Authors: Carol Davis Luce
“
Yes.”
“
Oh, no.”
“
She was found in the foyer of her apartment. Killed with a—like the Flores woman.”
Regina felt weak, sick to her stomach. Pandora had died trying to help her. She was caught in a swirl of emotions: anger, sorrow, fear, and guilt.
This maniac had to be stopped before another innocent woman died.
She felt John’s hand on her shoulder and she squeezed it.
“
Lillard will want to talk with both of you today. Can you make yourselves available?”
“
Yes. Yes, of course,” Regina said. “Wilma, does he know our suspicions about Corde?”
“
We’ll go over all that when you get here. I’ll call.”
Regina hung up. John turned her around, folded her in his arms and held her securely, gently swaying as he stroked her hair and back.
“
A hundred and fifty,” the jeweler said, putting down his loupe.
“
You mean fifteen hundred?” Amelia said.
“
I mean one hundred and fifty dollars.”
“
But those are diamond earrings.”
“
Cubic zirconia is what they are.”
Amelia was too stunned to speak. Matthew had never given her imitations before. There had to be a mistake.
She had come out into the damp, drizzly morning to sell the earrings. As always, she was prepared to take much less than their actual worth. She was unprepared to discover they were practically worthless.
“
They retail for approximately a hundred and fifty.” He handed the case with the earrings back to her.
She took them absently. The earrings had come from the same high-priced jewelry store where Matthew bought all her jewelry. The “love gifts,” always genuine. Why cheap imitations this time? He could certainly afford the real thing.
“
A pawn shop might give you twenty, twenty-five dollars for them,” the jeweler said.
She shoved the case into her gray lizard handbag and strode from the store. Out on the street she stood at the curb, nonplussed, oblivious to the light drizzle, wondering what to do next. It was half-past ten. She had an appointment with Max Conner at the station at four, without Nolan.
Nolan was of no use to her any longer. He had called her that morning, obviously shaken, to say that Donna, released from the hospital the day before, had suggested a trial separation. Without his hold on Donna, Amelia realized, the man had no ground to stand on. She had gone around him to the executive producer. Max would be a pushover.
She walked to the end of Maiden Lane, stood on the sidewalk taking in the green of Union Square with its hundreds of greedy pigeons and the surrounding chic boutiques and department stores. She sighed audibly. After the rejection on the massage table, Matthew, naturally, had withheld the credit card. And there was no telling how long before he would relent and give it to her. There was only one sure way to dissolve his anger and that was to play the victim. The “victim”—where she allowed herself to be bound, gagged, and totally at the mercy of his sick sexual appetite. It was the role she consented to only when the stakes were extremely high.
Well, perhaps just one more time.
At eleven on the dot, Amelia arrived back home. As she entered the house, she wondered if there was a way she could get into Matthew’s room in the basement. The room where he kept his secret goodies was as secure as Fort Knox. She imagined it held countless coin collections and other things of great value, else why would he forbid her access?
In the foyer she sat on the mohair bench and pulled off her wet boots.
“
Kelly!” she called out to the housekeeper.
“
I gave her the day off.”
Startled, her head snapped up. Her husband stood looking down from the second floor banister.
“
Matthew, you’re home?” she said, her voice high and breathy.
“
Trial was postponed. Where have you been?”
“
Window shopping.”
“
In the rain?”
“
It’s just a figure of speech, darling. I was browsing in Saks.”
“
Find anything?”
“
Many things. Unfortunately, I am without funds.”
“
Perhaps something could be arranged.”
She smiled broadly, disguising her true feelings. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“
Are you? How glad?”
“
How glad do you want me to be?” Her tone was sultry, teasing.
His eyes stared into hers. One side of his mouth pulled into a grin. “Why don’t you come up and we’ll find out?”
He was offering her a chance to right things between them. The option she had considered when she discovered the earrings were fake was, conveniently, being presented to her. This could be her last opportunity before she left him. The victim game never failed to elevate his mood and loosen his purse strings. And by God, she swore, this time when she got hold of that credit card she’d max it out. That would teach the bastard to give her phony jewels.
She continued to smile as she crossed the parquet foyer, climbed the curved staircase, and walked ahead of him into their bedroom. Without a word, she went to her dresser drawer, took out several pairs of panty hose, and handed them to him.
The look on his face was both surprised and pleased. She rarely submitted voluntarily to the victim role.
He grinned, leaned against the wall, and waited.
She began to undress.
