and along came SPIDER ( A Martina Spalding Thriller ) (Spider Series Book 1)

             and along came SPIDER

A
Novel by

J.R.Wright

 with
Mia Manns

and
along came Spider

©
J.R.WRIGHT / DKW Books 2013

All
Rights Reserved

To
Sherlock with Love

CHAPTER
ONE

St.
Louis, Missouri

June
1955

“
Oh
what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”  Sir Walter
Scott

     Martina Spalding, had she been a flowering
plant under similar circumstances, may have been referred to as a late
bloomer.  So gangly was she throughout her high school years that somewhere along
the line, the name Spider was attached to her as a nickname.  And it wasn’t
until her early twenties that she blossomed, near overnight, into a fine
example of a woman.  And that’s when her problems began.

     At five nine, stacked in all the right places,
Marti got plenty of looks, and even some wolf whistles in certain parts of
town, as she walked down a street in the shapely outfits she often wore.  And
since she had no experience in how to handle the newfound attention, it
perplexed her.  Instead of embracing the situation, as most women would have,
she found herself running from it.  Her first action was to toss away all the
old outfits she’d grown into so nicely and replace them with looser fitting,
less flattering designs.  This produced less than ideal
results — the cat calls continued to the point that she abruptly
quit her job as a night nurse at a small local hospital, climbed into her old
car, and left town.

     With Chicago in her rearview mirror, Marti
steered onto Highway 66 and headed west.  Since she was running from, and not
necessarily to, somewhere, her plan was to travel until no town in particular
met her fancy.  There, she planned to hire on at the local hospital and stay
for a time, at least until making up her mind, one way or another, about the
people there. 

     The year is 1955, the car she drives is a two
tone gray, nineteen forty-nine Chevy sedan, bought new by her father and handed
off to her just last year.

     And speaking of her father, John, he, as well
as her mother Greta, objected strongly to her sudden plan to strike out on her
own.  But to no avail.  Martina had made up her mind, and there was no changing
that now.  Besides, how many offspring were still living at home with their
parent’s at her age — twenty-five last birthday.  It was a disgrace
in her eyes, and she said so.

     However, when it became clear there would be no
changing her mind, her father did change the oil in her car, wash it, and fill
it with gas.  This was all done the day before the planned departure.  Then,
after a day on the road, while digging into the glove compartment for a road
map, she discovered a strange envelope and in it were seven crisp, new, one
hundred dollar bills.  Even though there was a note with the thoughtful gift,
it contained only one word: “Call!”  And this brought tears to Marti’s eyes.

     Reaching St. Louis Missouri three days later,
she decided to spend the remainder of the day walking about the town, wondering
if this may be a place she could call home for a while.  Initially, she liked
what she saw.  The picturesque Mississippi River was nearby.  The people seemed
amiable and there were several hospitals close to the hotel, where she had
booked a room for the night.  But since decision making had always come slow
for her, Marti decided to sleep on it.

     After setting down for a burger at the hotel
restaurant, she went to her room to retire for the night.

     In preparation for a bath, she removed her
armor — her grandmother’s wedding ring — and placed it
on the dresser.  The ring, worn on her left hand ring finger, had served her
well as protection from unwanted attention over the years at nursing school and
work at the hospital.

     It wasn’t that Martina didn’t like men. She
fantasized about them often.  It was simply that she was frightened of taking
the first step at such a late date.  Most of her girlfriends had gotten that
out of the way in their teen years.  But Martina hadn’t even had the chance. 
After so many years of little experience with the opposite sex, she had become
self-conscious and even gun shy.  She read romance books, but skipped over the
more adventurous parts.  Being a virgin, they embarrassed her.  But then, it
was those very scenes she’d turned away from Marti often found herself
fantasizing about afterwards.  But at least this way it played out on her
terms.  Being a nurse, she knew everything there was to know about the workings
of the male genitalia; none of that offended her.  But in her version, there
was no fear of offending behavior on the part of the man.

