TABOO TALES(erotica)

Bec looked up at her. “I didn’t know you… I didn’t think you’d understand. You’re so self assured…. so much stronger than me.”

Chelsea hugged her again, wrapping her arms around her. She could feel that her own tears were very close. “Not really, Bec. I think we are both broken souls at the moment.” She held her a little longer, then disengaged, looking down into the girl’s face. “But we have each other. Promise you’ll let me know if you get really down.”

Bec smiled. Her eyes were red and her nose was running a little. “Promise.”

“I mean it. Any time, day or night. A problem shared….”

“I hear you, Chelsea.”

“OK then.” She found a scrunched up tissue in her pocket and gave it to the girl. “Wipe your nose. Are you up for a game of scrabble?”Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Sure…. isn’t that what old people play?”

Chelsea smiled at her. “It’s what lonely people play, Bec,” she said, “and I reckon we could be world champions.”

She turned away to get the board, her mind full of how the girl’s body had felt in her arms, and the cinnamon and apple smell of her hair. It isn’t anything sexual, she told herself. It’s just the comfort of having someone who understands.

*****

Ben Rogers set his glass down on the worn surface of the down town bar and gestured to the bartender. “Same again, thanks.”

He looked around. There weren’t many people in at this time – a solitary drunk in the corner nursing a Scotch, and a younger couple at one of the tables. He picked up his drink and swallowed half of it, feeling the warmth of the liquor burn his insides.

He thought again about what he had seen and tried to unravel the mystery, but all it did was make his head hurt. She was either going into the driveway of the house where the accident happened, or was coming out. But why? She’d never mentioned knowing anyone in that neighbourhood, and she didn’t have any reason to call there, especially dressed like that. He shook his head. There was only one explanation – she was meeting someone. The question was who, and for what purpose. He tossed the remainder of his drink down his throat, flung a couple of notes on the counter and walked out. It would be interesting to see what she said when he got home.

Sophie was on the sofa reading a book, and she smiled up at looked him as he took off his coat. “Hi Hon.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “Hi Gorgeous. What’s for supper?”

She put the book down. “I popped down to the take -away – they do a great Pizza.”

He sighed. They seemed to have take -away three or four times a week. “How was your day?”

“Busy. I went down to the shops to look for a dress for the wedding, but couldn’t see much. I bumped into Linda and we had a nice long lunch. She’s heading off to see her Mum next week.”

“What else?”

“Not much, Hon. A bit of shopping – had my nails done -”

“And your hair?”

She frowned at him. “No. Why d’you ask?”

“I thought it looked a bit different – it looks really nice.” It was too, but it was flowing over her shoulders, not piled up on her head like it had been when he saw her.

She smiled at the compliment. “And then I came home – I’m reading this really good book.”

He sat on the arm of the sofa next to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Sounds like the kind of day I should have had,” he said. He looked at her. “Don’t you ever get bored, Sophie, spending so much time at home?”

“Nope. There’s always lots to do.”

“Don’t you want to meet new people? There’s groups you can join – they do all sorts of stuff.”

“Like what, Hon?”

“Going out to places, doing crafts, learning stuff -”

She shook her head. “Not for me. I’m just happy here.”

“I’m glad.” He stood up. “I’ll just go and change and then we’ll eat.” He turned and walked away, and then stopped. “Oh, I forgot. I noticed your car has a tail light broken. When did that happen?”

She shook her head. “I found it like that when I came out from lunch today… no note or anything. I asked the shopkeepers nearby, but nobody saw it happen. Will it be expensive?”

“Probably not. Can you write down the time and place you were parked, Sophie, just in case I need to make an insurance claim?”

“Sure Hon.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and guileless. “They could have left a note – I guess some people just aren’t honest.”

“Right,” he said, “but they usually get what they deserve.”

*****

Craig Howard looked just as you would expect a private detective to look, Ben thought. He was short and squat, with a rumpled coat and a hangdog expression – but behind the slim reading glasses his eyes were bright with intelligence and he came straight to the point.