A moment later, completely nude, she turned to him, an inquiring look on her face. She waited for him to tell her which outfit to wear, the garter belt, black hose, and spiked heels, or the plain cotton dress with no underwear and bare feet, or the child’s chintz pinafore with knee socks and Mary Jane shoes?
Matthew grinned again. “Just as you are.”
He never started with her entirely naked. Although she was taken aback, she feigned nonchalance, nodded, and moved to the bed.
On the bed she held out her hands, fingers clasped, waiting for him to tie the hose around her wrists. He did, jerking the knot tight. She winced but said nothing.
“
Lie on your back and be very still,” he instructed.
When she had done as he said, he left the room. She heard his steps going down the stairs. A few minutes later he returned upstairs, went into the bathroom, then finally joined her again.
She hadn’t moved. She watched him, wondering why he was being so quiet.
He smiled at her.
A flicker of apprehension passed over her.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took the other pair of panty hose, made a slip knot, then quickly worked it over her head before she could protest. She tried to sit up, but he firmly pushed her back down.
“
Matthew, don’t do that. You know I can’t stand anything around my neck.”
“
Except expensive jewelry. Don’t talk and don’t move or you’ll spoil it for me.” He tied the end of the nylon stocking to a slat on the headboard. He reached into his pocket and brought out a straight razor.
“
What--?”
“
Sssh.”
He lifted her bound arms above her head. Her flat, smooth stomach heaved.
In the past he’d used a whip made of soft strips of cloth, or occasionally a fabric belt or hairbrush. He’d never brought out something as lethal and terrifying as the blue steel razor.
He opened the razor and moved it toward her. Amelia bucked, tried to get up. The nylon around her throat squeezed tight, making her cough.
He slipped a finger under the knot and loosened it. “Be careful,” he said. “You’ll choke yourself.”
“
Matthew, release me ... now. I don’t want to play this sick game of yours.”
“
Not even for jewels and furs?”
“
No. Now free me.”
He laid a velvet box on her abdomen, the lid open. Inside she saw the glittering earrings. “These were in your handbag,” he said. “Why were they in your handbag?”
She swallowed over the tightness in her throat. “I took them to the jeweler for repairs,” she lied. “The clip on one is too tight, it pinches.”
“
You didn’t take them to sell?”
Her fear intensified. “Of course not,” she responded indignantly. “Why would I want to sell my new earrings?”
“
Why indeed”
He left the room again. She thought she heard him in the den midway down the hall. He returned to the bedroom carrying a document and a portable tape recorder. He sat on the edge of the bed, pressed the “play” button, and watched her intently. Amelia recognized her voice immediately, but the shock came when she realized the other voice belonged to Fletcher Kincade. The two voices filled the silent void. Amelia’s resonant voice was saying, “... Eighty thousand and it took me nineteen endless years to accumulate it dollar by miserable dollar... . The fool never suspected.”
She looked at him, forcing her face to remain stoic. But beneath her bare breasts her heart pounded. She said nothing, only stared at him.
Corde pressed the stop button.
“
Have you nothing to say?” he asked.
“
You hired a detective?”
“
What does it matter. I want the money back. All of it.”
“
It was my money. Money I saved and invested.”
“
Money stolen from me. The jewelry, the credit cards, the out-and-out thievery of cash from my wallet. Imagine, a woman of your class and caliber, going through her husband’s pocket like a common fishwife. It’s all on this tape.” He tapped the recorder. “So where is it?”
Amelia stared silently at him.
“
Return it to me and I’ll forget it ever happened. You have my word. You’ll not be punished or made to suffer in any way. I’ll even give you an allowance so you won’t feel the need to lower yourself to such a level of degradation.”
She shook her head. He was lying. He would never forgive or forget. But what difference did it make, she had no money to return to him,
“
And if you really want that position at the TV studio,” he continued, “I won’t object. Ahh, I see by your expression that you don’t believe me.”
“
No.”
Matthew unfolded the document in his hand and placed it in front of her to read. “It’s our premarital agreement. I’m willing to tear it up, Amelia.”
“
Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“
Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to lose you. I’m willing to change, but I must have back the money you took from
me ...
as a sign of good faith. For future trust.”
Would he do all he said? Let her work, give her an allowance, void the premarital agreement? Even if she had the money to give back, would she want to stay with him now?
“
Fletcher swindled me. Took the money and ran.”
After several moments of silence Corde began to laugh.
“
We could get it back,” she said, a note of hopeful desperation in her voice. “You hired a detective to follow us, so you must know where he is.”