Pulphouse Fiction Magazine Issue #25 by WMG Publishing

Author:WMG Publishing
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WMG Publishing

Friday, 9 May 1890

Mrs. Voss led Dugas into the parlor whose walls, now painted a pinkish-rose color, seemed so much brighter. All of the furniture had been replaced, as well as the carpet, now a much lighter color. A dark blue loveseat sat where the sofa had been. A rolltop desk stood near the French doors, several tables and two stuffed chairs facing a larger table.

Mrs. Voss returned with a tray of iced lemonade, pouring two glasses as Isabelle Fouquet stepped into the parlor. Her hair down in long curls, she wore a soft cream-colored dress and gave Dugas a warm smile that nearly took his breath away. She was even more lovely.

The day before, the jury found Tommy Lott guilty of murder and the judge sentenced him to death by hanging. Isabelle Fouquet was found not guilty. Dugas had found a note waiting for him at the office that morning, from Isabelle, that read, “Please come.”

“I wanted to tell you my attorney is doing all he can for Tommy.” Isabelle brought her lemonade to the loveseat and turned back to Dugas.

He nodded, took a sip of the lemonade, which almost constricted his throat it was so tart and cold.

“I want to apologize to you for lying.”

“You already did that.”

“I want to again. I want you know why I lied for Tommy.” Isabelle sat on the loveseat and patted it for Dugas to sit next to her. He brought his drink and noticed how the blue color of the loveseat nearly matched those sapphire eyes, which were brighter than he’d ever seen them.

“I lied because I have to take care of Tommy in any way I can. He came here willingly and look what this house did to him.”

“This house?”

“All this.” She waved her hand around, but didn’t include herself in the hand motion.

Lott had come willingly. Like a fly into the spider’s trap.

Dugas took a nervous sip of lemonade.

Her eyes changed subtly and when she spoke, her voice deepened. “I’m not strong, you know. My needs are great. Not financially, but other needs.”

He felt those eyes pulling at him, digging into him, staring into his eyes all the way to his heart now.

“I need…someone,” she whispered. The sapphires bore into his eyes and he felt a flush rise up his collar, a stirring in his loins, a stammering of his heart. He could see she knew the effect she was causing.

Another willing lad? Dugas stood suddenly, thinking, I walked right into this one, didn’t I?

He returned the glass to the tray and walked straight out. Mrs. Voss rose from the bench and he thanked her for the lemonade and let himself out the door. Outside he tried to find a breath of fresh air in the hot, humid atmosphere. It took a while.

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