House of Skin (36 page)

It caught the Goat Man off guard.

Going to his knees, the big man flailed his hands at Paul’s arms, trying to free himself of the chokehold, but Paul only squeezed harder. As the big man went limp in his arms he felt someone shaking him from behind. He looked up at Julia, who was staring at him, frightened. Paul relaxed his grip, felt the Goat Man slide to the ground. He whirled, ready to strike again, but it was only one of the three men who’d been watching. When the guy saw Paul’s raised fist he raised his own hands to show he wanted none of it. Above the din he heard someone saying, “Over here. Quick.”

Paul turned and watched the bartender leading Sheriff Barlow over to them. For the first time he noticed the overturned tables, the shattered glass and spilled beer. Barlow was staring at him as though seeing him for the first time. So was Julia. A patron was kneeling over the Goat Man, checking for a pulse.

“He dead?” Barlow asked.

The guy who was kneeling over the Goat Man shook his head, said, “He’s alright.”

Barlow looked at the little guy lying face down in a puddle of blood and beer. “Sayler start this?” he asked the bartender.

“All three of them did,” the bartender answered, though he was looking at Paul with something like fear. “Jimmy here threw the first punch.” Nodding at the Goat Man.

Paul heard someone crying and from the sound of it he thought it was some old woman who’d been struck by a piece of glass. Looking down he saw it was Snowburger, doubled-up, too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone.

“What’d you see, John?” the sheriff was asking one of the men who’d been at the next booth over, a guy in a red seed store cap.

“Same thing he saw,” John said, nodding at the bartender. “These two were just sitting here when Kenny Sayler and the Snowburgers attacked them.”
 

Barlow looked at the middle-aged couple standing behind Julia. The man and the woman both nodded, though they kept a safe distance.

The sheriff sighed, removed his hat and passed a weary hand through his hair. A deputy had moved up next to Barlow. Looking at Paul, the deputy said, “Everyone’s saying the same thing. That these two,” nodding at Paul and Julia, “didn’t do anything until these dumbasses started it.”

“Alright, Doug,” Barlow said. The sheriff surveyed the scene disgustedly, put his hat back on. “Cuff these idiots and get them into the cruiser.”

Barlow glared at Paul.

“Go home,” he said.

As soon as they pulled out of Redman’s parking lot, she was on him. With one hand she grasped his penis, with the other, the back of his neck. She licked his throat, his ear. Feverishly, Julia pushed up his shirt and bit the skin below. Straining to focus on the road he slid his free hand under the top of her shorts. His fingers moved along the crack of her ass, then delved lower. He rubbed her as she undid his shorts, then her own. He gasped as she took him into her mouth.

Paul stomped on the gas, sped down Gordon Road.

She pushed off her shorts, her underwear, but his angle was all wrong, and he couldn’t touch her the way he wanted. Frustrated at the Civic, he veered onto the lane to Watermere and skidded sideways. Throwing it into park even before the skid was done, he grabbed her and tried to kiss her. But she pushed away, threw open her door and climbed out. Paul watched her beautiful, perfect ass flex in the moonlight. Then he followed.

Backpedaling, she pulled her top over her head, let fall her brassiere. Paul tossed his own shirt into the underbrush and pushed his boxer briefs and shorts the rest of the way off. She grinned at him, eyes glimmering, as she backed into the forest.

She turned to run, but he was already on her heels. He allowed her a small lead, relishing the way her tawny skin reflected the pale light filtering down through the overhanging boughs. Sweat poured from her as her strong legs pumped. She curled around a stand of evergreens and went off the path. Paul raced after her, his erection growing. Ahead, near the brook, he spotted the glowing bower of bluegrass beside the little path. That was where he’d take her, he decided.

She threw an exhilarated glance over her shoulder, tried to elude him. But with a cry he bounded forward, fell on her. They landed in the grass. She pushed up to one knee, but he toppled forward onto her, pinned her on her stomach in the bluegrass. Shoving into her immediately, he squeezed her breasts, kneading them savagely, and pumped his hips into her. She spread her legs wider and moaned into her forearm. Soon Paul was moaning too.

When it ended he sat back on the grass, the brook trickling a few feet behind him. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of it soothe his painfully throbbing penis.

He gasped as daggers jabbed his inner legs. He looked up just as she landed on him. She slipped him inside her, cried out as she pumped her hips. Fiery pain bloomed as she dug sharp nails across his chest. He raised his head to see her face, but the darkness shadowed it. He imagined it was Annabel riding him, and as the shadows shifted she seemed to sense his thought. She pumped her hips in a frenzy, leaned back. He stared at her full, beautiful breasts in the moonglow as they moved to the rhythm of her hips, and she screamed, teeth bared.

She slumped on him, breathed into his shoulder. He told her he loved her, but she only laughed.

Chapter Twenty

The sheriff was waiting at the house.

They strode through the lawn, Julia making no effort to cover herself as they emerged from the darkness. Barlow studied the ground in front of him, said he’d wait for them to get some clothes on.

When they got to the master suite, Barlow waiting for them in the ballroom below, Julia said she had nothing to wear. Paul glanced about the room, as if women’s clothes would be draped over the furniture.

“I’m sure Annabel had something you can wear,” Paul said.

They both stopped. Paul felt his chest constrict. It was the first time he’d said her name aloud.

“I think Myles got rid of all her stuff,” she said.

“All except that painting,” he said.

“I can’t wear that, can I?”

