Too Big To Miss (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A SOUND WOKE me. It was a dull thud, something heavy hitting wood. In my sleep-laden haze I thought it was my bladder, knocking audibly, asking for attention. I started to stir.
    "That's only Wainwright," Greg assured me. His eyes were closed, an arm curled around me. "It's his doggie door."
    I couldn't put off peeing any longer. Slowly I lifted back the covers and started to ease out of bed, looking for something nearby to throw on me.
    "What's the matter?" he asked.
    "My night shirt, where is it?"
    "Around here somewhere." He shifted away from me and adjusted himself in the bed so he was slightly sitting up. That accomplished, he ran his fingers through his long, thick hair. "You don't need it. It's just us."
    I snorted softly to myself. Just us was enough. I looked around for a substitute. In the movies women always hopped out of bed and threw on something of their lover's. No matter how rumpled, they always managed to look sexy in oversized shirts with rolled-up sleeves. Greg had no shirts hanging about and, even if he did, I doubted if they'd fit. So much for movie glamour. I started to pull at the sheet I clutched to my body.
    "Odelia, I mean it," he told me, playing tug-of-war with the sheet. "You don't need to cover yourself. In fact, I don't want you to. I want to see that luscious body."
    I gave him a look of skepticism.
    It was silly really. It wasn't our first time together, but our second, yet this morning seemed different. We had an established sexual relationship now and I didn't want to blow it by having the reality of my size thrown in his face. I would have been less self-conscious if it had been just a one-time. Heat of the moment fling, but I knew after last night that this had potential. That changed everything.
    "Okay," he decided with determination, "we'll check out each other."
    With a single toss of the covers, Greg gave me a full visual of his lifeless legs. It was a view that, until now, I had avoided. The limbs, thin and much paler than the rest of him, seemed not to belong to his strong and buffed upper body. He scooted himself to the edge of the bed and grabbed the nearby wheelchair to pull it close. Making sure the wheels were locked, he hoisted himself up on his muscular arms and swung his butt into the chair. The move was quick and efficient. I had seen him do it before, but this morning even that was different. The uselessness of his legs was a glaring fact. Something that couldn't be ignored.
    "There," he said, once he was settled in. "Here I am, skinny legs and all."
    His charm and cockiness made me laugh, and his courage made me brave. With my own toss of the covers, I uncovered myself and hopped out of bed completely, standing in all my lumpy glory before him. I nervously watched as he checked me from top to bottom. Then he tossed me a lecherous wink. I could feel an involuntary blush begin to creep upward from my toes to my scalp.
    "Now walk toward the door, baby," he said. "Let me see you strut your stuff."
    "You're joking?"
    He shook his head. I rolled my eyes and very self-consciously walked to the door and back again.
    "Nah, you can do better than that. Straighten those shoulders and lift those boobies," he coached. "Let's see some pride in that swagger!"
    He was making me laugh, and laughing made my need to urinate more pressing. With one last effort, I squared my shoulders, tucked in my gut as best I could, and lifted my chest and chin. I concentrated on walking slowly and gracefully to the door, much to his delight and cat calls. Once there, I turned around and gave him a vampish glance over my shoulder.
    "Gotta pee, big boy. See ya in a few."
    When I returned, he was gone. Locating my errant night shirt, I slipped into it. I wasn't quite ready to strut my stuff throughout the house. I found Greg in the kitchen feeding an eager Wainwright.
    "Scrambled eggs sound good to you?" he asked.
    "Sure. In fact, I'll even whip up my famous messy eggs."
    "Don't tell me, you cook them in the pan, shells and all," he said with a grin.
    "Close," I answered, pulling eggs and other ingredients from the refrigerator. His fridge was well-stocked with fresh items, making me feel guilty about my own nutritional disaster at home. "Scrambled eggs with chopped veggies and cheese. Like an omelet, only not neatly filled and folded. Think of a nicely made bed versus a rumpled one."
    He laughed. "You're on."
    "You always in such a good mood in the morning?" I asked as I began chopping zucchini, along with green and red peppers.
    "Only when I wake up with a beautiful woman at my side."
    "Hmmmm." I could feel myself blushing yet again. "Be careful, Greg. I could get used to this."
    "That's my plan."
    Greg's sink, cabinets, and appliances were built lower than the norm, which was fine by me since I'm short. I moved around the custom kitchen comfortably, feeling quite at home.
    "Greg, what happened to you?" I asked as I grated Swiss cheese into a bowl. "What happened to your legs?"
