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- 02/16/2017
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 12. Chapter 12
David answered my knock wearing loose pants and a robe. His hair was pulled back in a tight tail and he wore no makeup, dark smudges underlining wary eyes. My chest ached at the sight knowing I was more than responsible. Still Dorothy’s perfume filled the air lifting some of the oppression. I inhaled deeply fortifying my resolve.
“May I?”
He nodded and stepped back but I didn’t want space. It had been three days since we’d argued; three days of silence; three days without him near me.
I'd just returned from Damian's funeral where his family gathered under umbrellas, raindrops running off them mimicking the inevitable descent of tears. His mama’s eyes gazed at me with questions she could not ask nor likely would want to even then. It made me wonder if they knew him better than I.
What game had he been playing that got him killed? A crime of hatred is what the detective said. Damian could inspire that kind of emotion that was for sure but enough to drive someone to murder? Was he hiding out in that carriage house or was he there for some other reason? What was going on in that place that held him there?
The air around us crackled with unspoken tension as the door slammed shut behind me. I pulled David into my arms, tight against my chest.
“Never again, David. We need to figure this out. Together.”
His arms wound around my waist as he stretched up to meet my lips in a kiss that tasted of coffee and exhaustion. The kiss lingered then his lips returned with more emphasis, drawing me down into his embrace. My head dropped to the crook of his neck where I nuzzled, inhaling deeply.
“God, I missed you ”, he let out a gasping breath.
“Where are we heading?”
In deference to the cold, wet weather, Dorothy wore a teal-colored, knit sweater that favored her long torso and creamy complexion. It reminded me of warmer days spent at the shore, ocean waves of the same color waxing and waning as the sun rose high in the sky.
“Do you ever go to the beach?” I asked him not bothering to explain my thoughts.
“We’re heading to the beach?”, she lifted a querulous eye in my direction.
“No, just asking.”
“Well, sure...oh, you mean as...me?”
“Who else am I gonna take?”
A beaming smile broke out on her face like the sun on that beach, so warm and inviting it made me want to do exactly that. Made me want to do a lot of things that would get me that smile.
“I would love that.” So would I, I thought.
We headed east on Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Russell Senate Building where Senator Metcalf’s office was located. As it started to rain harder traffic came to a standstill due to am impasse of irate drivers and blaring horns. We sat warm and dry in the car so I wasn’t as irritated as I might have been. The company helped.
“So what do you do with your time when you’re not looking for shady characters?”
She seemed to consider this line of questioning as an opportunity for squinting her eyes at me. After a fashion she answered, “I’m a librarian.”
I couldn’t hold back the snort if I’d tried yet the look on her face wasn’t displeasure at all. She just grinned as if she’d put one over on me.
“What do you think I do most days?” she inquired, curiosity blatant on her beautiful face.
“Romance foreign royalty; topple totalitarian regimes; bake cakes?”
“Well, if I had the time,” she glanced at me slyly, “I’d certainly try that cake thing.
"Actually, I volunteer at the Georgetown Library in the Peabody Room where they house their collection of Georgetown’s historical records. George Peabody, who funded the building of the library, was my great-great uncle. He wanted to benefit our neighborhood by establishing a place to cultivate intellectual progress.”
She continued to tell me about the historical items held by the library and her role in overseeing their care and expansion. Her knowledge of the area’s history was breathtaking.
Eventually the traffic eased and we made our way around the White House and past the National Gallery. I’d never been to either or any of the several other museums and monuments. It occurred to me that Dorothy would probably enjoy visiting the many historic sites of our city. Having grown up here, it was easy to take the city for granted never making the time to see it like a tourist.
Soon we were parking just outside the building in a lot full of late model cars and entering the office of Senator Alexander Metcalf. I’d called Uncle Jimmy the day before for advice.
“I need to speak to him privately.”
“Call his office, make an appointment, tell him you’re looking to make a donation. He’ll be more comfortable on his home ground, more likely to talk. You think he knows something about your friend’s death?”
I didn’t need to ask how he knew this. That’s Uncle Jimmy. Ignoring the question, I had one of my own.
“How do I know if he’ll tell me the truth?”
“They all lie, something in the nature of the political animal. But the best lies have a grain of truth. It’s up to you to figure out which part that is.”