     Once completely undressed, she admired herself
for a time in the mirror.  Running a hand under her long auburn hair, she
lifted it to the top of her head to gain a better look at her straight back and
square shoulders.  Now Marti wondered if she’d resisted the temptation of
making herself available to men because of the dreaded embarrassment expected
facing her parents afterward.  Often she had delayed masturbation in her
parents’ house until it was no longer bearable, for fear the contented look on
her face may give her away.  Being an only child played a part in that, she
supposed.  All her mother’s and father’s attention had always been focused
solely on her.  So much so that she often felt like some sort of endangered
species under a microscope.  But that was behind her now.  Even though it was a
bit scary being on her own for the very first time, it was liberating as well. 
At least the guilt and uneasiness over it all was beginning to recede.

     She ran hands over her firm buttocks, admiring
that part of her as well.  She couldn’t recall ever doing that in a sensuous
fashion before.  In fact, just being naked, without the fear of being barged in
on, felt so relaxing to Marti now, she may just stay that way after her
shower — perhaps throughout the night.  And if a bottle of wine was
available, she’d sip a glass while enjoying it.  Why not?  She went to the
phone to dial room service.  What could it cost, a few bucks?  A proper
celebration of her newfound freedom was certainly worth that. 

    
With the shower out of the
way, Marti put on her terrycloth robe, retrieved the wine she’d asked be left
outside her door, and sat down with a glass and the yellow pages.  Carefully
going over the listings of hospitals in the area, a finger stopped on one that
looked appealing.  The Spencer House was a small boutique hospital that
specialized in the surgical needs of the wealthy.  She knew this from the full
page ad, on the adjacent page, boasting of luxury accommodations and superior
care. 

Checking the address,
Marti found it to be only two blocks away.  Very much disliking the chaos
connected with larger hospitals, like the one in which she had completed some
of her RN training, the Spencer House seemed the perfect fit for her.  But
being such a classy place, would they want someone with only two years of
actual experience?  Why not, she told herself.  She’d done everything right…
and had graduated top of her class from one of the best nursing schools in
Illinois.  And she did have a glowing recommendation from her previous
employer.

Arising at six the
following morning, Martina, once she’d brushed her teeth, took another quick
shower, primarily for the bar soap smell it left on her body, which was always
good when applying for a nursing job, since hygiene was such an issue in the
medical field.  She then put her hair up in a tight bun, as she would have if
still working her old job, except the white winged pill box hat would not be
pinned on this time.  She had decided to wear a very businesslike royal blue
suit with white blouse and no head covering instead.

Then later, after a
light breakfast of toast and juice at a diner down the street from the hotel,
she went on to the Spencer House, hoping for an interview.  Entering the
elegant lobby twenty minutes later, Martina nervously approached an
intimidatingly attractive, buxom receptionist seated behind a rather large
Chippendale desk, dead center of the spacious room.

Eyeing her all the way,
the receptionist held her tongue until Martina was stationed directly before
her.  “Who is it you wish to see, miss?” she said rather coldly, with just a
brief hint of a ruby red smile.

“Well, I don’t know,
exactly.  Actually I’m looking for a job.  I’m a registered nurse.”

To that the gorgeous,
thirtyish brunette pulled a form from a drawer and shoved it toward her, “All
applications are reviewed on Wednesdays.  If there’s an opening, an interview
may be granted on Thursday, providing your application is approved.  You’ll
also need to put your phone number on the application.”

It was Monday, Marti
mentally noted, taking the form and pencil offered.  “I’m from Chicago.  The
only phone number I have to offer locally is that of the hotel where I’m
staying temporarily.  Will that be okay?”

“Oh, my, you’re staying
in a hotel.  Tell me… ah?”

“Martina.”

“What a beautiful
name.  Are you Italian?  You don’t look Latin.”

Marti laughed.  “No, my
father is English, my mother Irish.”

“I’m Gloria.”  She
stood and put out a hand.  “Tell me, Martina, did you come to St. Louis with
the express purpose in mind of being hired on at the Spencer House?”

