AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He took the security footage out of the player and made a decision. He shoved it under the desk and scooted it out of sight. If the kids said anything to anyone about the footage, he’d claim not to recall anything and act surprised that the video had been lost.
He called for his wife, but she wasn’t around. Some of his friends still worked on cleanup.
“You guys, go home – I’m not opening tonight. Maybe not for a few days. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah – thanks, I’m sure.”
Sam locked the bar and headed out. Florence’s car was gone. She’d be out screwing someone, he had no doubt. She come home afterwards and make him dinner. Then she’d tell him all about her latest fuck, and if maybe if he was lucky, she’d let him spank her.
~~*~~
As soon as her husband took those nosey young people back to this office, Florence hurried backstage. After a moment of hunting, she found a plastic bag, stuffed behind a chair in the corner. Inside the bag, she found some clothes and a woman’s purse. She looked inside and opened the wallet. The ID showed the black women, the one who thought she was such hot shit, she didn’t need to use her real name on the form. What had she called herself? Bombshell?
Florence stared at the name again. Why did that ring a bell? Then it hit her. The last time she’d seen Harold, he’d dropped by her house – not to give her a quickie, but to show her a picture of a black girl. He’d asked if Florence had seen her. Something about needing to ask her questions about some police business.
Florence licked her lips, excited to have a reason to encourage Harold back into her bed. They’d had an amazing fling for several months, about a year ago - but then he’d lost interest in her.
She gathered up the bag and headed back towards the front. Remembering that the young people were looking for their friends things – she made the bag smaller in her arms and turned her body so they wouldn’t see what she was carrying.
But as she approached the partially opened door to Sam’s office, she heard something that made her stop in her tracks.
“That’s the sheriff pointing a gun. You’ve got it on tape!” She recognized the faggot’s voice. She needed to warn Harold.
She’d hurried past them unnoticed and almost ran to her car, anticipation coursing through her body. She stashed the women’s thing in her trunk, then drove out of the lot. Away from the bar, she pulled into a turn out and slowed to a stop.
She called Harold.
“What?” he said, he sounded annoyed.
“I’ve got something important to tell you about that woman you were looking for, and I wanted to warn you about what happened at the bar last night.”
“Can you meet me, in an hour?”
“Yes,” she said, breathlessly.
“Good, I’ll send you the text.”
“Where is it?”
“Out of town a bit. Oh, and Florence, wear something special for me – alright.”
“Yes, Harold.”
Thrilled beyond measure, Florence sped home to her house in the heart of Misty Falls. She showered and shaved then dressed in an outfit, she was sure he’d enjoy. She switched cars, opting for her convertible. She used her GPS to locate the house. It was farther in the mountains than she’d expected. The dirt road, took her into a part of the mountains with very few homes. She went past a boarded up home with several dilapidated and rusted out school busses parked out, then followed the signal until she came to a small wooden cabin nestled in a stand of pines. She saw not the Sheriff’s car, but another vehicle that she thought might be his. She checked her watch as she rolled to a stop. Good, she was late. “I hope, you plan to punish me,” she said out loud, as she added another coat of lipstick to her thin dry lips.
Chapter Eleven
After Merrick left, Bombshell was confused. She’d wanted to make love to him, but he’d rejected h
er. Why? They were supposed to be engaged, which meant they were in love, right? And people who were in love made love to each other. She didn’t get it.
Frustrated, and not tired enough to sleep, she nevertheless had no desire to run into him anytime soon, nor experience his rejection again. She looked in the mirror and gasped at the sight of herself. Her hair was a mess, and the ugly bandage didn’t help. She was wearing a clean but stained stretched-out t-shirt and no bra. The sweatpants did nothing for her figure, too tight in the waist and too short in the legs. No wonder he didn’t want to kiss her, or touch her.
She got out of bed and explored their bedroom. Or maybe it wouldn’t be their bedroom much longer. Maybe he was planning on dumping her. She looked in the mirror again and flinched. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. She had to do something about her appearance.
She looked through the room and checked the closet. He had a suitcase zipped up in the corner, but she had no luggage. She couldn’t understand how she’d lost her purse, her luggage and her memory, but he still had his suitcase.
