Clare's Secret

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

New Partner?

Dressed in a snug fitting, military styled, cream light cotton shirt and a heavy, black slim skirt cut off at the knee, would take any man’s breath away. Her shoes are slightly pointed black leather with medium height heels. To her this is as conservative as it gets. Her heavy breasts and hourglass figure always prominent, she struggles at hiding her obvious sexuality.

I’ll always remember overhearing a couple of the deputies gossiping around the water cooler commenting how I would even look ‘screwable’ in a jute sack. I guess I should think myself lucky that I’m blessed with such ‘qualities’. A lot of times it has been a curse more than a blessing.

After taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she knocks on a glass-paneled door with the words; ‘Sheriff M. Mackay’ painted across in gold script.

“Come in.”

Hearing Michael’s soft-spoken voice and her nerves no calmer, she enters his clean airy office. Dressed in his neat, pressed pale green uniform, he conveys to her a broad welcoming smile as she stands in a formal stance in front of his desk.

His eyes travel down from her eyes to her breasts. He pauses for a few seconds to admire the view wishing he was a couple decades younger, and then he is reluctant to return to her stoic face.

“Good morning Chief Deputy Mortimer. You look fit and rested. I want you to look again into this case of the missing young women. Reported by her mother, the latest one went missing two days ago. As far as we know, none of these young women have disappeared without being reported by a family member or a close friend. On the other hand, this might only be the tip of the iceberg. Their might be many more from way back that have never been reported.”

Familiar with the case she challenges him.

“What about the town’s police Chief? Is he investigating this case also? Being this is his jurisdiction.”

As if hitting a raw nerve, Michael eyes glaze over as if he is controlling an urge to express something unsavory.

“I haven’t a goddam clue what that asshole’s doing. As the majority of the young women that have been reported missing, reside out of town - in our jurisdiction, I feel it is our responsibility to find them.”

Still keeping to her formal stance, Clare pulls out a folded white envelope from her shirt pocket and hands it to him. In response his eyes widen.

“What’s this?”

“My official resignation - Boss!”

As he retrieves the letter, he looks at her delicate hand, and releases a heavy sigh of disappointment. He has always had a thing about her hands, plus everything else about her. Hiding his disappointment, he places the unopened envelope on his desk.

“Clare, you’re a born investigator. What the hell are you going to do with your life if you leave me?”

Continuing to stare above his head, she answers.

“I’m going private.”

In response to this latest irritation in his life, he withdraws his glasses from his head, pulls a tissue out of a nearby box and commences to clean the lenses. A ritual he acquired some years ago when he needs time to think and sort out an irritation. After a thoughtful pause, he repositions the glasses, and focuses on her desirable and yet stoic posture.

“A private d**k? Remember you need a license from the county and a gun permit from the state of California to proceed with such an occupation.”

She keeps up this pretense of formality.

“I know sir. I was going to ask you…”His frustration mounting and his control over his emotions disintegrating, he interrupts.

“Okay. See Matt in the main office. You do remember young Matt?”

She recoils at the unnecessary sarcasm.

Of course I know Matt you prick! I’ve had to put up with his ‘adoring’ behavior at worshiping my every move to the extent that it has become embarrassing. I also remember Chuck having words with the young lad about curbing his obsession…

Interrupting her thoughts, Michael stands in an abrupt manner from his leather desk chair and leans forward on his desk as if to emphasize his authority.

“So, you want to be a private investigator? How would you like to have your first client sooner than later?”

“What do you mean – sir?”

To be nearer her, he feels the need to come around to the front of his desk.

“I mean, how about the county offering you a retainer to help you on your way?”

Excited at the prospect, but not sure where this is leading, she asks the obvious.

“Retainer for what?”

To be even closer to her, he steps forward so she is forced to turn to face him. His watery pale blue eyes focus as always on her breasts restraining the long-standing urge to touch them. Reluctant to leave the illusive view, his eyes focus on her face.

“To work on these missing young women.”

“How?”

“By you infiltrating and getting a job at the Desert Palms Hotel! I would have someone on the inside to report back with any Intel that might lead to an arrest.”

Her enthusiasm heightens, but she is a little suspicious and surprised at this sudden offer.

“Okay. As soon as I find an assistant, rent an office I’ll get started. Why the hotel?”

He leans against his desk to give the appearance of being relaxed, but all the time he is agitated by her closeness.

“It seems the hotel has a connection. Not having anyone inside to gather that Intel, I can only speculate.”

Her mind racing, she makes a suggestion to get things started.

“First I’ll check in at the hotel’s human resources office, and then…”

He interrupts.

“You had better change your appearance. People know you around here. Let that dark curly hair of yours hang down instead of having it permanently pinned up, and get contact lenses instead of wearing these heavy glasses of yours.”

Curbing her excitement, she hadn’t thought about her appearance in that way.

I guess a make over might be in order.

“What about my license?”

Gambling she won’t become offended, he slides a ‘fatherly’ arm around her shoulder and escorts her to his office door.

