Pole Dance (30 page)

"That the redhead with the long legs?"

"Dunno, wife doesn't approve of the club so I've never been." Jeff didn't seem embarrassed to admit it but Tim wasn't going to be able to let this one go. He didn't have much to tease Jeff about and this one was gold.

"Pussy whipped, much?"

"More like, won't get any pussy if she finds out I'm spending time watching half-naked girls strut their stuff. Ain't worth it."

They pulled into the short driveway of a double-wide trailer that had been tucked in a far corner of the Mobile Home Park, giving it a bit more yard than most of the other spaces.

"Well, seeing as your wife don't approve, I'll take point on this."

"Much obliged, Bell."

The door was finally answered after the third set of knocks by Fiona, who stood in the doorway in a see-through purple nightie wearing only the clothes God had given her underneath. "What?" She snapped. "This fucking better be good to get me out of bed at the crack of dawn."

"I'm Detective Tim Bell and this is Detective Jeff Trusdale, Ms. Preston. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

"Oh, all right," she mumbled ungraciously before moving back and allowing them to come in. She waved a hand towards the long couch that took up a large portion of her front room.

"Ms. Preston, with all due respect, ma'am, would you mind putting on a robe or something?" Jeff was looking everywhere but at Fiona and was hard pressed to keep the grin hidden. He was willing to bet that that was the first time Tim had ever had to ask a beautiful woman to cover herself.

Fiona looked down at herself and raised a hand to drag it across her nearly naked chest in a flirtatious manner, peering up at Tim through her eyelashes. "You sure you want me to cover up, officer?" she asked in a sultry voice.

"It's detective, ma'am, and yes. We would appreciate it."

Fiona gave him one last glance before turning away and stomping down the hall. Tim made it to the couch where Jeff was already sitting. The two detectives shared a glance before Tim warned on a soft voice, "Don't even say it, dude."

"Never even thought it, pal. Still trying to wrap my head 'round 10:20 being the crack of dawn."

They both watched as Fiona came down the hall dressed in jeans so tight they looked painted on and a t-shirt so small that Jeff would swear his seven-year old could fit it. "Is this better,
detective
?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tim said trying to keep his eyes on her face and not the fact that she was braless and the pearls of her nipples were poking through the material of her tiny top. "As you know, Ms. Preston there have been three girls murdered in town. We've found that all three girls either worked or had worked at Fuego's. The club where you used to work."

"Yeah, so?" Fiona put her hands on her hips causing the tiny top to stretch even further. Though it was the hardest thing he had been required to do in quite some time, Tim kept his eyes firmly on the redhead's face and not her delightful chest.

"Well, we're making a point of warning all the female employees, both former and currently employed to be on the alert. Make sure that you keep your windows and doors locked, don't go out alone at night and make sure, any time you are outside that you are aware of your surroundings."

"You think I may be next?" Fiona asked with a tiny laugh. "I don't think so."

"'Scuse me, ma'am?" Jeff decided to join the conversation.

"I won't be a target. I'm hooked up with some pretty big men in this town and no one is going to hurt me," She said on a confident note. "I'm not like those stupid, little sluts you've found."

"I don't understand," Tim said after glancing and catching Jeff's look of confusion.

"Those girls you found? They're not like me. They were just three sorry, little whores trying raise themselves up from the gutter. I worked with them, you know. I'm nothing like them."

"Nothing like them, ma'am?"

"Right, nothing like them. They were three skanks that happened to dance at the same club I did, but they were less than nothing. They danced." Fiona used one hand to wave towards the trophies displayed in a glass case. "I am a star, a headliner. I'm the one that brought this town's influential men to that seedy club. They came to see
me
both during and after my shows." Fiona ended her speech with a small, self-satisfied grin.

"Uh, I see--"

"Even after Jake and Dale let me go, my friends wanted to see me. Why do I need to dance in a dirty little club in a back-water town when I have men that are willing to pay to watch me dance somewhere … more private?"

"Ah, okay--"

"How 'bout it? You want a private dance, officer?" Fiona offered with a flirtatious smile her eyes trained on Tim as her chest tested the stretch of the top as she arched her back and offered them a side view of her magnificent body. Tim risked just one sweeping glance before lowering his eyes knowing that he'd be using that image to fuel his fantasies in the coming future.

"Uhm, thanks for the offer Ms. Preston but we need to be going. Please remember to do what we asked and take care to stay alert and aware. You have any trouble or feel threatened in any way, call 911."

Fiona moved to the door and managed to place a hand on Tim's arm as he and Jeff were leaving. "I'll be sure to call," she whispered, her full lips just millimeters away from Tim's mouth. To his credit, Detective Bell didn't stop moving out the door but he used the concealment of his suit jacket to cover the evidence of his arousal.

"Holy shit," Jeff announced when they were back in the car. "Can you believe that?"

"She's a whack-job alright," Tim continued in a falsetto voice, "I'm a star!"

"So the other girls were sluts when they were doing the same thing she was? Trophies? For stripping and dry humping a pole? You gotta be kiddin' me!" Jeff shook his head as he crossed her name off the list.

