Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) (22 page)

Chapter 2

T
he average home in Glendale Heights goes for over two million bucks. The annual landscaping bill alone had to exceed a hundred grand. Situated a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean, yet sheltered within a cove, Glendale Heights is the equivalent of Palm Beach in Florida.

  Carter parked the Buick in the circular drive in front of the grand entrance. Then we made our way up the stone pathway toward the front door, admiring the grandeur of Mr. Kinlaw’s three-story, palatial home.

We rang the doorbell. A moment later, a middle-aged, well-dressed woman appeared.  “You must be Carter and Sarah. My name is Betty Quinn. I’m Mr. Kinlaw’s personal assistant. Thanks for being on time.”

We all exchanged handshakes, and she invited us inside. The foyer was two stories high and reminded me of a museum with the gold framed artwork adorning the walls.

“Before I show you to Mr. Kinlaw’s study, may I offer you some coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you,” Carter said, speaking for both of us. “I think we’re fine.”

“Very well then.” She extended an arm toward the hallway. “Please follow me.”

At the end of the hallway, Ms. Quinn lightly rapped on a large wooden door, then proceeded to open it without waiting for a reply. “Go on inside and make yourselves comfortable. If you decide you’d like some refreshments, Mr. Kinlaw can ring me.”

The man perched behind the desk looked much older than his driver’s license photo. Pale and alarmingly thin, the wool sweater seemed two sizes too big. His eye sockets were hollow behind the dark rimmed glasses. “Please excuse my appearance. I’ve been feeling poorly.” He grasped the top of the desk for support as he rose to his feet.

“Sorry to hear that.” I took a step toward him and offered a hand. “I’m Sarah Woods. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Carter followed suit. “Carter Peterson. Thanks for inviting us to your home.”

Mr. Kinlaw nodded and motioned for us to have a seat in the leather chairs facing his desk. “I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, so I’ll get right to the heart of the matter. My wife and I haven’t had sex since we married.” He paused as if we might need some time to let that sink in. “I’ve had some health problems, and I’m unable to perform.”

“Oh,” I said, after an awkward few seconds. How is one supposed to respond to a confession like that? “I’m sorry.”

He forced a smile. “I won’t go into a lengthy explanation of what ails me, but it’s important that you understand my predicament. You see, Madeline is a beautiful woman with an insatiable appetite for sex. I don’t expect her to become celibate on my account.”

Carter cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Do you know who she’s having an affair with?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “Let me be frank. Madeline has my blessing to sleep with whomever she pleases. I allow her to attend swing parties. I assume you know what I’m referring to?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s basically wife-swapping, correct?”

“Yes. Since I don’t attend, Madeline has a friend who is more than happy to accompany her. His name is Zeb Nichols.”

Carter scratched his head, confused. “Okay, so what exactly is the problem?”

“Usually when Madeline returns from one of these parties, she’s walking on clouds. Euphoric is a better word. Sometimes, I ask her about the men she has relations with, and she gladly gives me the details. I don’t necessarily derive joy from hearing about these men, but I’d rather know who she’s been with.”

When neither Carter nor I offered a comment, he continued. “The last party she attended was a week ago, Saturday, June 5th. When she got home around midnight, she was not herself. Clearly, something had happened at the party. She gave me some excuse that she wasn’t feeling well and just needed to get some sleep. I didn’t push the issue. The next morning, I noticed there were bruises on her arms. Of course, I expressed my concern. She assured me that everything went fine the night before. Unconvinced, I even called Mr. Nichols. He said nothing unusual had happened at the party.”

I spoke up. “You think someone got rough with her, against her will?”

“Yes. In fact, I do.”

“Well, sometimes a little rough play can be a turn on for some people. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve heard,” I added, to clarify that I had no such real experience with that.

Mr. Kinlaw appeared unfazed. “I don’t think so. She’s always been very open about her fantasies. Rough play is not one of them.”

I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation with a total stranger about his wife. And he didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed, either. Carter, on the other hand, sat stiffly in his chair, apparently content to let me do all the talking.

“Is she planning to go to the next party?” I asked.

“Yes. This Saturday. I’d like to hire you and Carter to attend as a couple and keep an eye on her. I just want to make sure that she is being treated well.”

Carter coughed nervously into his fist. “Let me get this straight. You want us to pose as a swing couple and spy on your wife having sex with other men?”