    Greg rolled over to the coffee maker and poured us each a cup. He set mine on the counter and took his to the table.
    "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
    "No, Odelia, it's okay. You should know, and I don't mind talking about it. At least not after all these years."
    He poured milk into his coffee and offered me some. I shook my head.
    "When I was almost fourteen," he began, "I was horsing around with some cousins who lived up north. I was visiting them for the summer. We were coming home from fishing, and goofing off along the way. You know, skipping rocks, bugging each other. Being normal adolescent wise-guys.
    "There was an old, short, wooden bridge along the way, built high above a small river. Joey, who was fourteen already, dared me and Slick, that's my cousin Seymour, who was twelve at the time, to cross the bridge tightrope style. You know, walk along the top of the railing."
    "Gawd, I can see this coming already," I groaned.
    "We'd done it before, many times, in fact. But that morning, it had rained and the railing was slippery. It was also old and wiggly. Joey, being the one who made the dare, went first, followed by his brother. I was last. They both made it across, although Slick had a few tense moments. I wasn't so lucky."
    "You fell, of course," I said, scooping the chopped vegetables into the hot frying pan and tossing them with a bit of butter and salt and pepper.
    "Of course. The railing jiggled from side to side and the wetness just helped it along. But I didn't just fall into the river. I was almost across when it happened, so, when I started to fall, I was partially over the embankment. On the way down, I hit some rocks jutting out and kind of ricocheted into the river. Joey said I looked like a pinball going down, bouncing from the rocks to the ground and then into the water."
    "I'm so sorry, Greg."
    "It was just a foolish accident. Stuff like that happens."
    We were both quiet for a moment. The sound of sizzling filled the room. I started scrambling the eggs in a bowl, getting ready to add them to the pan.
    "You seem so okay about all this, Greg. So accepting. Didn't you ever get angry about what happened?"
    He started setting the table. "Of course I did. Still do. But I work through that anger every day, taking it just one day at a time. Anger won't bring back my legs. It'll just mess up my life."
    My forced retirement from investigative work had at least given me time to spend with Greg. Saturday night he took me to dinner and a movie. It was a good old fashioned date, complete with flowers. After, we made love. Today we planned on simply relaxing and hanging out together.
    I stole looks at Greg as I popped some bread into the toaster and mixed the cheese into the cooking egg mixture. He was placing jam and butter on the table, looking very domestic and very yummy at the same time. I wondered if I could ever totally accept his handicap, the age difference, and my own body. But then, maybe that was my disability—an invisible, crippling insecurity I would have to work on day by day to overcome.
    I served up the eggs and toast. Greg poured the orange juice. Wainwright settled under the table. All that was missing was one cantankerous green cat.
    The rest of the day was near to perfect. I called Zee to let her know where I was and what was happening. After I calmed her down and assured her that I was safe and that the bump on my head was just a bump, Greg, Wainwright, and I adjourned to the beach.
    I still couldn't get a handle on who the people were at Sophie's the morning she killed herself. It plagued me, even though I'd promised Greg to let it be. I ran all the possibilities over and over inside my head like a broken record, making myself nuts.
    Greg knew I was stewing about it. I could tell by the looks of disapproval he shot my way when I was overly quiet. But like meat and vegetables simmering in a broth, facts and theories bubbled away in my heated brain. Finally, I couldn't help myself.
    "Greg, do you think maybe the woman Ortiz saw that morning was one of Hollowell's bimbos?"
    He let out an exaggerated groan. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
    "Not until I have some answers."
    "You're going to drive yourself insane, Odelia."
    "Well, at least give me a road map so I can get there faster."
    "Okay, okay," he said, laughing. We were seated, looking out at the ocean, he in his chair, me on a concrete bench. He pulled me close and kissed me. "You're like a dog with a bone. Might as well let you chew on it until you're done."
    I smiled and kissed him back. "Thanks. It'll be easier on you in the end, trust me."
    "I can see that," he said. "So, what's the question again?"
    "Clarice Hollowell said something about her husband giving all his women, his fat sluts actually, the same bracelet. Sophie had one just like she described. I returned it to Hollowell the first night we met, and he tried to give it to me."
    "Really?" Greg's interest in the subject was really aroused now. "Did he offer you a job, too?"
    "No, but he asked me to go to San Diego with him. But you know, now that I look back, he did ask if I wanted to go on cam. Maybe he was looking for Sophie's replacement."
    "You go on cam, fine...with me," Greg told me. "But only for my personal enjoyment, you hear?"
