Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish two chapters, 12 and 13 of my novel, RAPE. After reading the chapters, I hope you will comment on them. As you know, your comments and suggestions influence my revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

 I also encourage you to visit my website:  joshswritingroom.com/ where you will find, a short story. You can also check out my e-published novels. If you find one to your liking, you can purchase it from Amazon.com, or from Barnes and Noble. You’ll find links on the website taking you right to it.

PATH TO A PARDON,

THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

& PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

As I publish each new chapter, the previous chapter(s) should be archived, so you can easily catch up. For those who prefer, here is an encapsulated version of the previous action:

 

PREVIOUSLY: RAPE

Prosperous executive, Gary Sanders, has an appointment at the home of Julia Walsh, the reigning Empress of Palm Beach. Julia’s niece, Oscar winning actress, Miriam West, is visiting and has jewelry to insure.

Miriam accuses Gary of assault and rape. Chief Moore shows Gary a close-up of her facial cuts and bruises. They await the lab report.

Gary’s wife, Carol, is furious. Due to a Gary’s past, Carol believes him guilty. She moves him into the guest room.

Attorney, Joe Flaherty advises him not to hide, flee or talk. Reporters who publish stories favoring the actress surround Gary’s home and office. His children are harassed at school and Gary loses his clients and his major companies. Neighbors and friends shun Gary and his family.

Prior to Gary’s arraignment, lawyer Flaherty sends P.I., Jim Bosley, to investigate, and then visits Carol. When he arrives, he finds her parents have arrived and plan to take her and the children back to Boston. He tries to persuade her to stay.

 A January court date is set. Gary is arraigned, and then released on $50,000 bail. When he returns home, Carol tells him that she and the children are going to Boston to live with her parents.

After cleaning up his office, Gary stops at a Palm Beach Pub. As he walks to his car, a Miriam West fan assaults him.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Checking the refrigerator, Gary found that Hannah had left him one of her delicious chicken and pasta casseroles. As long as I have Hannah, he mused, I won’t starve.

He warmed the bowl in the microwave and opened a bottle of Sam Adams. The cold beer stung the cut inside his lip.

He chewed on the right side of his mouth. As he finished his meal, he heard hard knocking at his front door. Three men and a woman stood in an imposing arc in front of the partially opened door.

“Good evening, I’m Manford Lydecker,” the man nearest the door opening said. “I’m chairman of the neighborhood committee on standards. We have something important to discuss with you. May we come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Gary said widening the opening and waving them toward his living room.

Lydecker introduced his committee members as Janet, Samuel, and Marvin. Gary shook hands with each of them and invited them to sit

 

“I didn’t know we had a committee on standards.”

“Oh yes,” Janet said. “We meet whenever an issue needs our attention.”

Gary frowned, “What needs your attention this evening?”

“I regret,” Manford Lydecker, said getting to his feet, “that just now it’s you and your family. We are not unaware of the trouble you are in with the legal authorities. We understand that these things are extremely distasteful and hope, for your sake, that they can be resolved without delay. However, most of your neighbors are quite disturbed over the adverse notoriety you people are bringing to our peaceful community. They’ve already seen more of the news media than they want. We believe there is only one remedy for this and we are prepared to assist in making it a reality.”

“Well,” Gary felt his throat tighten as he stood, “that’s nice of you but—“

“Please, Mr. Sanders,” Janet protested, “allow Mr. Lydecker to finish.”

“Yes, as I was saying, we are prepared to assist you people. It is our committee’s opinion that the best remedy is for you to sell this property and leave Palm Beach. We feel you can find suitable housing on the other side of the bridge. If you consummate a sale in the next sixty-days, we are prepared to reimburse you for up to $5,000.00 for any repairs needed prior to the sale to make your home more presentable and up to an additional $10,000.00 to reimburse you for any actual loss you take on the transaction.”

Each time Lydecker said, you people in that superior tone, as though looking down his superior nose, Gary’s eyes narrowed. He felt as though the skin on his face and at the back of his neck might burst into flame at any moment. Where the hell did this righteous snob get off telling him to leave town. Did they think he could be bought? He didn’t need their charity. Hm, he rubbed a hand across his chin and thought about throwing them out? Wait a minute don’t be stupid. Randolph Howe always says, never use your own money if you can use the other fellow’s, and with the stock market eating up my nest egg this is no time to get uppity. “Lydecker, that’s an interesting proposal. I’ll keep it in mind. I hadn’t considered selling my home. If I do sell it, I’ll contact—” he paused, repressed the temptation to say, you people, instead said, “you.”

