Shocking Pink (22 page)

A
ndie sat across from the man, listening carefully as he explained why he had sought her out, jotting down an occasional note as she did. His name was David Sadler, and he had found her through, of all places, the newspaper and the numerous mentions of her name in regards to the Pierpont case. Having a patient in jail for killing her husband didn’t seem much of a testimonial to Andie, but apparently David Sadler had a different opinion.

He had sought her out in the hopes of getting help with his abnormal sexual appetite.

“I can’t leave women alone,” he said. “All it takes is meeting a woman’s eyes, hearing her laugh, catching a glimpse of her breasts, and I can’t think about anything but scoring with her. And it doesn’t stop with just thinking about it, I make it happen. It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with someone else, if I’m married. Nothing.”

He looked down at the floor, then back up at her. “This…it’s ruined every relationship I’ve ever had. Even my relationship with my family.”

“What brought you here, David?”

“I told you, the newspaper—”

“That’s not what I mean.” She smiled gently. “What brought you to this place, to seek help.”

He looked away again. “My father died recently. We’d had a falling-out over my behavior with women.” He took a deep breath. “More than ten years ago I left Thistledown to run the St. Louis arm of the business. In all that time we’d barely spoken, and then only about the business. And now he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” A smile of gratitude touched his mouth. “You’ve probably heard of my family, we’re Sadler Construction.”

“Of course.” Andie inclined her head. Sadler Construction was responsible for just about every development in Thistledown since the 1960s. “Your father was liked and respected. He donated a considerable amount of time and money to Thistledown’s many charities.”

“He was that kind of man.” David laced his fingers together. “Now that he’s gone…I guess I see something I didn’t before. I regret the years we spent apart. I regret…everything.” He looked back up at Andie, his expression tortured. “Do you think you can help me?”

“I can try, David. You’ve already taken the first, and sometimes hardest, step. You’ve admitted you have a problem. You’ve sought help. That’s big, David. It’s important. Over the next weeks and months, I want you to remember that.”

“So, you’ll work with me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He smiled and Andie caught her breath. She had thought him attractive before, dark wavy hair, silvering at the temples, tall with an athletic build. But his smile was totally charming. It transformed his face into a boyish, little bit naughty delight.

Obviously he’d never had to worry about attracting women. Which, no doubt, had facilitated his illness.

Andie stood and held out her hand. “Missy will make you an appointment. It’s been very nice meeting you.”

He followed her to her feet and grasped her hand. “One more question, Dr. Bennett. I have to be assured that anything I say will be strictly confidential. As I’m sure you understand, I’m well known in the community and can’t risk news of my…problem getting out.”

“Put your mind at rest, David. All our work together is confidential. Even my patient list is privileged.” She walked him to her office door and opened it. “Missy,” she said to her receptionist, “David needs an appointment for later this week.”

The young woman nodded and reached around to hand her several pink message slips. As she did, her low-cut blouse gaped at the neck, revealing the curve of her breasts, spilling over the top of her lacy bra. Andie slid her gaze to David Sadler. She was not the only one who had noticed.

Andie’s cheeks warmed. She would have to speak with Missy about what she wore. Considering this particular patient’s problem, she would have to be more aware of her own clothing choice from now on, as well.

“Raven called while you were in session,” Missy was saying. “She said it was important.”

“Thanks, Missy. I’ll call her back now.” Andie smiled at David. “See you next time.”

Andie returned to her office, went right to the phone and dialed Raven. Her friend picked up right away.

“Hi,” Andie said. “What’s so important?”

“Have you checked your mail yet?”

“No, I’ve been with a patient.”

“Get it. I’ll hold.”

Something in her friend’s voice told her this wasn’t a joke. She put Raven on hold, buzzed Missy and asked her to bring in the day’s mail, then reconnected with Raven. “What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Andie arched her eyebrows. “A mystery, huh? Okay.” Just then, Missy entered the office, carrying the stack of mail. She handed it to Andie.

“Got it,” Andie said, propping the phone to her ear. She leafed through the pieces. “Investment broker, yuck. Postcard from my mother.” She turned it over and scanned it. “She’s having a very nice time, saw Disney World. Pete’s new baby’s gorgeous. Video-club offer. Another investment broker. Don’t those guys sleep?”

She stopped at a plain white envelope, addressed to her and marked “Personal.” Pay dirt, she would bet. Andie ripped it open. Inside was a newspaper clipping, yellow with age. She swallowed hard, prickles of fear tripping up her spine.

She unfolded the newsprint, knowing what she would find, but needing to see it anyway.

Three Girls Implicated in Kinky Sex, Murder.

“You found it, didn’t you?” Raven said. “The clipping from fifteen years ago?”

