The Caretaker's Wife Read online

  “Fuck me, Kingsley,” she begged. “Fuck me now, you son of a bitch.”

  I wasn’t about to disappoint her. I wasn’t about to disobey her either. Backing away from her, I stood and grabbed hold of her legs and dragged her toward me. When I slipped my cock inside her, I thought my skin was on fire. That’s how hot she was. That’s how wet she was, her juices boiling like she hadn’t had sex in years. And maybe she hadn’t.

  I tried to go slow, going harder and harder with each thrust. I knew it hurt, but I think she liked it that way. I think she liked the pain. She wanted the pain the same way a vampire wants fresh blood.

  I felt myself filling up until I knew I couldn’t hold it any longer, and I knew she was coming to that same place.

  “Come in me,” she pleaded. “Come in me. Come in me, you bastard.”

  I couldn’t possibly hold it any longer. When I released, so did she. Our screams had to have been heard outside the cabin. Christ, they could have been heard all the way up at the Canadian border. But we didn’t care. For those few beautiful seconds when she was me and I was her, we didn’t care who the hell heard us, so long as we were as one.

  When we were done, I stood back, a bit off balance, but happier than I had been in months. Fuck that. Happier than I had been in years. I could taste her blood on my tongue and her pussy on my lips, and I knew she could still feel me inside of her. With every movement she made sliding off that table, she could feel my juices swimming around in her. I was a part of her now. She was a part of me. Now we would have something that would be ours and ours alone. Something that did not belong to Sonny.

  Pulling up my pants, I went to kiss her again. But she pushed me away.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  Her mood had shifted one hundred-eighty-degrees.

  “Something I said, baby?”

  “Just don’t,” she said, getting quickly dressed.

  A man’s voice could be heard outside the cabin walls. “Cora,” the man barked. “Cora, where the hell are you?” I’ll be damned if it wasn’t Sonny.

  10

  My heart shot up into my throat. I locked eyes on Cora. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed. As though her husband intruding on her while she was mopping up after a particularly good lay was an everyday occurrence for her.

  “Jesus,” I said, “I think he heard us.”

  “Relax, Kingsley,” she said, tucking in her shirt, buttoning the few buttons she had left. “Sonny is blind to everything but what he wants to see.”

  I buckled my belt. I thought about what just happened. The sex. If I were writing this as a novel, I would never have it happen so fast. I would have my character hang around the inn for at least a few weeks, let the tension build between him and Cora. But that’s not the way it was meant to be. Like me, she must have known from the moment she saw me that she wanted to fuck me.

  “What about the beers?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the kitchen counter.

  “So, we’re having a beer,” she said. “What of it? We’ve been fishing all afternoon. Goes with the territory.”

  She went to the counter, took hold of hers, and drank, as casually as if she were back at the tavern. Footsteps on the small porch outside the front door. Then the front door opening. Sonny stepped in, a big grin painting his face.

  “Figured I’d find you two here,” he said. He looked around a little. Then, “So, how you like your new digs, Kingsley?”

  He wasn’t wearing his stained apron, and because of it, his belly was more pronounced, his chest more barrel shaped. His button-down work shirt was sweaty under the armpits, and there was a tear in the left side so that a portion of his graying undershirt was exposed. I couldn’t explain it exactly, but just the sight of that dirty, sweat-soaked undershirt made me nauseous. Like he wasn’t a living, breathing human being, but instead, a rotting carcass. What the hell, maybe he was a zombie.

  “The cabin is just fine, Sonny,” I said. “Can’t thank you enough for everything.”

  He glanced at the typewriter which by now had been pushed to the very edge of the table. We all focused on it as if it were wrapped in flashing red neon. Half of it was hanging over the side. It would take just the slightest breeze to make it fall off the table. If that happened, I couldn’t afford to buy another. Also, the ream of white paper was no longer neatly stacked but instead, looked like an unshuffled deck of playing cards.

  Cora quickly reached out for the typewriter, pushed it back into the center of the small table. She also quickly straightened out the paper. I looked into Sonny’s eyes. They shifted to one of the chairs that had been pushed away from the table. He picked it up by its back and set it under the table where it belonged.

