Read Online The Dog Collar Murders by Barbara Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

collars?”
    “I didn’t know you had a dog, Pam. Or are you getting a dog, what kind of dog?”
    “No, I don’t have a dog,” I said, still trying to convey by my whisper that we should keep our voices down. “I’m, uh, not looking for that kind of dog collar.”
    “Ohhhh,” she said appraisingly. “Sex life starting to drag a little? You’d be very surprised how many people come in here looking for stuff like that. Yeah, the other day a guy came in here and asked if we had chain link. I told him where the roll was—when I came around the corner to see how he was doing, darned if he wasn’t down on his knees with a length of it around his neck. He said he was measuring it for his dog.”
    “Abby,” I whispered furiously. “Would you lower your voice a little, please? This isn’t what you think. I’m just interested—because of Loie. It has nothing to do with my sex life.”
    “Well, you won’t find what you’re looking for here. Just little blue puppy dog and kitty cat collars here. And lots of flea collars. Tell you where to go though. The Vault.”
    “The Vault?”
    “It’s not far away. It’s a sex shop—mainly gay male, but lots of leather, B & D stuff too.”
    “B & D?”
    “Bondage and Domination.”
    “Oh.” Why didn’t she feel embarrassed saying words like that aloud? I did. “Well, thanks, Abby.”
    “Sure Pam.” She called after me, “I didn’t think you’d suddenly got a dog .”
    I went back to the Espressomat. Hadley was still in the thick of it.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Lynda had to leave early today for an appointment with her iridiologist and the place is packed. Probably because of the conference and Loie. If you want to go on home, I promise I’ll be there by seven-thirty. Morgan is starting her shift at seven.”
    “Okay,” I said. “I’ll make some dinner.” I didn’t go straight home though. I decided to stop by The Vault.
    It was a seedy looking place and I couldn’t help scouting the street before I ducked inside. Once in it took me a minute to accustom myself to the layout. I wasn’t sure where to look. At the front were innocent love orgy oils and skimpy underwear. At the back were racks of videos and magazines. But I headed first to a side wall festooned with a lot of black leather. Before I got there, however, my attention was arrested by four or five shelves of vibrators and dildos. It was like a forest of off-pink flesh, with occasional black trees and roots.
    Astounded, I stopped and looked more closely. Some of these things were huge, three feet long, five inches thick, some of them with two heads. How—and where—did people fit them into such orifices as they possessed? I was more amazed than judgmental when I turned away to face the wall. Off it hung black leather caps, vests, pants with buttocks or crotches cut out, gloves. The only thing that was missing was black leather socks.
    I wasn’t sure exactly what to make of it. Why was it all leather, why was it black? All it reminded me of when I looked at it was Nazi Germany—I wondered if it was supposed to. Inside the glass cases in front of the wall were smaller objects, all labeled. Butt plugs, hand and leg cuffs, tubes to encase the penis, cock rings and nipple clamps. Ouch! On top of the cases were more of the things I’d been looking for: whips of different lengths and strands, leashes, studded jock straps and, aha, dog collars. Big thick ones with spikes, like the kind Nicky Kay had worn, like the kind I presumed had strangled Loie.
    A man with a pleasant smile came over and asked if he could help me find anything.
    I blushed beet-red, and squeezed out, in a tiny voice, “Oh no, just looking.” But before he moved off, I managed to ask more firmly if I could possibly try on one of the dog collars.
    I glanced around before I slipped it on my neck, to make sure no one I knew was in the store. No, just some men perusing the magazines.
    “Now you don’t want it too tight,”