. Have you forgotten that?"
"No," he said, and moved closer to her, caught her up in his arms.
"Let me alone," she said, struggling.
"You got away from me once. This time you won't."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"What do you think?"
"But there's ... no bed here." He laughed heartily. "There's always the floor, baby."
"Oh, you wouldn't ... would you?"
"You're damned right I would and what's more, I'm going to."
She sighed. "I can't fight you, can I?"
"You can, but you'll find it won't do you any good."
He picked her up, looked about the room, saw something at the far end. The room, of course, was quite dark, but it looked like the edge of a roll of green carpeting. He carried her over to it, saw there were newspapers covering it partially. He kicked a few of the papers off the green carpeting, placed her down on the roll.
"There," he said, standing above her. "You want a bed. This roll of carpet will make a fine one. Nice and soft-but not too soft."
"John, please," she cried out. "Not here. Make me on the floor instead."
"What's wrong with this?" he said, grinning down at her.
She crawled off the carpet, got to her feet. "Let's go up to my room."
A strange feeling came over him. "Your room is locked," he said. "Your uncle is in it."
"No. Didn't she tell you? My uncle is gone."
"I forgot for the moment," he told her. "Okay, let's go to our room."
"John," she said. "I've changed my mind. "The floor is all right."
"Why," he said, puzzled, "can't you ever make up your mind?"
"Because I'd rather stay downstairs. My aunt-"
"All right. You don't want your aunt butting in. Is that it?"
"Y-Yes."
He knew there was something more to it than this but did not know what it was. These women were playing a kind of game with him, but that was all right. He, too, was playing a game of sorts with them. The difference was, he knew they were playing a game and they did not know he was. At least, he suspected this was the case.
He looked at her, put his arm around her, pulling her lush body against his. She gasped when she realized he was ready for her. Just as Mrs. Ainsworth had done, Joan pressed her loins against him hard. He bent her over backward kissed her lips hungrily. She kissed him back. Her lips were wet and delicious.
He lowered her to the floor. Her skirt flew up and he saw the silver garters. He moistened his lips, ran his hand up her thigh. Her thigh was moist, nice. He felt his cock growing.
He tugged her panties off her hips, off her feet, threw them aside. She sighed and kissed him wetly again. He pushed her skirt higher until she lay exposed to his view. Her lips parted, she began to breath hard.
"Oh, Johnny," she cried. "You make me feel so wild."
"That's how I want you to feel," he said suggestively.
"W-What?"
"I want you to do something first," he said casually.
She looked at him, down, saw he had unzipped himself. "You mean you want me to-" She broke off and he saw she was perspiring a little around the eyes.
"Yes," he said firmly. "That's exactly what I want."
"Oh, Johnny, I just can't do that," she protested.
"Why not?"
"Because ... I never have."
"I think you've forgotten, haven't you?"
She bit her lips. "All right, darling, if that is what you need."
She leaned forward, touching him with her hand. He felt the warmth of her fingers and it excited him. A moment later, he felt something else. He could not see her face-her hair covered it completely. He was glad it did. He did not want to see her face, as she applied her lips.
He lay there enjoying every minute of it. Finally, he thrust brutally at her cunt. It may have hurt her, but he did not care. There was only one thing he cared about at the moment. He thrust harder and again she cried out, but he kept on with it. Finally, she stopped crying out and wrapped her long legs about him, helping him to come, which he did, minutes later.
He lay about her, savoring the inner heat and moisture of her. He did not move or break contact. He wanted to keep it this way for a time. His breathing was still coming hard and fast, as was hers. She moved her loins beneath him and he felt himself growing again.
"Honey," she sighed.
He felt the urge, moved on her, but gently this time.
"Oh, darling," she breathed in his ear. "Do you like this?" he asked, somewhat foolishly.
"Oh, I love it. I love you, too, darling, I love you so much."
Yes, he thought-you love me while you are being pleased by me. Aloud he said, "I'm glad you do, baby."
He moved on her again and she stiffened her body, shot her loins up to him and gasped loudly. "Oh ... that feels so wonderful, darling." She pressed her hands on the small of his back, holding him down so that she might achieve greater satisfaction, apparently. He continued to move slowly and she tried to speed him up, but he would not let her.
He drew her up, controlling her.
She cried out with passion.
"Faster, darling," she gasped.