  “Damn,” he said, not without a guttural laugh. “Beers, tossed furniture, and a typewriter nearly thrown to the floor.” He squinted his eyes at Cora. “And what happened to your lip, Cora?”

  “I bit it after I landed a nice rainbow trout,” she said. “You know how I get when I get excited.”

  Sonny laughed. “Yeah, I know how you get when you get excited all right.” Looking around the cabin again. “I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were having a nice little private party.”

  I was pretty good at hiding any signs of my emotions by now. In prison, you learned how to make a face of stone and keep it that way. You never wanted to look too happy—easy—but you also never wanted to look too sad or angry—not easy. Facial expressions attracted attention. Not only from the bullies who wanted nothing more than to mess you up just for the fun of it, but also from the COs who liked to pick on you almost as much. The golden rule was to maintain the best poker face possible, and never—and I mean never—look anyone in the eye.

  It was exactly the kind of thing I had going here. Sonny wasn’t dumb. That is, he truly was a criminal lawyer. He must have had some sort of nose for sniffing out shit when it was going down. It wouldn’t take an Einstein to know that something strange had just happened inside the cabin. Christ, the place smelled like pussy. And when his bloodshot eyes shifted their focus one more time to something that was lying on the floor, I thought for sure that Cora and I were beyond screwed.

  He bent over, retrieved my wallet. For a long beat or two, he just held the old, worn leather wallet in his hand, turning it this way and that like he’d just discovered a priceless ancient relic. He stuffed his tongue in his cheek, and it bulged out like a tumor.

  “This, ummm, yours, Kingsley?” he asked.

  For the briefest of seconds, I scanned the floor, making sure Cora hadn’t left her panties lying around. A typewriter hanging precariously off the edge of the table was one thing. A chair that was set askew was another. Even finding my wallet on the floor could somehow be explained. But if his wife’s precious undergarments should just happen to be lying about, it would spell disaster for Cora and me.

  “What’s the matter with you, Kingsley?” Cora broke in, her beer can still in hand. She’d worked up the same kind of aggressive smile she had when I first hooked into the largemouth bass. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.”

  Sonny snorted. He handed me back the wallet. “What we have here, Cora,” he said, “is the intellectual type. Always living inside his own head, oblivious to the outside world. Now, isn’t that right, Kingsley?” He slapped me on the shoulder. His hand was so thick and hard, it felt like a sledgehammer. He nearly knocked me off my feet. “Well, all that’s gonna change now that we’re about to put you to work.” He reached into his pocket. “Anyways, I came out here not to chat it up but to give you the key to the bar cash register.” Reaching into his opposite pocket, he pulled out a wad of cash. “Here’s two-hundred cash, Kingsley. Use it to make change. I want all receipts, so I have a full accounting of where the money is going. Not that I don’t trust you.”

  He handed me the key and the cash.

  Cora finished her beer. Chugged it, was more like it.

  “Darlin
g,” she said, heading to the kitchen and depositing the empty into the trash can, “I’m sure Kingsley is not the devious type. You know how I’ve always had a good instinct for judging character, and I believe what we have here is a real gem. Not a bad fisherman either.”

  So, that was it, then. Cora had made her pitch to her husband. She’d vouched for my character almost as good as my lawyer did for the parole board, and she didn’t know me inside and out like he did. Nor did I know her. But the truth of the matter was that Cora had fallen for me as hard as I had fallen for her. Considering the proximity of her husband, I wasn’t sure if that was good luck or the worst luck a man could have.

  “The tavern is closed for now, Kingsley,” Sonny said, turning for the door. “But make sure the door is open no later than six. Those trout fishermen get mighty thirsty after a day on the water. And don’t lose that cash, you hear me?”

  As he set his hand on the doorknob, I noticed something bulging out of his waist where the tail of his work shirt had come out. As he opened the door, the shirttail shifted, and the grip on a small pistol was exposed. The sight of the gun sent a noticeable chill up and down my spine. Sonny was packing. Not an unusual thing up in these parts where a bear could suddenly appear out of nowhere. But knowing that he had pointed that same gun at Cora and me last night not only gave me pause, it told me Sonny was a dangerous man, sober and drunk.