Uncle Jimmy paused and I braced myself for what came next.
“Seth, maybe you shouldn’t get too involved. Why don’t you take some days off, go visit your folks? I’ll see if I can cool some of the heat.”
I knew he was offering to pull strings, give the cops a case of amnesia where I’m concerned but that wasn’t going to help David.
“Thanks, Uncle Jimmy, but I got my reasons for sticking around. I’ll keep my head down.”
His silence told me his thoughts on that decision. Still, he let me off the hook and promised to check back in a few days.
The Senate Building boasted lustrous marble columns with bronze ornamentation. Inside, the two room office was dominated by a mahogany battleship of a desk and a fireplace delivering a cozy warmth into the modest space.
“Senator Metcalf, I’m Seth Graham and this is Miss Dorothy James. Thank you for seeing us.”
“It is always a pleasure to meet you. Call me Alex. Please sit.”
Dorothy glanced at me then smiled fetchingly, “The pleasure is mine.”
He eyed Dorothy a moment, broke out that dimpled grin and grasped her hand before asking, “Are you by any coincidence related to Andrew and Muriel James?”
Dorothy must has been expecting this because her reply was brisk, “Yes, they were my parents.”
“Let me express my condolences on your loss. I met them years ago at a rally for Congressman Davidson. They were ardent supporters who committed more than just money to causes they believed in. They’ve been missed.”
The confusion on my face must have shown as Dorothy explained, “My parents were quite politically active before their deaths. “
“You should pick up that flag and continue their efforts, Miss James. We’d love to have you on board.”
He’d yet to release her hand. The man knew the effect of those twinkling eyes and good looks, waited for the Dorothy to acquiesce to his demands. But he didn’t know this dame like I do.
“Thank you for the offer but my brother Danny has taken on the family tradition most effectively. I”m happy to allow him to be in that spotlight.”
“Ah, yes, Daniel. Michael’s man. But I’m sure you’d do quite well in the spotlight, a pretty girl such as yourself. Perhaps we could discuss this more over drinks, dinner. I’m always available to my political allies.”
The senator looked at me for support or maybe something else, “I’m sure both of you have something to contribute.”
Smoothly continuing on, he asked, “So what brings you to my doorstep?”
“Did you speak to Damian Slick at the hospital benefit last week?”
As if I’d delivered a right hook to the jaw, his head snapped back with a look of horror. “Damian?” he let out in a hiss. “I – I – don’t know what you’re talking about ”
“You did know him...”
A flash of lightning lit the large window behind the desk, highlighting his tight smile. He answered in an unsteady voice.
“Well, I believe he was a friend of Daniel’s. I may have spoken with him. I spoke with a number of people that evening.”
The Senator regained his composure and smoothed his speech.
“Why are you asking? The police have already contacted me. Surely you’ve talked to them.”
“He was a friend and I want to know why someone murdered him.” The truth went deeper than that but I owed Milton at least this much.
“And you think I did?” The look of incredulity was so stark I couldn’t help but believe it.
Dorothy, who’d been sitting quietly - almost too quietly - spoke up.
“Is that your new Buick Skylark parked in the lot in front of the building?”
She made it sound innocent like she’d just dropped one more blithe thought from a mostly vacant head. Holding my breath, I trusted my face not to betray the level of interest in his answer. Smugness underlined his response, “A little treat to myself after I won the election.”
“And black makes you look so dignified and powerful.”
The Senator smiled benevolently never comprehending just how much he’d given away, “I owe it to the office.”
Not in a million years would I have put that together. Yet here was my dame wielding the brush and painting the big picture. She amazed me, dazzled me, thrilled me, aroused me.
On the drive back, my hand roamed over Dorothy’s leg, starting a conversation I wanted to finished without words but plenty of lips. She stopped it with a question, “Have the police spoken to you since that night?”
I hadn’t told her of Detective Cavanaugh’s visit or his suspicions. Could say it was to keep her from worrying but the truth was I just wasn’t used to confiding in anyone.
“Gave him a few answers, sent him on his way. Nothing serious.”
“Really?” Her hand tightened on mine, “Seth, it’s the police. Of course it’s serious. Tell me what he said.”
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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