    "But you didn't mind Sophie being on camera."
    "No, but I wasn't involved with Sophie. At least not like we are. Had she and I become lovers, I probably wouldn't have been able to handle it. I'm not that open-minded."
    His reply made me happy.
    "So, did you take the bracelet?"
    "No, of course not. But what if some of the other girls he uses in his business are also on adult web sites. We'd be able to tell who they are by the bracelets."
    "But only if they're wearing them."
    "Are there that many BBW web cam sites on the Internet?"
    "You're asking me?" he asked innocently.
    I gave him my get real look and he caved with a sheepish grin.
    "Not really. At least there aren't that many listed on the web camera index sites." He looked at me, his head tilted to the side. "You want to go back and check it out right now, don't you?"
    I gave him my best begging look.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

AT FIRST HAPPY to see me, Seamus was ready to move out and return to the coyotes when he realized I had returned home Sunday night with Greg and Wainwright in tow. I told him he would just have to get used to it, cradling his big, sassy body in my arms, or start spending more time alone.
    His hisses were interspersed with kitty growls, and his tail flicked like a snake as he watched Wainwright enter his turf and settle comfortably in a corner of the living room. The dog, oblivious to the evil eye being cast on him by the cat, looked at Seamus and wagged his tail.
    "We won't stay long," Greg told me. "You look tired."
    I was tired, but most of all frustrated. Our research into the world of Big Beautiful Women web sites yielded zilch. It had seemed like a plausible theory to me, the idea of looking for distinctive bracelets with a single charm. It hadn't taken long. There weren't that many adult web cam sites featuring large women, and none of them wore the telltale bracelet, or much else.
    "Are you sure," he asked for the umpteenth time, "that you don't want to stay with me again? You can bring Seamus. We'll give him the entire guest room to roam."
    "Thanks, Greg, but I'd rather sleep here tonight," I said. "Not that I don't want to sleep with you, just that I feel I need some time to myself. It's been a crazy few days."
    Few days, my foot. Since Sophie died, my life had been non-stop lunacy. She had been gone only two weeks to date, and I felt like I'd been trapped in a carnival fun house for years. I was no longer young and dynamic, and I was feeling the news in spades. Come to think of it, I don't think I was ever young and dynamic. If so, I'd remember. But, of course, the mind is the first thing to go. That and the ass, followed closely by the boobs.
    "What are you going to do tomorrow?" he asked.
    I shrugged. "Get some rest. Maybe talk Zee into going with me to get a massage and a facial. You know, girl stuff. Might see a movie. We'll see. I also have a lot of paperwork from the attorney to go over about Sophie's estate. Maybe I'll look at that, too."
    Sophie's place itself was off limits. The police were still sifting through everything looking for the tape.
    Frye had called earlier to touch base, reporting two things. One, that they hadn't found the tape or anything else that might incriminate Hollowell yet. And, two, that they had apprehended Glenn Thomas at John Wayne Airport in Orange County, but not his sister. Seems Clarice Hollowell had the limo driver drop her off at LAX, but disappeared before getting on the plane. Airline personnel recalled seeing her at both first-class check-in and in the VIP lounge, but no one remembered her after that. Her bags had flown from Los Angeles to Chicago, but she never got on the plane.
    She had either been abducted, or was one smart cookie. After spending over an hour with the woman, I voted for the latter.
    "Whatever you do," Greg said, looking a bit dejected, "have fun and be safe."
    I smiled and walked over to him, Seamus still in my arms. He rubbed the cat's scruff and scratched him behind his ears. Seamus, being easy like his mother, started purring. I bent down and gave Greg a kiss goodbye. That kiss turned into another, this time deeper and longer. Then another. We were so engrossed in our long goodbye, neither noticed Wainwright creeping up to get a whiff of Seamus.
    Suddenly, the cat in my arms became a tangle of claws, teeth, and bloodcurdling howls. The animal broke from my grasp, but not before inflicting scratches on my arms and one small one on Greg's chin. Once free, Seamus made a dash for a high place. The highest ledge in the room belonged to the top shelf of my wall unit. On the shelf was one of my most expensive nativity pieces. I held my breath as the cat landed next to the porcelain image and tiptoed around it. Then he crossed to the next shelf, putting distance between the dog and himself. He finally settled on the last top shelf. Resting on that, waiting to be properly hung on the wall, was the needlework sampler Sophie had left me. I blew out trapped air, knowing my valuables were safe and sound.