Marti took the hand. 
“Gloria,” she acknowledged.  “Actually, no.  I was just passing through and
took a liking to the town, I guess.  I figured if a job was available here I’d
stay for a while.  Otherwise, I’ll just move along until that happens.”

“So, you’re definitely
interested in relocating?”

“I am,” Marti said, not
exactly sure what Gloria was getting at.  “Somewhere.”

“Sounds exciting!” 
Gloria smiled cheerfully.  “But Thursday seems a long time to wait, considering
you’re staying in a hotel.”  She swiveled her chair to look at a closed door
across the lobby, behind her.  “Maybe if Mister Harris is not too busy, he can
do the interview today.”

“That would be
wonderful,” Marti said.

“Good.  Go fill out the
application then… and I’ll see what I can do.  You can sit down over there.” 
She gestured to a table off to the side, beneath an enormous oil painting of a
frontier scene containing covered wagons, oxen and such.

“Thank you,” Marti
said, feeling suddenly hopeful this was going to work out.

CHAPTER
TWO

“Martina Louise
Spalding,” Scott Harris, a sixtyish, graying man, with a thin mustache running
along the edge of his upper lip, said, looking over his glasses at her.  “I see
here you have operating room experience.”

“I do.”  Marti watched
as he read over her application.

“And you graduated
first in your class of seven hundred from St. Francis School of Nursing in
Chicago, 1952.”

“I did.”

“Impressive!  How is
your bedside manner, Miss Spalding?”

“Isn’t that usually
left up to the doctor, Mister Harris?  I mean…”

“I know what you mean,
Miss Spalding.  But this is Spencer House.”  Harris looked over his glasses at
her again.  “We do things differently here.  Here, the nurses play a little
larger role in the care of our patients.  For instance, that hospital you
worked at probably charges two hundred bucks for an appendectomy, and the
patient is out the door in three days.  Here we charge a thousand and they
stick around for a week.  And during that week, we pamper them to death…. 
Pardon the expression.  We have chefs preparing the finest foods, fresh flowers
in the room every day, bed sheets changed twice daily… and the list goes on and
on.  But the main thing we provide is pampering, and most of that is supplied
by our nursing staff.  Are you gathering what I’m saying, Miss Spalding?”

“I think so.  But a
thousand dollars for an appendectomy sounds a little…”

“Expensive…  It is. 
And that’s just for the hospital.  The doctors bill separately.  But there are
people in this world that wouldn’t have it any other way.  They have money and
they’re willing to spend it for the extra care.  And they fly in from all over
the continent to get it.  We have a woman up there now that flew in from
Montreal for removal of facial warts.  She’s been here for two weeks and
refuses to leave until all surgery has healed completely.  That may take
another two weeks.”  He laughed.  “At a grand a week, I couldn’t care less. 
Meanwhile, she dines royally on gourmet foods, and receives two rubdowns every
day from one of our professional massage therapists.”

“I see,” Marti
responded, not knowing what else to say.

“Good.  Now let me get
into hours and pay schedules, Miss Spalding.  I’m sure at that hospital you
came from, you were putting in sixty hours or more a week, for say two dollars
an hour.  Is that about right?”

“Close…  I was getting
one eighty-five.  The raise to two dollars would have come next year, had I
stayed.”

“Well, here, you may be
surprised to know, the hours are held to forty, never more.  We want our gals
to be well rested, bright, and cheerful, at all times.  And the pay is a flat
one sixty a week.”

“Dollars…?”  Martina
was shocked.

Harris laughed.  “Yes…
dollars!”

“That’s four dollars an
hour.  Why so much?”  Marti was quick to ask.  “I’m sure you could get good
nurses for less.  I bet you have files full of applicants anxiously awaiting an
opening here?”

“We do.”

“Then why are you
talking to me?”

“Can I be frank with
you, Martina?”

“Sure.  Why not?”

