Read Online Dead Man's Thoughts by Carolyn Wheat - Free Book Online Page A

flights to Dorinda’s floor. The corridors are long; not every space in the huge building is developed. I stood, breathless, before the door. At my knock, she came, smiling, filling the doorway with her five foot ten inch farm girl’s frame. Her thick braids were wound around her head like something out of I Remember Mama . I blurted out what had happened and suddenly began to shiver. I don’t know if it was the cold or the events that were catching up with me, but Dorinda helped me take off my clothes and put me into one of her huge flannel nightgowns. She gave me thick handmade wool socks for my icy feet and sat me down in the kitchen while she brewed herb tea. Usually herb tea appeals to me about as much as wet hay, but tonight it was wonderful—hot, honey-sweet, and spearminty. I drank it greedily, letting its soothing warmth flow through my body. There was a warm afghan and a purring cat on my lap. It was as though no cold, no horror, no death could penetrate this place of warmth and comfort.
    But I hadn’t told Dorinda the whole story. I hadn’t mentioned the magazines Button had shown me, the conclusions he’d drawn. I didn’t want to. Nathan’s death was bad enough; if I talked about the rest, that cold, nasty world outside would penetrate Dorinda’s haven. And I wasn’t ready for that.
    We sat in silence. Dorinda lit a joint and passed it to me. I sucked in the smoke and leaned back, some muscle tension loosening. I stroked the little calico cat, Mignonette. A new addition. The older cat, Tansy, had appropriated Dorinda’s lap as though to show the newcomer who was boss. Both cats were purring loudly; it was the only sound in the room.
    I broke the silence, haltingly at first, telling Dorinda the whole story. She didn’t say much. She’s been around, Dorinda, lived with quite a few guys, one of whom was a part-time transvestite, so I knew she wasn’t shocked by the basic idea of S-M paraphernalia. Maybe, like me, she found the idea of associating it with Nathan hard to accept. At any rate, she let me talk without comment or interruption.
    I was a lot calmer than I’d expected. The initial hysteria had worn off; grief hadn’t set in yet. I was in a limbo state of numbness that allowed me to think I was being objective, rational.
    â€œI can’t believe that Nathan was—what they said he was. It just seems so out of character, him with those awful magazines. Ropes and shit.” I shuddered.
    â€œSometimes you see what you want to see in a person, you know?” Dorinda replied. She ought to know, I thought, a little cynically. Every starving artist Dorinda has ever picked up was going to be the next Mark Suvero or Robert Motherwell.
    â€œI remember when I found that lingerie in George’s drawer,” she went on. I wasn’t sure I could take another rendition of The Day Dorinda Discovered George Was a Transvestite, but I listened anyway. “I thought it meant he had another old lady. I really freaked when I found out the stuff was his.”
    I nodded. “But you stayed with him anyway.”
    â€œYeah. He was a pretty nice guy, you know. Gentle. He wanted me to ball him while he wore that stuff, but I wouldn’t. That would have been too kinky. But what I’m getting at is, you never know.”
    â€œI knew,” I said flatly. “Nathan was a sensitive lover. He didn’t need to hurt anyone to get his rocks off. That’s not the kind of thing you can hide.”
    â€œThen what was all that stuff doing there?” Dorinda asked, her gray eyes serious. “Who tied him up? And why?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe somebody wanted it to look like a gay killing, to hide the real motive.”
    Dorinda got up. Tansy jumped from her lap, meowing in protest. She went to the stove and put on more water. I stroked Mignonette, my hand lightly touching the soft fur with its pale calico markings. The