“I’ll see that Matt sorts out the paperwork concerning your investigator’s and gun permits.”

Not showing her indignation at him taking advantage by this close body contact, she presents him with a grateful smile and makes sure she is free of his arm when she reaches for the doorknob.

“Thanks – Michael. You won’t regret it.”

He grinds his jaw in frustration as his eyes focus on her well-formed hips swaying toward the parking lot.

Her head buzzing with ideas, she is having difficulty in driving home in her ten year old ex-police Ford Crown Victoria. On impulse, she stops off at BEN’S BAR, which is situated a hundred yards from the small trailer park she happens to reside in right now. Being early morning, the bar should be empty accept for Benjamin Levi the hardest working and kindest man she has ever known. However, she has never been fooled by that amiable facade. He happens to be a former Marine Corps sergeant who does not take s**t from anyone, and is very capable of throwing out three drunks at a time, which he does often.

As she enters, he is replacing empty liquor bottles behind the spotless bar. His stocky, five foot eight inch frame turns toward the sound of the front door.

“Hi deputy Clare. To what do I owe this pleasure so early in the day?”

“Not deputy anymore!”

As she perches on one of the bar’s high stools, he can’t help but admire her well-defined legs. Always the gentleman, he focuses on her hazel pools, folds his tattoo free muscular arms across his combat green tee shirt.

“How so? You’re the best this little desert town has to offer.”

“Not anymore. I’ve resigned.”

As if understanding her plight, he unfolds his arms and rests his neat, square hands on the dark walnut bar.

“Because of Chuck being done like that?”

“Partly…”

She takes a breath trying to not let the horror of that evening affect her, but it does.

Ben’s kind brown eyes focus on a single tear running down her left cheek.

“I hear the bastard who did the foul deed never got caught.”

She wipes that tear away with her left hand and searches his eyes.

“No! Ben, if you were two decades younger we would make a great team.”

He inhales at the thought.

“Funny you should say that, I look at you now with that same thought. But life being what it is, you can look on me as a much older brother or even a father figure. Anyway, how’s the shoulder?”

She rubs the healed bullet wound with her left hand.

“Still a bit stiff, but fine.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Shaking her head, her thoughts wander to how she has always placed this man on a pedestal and often had fantasies about them being close.

“I could use your help. I need an assistant.”

Keeping up the amiable façade, he can’t hide the fact he is puzzled.

“For what?”

“I’m now a private d**k. So, I need a male assistant to add some muscle and do all the driving. Someone reliable - like you. I also need some premises to hide into and work from.”

Pondering for a few seconds while rubbing his clean shaved jaw, he makes a suggestion.

“There is a recently discharged marine who often come in. Big guy, early thirties, bit of a loner, tends to sit in the corner for an hour, stares forlornly into his beer, and then leaves.”

“Do you know his history?”

As if hitting a sore point, he picks up a nearby beer glass and cloth and begins to polish.

“It would be best if you asked him that yourself. What I can tell you, he is a nice guy, but trouble seems to follow him.”

Picturing an ex-marine suffering from posttraumatic stress syndrome, she is a little wary. Not giving away her thoughts, she removes a business card from her right shirt pocket and places it on the bar.

“My new cellphone number for when this guy returns.”

Concerned about her sudden change of mood, Ben retrieves the card and places it into a small pocket woven into his tee shirt.

“Right next to my heart. As for premises, I have an empty secure outbuilding in my back yard.”

“I can’t afford rent right now….”

“Who said anything about rent?”

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair on you.”

Liking this young woman more by the minute, he presents her with a kind smile reserved for close friends.

“Let me the judge at what’s fair or not young lady. It would cheer this old guy no end to be blessed with your delightful company - now and again.”

She eases herself off the high stool, not conscious of her skirt rising up well above her knees.

“Call me - okay?”

Although Ben catches another glimpse of her fine athletic legs, any illicit thoughts are soon erased from his thoughts.

“You can bet on it.”

Arriving at her aging single width mobile home, she switches off the smooth running engine of the ex-police car and stares with a vacant expression out of the wide windshield.

I can’t stop thinking about that dream being so clear. Those blue sensual lips, and those magnificent breasts. God what is happening to me?

She inhales to relieve this latest and strange tension.

“I should let my hair down and go and visit the human recourses office for that hotel and make a start.”

As she climbs out of her car, a woman’s voice distracts her.

“Clare? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Not in the mood to face Mrs. Pickford, the owner of the park, Clare offers the approaching voice a sincere smile.

“I’ll be in your office to pay my rent next Monday - when its due.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Violet Pickford, with her silver hair tied up into a bun, which is on the verge of disintegrating, appears worried.

“I’m not concerned about that my dear. I’m more worried about a stern looking businesswoman asking after you in my office about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Who was she?”

In reply, Violet hands her a business card.

“Something to do with the hotel. She told me to ask you to contact her ASAP.”

Rattled by this coincidence, as if someone knows her next move, Clare reads the card.