Hands folded in his lap, Mr. Kinlaw blinked slowly. “I know this request is highly irregular, but I’m willing to pay you double your normal fee.”

I noticed that he hadn’t even asked us what our normal fee was. “You don’t expect us to … participate, do you?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “From what Madeline tells me, some couples show up and prefer only to watch.”

I consider myself to be pretty adventuresome and open-minded, but this was flat out crazy. Since Carter wasn’t necessarily giving it a thumbs down, I had to assume he was seriously considering taking the job.

“If Madeline hadn’t enjoyed herself last time, why would she go back?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you could just ask her not to go back.”

“I don’t want to control her,” he said. “I just want to ensure her safety, that’s all.”

“So, in other words, you want Carter and me to babysit her. While she has sex with other men. Do you realize how that sounds?”

With no emotion on his face, he acted as if this was a simple business transaction. “What can I offer you to make it worth your trouble?”

Without thinking, I blurted out a ridiculous figure. “Ten grand.” 

He didn’t bat an eyelash while he reached for his checkbook. “To whom shall I make it out?”

Speechless, I turned to Carter, hoping he’d say something. Was he really on board with this idea? My thoughts were confirmed when he told Mr. Kinlaw to make the check out to him.

After living with Carter in a committed relationship for six months, there was still so much I didn’t know about him and his past relationships. For all I knew, he’d been to many swing parties in his life. Although, I just couldn’t picture it.

Once the check exchanged hands, I let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I guess this is really happening.”

“One more thing, I almost forgot.” Mr. Kinlaw opened a drawer inside his desk and withdrew a business card. “You’ll need
this
to get into the party.”

I reached for the card and examined it. Just a basic white card stock with an address printed in black ink,
69 Borthwick Lane, Glendale Heights.
On the back was a hand scribbled four-digit code,
5678

“This is where the party will be Saturday night?” I asked.

“Yes. Just five blocks from here. You must arrive between 8:00 and 8:30 and it usually goes until midnight.  The four digit code is to get through the front gate. You follow the driveway and park under the Porte-Cochère.”

I slipped the card into my wallet. “Have you met the hosts?”

Mr. Kinlaw nodded. “Drs. Bob and June Porter. He’s a pediatrician, and she’s an orthopedic surgeon. Nice couple.”

It amused me to know that some élite members of our society were so wicked behind closed doors. “Are they going to ask us how we got this card?”

“I don’t think so. There shouldn’t be a problem. If the question comes up, you can give her my name.”

“So, what’s the proper etiquette for going to a swing party? Do we bring a gift for the hosts? Do we bring food?”

“Just treat it the same way as if you’d been invited to a dinner party. A host gift would be proper. Perhaps a nice bottle of wine.”

“And you’re certain that Carter and I won’t have to participate. We can simply relax and observe.”

“Yes, that’s correct. In fact, according to Madeline, many of the couples who attend these parties find it arousing to have strangers watching them engage in intimate relations.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “Because a thought just occurred to me. Maybe you want to hire us to watch your wife as some kind of twisted fantasy of your own.”

If my blunt comment offended him, he did a fine job of hiding it. “I appreciate the candor. However, I can assure you, if I wanted to get my kicks that way, I wouldn’t have to pay good money for it. I’m sure I could find plenty of volunteers.”

“Good point,” I said.

A soft beeping sound came from his cell phone on the desk, and he checked it. “Please forgive me. I’m afraid I’ll need to wrap up our meeting. Do you have any further questions about the job?”

Carter glanced at me. “Sarah? Are you comfortable with this?”

For ten grand, I could certainly become comfortable with the idea. Besides, I was no prude. I could treat this as a strictly professional endeavor. “I do have one final question,” I said, turning to face Mr. Kinlaw. “What are we supposed to wear to this shindig?”

He shrugged. “Wear whatever you want. There’s no dress code.”

* * *

Later that evening, we sat on the front porch, sipping red wine while listening to the crickets. His house was finally starting to feel like home.

“What are you thinking about, Sarah?” Carter’s voice was soft, his words slightly slurred by the alcohol. He was on his third glass of wine. He usually stops at two.

“Are you nervous about Saturday night?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, you?”

“Have you ever been to a swing party?”

He laughed. “No. I’m a monogamous kind of guy.”