Lydecker produced a business card and placed it on the coffee table. “Mr. Sanders, I know this kind of thing can prove upsetting. I’ve always found that when a thing is inevitable but unpleasant it’s best to get it behind me as soon as possible.” Then looking at the members of his committee he gave them a quick smile and said, “Come on folks, this meeting is over. Let’s get out of here and allow Mr. Sanders time to consider our offer.”

Gary waited until Marvin, the last member of the committee, stepped out the door before slamming it. Where the hell did he come off talking to me like that—you  people—we’ll assist you people. He walked back to his kitchen and began stacking the dishes from his evening meal in the dishwasher.

At least, they didn’t give me an ultimatum, he thought. No, they didn’t act like one of those western sheriffs in the movies and demand that I leave town on the next stage. Maybe I made a mistake not telling them where to put their fifteen-thou. High handed snobs, that’s what they are. They’re high-handed all right, but effective. I got their message. I guess it’s better than the anonymous brick through the front window.

No, they were too civilized to throw a brick. That’s not their style. However, the next day, someone else did.

 

CHAPTER 13

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jim Bosley crushed his cigarette in the Jeep’s ashtray, and signaled for a right turn off North County Road. Turning onto the semi-circular drive, he noted that Julia Walsh’s mansion on El Mirasol occupied everything from County Road to the beach. Her neighbors to the east had gills. A massive, red tile roof jutted out to shade the second floor windows.

He parked, straightened his tie and slipped into a gray sport coat before approaching the front door thirty feet away. Halfway there, it opened and Miguel Gonzales stepped out. “Hi Boz, I might have known you’d be working this case. Have you learned anything interesting yet?”

“Hell, Miguel, I just started. All I know is what I’ve read in your columns. Is the West babe telling the truth? Did you interview all the hired help?”

“Now you know I can’t tell you what my sources tell me in confidence. I can tell you this; Miriam West will make a mighty convincing witness. You can read all about it in the Dispatch. Are you still working for the Irishman?”

I’m working for the accused in this frame-up. I’m associated with Flaherty. Have you got something against him?”

“Hell no, I like the guy. He makes good copy, and he can usually be counted on for a good quote, like the one he gave me when he took this case.”

“What quote? Don’t recall reading it in the paper.”

“That’s because my editor cut it. Flaherty used his ancestral dialect to tell us that that the lad, as he called him, had been vilified by the press and the entire case rested on a lie that no one is trying to disprove.”

Bosley grinned; “Sounds just like him. Well that’s why I’m here.”

Gonzales nodded. “Gotta go. Got one more interview to do”  He turned, waved, and strode toward a gold colored, two-door Toyota Corolla, leaving Bosley to scratch his thinning hair and wonder what, if anything, the reporter had learned and what did he mean, one more interview to do. Is there someone else involved in this case?

Half way through the chime sequence the front door opened and a black man, almost as tall as the detective, and wearing a houseman’s white jacket, blocked his entry.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“I’m James Bosley. I have an appointment to see Ms. West.”

“Yes sir, will you please follow me.”

Glancing to his left, the P.I. spotted a letter on the Butler’s table. The envelope, addressed to Miriam West had a Hollywood return address but no name. He hurried to catch up.

At a pair of ceiling high doors the black man stopped, rapped twice, and then slid one door back into the wall along its invisible track, either it made no sound, or his hearing aid had died. Turning to look at the detective he said, “Ms. Walsh wishes to have a word with you.”

Seated in a regal-looking, winged-back chair in front of a large bay window, Julia Walsh, black hair pulled into a French twist to show off gray lightning streaks, looked up from her book and in a soft voice said, “Thank you, Samuel; we’ll have some coffee now.” Without waiting for the servant to leave she gestured toward her chair’s twin, and said, “Please be seated Mr. Bosley.”

He walked across an intricate patterned tan Persian rug decorated with swirls of blue and red to use the chair indicated.

“Miriam sends her regrets. Poor thing, she is just too tired and distraught to meet with you today.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I looked forward to meeting her. Did Mr. Gonzales upset her?”

Julia gave him a sly smile. “No; he didn’t.”

Bosley wondered if she meant that the reporter hadn’t gotten to interview her. If not, did that mean he still needed to interview the movie star? Before he had time to decide, he heard a knock at the door. Julia looked up, “Enter!” The silent doors parted; Samuel wheeled a teacart into the room and placed it in front of his mistress before leaving.