With that, Harris
leaned over the desk.  “Did you happen to notice our beautiful framed works of
art, in the lobby, Miss Spalding?”

“Yes, I did.  They
caught my eye as soon as I entered.  Very impressive!”

“Good.  They’re all
done by famous artists,” Harris said, and he smiled coyly.  “Now what would you
think if we replaced those masterpieces with something from Montgomery Ward’s
furniture department?”

“Well, that would
destroy the whole atmosphere…”

“Exactly,” Harris said,
and continued smiling.  “Have I made my point?”

“You mean you would
hire me for the way I look, over and above someone better qualified?”

“Miss Spalding, you are
plenty qualified.  Don’t get me wrong, but so many of those
better
qualified nurses you mentioned have put in years of service elsewhere.  And I
must say, fifteen or twenty years of sixty hour weeks has a way of taking a
toll on a person, physically.”

“So it is beauty you’re
mainly interested in?”

“And the vibrancy that
comes along with youth,” he said bluntly.  “You’re lucky, Miss Spalding.  You
have all three: youth, beauty, and brains.  What you have, our clients have
come to expect from us.  It’s all part of the healing process, psychologically
speaking.  It’s the old rose versus dandelion question.  Which is the most
pleasant to be around?  And I’m sure many of our clients come to us for that
reason alone.

With that, Marti glared
at him until he felt her ire and flopped back in his chair.  “What else do your
nurses provide, Mister Harris?” she asked

“What are you
implying?”  Harris became noticeably agitated.

“Does sex enter into
the equation here, at any point?” Marti found herself asking before she had
even realized she had the courage to do so. She had heard such a thing happened
at some private hospitals, where the nursing staff handed out sexual favors to
some of the wealthier patients.  Not for a fee, of course.  That would classify
the practice differently… but done for the sake of good will and patient
satisfaction.

“Absolutely not!” 
Harris was instantly angered and came to his feet.  “My God, if something like
that went on here we’d lose our state license.  Whatever made you suggest a
thing like that?”

Martina didn’t really
know.  She drew back, frightened by his reaction at first.  “I had to be sure. 
I’m sorry.”

“Well…  I guess I can’t
blame you for wanting to clarify that.”  Harris eased back down in his chair. 
“And you’re not the first to ask, if that makes you feel any better.  I assure
you the only part of your body we expect you to prostitute here is your smile,
Miss Spalding.  And that we insist you give generously while with patients.  Is
that asking too much?”

“No.”  Marti smiled
broadly, showing her perfect teeth.

“Does that mean you’ll
take the job?”

“Sounds like a dream. 
However, I’ll need to sleep on it… if that’s possible?”

“Sure.  Take all the
time you need.  I’ll save the spot until I hear from you, then.  How’s that…?”

“You’ll have my
decision by noon tomorrow one way or the other, Mister Harris.”  Marti stood
and took the hand offered.

“I’ll be waiting,”
Harris said as she passed through the door he’d opened for her. 

In the lobby again,
Marti noticed regretfully Gloria was occupied with a well-dressed, gray at the
temples man sitting before her at the desk.  To the side of her a young blond
nurse, dressed in a shapely, but appropriate, white uniform and winged hat,
stood smiling pleasantly down on him.  Since Gloria’s attention was focused
solely on the man as well, Marti passed on by and out through the heavy iron
front door.  Outside, a limousine was parked at the curb.  Spenser House was
painted in small gold letters on the door and a uniformed black chauffeur stood
beside it.