He said nothing to her, continued to move as he pleased. Again she jerked her hips about wildly, trying to excite him, to speed him, and again he refused to allow her to take over. This was his pleasure, not just hers.
"Please, darling," she sighed. "Love me, love me harder."
He kept on with the slow pace and she bit her lips almost in anger. He raised himself, saw her closed eyes, the strained expression on her pretty face, wondered about her for the umpteenth time. How could such a pretty woman be so ... so what? his mind asked him. He did not know the answer. That is, not yet.
"Hurry, darling," she said once more. "I want you to hurry."
He speeded up a bit but not because she had asked him, because he wanted to. His stroke became longer, going deeper.
"That's Johnny" she cried. "Oh, that's so wonderful."
He knew he had her at fever pitch now, so he made his real move. He withdrew from her, stood up, looked down at her, grinning.
She stared up at him, surprise on her face. "Why did you do that?" she asked him.
"Because I wanted to," he said, and rearranged his clothing back to normal.
"But that's cruel," she sputtered.
"Sure," he said. "Sure it is."
She closed her eyes tightly, opened them. "I don't understand you at all, John Deering. How could you do such a thing?"
"I loved you once. There's no law that says I have to love you twice."
She sat up, smoothed down her skirt, but it still did not cover her thighs all the way. "I think you're just awful, treating me this way."
He grinned. "Sure I am. I'm just awful. I'm an awful guy, always have been."
"Don't you love me at all, John?"
He looked at her, still grinning. "No," he said. "Not at an."
She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "You're the strangest man I ever met."
"Probably."
She got to her feet, walked away from him a short way. "I think," she said bitterly, "that you'd better clear out of here. I'm afraid I don't care much for your attitude."
"Good for you," he said, eyeing her.
"What's the matter with you today?"
"Not a thing," he said, and grinned again.
"Don't you like me at all, John?"
"No."
"But why, John?"
"I don't like women who kill their husbands for their insurance." He saw the brief flash of guilt in her dark eyes and knew he had scored. Her eyes returned to normal immediately, however.
"You shouldn't say such awful things, John."
"I know," he said.
"Are you sorry you said it, then?"
"No. No, I'm not. I have no proof you killed him for the insurance. Only a strange feeling about it"
Her hp curled. "You and your feelings. They are absurd."
"I don't think so. I trust some of my feelings. For example, I have a feeling there is a lot of dried blood on that green carpeting over there." He pointed at the roll of carpeting. "I also have a feeling your husband wasn't killed in a car accident."
"That's not true," she exploded. "He was killed in an accident."
John walked over to the roll of carpeting, kicked off several more of the newspapers, saw the dark spots on it. He motioned to her, but she did not come over to him.
He walked back to her. "There are dark stains all over the new green carpeting. That's why you two women spent half the night putting down the old one. You didn't want me or anyone else to see the bloodstains, did you?"
She turned her back on him, started for the door. She stopped, turned around. "My husband was not killed in this house," she said. "And I did not use a knife on him or whatever you seem to be saying."
He walked over to her again. "You know," he said soberly. "I don't believe you did, not really."
"I'm going to show you something, John," she said quietly. "I'm going to prove to you that he was killed in a car accident."
"Yes," he said. "I have a feeling you are."
"There you go, with your feelings again."
He just smiled at her.
She went to a desk, opened a drawer in it, pulled forth a folded newspaper, brought it back to him. He unfolded it, saw the account of the accident in which Mark Harkins was killed. He read it, all of it, silently handed the paper back to her.
"Looks like I was using my imagination too much, doesn't it?" he said gently.
"I'm afraid so," she returned, and put the paper back in the drawer.
He knew now where he had gone wrong. The knowledge of this caused him to grin. "My apologies, Joanie," he said quietly.
"Johnny," she said softly. "Let's stop all this and you finish what you started, okay?"
"You want me to love you some more. Is that it?"
"Yes, darling, please."
"All right. I will, if you'll do one thing."
"Anything, darling."
He saw the lust had returned to her dark eyes. "All right. You go over and he on the roll of carpet and I'll love you."
She shuddered and he saw it, grinned. "I don't want to," she said. "Let's go to my room instead."
"Why don't you want to use the roll? It's nice and soft."
"Because ... I don't."
He laughed. "I didn't think you would, Joanie. I don't blame you."
He walked over to the carpet roll, drew back his foot, kicked it. He turned around, walked slowly back to her. "I thought so," he said, and grinned at her.
