knot.
She struggled with the knot, frustration level rising, working it this way and that, using her nails to pry at the thick fibers without success. Her dress, without reason, became a cocoon, enclosing her, cutting her off from Jasper and the beautiful plantation. Claustrophobia, shortness of breath, heart pounding, sexual tension all but gone…she opened her eyes to find herself wound up in the sheets and blankets of her bed, both hands pulling at the knot of her pajama bottoms. Throwing her arms wide she breathed deeply, and then crossed her arms under her breasts in an effort to slow down her breathing before she hyperventilated. Blanche looked at the clock, 5:55 a.m. glared at her through the dark.
Literally jumping from bed Blanche grabbed her ‘shower kit’, key and towel, knowing that ‘Mr. Wonder’ would be trying to beat her to the bathroom at 6:00 a.m. Throwing the door open and stepping into the hall she saw him from the corner of her eye moving down the hall toward the bathroom. His pace accelerated when he saw Blanche’s door open and was at a fairly good lope when he reached her. Without a word, Blanche spun, tucked the kit and towel under her left arm like a running back for the Falcons and sprinted for the bathroom. Blanche and ‘Clueless’ reached the door at the same time, both slamming into it, overpowering the antique little lock, throwing the door open in the process.
The unlikely tandem stood in the doorway of the bathroom, side by side, filling the area between the jams. Blanche’s arms crossing her chest, and his arms at his sides, towels and shower kits on the floor. Before them a young black couple sat in the old style porcelain tub, facing one another with bubbles spilling over and onto the floor. They sat motionless, faces turned to the doorway following the abrupt interruption and entrance of their neighbors. All were speechless. It was Blanche who moved first. She bent down, picked up her things and without saying a word headed back to her room. Once Blanche was inside she grabbed her pillow, wrapped her arms and knees around it and drifted back to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Okay class, can I have it quiet please, can I get everyone to settle down so we can get started,” a pause, chairs sliding, books dropping on tables, then quiet. “Thank you, I know this is the first time that we’ve met since the Thelma Riddle story broke. We’ll take a few minutes to talk about it and see what you think and do some comparisons,” said Mrs. Ella Pinkerton Wild.
Mrs. Wild taught the ‘Deviant Behavior’ course in the department of Criminology where Seymour was taking classes. She was a direct descendant of Allan Pinkerton of the legendary
Ella had worked at the Pinkerton Forensics Lab in Atlanta for 25 years, long enough to draw her retirement, but was too young to actually retire. She and her husband, a former Georgia State Trooper, had settled on Valdosta when Ella heard through the grapevine that the university was expanding its criminology department. The dean could hardly contain himself when he learned that an actual ‘Pinkerton’ would be applying for the job. The decision to hire her had been made, at least in his mind, before the interview began.
Mrs. Ella Wild, or ‘Pink’ as she was known by friends and family, was a no nonsense woman in her late 50’s with a wry sense of humor, warped by too many hours staring through a microscope and dealing with materials directly related to death in one way or another. Her sense of humor was, more than likely, a defense mechanism but it was endearing to her students who thought the world of her.
Not overly attractive but not ugly either, just kind of plain in her own unique way, she wore round glasses with a prominent bifocal line bisecting the lens over each eye. Her skin was pale, chronically clammy, with age spots forming on her hands, neck and face. The sun was not her friend and she knew it. Most days she wore clothing not characteristic of those living in the South, which seemed a trifle odd. While weather and community standards called for short sleeves, tanks and shorts, she wore long sleeves and slacks with her silver-streaked hair wound into a ponytail.
Her frame was ‘thick’, not unfeminine, but just thick and sturdy; however, this was not to say that she was in poor physical condition. Every Wednesday night she and her husband taught, as volunteers, a free self-defense course for anyone that wished to learn a thing or two about the art. She excelled at chokeholds and groin kicks where Dave, her husband, was the boxer.
Today, ‘Pink’ had her hair in the traditional ponytail but wore an Atlanta Braves baseball hat with the ponytail dangling out the back. Her countenance was pleasant but focused.
“I trust you each had a good weekend and are ready to get back to work. Mr. Rickert, I saw your rugby game on Saturday, you played well, need to learn to avoid those elbows.”
Mr. Rickert replied in the affirmative with a very nasty looking swollen, black eye and bruised cheek.
“Let’s put aside what we were dealing with last week to take a closer look at this newspaper report that had you all abuzz this morning,” she said, turning to the overhead which she illuminated, projecting a copy of the newspaper article onto the wall.
“What’s your first impression?” There was a long minute without any volunteers. “Come on now, surely there is someone brave enough to express their opinion.”
Seymour slowly raised his hand. “There was a follow up to the first article this morning, don’t know if you’ve seen it yet, but the police are playing it down and saying that it was just a prank. I don’t know if I’m buying that but they said Mrs. Riddle was back in her home and there have been no further problems. But it did say she’s sleeping with her shotgun.”
Laughter drifted throughout the classroom and brought a smile to Ella’s face.
”Rightly so, rightly so!” she said. “Son of a bitch better not try the same thing in my bedroom!” she barked, bringing more enthusiastic laughter from the students. “So Seymour, what’s your take on this guy? Is he a deviant? Is he a prankster or is he just a really bad thief?” she questioned, moving across the room to stand in front of her student.
“Well, I’m not really sure, my gut feeling is he’s a trickster just trying to get his jollies. Obviously has a thing for wearing women’s clothing so I would think that would place him into a deviant category, but the fact that he didn’t take anything, even left behind the underwear, is kind of weird. I guess it’s possible that he’s actually a student or someone that was dared to do it, like a frat thing or something similar.”
“Good thought, let’s expand on that.”
“Mrs. Wild, it doesn’t sound like the police department is going to pursue this any further. Why aren’t they sending the underwear or other possible clues to the state crime lab or the FBI?” a young female piped up from the back of the room.
“Let me turn that around on you. How many of these little ‘victimless’ crimes take place in Valdosta, Lowndes County or Georgia for that matter every single day? Any takers?” Pink wandered back to the other side of the room, tapping a pointer in her palm.
“Nobody? Well I’ll tell you,” she quipped, returning to the projector, she removed the initial image and placed a transparency on the overhead.
A chart of numbers and titles covered the opposing wall.
“All right, these number are for 2005 alone and were provided by the GBI. You should all know what that stands for. Who can tell us?”
Mr. Rickert raised his hand.
“Yes,” aiming the pointer in his direction.
“Georgia Bureau of Investigation,” he said.
“Thanks, correct. They have a statistical division that generates this database every year. So let’s take a look,” and she pointed at each column and read aloud:
“Murder — 526, Rape — 2086, Robbery — 13,800, Aggravated Assault — 22,409. Bringing the total violent crimes in the state of Georgia for one year to 38,821. Anyone surprised?” She paused then continued. “Okay then, let’s take a look at the property or more victimless crimes. Burglary — 79,834, Larceny — 234,436 and yes that comma is in the right place, Auto Theft — 43,411, Arson — 1130, Total Property Crime — 358,811. What do you