“Yes.” Andie stared at the piece, at the photo of her and her friends, at another of Leah Robertson, before her death.

“Who do you think sent it?”

Andie looked at the envelope. There was no return address but it was postmarked Thistledown. “I don’t know.”

“It gave me the creeps.” Raven let out a long breath. “I don’t like this, Andie.”

“Did Julie—”

“Yeah. And she’s pretty shaken up. You know Julie.”

She did know Julie, and this was the last thing her friend needed right now. In truth, it was the last thing any of them needed.

Andie drew her eyebrows together. “It’s probably the Pierpont case, Rave. My name associated with another sensational murder. Detective Raphael’s, too. This town has a long memory.”

“You’re probably right.”

But it was weird, Andie had to admit. Disturbing. Why would someone target all three of them, simply because of the Pierpont case? Her, she could understand. But not all three of them.

She lowered her eyes to the clipping, suddenly realizing something. “Rave, is yours a photocopy or the real thing?”

“Real thing.”

“Is it the ‘Three Girls Implicated in Kinky Sex, Murder’ story?”

“Yup. So was Julie’s. Yours?”

“Guess?” Andie muttered.

Someone had collected and saved actual clippings, three alike.

She heard Raven’s sudden intake of breath and knew that her friend had just made the connection. For a moment, both women were silent. Then Raven spoke. “So, Andie, you’re the headshrinker. Are we dealing with some sort of a wacko here, or what?”

R
aven took extra care dressing that morning. Today she had the biggest interview of her career. David Sadler, of Sadler Construction, had called out of the blue, requesting an appointment. His company had broken ground on an exclusive gated community twenty minutes outside of Thistledown, toward St. Louis. The project was aimed at the big-city executives who wanted to move their families to a more rural setting; the location, strategically located minutes from the interstate, cut the commute by at least a third, in some cases by half. They were looking for a design firm to do the model and spec homes, he said. He and the owner of the last firm, a big name from St. Louis, had not seen eye-to-eye, and he had canned them.

Rave Reviews had been recommended to him. He needed somebody fast.

Raven was thrilled. This was a job that would rocket her from a one-woman outfit to a medium-size firm with several designers under her. With Sadler’s development on her résumé, she could pitch other like-size projects. No more small-time residential. No more rich housewives whining about cost, no more having to deal with atrociously bad taste or impossibly boring spaces.

Raven took one last glance in her mirror, eyeing her legs, which in the short skirt and sheer hose she’d chosen, seemed even longer than they were. With a satisfied smile, she fluffed her hair and turned to go. David Sadler was a man, and she had heard, a womanizer. She wanted this job, and if a short skirt and an accidental glimpse of something forbidden would help her land it, so be it. She believed in using the gifts she had been given. All of them.

She headed outside, locking the front door behind her. Of course, she would never depend on feminine wiles to land a job, they were like the dessert that came after a spectacular gourmet meal, the butter-cream frosting on a perfectly baked cake.

Raven opened the car door, tossed her briefcase onto the front passenger seat, then climbed in. She had done her homework. After sixty years in business, Sadler Construction was more than solvent, it was rock-solid. They were responsible for nearly every commercial building and residential development in Thistledown, including Happy Hollow, her childhood stomping ground. The company had satellite offices in St. Louis and Memphis, both doing very well. Until Jackson Sadler’s death three months before, David, his only son, had run the St. Louis outfit.

Asking around, she had heard a bit of gossip about the family. David Sadler was an infamous pussy hound and had gotten himself in a number of scrapes over women, either with their fathers, husbands or the juvenile authorities—although the last had been a one-time mistake. Raven had also heard the elder and younger Sadler had not gotten along, and that David’s stint in St. Louis had been a banishment.

She turned onto Second Street, recalling her conversation with Sadler. He was home now, he’d said. And ready to take the company into the next century. He needed a design firm to make the leap with him. From what he’d heard about her, he had a feeling Rave Reviews was just the firm he’d been looking for.

She smiled, determined. She planned to confirm his feeling this morning. She wanted this job.

Raven pulled into the parking area beside the building that housed her company, a restored Victorian bungalow. She saw that her assistant, Laura, had already arrived. She had instructed the woman to order a small tray of European pastries for the meeting with Sadler, brew some of the Kona coffee she had picked up in Hawaii and freshen all the flower arrangements. Laura was nothing if not dependable.

She swung out of her car and headed inside. “Laura,” she called, “I’m here.”

Laura came rushing out from the back, her cheeks flushed, eyes wild. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. In her hot-pink and orange sheath, she looked like a bright-colored bird, startled out of its hiding place.

Raven laughed. “Laura, what in the world’s wrong with you?”

“I’m afraid I’ve caused her to become quite undone. Raven Johnson, I presume?”