    Peace restored, Greg and I said goodbye again. This time a quick kiss sufficed. I held out my hand to Wainwright. As polite as ever, he sat down and offered me a paw. We shook. Then, like father, like son, the animal lunged his large head forward to give me a kiss. I felt his big tongue lap my chin. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of Seamus flying over my shoulder heading for the dog. Pandemonium reigned as a startled Wainwright fled the outraged cat. Greg, helpless to give chase, barked orders at Wainwright. The poor dog, cornered and trying to avoid the claws coming at him, snarled at Seamus and showed his teeth. Thinking twice about attacking, my green cat turned yellow and scampered up the wall unit again. This time he wasn't so dainty. Down came the sampler, smashing its glass front.
    The room became eerily still.
    Sharply, Greg ordered his dog to him. This time Wainwright obeyed, his tail hanging sheepishly low. Scolding the Golden Retriever, Greg directed him over to the door and told to him stay. The animal lowered himself down onto the carpet by the front door and looked at us with eyes full of remorse. Seamus, on the other hand, sat on the top shelf of the wall unit looking smug and innocent.
    
Yeah, right
, I thought, watching him coolly lick his paw and comb his whiskers.
Figures I'd live with the evil child.
    
"I'm sorry, Odelia," Greg said, wheeling closer to where I knelt retrieving pieces of glass from the carpet.
    I picked up the broken sampler and handed it to Greg. Only the glass seemed shattered. The frame was intact, the stitching unharmed.
    "That's okay," I told him. "I should've known better. Seamus is very jealous and possessive of me. He probably thought Wainwright was going to bite me, not lick me."
    With the largest pieces of glass in my hand I went into the kitchen to dump them and bring back the hand vacuum. I wanted to get all the glass now before I forgot and missed some of it.
    While in the kitchen I heard Greg call to me. "Odelia, come here quick."
    I dashed into the living room to find him fondling the front of the sampler. There was a slight bulge in the middle. Outlining it with his fingers, we could both see it was a semi-flat rectangle.
    My heart was in my throat, my fingers crossed.
    Greg turned the frame over. It was thick, like a shallow shadow box frame. He started pulling off the cardboard backing. Sure enough, underneath was a cassette tape surrounded by padding.
    The phone rang, bad timing unless it was Frye. I looked at the Caller ID read out and noted it was a blocked call. Damn. I danced around indecision. It just might be Frye calling. I grabbed the phone.
    "Hello," I answered.
    "Odelia, it's me, Glo," the caller said in a southern twang. "I heard you got clunked on the head. You okay?"
    "Yes, I'm fine, Glo. Sore, but fine." Grabbing my tote, I dug around in it until I found Frye's card. On it he had written his private cell phone number. "But I can't talk now," I said excitedly. "You know, I never thought Sophie committed suicide, and neither did Zee. Now, I think I finally have enough evidence to prove it, and maybe even who's behind it. I have to call the police."
    "But she shot herself," Glo said. "People saw her."
    "I know, but I think someone made her do it. Possibly John Hollowell. I'll talk to you later, maybe tomorrow morning."
    "Okay." She hesitated, then added, "And, Odelia, if it's true, I hope you put him away to rot forever."
    I smiled into the receiver. "Thanks for calling, Glo. It was very sweet of you."
    After hanging up, I dialed Frye. Within minutes, he returned the call. He was at the hospital, less than three miles away. Soon the three of us were seated in my living room listening to Hollowell's recorded bragging and threats. I had insisted on hearing the tape before turning it over to the police.
    My body shook as I listened. Greg noticed and reached over to clutch my trembling hand.
    I knew Hollowell was dangerous, but the sound of his voice so coldly boasting about his past deeds and future plans made me dizzy with a combination of fear and anger. It was inconceivable to me how anyone could use and discard human beings in this manner, reducing them to the status of single-use paper goods. I knew, of course, that people did it all the time. I wasn't naïve. The cold, hard facts exploded in our faces almost daily from the news. But those things happened to the proverbial other people, not to my friends and certainly not to me.
    In my dogged search for the truth, I had uncovered the underbelly of Sophie's life. And in turn, it had exposed me to the shadowy side of the street on which I lived, worked, and played every day in blissful ignorance and contented boredom.
    My life would never be the same. In the split second it had taken for that bullet to travel from the gun's chamber into Sophie London's mouth, penetrating her brain, I had been unwittingly altered forever. It was still to be determined if it was for the betterment of my future existence.