  He opened the door and stepped out.

  “Coming, Cora, my love?” he barked.

  “I gotta go,” she whispered.

  That’s when she did something she shouldn’t have. By that I mean she was taking a real chance when she snuck a lightning fast peck on my cheek. We were facing Sonny’s back, but that didn’t mean he did not have a pair of eyes in the back of his pumpkin head.

  “He’s dead to us,” she whispered in my ear. “Do you understand me, Kingsley? He’s a monster, and I want him dead.” Then, composing herself, “Coming, honey!”

  I didn’t breathe until she closed the door behind her.

  I immediately went to my bag, pulled out my old laptop, set it up on the table beside the typewriter and the ream of paper. It was time to do a little detecting on exactly who Cora Black and Sonny Torchi were. What their past lives were and how and why they settled on the isolation of Loon Lake. Something aside from the fact that Cora might have vacationed here as a child.

  Powering up the laptop, I clicked on the little icon at the bottom of the screen that would direct me to an open Wi-Fi network. Turned out, there weren’t any networks. I was too far north where the internet was still something that wasn’t always available. Talk about rustic. Talk about isolated.

  I closed the laptop lid, sat back in my chair. My mind was spinning and my body still trembling from the sex I had with Cora. Only yesterday morning, I boarded a Greyhound bus at dawn for the hour and a half trip back up to Albany. Maybe I hadn’t been hearing from them much anymore, but my wife and daughter knew I was coming home. They knew it, and I fully expected them to be waiting for me at the front door with open arms. Okay, maybe not open arms, but they might have greeted me with a smile and just a few simple words like, “It’s good to have you home again, Daddy.” Instead, all I got was an empty house, my clothes and damaged typewriter stuffed into a box and tossed carelessly in the garage to rot. I was lucky to get my laptop and Jeep back.

  There was nothing left for me in that house, so I came here to Loon Lake Inn. It was as if I was drawn here the entire time not by necessity, but by fate. I met a woman, Cora, who not only reminded me of Leslie, physically speaking, but I began to fall in love with her hard. It was love and lust at very first sight. Again, only fate could make something like that happen. We weren’t in one another’s company for more than twenty-four hours before we’re screwing like two college kids right on the table in the little cabin. A cabin that would be home for me for who knows how long.

  Then there was the issue of Sonny. Good old violent, pistol-packing Sonny. He was good with me staying here for free, but free wasn’t really free since he expected me to work.

  Tending bar wouldn’t be much of a hassle. Like I said, it was my way of getting free booze. Plus, there might be a chance to skim a little off the top, depending on the day’s take. Bartending was a cash business, and I’d done plenty of it when I was in college to make ends meet. Skimming off the top was what made it so lucrative for bartenders who knew what they were doing. But my work wouldn’t end there. Sonny was insisting on getting some physical labor out of me. Tomorrow, I’d meet him at dawn to clear the trails. My gut told me he was really going to bust my hump and enjoy it.

  “He’s dead to us. Do you understand me, Kingsley?”

  Maybe Cora was right. If only Sonny were out of the picture. If only he were gone. Dead and gone. Cora and I could live up here in this idyllic place and be happy forever after. I kept hearing her words over and over again inside my head like a broken record. “He’s dead to us.” There was only one explanation for that. She wanted him gone as much as I did. Maybe she didn’t come right out and say it. But Cora wanted me to help make it happen.

  She wanted me to commit murder for her. For her and me.

  I glanced at my watch. I had an hour and a half until I was expected to be at the bar slinging drinks. Maybe I should try to get some writing done, or so I thought. But I couldn’t have come up with a creative thought right then if it slapped me over the head. For the hell of it, I pulled out my smartphone, which by now was old and no longer so smart. The screen had cracked over the time I was in the joint, which told me whoever was taking care of it inside prison storage had dropped it, maybe by accident or maybe on purpose. Prison employees, especially COs, could be real assholes if they wanted to be.