Filling her lungs with
the sweet smell in the air, Martina turned left at the next corner.  She had
seen a pleasant river park a few blocks down yesterday, and she headed for it. 
Perhaps she had already made up her mind to take the job, although that whole
beauty over experience thing still bothered her.  It wasn’t that she felt
inferior in any way.  It was just the idea.  Opportunity seemed always to pass
to the beautiful in most other professions, as it was.  She just hated to see
that practiced in the one she chose as her life’s work.  There was no question
that she herself had been a wall flower for the better part of her life and
knew all about the hurt of being passed over.  And even though she was
blossoming now, that wouldn’t last forever.  Nursing was a skilled occupation,
and each individual, as a part of it, should be employed based solely on those
skills, not on something skin deep.  And for that reason, she was undecided
about this job and perhaps would remain so for some hours to come.  And as far
as that rose versus dandelion theory, that was deceiving as well.  While the
rose was the prettier and most pleasant smelling of the two, there were often
overlooked barbs to be dealt with.  And as further proof, she recalled the
dandelion wine her father often made.  It was so good — sweet and
delectable…with just a hint of tartness.  Perfect!

Walking the park,
stopping occasionally to watch riverboats pass, she suddenly got the feeling of
being watched.  And she was, as she discovered a short time later, when she
spotted a middle aged man on a park bench nearby.  He was kind of handsome, she
noted, but much too old for her.  At his age surely he was married, anyway. 
This thought, however, brought her thumb to the ring finger, finding nothing
there.  She had purposely not worn her dead grandmother’s wedding ring today
and now felt vulnerable without it.  Hurrying on, she left the park and
eventually made her way back to the hotel.

In the room, she
changed out of the blue suit and into blue jeans and a bulky white sweatshirt. 
She then went to the bathroom, let her hair down, brushed it fluffy, and
touched up her lipstick.  Finally, slipping into some brown suede cowboy boots,
she put on the ring and left.

In the lobby, Marti
extended the room one more day and left the hotel.  Locating her car in the
parking lot next door, she got in and drove away.  There was nothing like a
long drive in the country to clear her mind.  And it wasn’t just the job, but a
multitude of things, that needed to be thought through.  Here it was four days
since she had left home and all this stuff had already started coming her way. 
This newfound freedom somehow didn’t seem so liberating anymore. 

Number one on the list:
virginity.  How long was that going to last?  And was it even healthy at her
age?  Certainly, she could have handled that situation during the interview
better today, had she not been so anxious over the mere thought of intercourse
being involved.  What was she thinking, asking such a question?  It was a
wonder Scott Harris hadn’t tossed her from his office over it.  But since he
hadn’t, now she wondered if he’d been completely honest with her.  Still, she
thought there must be another reason they were so generous with the hourly pay
and shorter hours. 

But then, could that
bit of paranoia have been brought about by the natural insecurities that come
along with virginity, as well?  Of course it could.  Freud had a lot to say
about that.  Now that she had made that determination, what on earth was she to
do about it?  She could hardly grab the first guy she saw coming down the
street and say, hey, I’ve got this problem, can you help me out?  She didn’t
have the guts for that.  So then what?  Go to a bar, get wasted and hope to be
picked up?  That didn’t particularly appeal to her either.  If she was going to
do this thing, she at least wanted to remember it, perhaps even treasure the
memory for years to come.

She had dated a fellow
during nursing school for a time.  And there was a bit of exploring that went
on, but that was more clinical than anything else.  After graduation, they each
went their own way and that was the end of that.  She had held his erect penis
in her hand a few times.  Even masturbated him on one occasion, just to see
what that was like.  She smiled about that now as if it were a big first step. 
And it was for her at the time, but that was near three years ago.  Now it
appeared she had gone backward ever since.  The little bit of courage she had
back then seemed to have disappeared, leaving her more insecure than ever.  No
doubt, her desire for sex had greatly multiplied since then.  Perhaps that had
something to do with the insecurity as well.  Prolonged periods of unsatisfied
sexual needs will do that to a person, she knew… even worse, if the word
never
entered the equation.

Having reached nothing
that even resembled country yet, Marti looked around for a place to grab
something to eat.  It wasn’t quite noon yet, but she was hungry.  The light
breakfast had given out a while ago; now she could wait no longer.  A roadside
hamburger stand caught her eye and she pulled onto the gravel lot, parked the
car and got out.  Ten minutes later she was seated at an outside table
devouring a hamburger and fries.  Now, if only satisfying her other urgent
needs were this simple, she mused.