"What are you talking about?" she said tensely.
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."
He grabbed her, bent her over backwards, kissed her mouth. She responded by running her tongue over his, frantically. She tried to pull him down on top of her and succeeded. He fell to the floor with her beneath him. She tried to grasp his cock.
The urge had returned to him. He pushed her legs apart, got between them, effected the desired situation. She gasped and began to pull his hair. He paid no attention to this. It was fun to see her so excited and eager to be loved even though he knew she was now aware that he had something on her and her aunt.
He thrust at her strongly and she raked his back with her fingernails. He kept on with his lovemaking until he felt rather than heard the other woman entering the room. He looked up, after a moment, saw Mrs. Ainsworth standing in the doorway. He kept on loving Joanie, paying no attention to the fact that they had a witness.
"All right, stop that," Mrs. Ainsworth called out.
John kept on with it. He was near the end, and when the end came he shuddered, as did Joanie. She moaned, too, and kissed him wetly on the lips. John straightened up, prepared his clothing, got to his feet. He did this just in time, for he saw that Mrs. Ainsworth had removed her steel shoe and was about to strike him with it. He ducked, caught her arm, the heavy steel shoe flew from her grasp, striking Joan on the face.
The girl screamed in pain, tried to get to her feet, slumped back to the floor. Blood ran from her mouth and nose in great streams. John saw this, realized now why they had changed the carpeting in the hall. Someone else had bled on it, necessitating the changes. Joan's husband? No, it could not have been he. The only person left was Keith Ainsworth. John had not seen him recently. He had been ill his room, supposedly.
Joan stopped her screaming after a time. Neither John nor Mrs. Ainsworth moved to assist her, letting her get to her feet by herself. She groaned, went to the bathroom, was gone from the room for several minutes.
"That's a lethal instrument, your shoes," he told Mrs. Ainsworth. "You ought to be careful with it. I noticed earlier that it was badly bent. Did you kill your husband with it, Julia?"
"You louse," she cried. "Why did you have to come back?"
"I came back to see two charming ladies," he told her, smiling.
"Get out of the house," she said. "You've caused us enough trouble."
"On the contrary," he said. "I haven't caused you any trouble at all. Not yet," he added.
He watched her as she picked up her steel shoe, looked it over, started to put it on. Apparently, there was some of Joan's blood on it. She carried it to the bathroom door, entered the bathroom. John lighted a cigarette, waited for them to return. They did so after a few minutes. They stood near the door, looking at him.
"Well," Mrs. Ainsworth said to Joan. "What are we going to do about him?"
"Joan's face was very red where the shoe had struck her. The bleeding had stopped. She turned to Julia Ainsworth. "Do you suppose we should?" she said mysteriously.
Mrs. Ainsworth sighed. "He's so good in bed. It would be a shame to."
"But don't we have to, Aunt Julia?"
"I suppose so."
John stood across the room from them, watching them carefully. He took a casual drag on his cigarette, turned his head upward, let the smoke curl toward the ceiling.
"If you are contemplating killing me," he said, smiling, "I think you had better not try it."
They just looked at him.
"I know now what happened," he said. "Or I can pretty well guess what it was. I'll put it that way. Joanie killed her husband for his insurance by faking a car accident. However, as you told me, one of you, I think it was you, Mrs. Ainsworth, she couldn't collect the money from the policy because she had stupidly forgotten to keep the payments up."
Julia Ainsworth walked across the room. John noted she was now wearing both of her shoes. She limped a little on the bent one.
"Wait a minute, John," she said, smiling. "Let's don't fight about matters any longer. We admit that Mark was killed in a fake accident. But it doesn't have to leave this room, does it?"
John looked into her blue eyes, noting how large they were. He studied her blonde hair, admitted to himself that she was a pretty woman. He thought he knew what was coming.
It came.
"John," Julia said. "We would really prefer that you stay here with us and be our ... man about the house, let me call it. Neither Joan or I want to argue with you, want to oppose you. Both of us are really in love with you. We-"
"You're offering me sort of a harem deal. Is that it? And what do I have to do to earn it?"
Joan crossed over the room, stood nearby. "Why just be your nice, decent self, John," she said. "My aunt and I are very fond of you. We have said otherwise at times, but the truth is, we need you here. Will you stay with us."