Raven realized immediately what was wrong with her assistant. David Sadler had arrived early. Very early. She turned slowly to face him, working to mask her annoyance. Her gaze met his. Her world rocked.

The man standing before her, hand extended and smiling politely, was none other than Mr. X.

M
uch later, Raven sat alone in her dark bedroom. She huddled in a corner, her three-hundred-dollar silk skirt bunched up around her thighs, her back pressed against the wall, remembering.

She was fifteen again, hidden in the cramped closet of the empty house, peering through the inch-wide crack between the door and the jamb. Waiting. Heart thundering. Afraid. Excited.

She moved closer to the sliver of space, anxious to catch a glimpse of him, Mr. X. She trembled. She prayed, the waiting interminable.

Finally, she heard his voice. David’s voice. Deep and silky smooth. Powerful. Raven’s heart leaped; she pressed closer to the door.

He had come. The woman was with him. He told Mrs. X what he expected her to do, quietly, brooking no disobedience. The rope awaited, its end tied into a noose. Beneath it a step stool, her lifeline.

Mrs. X was naked. Blindfolded, her hands bound in front of her. Raven saw her trembling. She pleaded for mercy.

David told her again what he wanted, this time sharply, as if annoyed. Mrs. X stepped onto the stool, sobbing now. Begging for her life.

For all her tears and pleading, however, she was a willing lamb. She did as he asked without a fight.

Murmuring words of love, of praise, David slipped the noose over her head, then fitted it around her neck. He tightened it to the point it caused discomfort, Raven saw. Tightened it to the point that the slightest move constricted her windpipe, cutting off her breath.

Then he made love to her, with his hands and mouth. Mrs. X cried out in pleasure, and pain, as he brought her to orgasm again and again, until, Raven saw, she hardly had the strength to stand.

Raven pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, fighting back the memory, knowing how it would end, with Mrs. X’s body twitching with her last breath of life.

She didn’t want to go there, not again.

She didn’t have a choice. The past had sought her out.

Raven dropped her hands. She opened her right. On her palm lay a circle of gold, a symbol of eternity, of everlasting love. A wedding ring.
Mrs. X’s wedding ring.

That last day, Raven had seen it there, lying on the dresser. It had caught the light, seeming to wink at her. In one of those decisions made without conscious thought, she had grabbed it and tucked it into her shorts’ pocket. As a prize, she supposed. A memento.

Now it could be so much more.

David Sadler was Mr. X. The man the police had been wanting for fifteen years. The man who had haunted Raven’s thoughts and dreams for that same amount of time. She had looked for him every day of each one of those years, expecting to see him on a crowded sidewalk or across a busy restaurant.

Instead, he had found her. Raven dropped her hands and rested her head against the wall. Mr. X. The only man she had ever felt a real connection with. From him she had learned what it meant to hold another’s life and fate in your hands, he had shown her that sex was power and never to relinquish control of people or situations.

Without even knowing she was near, he had changed her life, had taken all the pieces of her and rearranged them so she was stronger, smarter, more courageous.

This morning, he had smiled at her, in the way she remembered from all those years ago. And she had known what he was doing. He hadn’t sought her out because of her firm or some recommendation, though she had grabbed the job with both hands when he’d offered it to her.

No, he had purposely sought her out because of her connection to his past. Probably as a way to relive his kinky affair with Leah Robertson.

Raven smiled. She knew this man. She knew how he thought, what got him off. Working with her, knowing she was the one who had watched him dominate Leah Robertson, would sexually excite him, the sick bastard.

He liked power, being the one holding all the cards. He had arrived early in an attempt to gain immediate control of the situation. And her.

Too bad for him that it was she, not he, who had control of this situation. She who held the power of life and death over another. Over him.

Wouldn’t he be surprised to know that?

She giggled and brought a hand to her mouth, not liking the way the sound invaded the silence. This was too yummy, really. For even though he knew from the publicity of the time that she was one of the girls involved with the Mrs. X murder, he, like the rest of Thistledown, believed she had never seen his face.

But he was not anonymous. She brought both her hands to her mouth, now not able to contain the giggles. They broke free, becoming wild laughter. In a bizarre twist of fate, life had offered her her father, all over again. Her father had thought his actions anonymous. He had believed his nasty little secret had been his alone.

And all along she had known. She had held her secret to her, waiting for the right moment to reveal it to the world.

The waiting had been delicious. It would be just as delicious with David Sadler, her Mr. X. She could use her secret anytime, any way, she chose. All it would take was a word to the right person, a sudden memory, a well-placed call or note. The ring, Mrs. X’s ring, showing up in the wrong place, at the most inopportune time.

Yes indeed, she was the master now, he the student. David Sadler had just better watch his step, or he could find himself every bit as dead as Mrs. X.