Paul rummaged through the bureau, came out with a tee shirt and a pair of jeans. “These do?”

She put them on.

When they came back down Barlow was sitting at the bar nursing a drink.

Paul sat down on one of the red velvet couches. Julia sat beside him.

Without turning Barlow said, “You two need to stop this.”

Paul laughed once, harshly.

“I mean it.”
 

“What’s wrong, Sheriff Barlow?” Julia said. Her eyes were coy as she stared at him, played with Paul’s hair.

Barlow faced them. “What’s gotten into you?”
 

She rested a hand on Paul’s crotch.

“Jesus,” Barlow said and turned away.

“Are we in some kind of trouble?” Paul asked.

The sheriff sipped his dark amber glass. “More than you know.”

“You heard the witnesses,” Paul said. “Those three morons started the trouble, not us.”

“This isn’t about that,” Barlow said.

“Then what is it about?” Julia asked.

“When’s the last time you saw Daryl Applegate?” Barlow asked her.

“Your deputy? The time you two were at my house.”
 

Barlow watched Julia a long moment, then said to Paul. “You and I need to talk. Alone.”

Julia stood. “That’s fine. I have something I need to take care of anyway.”

Paul followed her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to go,” Paul said.

She kissed him, long and deep. Winking at the sheriff she said, “Have fun, Sam.”
 

Barlow watched after her, said to Paul, “What’s gotten into her?”

“I don’t know, but she’s taking my car.” They listened to the Civic pull away.

Barlow went back to the bar, sat on his stool.

Paul moved around the edge and stood before the long mirror. Pouring himself a whiskey and ice, he asked, “What was that business with your deputy?”

“You ever meet him?” Barlow asked.

“Applejack?”

“Applegate. And you might not want to joke about him. He’s been missing for a month.” Barlow sipped his drink. “Haven’t you heard?”

Paul stirred his own drink. “I don’t really hear much out here. I like it that way.”
 

“What about Emily Henderson?” Barlow asked.

“What about her?”

“Have you heard from her?”
 

Paul paused, staring at the ice cubes bobbing in the amber liquid.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t.”

“You’re lying.”

Paul returned the sheriff’s gaze. “How’s that?”

“You heard me.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

“Because it’s the first time you have. Up until now you’ve told me the truth. I can tell when I’ve been lied to.”

Paul set his glass on the bar, eyes narrowing. “Why are you asking me about Emily?”

“Because,” the sheriff said, “she’s disappeared too.”
 

It stopped him.

“Disappeared,” he repeated.

“Her parents think she might’ve come to see you. She’d been talking about you a lot lately. They think she might have tried to reconnect.”

Paul frowned, pretended to think. “Well I haven’t seen her. I’m worried about her, though. It’s not like her to run off and not tell where she’s going.”

Barlow nodded. “That’s what her father said. He said she only acted like that where you were concerned. That’s why he contacted me.”
 

“I told you I haven’t seen her.”

“Yeah, you told me that.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then I’d like you to leave.”

Barlow grinned. “I’m not going to.”
 

“What the hell does that mean?” Paul edged around the bar. “You need a warrant to come in here.”

“You invited me in.”
 

“And now I’m inviting you out.”
 

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“You son of a bitch.” Paul crowded Barlow where he sat.

Barlow downed the rest of his drink, said, “Because I don’t think you’re all bad, I’m going to forgive that.” The sheriff stood, his girth dwarfing Paul’s. “But that’s the only one you’ll get.”
 

Barlow moved close, inches from Paul’s face. “I’m going to tell you something, and then I’m going home to get some sleep. We’ve had three disappearances in four months.”

“I told you Emily was never here.”

“I know you told me that, and you know I don’t believe a word of it. People have a way of coming here and not being seen again.”

Paul opened his mouth but Barlow overrode him. “I don’t know if you’re the cause or not, but I’m going to put a stop to it one way or another.” The sheriff turned, made for the hallway, but stopped before he got there. “And one more thing. I don’t like you and Julia together. It’s bad for both of you. The girl I know wouldn’t act the way she’s acting without someone else’s influence. I’ve seen what a bad man can do to a good woman and you’re not going to do it again.”
 

“What the hell,” Paul said. “You think I’m gonna kill her or something?”

“What I’m talkin’ about is worse than death.”
 

Paul laughed. “Jesus you’ve got a vivid imagination.”
 

Barlow’s teeth showed. “That’s not what I’m talkin’ about.”
 

“I have no idea wh—”

“Damnation,” Barlow said, “is where you two are headed, and that’s a whole lot worse than dying.”
 

The sheriff turned to leave.

“You know, she’s not her mother,” Paul said to Barlow’s back.

The sheriff stopped. “How’s that?”

“She’s Julia, not Barbara Merrow. Just because a girl broke your heart and a relative of mine happened to be involved doesn’t mean I have to take the blame.”

Barlow’s voice was hollow. “How did you know about that? Who told you those things?”

Paul laughed, loving the ashen hue of Barlow’s face. “What’s it matter, Sam? That’s all this is really about, right? Your inability to let go of the past.”

Quicker than Paul would have thought possible Barlow crossed the room and seized him by the collar.

He glanced at Barlow’s hands. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

Barlow’s voice went thin. “Tell me how you know all this.”
 

Paul was about to tell him about the graveyard, about the two manuscripts, everything, when they heard Julia come through the front door carrying a black athletic bag.

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared up the stairs.