Distant Obsession (9 page)

“Thank you for suggesting this venue for my art. I love all these fall events.” She closed the trailer door and checked the lock mechanism for the hitch.

Rose smiled. “You’re welcome, but I should be thanking you for being a valuable client whose sense of color and composition outshines the other local competition. Your talent amazes me.”

“You’re good for my ego.” Lilah leaned over and wrapped her arms about Rose. The older woman and manager of The Soul Full Gallery returned the hug, leaving a lingering trail of Estee Lauder perfume.

“Okay, enough. We need to wrap this up. I’ve got a hot date with Sam from the floral shop. He’s taking me to a ritzy joint in Bristol.” Rose bolted for her silver Buick LaSabre and made quick work of getting in, starting the ignition, and driving off.

Lilah laughed, loving the older woman’s zest for life. She was one of the few people in the area that knew her true identity. Perhaps she should have confided her concerns about the hit man to Rose. On the other hand, she didn’t want to cause the woman needless worry. Until Lilah had further information on the man, she’d keep the information to herself.

Nine

Thirty minutes ‘til eight. Still on standby ‘til nine.

Reece raced the little fourteen-foot jonboat out the cove and halfway down the creek; his heart accelerating with each meter as he drew closer to his destination.

I do love a mystery.

Straight across from Miller’s old barn, he stopped the motor, and the boat glided another twenty yards before coming to a halt midway in the channel. He studied the photo on his cell phone, then the red building half way up the hill.

Not far enough.

Reece used the paddle to advance another thirty yards along the length of Bear Creek.

This should be it.

The angle on the fallen door appeared right. Just like in the picture, he could see all the way through the barn and out the loft window to the barren dead oak tree in the backyard.

Remarkable detail. I can even see the chain and hook dangling from the lift. A truly gifted artist.

Reece turned his gaze one hundred eighty degrees to triangulate on the potential site of his targeted subject. Directly within the line of sight depicted in the image were two possible candidates for the painter’s location.

Your secret hiding place is about to be busted, Carmen.

The new, two-story house to the left looked out of kilter to the view required for capturing such detail.

This lady clearly paints from a large vista, not a small side window.

He considered the second possibility, the old, single-floor, log cabin built thirty years ago before the commercial growth around the lake. The enormous double picture window was an anomaly for the rustic exterior flair of the fishing lodge style dwelling, yet perfect for the keen eye of a talented artist.

Bingo, Got ya. Now what do I do?

A visit was in order, but not yet. First, he’d do a little spying of his own.

Need to investigate what I’m dealing with before we hook horns.

Reece turned the boat around, headed back to his dock, and tied to the floater. He marched forty-three steps up the mild climb to his cedar planked porch and examined the small cabin two hundred yards up the creek to the right.

Binoculars won’t do it. Going to need my telescope to make out her face.

He entered the house, walked past the unfinished jigsaw puzzle on the card table and the triple Decker shelf of suspense and mystery novels, then removed the stargazer tripod with scope from the closest.

Damn thing’s dirty as hell.

 Reece stole a dark green towel from the adjacent bathroom on the first floor and dusted the device.

Been a while since I’ve had you out on a mission.

He flung the cloth over his shoulder, carried the telescope unit upstairs and started to set up next to his main window.

Don’t be stupid. This close and someone will report you as a peeping tom.

He backed into the kitchen, pulled one of the stools to the inside of the see-through bar and sat up his surveillance station.

No, I’m still too damned exposed.

Reece went into the garage, emptied two storage boxes, took them back into the house, and placed one on both sides of his scope so that just the nose of the sighting tube stuck through the opening. He placed the dark green towel above the gap in the two boxes, slid the louver blinds open across his viewing portal, just enough to vector on his target, then returned to his observation post, and waited.

After twenty minutes, he detected motion at the far end of the bedroom through the window.

Figured you were safe through the pine trees, didn’t you.

The owner of the cabin left their curtain exposed, but a sufficient gap existed between the dozen-ponderosa firs and cedar trees for a clever detective to eye his subject with a high-powered telescope.

A door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. An image formed, oblique at first, reflecting off the dresser mirror, and moving in and out of the fog bank.

Stand still, will ya.

Finally, enough of the vapor dissipated for a figure to come into focus. A thigh, bare, a towel stroking up and down along its smooth tapered length.

Holy shit.