"And keep my mouth shut about your uncle?" he asked, smiling.
Julia and Joan exchanged glances. "What about my husband, John?" Mrs. Ainsworth asked, smiling at him.
"Don't you know?" he said mockingly.
Both women looked at him strangely, he noted. Neither of them spoke.
"The carpeting in the corner over there," he said, pointing. "Don't you know about it?"
Julia Ainsworth bit her lips. "So there's a little blood on it. What about it?"
"There's also a body inside it," John said. There was a long silence.
"I haven't looked," he said, still smiling, "but I imagine you will find Keith in it. How about it, Mrs. Ainsworth?"
She sighed, looked at Joan Herlick, who in turn looked at John. "All right, John," Julia Ainsworth said. "So you've guessed it. What are you going to do, call the police?"
"No," he said. "Why should I?"
She seemed puzzled by this. "Then you'll help us ... dispose of him tonight?"
He did not answer her. "Why did you kill him?" he asked her.
"Because he attacked Joan when he found out about Mark being killed in the fake car accident. You see, John, my wonderful, queer husband, was in love with Mark Harkins." She shuddered. "Horrible man. Man?" She seemed to spit the word out. "He was no man at all. He was a creature. I hated his guts, just as Joan did. I killed him with my shoe. It bloodied his face all up. He ran out of the room upstairs, fell down the stairs, got blood on the new green carpet. That's why we had to put back the old maroon one."
"Yes," he said. "I figured something of that nature. Too bad be spoiled the new carpet."
"You aren't going to tell on us, are you, John?"
"Supposing," he said, moving away from them a bit, "supposing I do keep my mouth shut and stay here with you two. What will we use for money? Am I supposed to support both of you?"
"I have twenty thousand dollars, John," Julia said. "The old man gave it to me for ... you know what."
He nodded. "The old man told me that."
Joan came close to him, touched his arm, turned her dark eyes on him. "Twenty thousand will be enough for the three of us, John. We can have lots of fun with twenty thousand."
He looked at her, grinned. "I can have more fun with it, Joanie."
"You mean you want it all for yourself?" Joan asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Yes," he said. "It belonged to me, not to you women. I earned it."
"We won't give it to you," Joan said hotly.
Mrs. Ainsworth came between them, looked at John. "I guess you win, Mr. Deering," she said stiffly. She turned to Joan. "If we don't give it to him, he can tell the police and then where will we be?"
"I don't want to hand it over to him," Joan said. "We need that money."
Poor Joanie, John thought-as greedy as ever for money. "You have no choice, Joanie," he said gently. "You might as well get the money and give it to me."
"But that's not fair of you," she cried. "You had your fun with us. You don't need to be paid twenty thousand dollars."
"That," he told her, "is a matter of opinion. My opinion is that I do need to be paid the money."
She walked away from him, turned about. "You rotten louse. I wish I had never picked you up in that bar, damn you."
"Too bad," he said, grinning. "You should be more careful about picking up guys. These days you can't ever tell who is a nice guy and who isn't."
"Well, you certainly aren't nice."
"I never professed to be," he said.
"I hate you," she said, and walked across the room. Both John and Mrs. Ainsworth followed her with their eyes.
Julia Ainsworth spoke softly. "Why not share it with us, John? Where else can you find two women to live with you and also let you have your way with them?"
"Is that the way it would be?" he asked her, grinning.
"Of couse, John. Both of us would love you all you wanted."
"I'll bet," he said. "I'll just take the money, please."
She sighed. "It's in the safe in the front room. Come with me. I'll get it. You have to promise, though, that you won't tell on us."
He laughed. "That," he said, "is a promise. I'll never tell the police."
The three of them walked to the front room. Julia went to the wall safe over the fireplace, opened it, took out two packages of money, brought it over, threw it on the coffee table.
"I don't know what we'll do now that you're taking all of our money."
John picked up the loot, shoved it in his pants pocket. "I have a suggestion," he said, and told them what it was.
Their faces were burning, he saw, when he walked from the room and out of the house. No woman likes to be told to take up the oldest profession.
He walked to his car, climbed in, started the motor. He felt of the twenty thousand dollars in his pocket. It was a satisfying feeling. I've got their dough, he thought. And providing the cops don't get them, I'll come back whenever I like and enjoy their charms. They'll never be in a position to refuse me. Never.
He backed the car out of the drive, laughing softly to himself.