Julia poured a cup of coffee from the silver server and asked if he’d like cream or sugar.

He adjusted the volume on his hearing aid. “Just the black coffee, thank you!”

She poured a cup for herself and using silver tongs added two lumps of sugar. Sitting back and stirring her cup she said, “I don’t think people who use cream really like coffee, do you?”

Bosley shrugged, “I haven’t given it much thought but you’re probably right. You know Ms. Walsh__,”

“Do call me Julia,” she interrupted.”

 “Gotyah. My friends call me Jim. Seeing as I work for Mr. Sanders, I’m kinda surprised you’re willing to see me?”

“Why, we have nothing to hide. Besides, I always liked Gary. I don’t know why young men today can’t behave. I’m afraid I can’t help you very much, Mr. Bos. . . Jim, I wasn’t at home at the time of the incident.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, do you remember where you were last Monday when Mr. Sanders came to see Ms. West?” He sipped at the coffee.

“Yes, shopping. I like to shop at Tiffany; I also stopped in at Kaufmann de Suisse on Worth Avenue. Do you want to see the sales receipts? I can have Samuel get them.”

“No, no; that’s not necessary. What I’d really like to do, if it’s okay with you, is to interview the servants. How big a staff do you employ?”

Julia placed her cup and saucer on a side table. “Well, beside the three gardeners and the chauffer, I have Samuel, a cook, and five maids at present. Do you want to interview them all?”

Bosley drained his cup. “I’ll settle for Samuel and the maids for now.”

“Very well.” She lifted a small bell from the table beside her chair and rang it.

Within seconds, the tall paneled door slid open and the butler entered. Bosley wondered if he had been listening. He nodded politely to Julia’s instructions and then

with a slight wave of his arm, escorted the detective back toward the front of the house.

Bosley pulled out a small notebook and pen and on the first page wrote Samuel’s full name, his years of service and the answers to the few questions he had about the events of December fifth. When they finished, Samuel introduced him to the downstairs members of his staff. When they went upstairs, Samuel introduced him to Henrietta the lone upstairs maid, and left them standing in the corridor while he returned to his post near the front door.

Bosley towered over the petite maid, “Henrietta, do you clean all the bedrooms on this floor by yourself? That seems like a lot of work for one little girl like you to handle.

“Oh, no sir, Pattie from downstairs helps me now.

“Tell me the truth, I’ll make it worth your while,” he held a fifty dollar bill in front of her. “Did that reporter who came here interview Ms. West?”

“Yes sir.”

“Ms. Walsh mentioned a butler, a cook and five maids. There’s somebody missing isn’t there?”

“Yes, the other upstairs maid, she don’t work here no more.”

I’ll bet that’s Miguel’s other interview, he decided. “What’s her name?”

Looking around, she moved closer and reached for the bill. As her fingers closed on the bill, his large hand gently clasped her wrist.

 “Oh you must mean Consuela, Consuela Arista; she got herself fired last week.”

“And what did Consuela do—”

“I really don’t know, sir,” she interrupted.

“You didn’t let me finish Pattie. I meant what were her duties?”

 “Oh, she took care of Ms. West’s suite.”

“Is that a difficult job?”

“It can be. Ms. West is very particular.”

Bosley ran a hand over his chin; “I see. Perhaps she didn’t do a good job.”

Henrietta frowned, “No sir, Consuela is very good at her job. I know they didn’t send her away for that.”

The detective nodded and kept on nodding with one eyebrow raised, and his grip on her wrist tightening. Pattie looked up and down the hall corridor, and then whispered, “Samuel said she had been insubordinate and that can’t happen in this household.”

 Bosley wrote the missing maid’s name on a blank page and added the word: insubordinate and a large question mark then closed his notebook and thanked Pattie for her help. “I’ll give you another twenty if you can tell me where she went”

“I don’t know if she went home or not, but she lives in Lake Worth. I don’t know exactly where.”

Samuel met him at the foot of the steps.

Bosley scratched at his sideburn flipping an imaginary coin; heads Miguel needs to find the fired maid, tails he knows where to find Consuela. I’ll bet tails, and if I’m right, I’ve got no time to waste finding her. After stepping out the door, he turned to face Samuel and asked, “To whom was Consuela insubordinate?”

Samuel looked over his shoulder and then whispered, “To Ms. Miriam.” The door closed behind him before Bosley had time to reply.