Next, half a buttocks, and then the appetizing curve leading up to a seductive dimple. The object rotated into view, presenting a delicious portrait of every male’s delight, an inviting visual stimulus to all his primal senses.

Reece pulled back from the scope and gulped a gallon of air before talking to a stirring appendage below his waist.

Settle down, ya pervert.

A mild pane of shame rolled through his skull, one suggesting the intrusive nature of his folly. A game, advancing first from a playful exercise to gain information about one that had spied on him, to what some would consider deprived, ensued. The voice grew louder:
guilt, invasion of privacy
. His cell phone interrupted the words from his shoulder angel. He backed from beneath the cover of the protective shroud and took the call.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Edwards. This is Sally at the Cantar Airline scheduling office.”

He scanned the clock above the kitchen sink and noted the time, ten o’clock. “Hi, Sally. What’s up?”

“One of our connecting flights from Atlanta has been deleted due to mechanical problems. We need a pilot qualified on the DHC-8 De Havilland to transfer one of our airplanes arriving at TRI in one hour.”

He lied. “Sorry, Sweetheart. I’d love the extra money, but I came off standby an hour ago. Already downed two beers.”

“I understand, Mr. Edwards. Figured it was a long shot. I’ll keep checking around. By the way, next time you’re delayed in Atlanta, stop by and see me again.”

“Will do Sally. Bye.”

Reece flipped the cover on his phone and returned to his spy post, the affects of the momentary bout with his conscious gone. He peered back through the eyepiece only to see a woman with her hair rolled in a towel staring back through her own telescope toward his dock.

“What the hell is she looking at?”

He followed the direction of her attention.

Of course, my sailboat.

“You’re obsessed with that damn thing, aren’t ya girl.”

A rush of male pride shook into his libido as he considered maybe it wasn’t his play toy at all that drew her repeated admiration. Perhaps the focus of her interest was its captain. He shifted his scope back to the fellow peeping tom in the distant observation post only to come eye to eye with the owner of the house staring directly at him.

“Jesus!”

He immediately slid off the stool and hid behind the bar counter.

“Wait a minute, what am I hiding for. You started this game.”

Carmen ventured the first invasion of his privacy with her camera and canvas. The lady was obviously curious beyond mere photographs. The ball was in his court. Time to up the ante.

“Okay, let’s have a little fun; see how you react.”

Reece removed a yellow legal pad from his clipboard on the counter top and scribbled the message in bold lettering;
Need to move your mirror,
and held it above the boxes before looking back through the scope.

The female on the other end of the visual exchange jerked rearward, stood, studied the dresser mirror against the wall, then glanced toward the bathroom. She disappeared from his field of view.

“Where’d ya go?”

Ten seconds later she returned with a pad of paper and projected her own message written in bold red letters, possibly using lipstick.
What, didn’t you like what you saw?

“Cute, very cute. She’s a frisky lassie, this Carmen.”

Reece replied with a follow up note,
Of course I did.
Followed by,
Just didn’t want some pervert getting a free show.

She returned the communiqué.
Oh, you mean like you.

Reece laughed. “Ouch but good sense of humor.” He transmitted another quip.
Touché, you got me.

To which she replied,
No problem. I watched you work out last night. Nice ass.

“Damn, she is a bold little thing. Wish I could see her face.”

He jotted down another message.
Is that one pervert to another?

Only her mouth was exposed below the binoculars, but enough was showing to witness her long distant chortle.
Touché. Gotta run. Same time tomorrow?

Before he could scribble a response, the mystery painter leaped from her chair and headed into another room.

His clandestine admirer was no longer a secret, and the exchange across the creek had left Reece unexpectedly excited over what lie ahead for their first face-to-face encounter.

So much spunk, such a zest for life. Definitely got to meet this girl.

Ten

The drive gave Lilah plenty of time to reflect. At thirty-four, the need to re-invent herself after so much heartache had driven her actions of late. Perhaps, that’s why avoiding the sailor seemed so petty and childish. She’d missed the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation, to meet the man and apologize for not contacting him sooner. Insecurity had flooded her thoughts when faced with the proposition. She needed more time to plan a strategy for dealing with the man and facing her inhibitions.

When she pulled into the driveway, Ashley met her outside, a terry cloth towel in her hand. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course.” Lilah motioned her to the back of the trailer. “You’re timing is awesome. You can help unload.”

“Why? You’ll just have to load them again next weekend.” Ash made no move to help her with the first few boxes but continued to rub her damp hair.