  Pressing the Google app, I started typing in Cora’s name. Maybe the cellphone provider would allow me access to the internet. But just like my laptop, the system told me no network was available. You just couldn’t fight the fact that you were in the deep woods and off the grid. It made me feel good on one hand to be so lost, and sort of sad on the other.

  My eyes locked on the phone and its numerous apps. I knew I shouldn’t go there, but I pressed the photo app icon. I shuffled through the pictures until I came to a series of snapshots I took of Leslie and Erin on the beach in Cape Cod three or so years back. They both looked so happy. Erin in her little blue and white bikini and Leslie in her sleek fitting black one piece. We’d purchased a fire engine red blowup swan for Erin, and she was floating around in the shallow end of the water with it, while Leslie looked on anxiously. Even now—now that she’d left me—my stunning wife took my breath away. Tall, tan, fit, her long dark hair draping her shoulders, her big brown eyes masked by aviator sunglasses. I remembered thinking I would rather die than let anything bad happen to her or our daughter. They were my everything, and for a long time, I was only too happy to give them everything they wanted.

  Funny, because the pictures were taken at the very same time the bathroom renovations were happening at the house. We scheduled the trip so the carpenter could have the run of the place while we were gone. Little did I know, Leslie must have been texting him while we were hanging out on the beach, soaking in the sun while our daughter played in the waves with her red blow up swan…while I felt the happiest I had ever felt in my life.

  Maybe I’d made a mistake after all. Maybe when I tossed that carpenter out the window at Lucy’s Bar, I should have completed the job I’d started when I was pounding his head against the pavement. Maybe, in the end, I should have bashed his brains in even if it meant a life sentence. Maybe it would have been worth it. At the very least, I should have taken Theresa up on her offer of being lovers when I had the chance. But I wanted to be loyal to Leslie. I wanted to be true to her. What a fool I was.

  My eyes were filling. My mouth went dry, and my stomach cramped. I had to get my head straight and lose the bad thoughts that were poisoning my brain. That meant only one thing. I needed to take some
action or else I would drink that refrigerator dry before I was expected to show up at the Loon Lake Inn tavern to tend bar.

  Getting up, I grabbed my keys and my laptop. I left the cabin and took the trail back to the main lodge parking lot. I got back in my Jeep, fired her up, and before Cora or Sonny could stop me, I drove out to the main road and headed for town.

  I was on a mission to find some Wi-Fi and find out the true identities behind the caretaker and the caretaker’s wife.

  11

  Loon Lake wasn’t much of a town by any stretch of the imagination. It consisted of one main street flanked by maybe a dozen buildings. I passed by a couple of sad looking single-story commercial buildings, a hardware store, and a funeral parlor. A few two-story homes were located on the road. One of them was so badly burned it was uninhabitable. Long strips of yellow crime scene ribbon had been draped around what was once the front door.

  A bar occupied the lot beside a small grocery store that also housed a small diner and some gas pumps outside. A beat-up sign that barely hung from a rusted post announced, Bunny’s Place. Across the street was a combination post office, sheriff’s headquarters, fire station-slash-EMT brigade, and a jail. Two prowlers were parked out front along with a white pickup truck. Across the street was a two-story brick building that housed an insurance business. Chuck Dreadgold — Insurance Agent read the sign outside.

  Further down the road was a library and beyond that a white wood clapboard church. A few more mixed-use buildings occupied the street, but not much else. From where I stood after I parked the Jeep in the lot outside Bunny’s Place, there wasn’t even a decent restaurant in town. But maybe that was good news for the Loon Lake Inn tavern.

  My laptop under my arm, I entered into the bar. It was a small, one-room affair with a pool table to the left and a couple of booths to the right. The bar was in the back of the room across from the toilets. A flat screen TV mounted to the far wall was broadcasting hockey. I wasn’t much into the sport, but I knew that men and women up here loved it. Hockey was a cold weather sport, and it was teeth-chattering cold up here three quarters of the year.