“It should be a simple job, Mr Rogers. Most partners are pretty careless in situations like this – they think they’ve taken precautions but they’re usually pretty thin.” He stroked his chin. “Can I ask you a couple more questions?”

“Sure.”

“You appreciate that my fees are the same, even if I find nothing?”

“Yes”

“And are you sure you want to know all the details if I do find something? Sometimes it can be very confronting.”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you want photographs?”

“Only if they show a third party.”

“And aside from following her, you want to know who owns this house in O’Connor Circuit – er,” he consulted his notes, ” – number 28?”

“Right.”

“Is that all?”

Ben smiled at him, but his eyes were cold. “I want you to use your discretion, Mr. Howard. If you think that there’s anything else that I might find interesting, then I want you to follow it up – within the limit of the fees we have agreed.”

“Very well. When do you want me to start?”

“Tomorrow. I leave for work at about eight, so from then.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “A delicate question, if I may. When is her period due?”

Ben was taken aback. “What? Why…. oh, I see.” He considered for a moment. “She’s pregnant – five weeks, but it doesn’t show at all.”

The Detective nodded. “Very well. I’ll have my report to you a week on Friday. Now, about the deposit…”

Ben reached into the drawer in his office and drew out the slim packet of banknotes. “There’s a thousand.”

“Thank you. I can see that we will work well together. Now, there’s one more thing.” He took off his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his shirt. “You appreciate, I hope, that any incriminating material I provide cannot be used in a court of law – it would be the result of surveillance that has not been authorised by a Magistrate. It is, in effect, totally non -admissible.”

Ben nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Is there anything more before I start?”

“No, thank you. My secretary will show you out.”

*****

Exactly ten days later, the Detective was back in his office. He placed his briefcase on his lap and popped the locks to draw out a slim binder.

“Before I start, Mr. Rogers, can I ask if you noticed anything in your partner’s behaviour during the week that was – ah – out of the ordinary?”

Ben shook his head. “Not really, but I didn’t look hard…. I didn’t want to start worrying about things that might have a perfectly good explanation.”

The detective nodded. “I understand.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “You will recall that I started my surveillance last Wednesday week, and concluded on Tuesday. Much of that time your partner was in the house, or engaged in activity that was innocuous – going shopping, and so forth.” He opened the report and glanced down at its pages. “But over the week she also made a number of other visits that are not so easy to explain.” He drew a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to Ben. “I’ve marked these visits in yellow highlighter.”

Ben put the paper on the desk without looking at it. “Tell me about them.”

“There were three, in particular. The first was on Wednesday. Your partner left the house in the morning and visited the hairdresser and the shopping mall. She purchased some items in one of the clothing stores and then returned home at about eleven am. She then left again shortly after midday, and I followed her to an address in Beachside, about twenty -five minutes from here. There was one vehicle already there when she arrived – a silver Porsche, registered to a Mr. John Sylvester.”

“Who’s he?”

“A local businessman – 42 years old, married three times, no kids. He owns a number of fashion stores and is doing very well. Lives in Royalla.”

“Go on.”

“Mr. Sylvester met her and they embraced before they shut the door. There was time for one photograph.” He passed over an A4 print in black and white, showing a couple embracing in the doorway of a house. They were in shadow, but it was clear enough – Sophie on tiptoe, stretching upwards, her eyes closed and her head tilted to one side. Her lips were open, caught in the moment just before they kissed, her body leaning forward and her arms around his neck.

Ben placed it carefully on the desk in front of him. “How long was she there?”

“Just over two hours. They left in separate cars, her first. She drove to the Westfield bank in the high street, where she made a cash deposit of five hundred dollars to a checking account in the name of Sophia Delaney. The current balance of that account is just under two thousand dollars.”

“Delaney is her middle name,” Ben whispered. “Sophia Delaney McGraw.”

The detective nodded. “It’s quite a common practice to use the middle name.” He consulted his notes for a moment. “There are three accounts in her name at that bank – the total combined value as of yesterday is just over seventy two thousand dollars.” He passed another page to Ben. “Here are the account statements for the last two months – you can see the dates and amounts of each deposit, and the transfers between them.”