“I had a friend in college who went to parties like that. She was bi-sexual, I guess. She liked to experiment. Do you think that’s common among swingers?”

He gave me a stupefied look. “How would I know?”

“So the hosts are both doctors. I wonder if their colleagues know about their secret life.”

“Speaking of that...” Carter reached for his tablet on the side table and turned it on. “Let’s do a little meet and greet with Dr. Bob and Dr. June Porter right now.”

After a minute or so, he showed me a photo. The couple had to be in their mid to late forties. Both attractive and fit. He had dark hair, she was a red head. “See, just normal people with a secret life,” he said.

“Do they have kids?”

Carter had an answer within the minute. “Nope. Just two golden retrievers.”

“How do you know that?”

“Their house was featured in Better Homes and Gardens last year. There’s a photo of Bob and June with their dogs. The article doesn’t mention any human children. No mention of swing parties, either.”

“If word got out to the general population, imagine the embarrassment. If you found out that your doctor was involved in wife swapping, would you stop being his patient?”

Carter gave me one of his looks. “No. What he does in private is none of my business.”

“But don’t you think it
does
matter to most people? Take our politicians, for instance. We seem to care more about their personal transgressions than what they do in office.”

“I get your point,” he said. “But doctors usually aren’t in the public eye. They aren’t the brunt of headline gossip.”

“Still, the Porters
are
taking a risk of people discovering their dark side. Most people aren’t open minded.”

“Well, other than their sexual practices, the Porters are squeaky clean according to my information here. Although, June Porter was sued a few years ago by a patient.”

“A malpractice suit?”

“Most likely. I’d have to dig a little deeper to get the details, but I don’t see the point in wasting time on that.”

“Do you think Mr. Kinlaw is being overly cautious about his wife? If Madeline had been abused in any way at the last party, why would she want to go back?”

“I don’t know. Our client is probably just paranoid. Those bruises could be from anything.”

Chapter 3

A
round 6:30 p.m. on Saturday evening, I stood in front of my closet eyeing my wardrobe with unease. None of my dresses seemed appropriate for a swing party, and what kind of look was I going for, really? Sleazy or just sexy sophisticated? I eventually settled on a pair of slender black trousers, an ivory button-down silk blouse, and red open-toed heels. I swept my long brown hair into a French twist and applied a heavy layer of make-up.

When I waltzed out into the living room half an hour later, Carter was polishing his shoes. He looked up and smiled. “Well, aren’t you a sight?”

I struck a pose, something similar to Madonna but not as polished. “No pictures, please.”

He laughed as he slipped on his shoes. “I’ll be beating the guys away with a stick.”

Actually, I was the one who would be beating the women away from Carter. He was dressed in form-fitting dark indigo jeans and a black V-neck cotton sweater. His gray hair was slicked back with hair gel, which made his blue eyes pop. For a guy in his mid-fifties, he keeps himself in great shape.

“Why do I feel like we’re doing something naughty tonight?” I said, checking the time. “I have butterflies in my stomach.”

He stood up and walked toward me, eyes scanning me head to toe. “You always get nervous when we go under cover.”

“I know, but this job is different.”

Carter gently clasped my elbow and pulled me close to him. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You’re just afraid you’ll get turned on.”

I took a step back to protest. “Or maybe I’m just worried that
you’ll
want to join in the fun.”

The slight wrinkles around his eyes indicated he was getting a kick out of this. “Like I told you, I’m a one woman kind of man.”

I wanted to believe him. “I hope you still feel that way after tonight.”

* * *

It was dark when we arrived at the Porters’ house at 8:30 p.m. The place was huge with a unique modern design. I could see why it had been featured in a magazine. Carter punched the four-digit code into the keypad then watched as the white iron gate slowly swung open. As instructed, we parked under a
Porte-Cochère
next to a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Bentley.

I examined the fifty-dollar bottle of wine in my lap. “Maybe we should’ve sprung for a better bottle. I have a feeling this crowd will be hard to impress.”

“Who cares about the wine,” Carter said, peering out the windshield toward the massive house. “I can assure you, nobody will be concerned about the wine. They’ll be too busy checking out the new couple.”

“I hope they have food. My stomach is growling.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of snacks, Sarah.” Carter must’ve known it wasn’t the hunger aggravating my stomach. He squeezed my knee, trying to comfort me. “All we have to do is keep our eyes on Madeline. In fact, it might be a good idea for you to try and become chummy with her. Get her to open up and talk.”

