Like A Charm

Any minute now she'd hear the key turn in the back lock. And then… A rush of heat started in her belly and plunged down. She looked at her reflection again, gaze dropping to the twin dots pressing hard against the front of her sundress. She rolled her shoulders and sighed as the fabric brushed her nipples. Still looking in the mirror, she unzipped her dress and let it fall. She gri

Her eyes went to the blue tattoo on her forearm. An unexpected burst of colour. She turned to the easel, lifted the paint brush and grazed it lightly across one hardened nipple. She sighed, then tickled the brush hairs around the aureole of her other nipple.

Another dip of paint, ochre this time. She stroked lines down her torso, shivering at the cool touch of the paint against her skin. Next the red, on her stomach, drawing lazy circles and zigzags. She parted her legs, lowered the brush and swirled it across her i

The back door clicked open. Abby gri

Abby looked up, and flourished a hand at her painted body.

'What do you think?' she said. 'A work of art?'

'A masterpiece.'

Friday, August 14

Gregory switched the cellphone to his other ear and took his keys from the ignition.

'Yes, that's right, a room on the west side. Not the east side. There was construction on the east side last time and it kept me up all night.' He paused. 'Good. Hold on, there's more. I want extra towels. Your house-cleaning staff never leave enough towels.'

The hotel clerk assured him everything would meet his satisfaction. It wouldn't, though. Gregory would make sure of that. He'd find something to pester them about at the front desk, raise a little fuss, just enough so that when the police asked the clerk whether she remembered Gregory, she'd roll her eyes and say 'Oh, yes, I remember him'.

Once he'd finished here, he'd stop by Dea

Last night she'd suggested – not for the first time – that she join him at the hotel, so she could corroborate his alibi. He'd gently reminded her that this wasn't a wise idea. When the police dug into his personal life, he knew they'd find he had a history of infidelity, but there was no sense doing their homework for them. Or so he'd told Dea

Not that he had any intention of offering up Dea

He pushed open the door to the gallery. A muted laugh tinkled out, followed by a deep chuckle that grated down Gregory's spine. He paused, holding the door half shut so the greeting bell wouldn't alert Abby and Zack. The murmur of their voices floated out from the back room. Zack laughed again. Gregory eased the door open, trying to slide in before it opened wide enough to set off the bell. He was halfway through when it chimed.

The voices in the back room stopped suddenly. Zack peeked around the corner, saw who it was, then said something to Abby, too low for Gregory to hear. The intern backed out of the studio.

'Ab? I'll grab coffee on my way back, OK?'

Abby appeared from the back room, carrying a wrapped canvas, and beamed a smile at Zack. 'Perfect. Thanks.'

As Zack strode out the front door, he slid a half-smirk Gregory's way, as if being allowed to play errand boy for Abby was some great honour Gregory could only dream of. Art student, my ass. The kid looked as if he should be riding the waves, not painting them. Not that Gregory cared. If Abby wanted to play teacher with California 's Picasso, she was welcome to him. He only hoped the kid wouldn't cause trouble later.

'I sold the new Martin's Point oil,' Abby said, laying the canvas on the counter. 'Got the asking price, too. A couple from Chicago. Once they heard the exchange rate, they didn't care to dicker.'

'Good, good. I just stopped by to make sure everything was OK before I left for my meeting.'

'You'll be staying for the weekend, I assume.'

Being little more than an hour from Halifax, there was no need for him to stay the weekend, and they both knew it, just as they knew that he usually stayed, and why he usually stayed. Yet Abby asked as casually as she'd ask whether he'd take Highway 3 or 103, a matter of no interest to her either way. The thread of anger that rippled through him surprised him, as it always did, and, in surprising him, only angered him more.

'Yes, I'll be staying the weekend. With a friend.'

He hated himself for tacking that on the end, hated himself for studying her reaction, and hated her even more for not giving one.

'Don't forget we're having di

'I'll be there.'

She nodded, then disappeared into the back room. He stifled the urge to call out a goodbye, turned on his heel and left.

'You've reached the voice-mail of Gregory Keith-'

Abby sighed and hung up.

'Still no answer?' Zack asked as he flipped the gallery 'OPEN' sign to 'CLOSED'.

'He must have turned off his cell. Maybe he's still in a meeting.'

Zack cast a pointed look into the darkening night. 'Uh-huh.'

'Sometimes his meetings run late,' she offered lamely. 'I'll try once more from home, then call Mr Strom back and tell him we're still considering his offer.'

She turned off the main lights as Zack locked the front door. He followed her into the studio, and trailed out the back door after her.

'Go,' Gregory hissed.

Dea

Abby climbed from her car. She started to lock it, then stopped, seeing Dea