"Don't forget her delusions of grandeur for giving private dances with the movers and shakers here in our backwater town! Okay, who's next?"

*.*.*.*.*

There is nothing like flying on a motorcycle, twisting and turning through the back roads of our mountains, especially on a day when you can almost feel the promise of spring. While the wind was cold, Jake's body pressed fully against me from crotch to chest, was warm, as were his pockets that I tucked my hands into as I gripped him. I was able to watch the snow covered hills and grove after grove of native trees move by as we wound up and down and through the gentle hills in our corner of the world. Seemed like we had only been on the bike for a couple of hours before Jake pulled into a combination gas station, café and post office.

"Welcome to Smithfield," Jake announced as we peeled our helmets off. I was surprised by the jittering in my legs, echoes of the vibrations of the motorcycle as I stood.

"It'll go away, pretty girl. Happens when you're not used to riding, yeah?" Jake explained after seeing me shake one jean clad leg then the other to try and get sensations back in my legs and feet.

After stowing our helmets, Jake grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the gas station-slash-café-slash-post office. Once inside, I saw that the gas station cashier and post office occupied the far left portion of what could only be described as a cabin with its rough hewn walls and plywood partitions. We made our way to the right, through the partially filled restaurant and seated ourselves at one of the many tables situated willy-nilly on the rough planked floor.

"Two ice teas and two medium portions of the hab-honey wings," Jake announced to the busy waitress that went gliding by our table, tray held by her side. She turned her head with a smile but didn't stop her trajectory which seemed to be towards the back of the restaurant.

"You got it, big guy," she called over her shoulder.

"Haven't been here in a lot of years," he murmured as we removed our jackets and were settling into the wooden chairs. His eyes roamed the walls. "Love this place, though. Removed from the tangle of shit we've got going every day." My eyes followed his, taking in the rodeo posters, business cards and local announcements that littered the unfinished, log walls. I could understand what Jake meant but not said. That this less than 50 seat café was the hub of the community and celebrated, provided a venue for the gatherings of all the local happenings. While it allowed outsiders to partake of their hospitality, the heart of the community and its citizens was its main focus.

"So if given the chance you'd prefer a small town to a large one?" I asked after our ice-teas were delivered.

"Any day of the week, Darlin'," Jake said, his eyes still moving over the walls, the other customers. "In my experience, the more people a town has, the more problems creep in. Seems to drag the hope, the life, right out of 'em."

I listened to his soft voice which was now almost a whisper and hard to hear over the busy noise of food service, knowing that he really believed this, and that at some point he had experienced it firsthand. Our wings were delivered and our conversation died as we both applied ourselves to the scrumptious, saucy wings while trying, and failing, to keep the mess of them in check. We must have gone through a hundred of the napkins before we broke open the wet-wipes in our bid to get clean.

We were sharing a piece of blueberry pie topped with lemon sorbet when Jake starting speaking again.

"Got a call from Sam last night, Darlin'," he said looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup. "Said he found some irregularities regarding your parent's estate."

"I don't understand. Why was Sam looking into the estate? I thought I was only using him for advice on evicting Pam due to nonpayment?"

"Asked him to, Darlin'. Morning after our first night together. Not an attorney, but know that you only gettin' your bedroom shit was fucked up."

"I don't know how I feel about you digging into things, Jake," I said feeling my cheeks color as my temper started to rise. Geez, why does this man feel the need to get all up in my business, in things he has no business being in? I stirred my fork in the remaining crumbs of pie floating in the melted sorbet as I tried to keep my temper in check.

"Kinda knew it was gonna piss you off, pretty girl. Wasn't right that you got so little when your folks could've left you so much, yeah? My pop was a general contractor. Knew that yours had to have insurance on his tools and some of that shit costs some serious cake."

I tried to hide my face behind the mug of my coffee. I got what he was saying but still wasn't happy that he had done it behind my back. After a bit, after I'd gotten my emotions under control, I was able to ask, "So what'd Sam find out?"

"Found your parent's will, the insurance policies and house notes as well as a little document called 'Power of Attorney' that authorized one Layton Jamison to act on your behalf."

"I knew that he was the appointed executor but how'd he get that Power thingie?" I asked my heart beginning to beat triple time. "I know he had me sign a lot, and I mean a shit load, of papers when we met after my parents' funerals." My mind started racing as fast as my heart as I tried to remember all the different papers that had been in the large packet that materialized like magic on Mr. Jamison's desk. Funny, too, I remember a short older lady that Mr. Jamison had introduced as something of the republic.

"Aw, shit," I muttered as it all began to come together in my head. "Jake?"

I caught his gaze and saw that he was waiting on me, waiting for me put it together myself and was watching for my reaction.

"He stole from me," I whispered, my eyes on Jake but my head was way back in the memories of being in Jamison's office at the bank and getting writer's cramp from signing, signing, signing, page after page after page and that older lady stamping and signing after me. "He played me, Jake."