“I don’t think she’s here to make friends,” I said. “But I’ll do my best.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

“I guess so.”

Exiting the car, we noticed the lighted pathway leading to an anteroom. To my surprise, there was a handwritten note tacked to the door that read,
please come inside.

Carter pushed the door in, and we entered. The sound of voices and jazz music guided us down a hallway that eventually lead to an open concept kitchen sitting room with a long bar.

I felt my knees weaken as all heads turned in our direction. There were four couples seated on plush sofas, gathered around a coffee table, a cozy, intimate setting. Somehow I had pictured this being more like a party, people standing around mingling.

The redhead I recognized as Dr. June Porter set down her wine glass and headed toward us. “Welcome. What a pleasure to have some new faces.” She extended her hand with a big smile. “I’m June Porter.”

As Carter and I took turns shaking her hand, we introduced ourselves. When I gave her the hostess gift, she set the bottle on the counter without a glance. “Let me introduce you to my husband.”

The tall, striking man approached, gave me a smile and nodded as if in approval. “Bob Porter. A pleasure.” He took my hand and held it for a few long seconds, completely ignoring Carter. I was impressed that he didn’t feel the need to refer to himself as doctor.

He exuded sexuality. The button-down shirt was open half-way, revealing a smattering of dark chest hair and firm pecs. His cologne was subtle yet enticing. As he gazed upon me, his eyes were wide and curious, as if he wanted to consume me.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed to say when he finally let go of my hand.

“Well, I hope we’ll get the chance to know each other better.” He gave me a wink as he turned to address Carter.

June whisked me away. “Sarah, let me introduce you to the others.” With an arm around my shoulder, she guided me further into the room where the three other couples were sitting.

It would be a struggle to remember everyone’s names, but I immediately spotted Madeline Kinlaw; long blonde hair, tight black dress, three-inch heels and a huge diamond ring on her wedding finger. The man beside her must have been her partner Zeb Nichols. He reminded me of a vampire with pale skin, dressed in black from head to toe.

The couple sitting directly across from them was younger, late twenties I guessed. Dale and Willow Brice. They were dressed less provocatively, more suited to a casual dinner party. The third couple was Sandra and Earl Dotson. Probably pushing fifty, yet remarkably attractive and fit with the help of her boob job and obvious facial plastic surgery on both of them. Their faces barely moved when they smiled.

“Let me get you a drink,” June said to me. “White or red?”

“Red sounds wonderful,” I said.

“Perfecto. I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

When she left, I just stood there, uncertain what to do next. With six sets of eyes on me, I felt like the elephant in the room.

Zeb Nichols, AKA vampire, patted the cushion next to him. “Come have a seat. I promise I won’t bite.”

Since Carter was still in the kitchen talking to Bob Porter, I decided it would be rude to reject his offer. I went to sit next to him and immediately felt trapped as he inched closer to me.

“First time?” he asked.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“I was pretty nervous my first time, too. You’ll get the hang of it. Did your husband talk you into this?”

“Carter? Oh, he’s not my husband. But to answer your question, we decided to do this together.”

“How long have you been a couple?”

“Six months.”

I detected a few gasps from the crowd, and I immediately understood why. It probably seemed like a short amount of time to be in a relationship to start considering swing parties as a way to spice up our love life. “We’re still not sure if we made the right decision,” I added. “But why not give it a try?”

Madeline placed her hand in Zeb’s lap. “To tell you the truth, Zeb and I aren’t a couple. Just friends. My husband is totally cool about it, though.”

I feigned shock. “Really? Your husband is fine with you coming to these parties with another man?”

“Sure. We have an arrangement. As long as he knows what I’m doing, he’s very accepting.”

All I could picture in my head was Mr. Kinlaw sitting behind his desk, pale and shrunken, watching the clock and waiting for his young wife to come home.

“So, I take it you all have done this before?” I searched the room and everyone nodded in unison.

“There are four rooms here on the first floor,” Madeline said, pointing to a hallway like she was giving a tour. “Three are for private couples who prefer one on one. The third is a community room, where anyone can join in at any time. And just so you know, you can just watch if you don’t want to join in.”

“I see.” Thankfully, June Porter returned with my glass of wine. I desperately needed something to wash down the lump in my throat. I practically guzzled the whole glass but stopped myself with a few sips to spare.

Madeline chuckled, and when I looked over at her, she was staring at me, eyes wide with amusement. “Liquid courage is a good thing,” she said.

Finally, Carter walked into the room and looked around. He seemed calm and collected as Bob Porter introduced him to everyone.  I noticed the women eyeing him with fascination. I wanted to tell everyone that Carter was off limits, so don’t even think about touching him. Of course, I couldn’t do that so I bit my tongue.

With an empty glass in hand, I stood up from the couch and said, “May I have a refill?”

Carter came to stand next to me and whispered, “Maybe you should slow down. The night is still young.”

He was right. My head was already spinning, but the wine wasn’t to blame entirely. I took Carter’s hand and squeezed gently, letting him know that I wasn’t comfortable with this scenario. As if he hadn’t guessed that himself.

Just then, Zeb got to his feet and said, “I think I’d like to get this party started. Who’d like to join me?”

Even though he had asked the question, his eyes were focused on Sandra. She stood up and smoothed out her red dress. “It would be my honor.” The two of them disappeared, hand in hand, down the hallway.

Madeline stood up next. It was hard not to stare at her perfect body in that tight black dress. She didn’t have to say a thing as she turned and headed toward the hall.

Dale and Willow Brice, the youngsters, followed her, along with Earl, Sandra’s husband. Since Carter and I were here to keep an eye on Madeline, we were obligated to follow, too.

The “community room” was arranged with two king sized beds side by side and a small couch pushed up against the far wall, facing the beds. The only light came from candles, about a dozen of them, lining a shelf. A huge, floor to ceiling mirror comprised the entire wall to the right of us. Sensual music played in the background.

Bob and June Porter came into the room as they all began stripping off their clothes.

Yikes! These people didn’t waste any time.

Carter and I kept our distance as we huddled together on the couch. My heart was beating like crazy, sweat dripping from my temple as I tried to focus my sights on the floor.

My throat began to constrict, and I desperately needed something to drink. Preferably, more wine. Better yet, a shot of tequila.

“Try and relax,” Carter said to me with a gentle nudge. “Haven’t you ever watched porn before?”

“That’s different,” I whispered. “How can you be so calm about this?”

He gave me a warning look, and I knew I should stop talking. Carter was a master at containing his emotions, something I still needed to work on.

Within a few minutes, everyone on the bed was naked, and I continued to stare at my shoes. This was more uncomfortable than I had imagined. Why was it so damned hot in the room? Finally, I stood up and told Carter that I needed to get a drink and left without waiting for his reply.

Out in the hallway, I inhaled a full breath into my lungs like a drowning woman. I made a beeline for the kitchen.

As I poured myself a glass of wine, I decided I would
not
return to the community room. I couldn’t. Besides, as long as one of us was keeping an eye on Madeline, what did it matter? Carter could keep the ten grand for himself. I didn’t care.

As I sat at the counter sipping my wine, I gazed out the window and could see a light on in the house next door. A person was there, peering out. A young woman, I couldn’t tell her age, but she seemed to be looking right at me.

The Porters obviously didn’t care about nosy neighbors, or else they would have covered the windows from prying eyes. Not that people were running around naked in the kitchen, but still...

The young woman in the window must have noticed me staring back at her because the light shut off.

I heard a sound and the door leading to the outside opened freely. Momentarily stunned, I watched as a tall man waltzed into the kitchen like he owned the place.

“Hello,” he said to me with a curious grin. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

I didn’t know what to say. As per the rules, he was not supposed to arrive after 8:30 p.m., especially without a lady to accompany him. Maybe the rules weren’t heavily enforced. “We haven’t met,” I finally said. “I’m Sarah.”

He accepted my hand and kissed my knuckles softly. Stunned by this display of intimacy, I drew in a quick breath and pulled away slightly.

“Julian,” he said, seemingly amused at my discomfort. “Julian Pike.”

I’d heard the name before, but where? He was about my age, mid-forties and well-dressed with dark slacks and a white polo shirt. It was hard to tell if his skin was naturally dark, or he’d just come back from a tropical location. His brown eyes were the color of milk chocolate.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, glancing toward the bedrooms. “Where is everyone?”