Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine 11 by Jack Grochot

Author:Jack Grochot [Grochot, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: mystery
ISBN: 9781479401772
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2014-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

“In a very short time my husband will be out of the picture, so we won’t have to worry about him. Not that it was ever a consideration of mine. But I can see that it’s something that’s been on your mind.”

“Do you have telepathy?” I asked, smiling.

“I’m a woman and you’re not a very good actor,” she said, taking another sip of her drink.

My heart was racing. I stood up, walked to the fireplace and looked at the dancing flames. I thought that if I stared hard enough I might receive some divine wisdom that would tell me what to do next. But that didn’t happen. After a minute or two Mrs. Jensen came over and stood next to me. Together we watched the fire and didn’t speak. As we walked back to the couch she grabbed me and kissed me hard on the lips. I put my arms around her and felt her breasts press against my chest. Then her tongue was in my mouth and we fell onto the couch. Not long after, we made our way to the master bedroom and the king size canopied bed. She was wild and insatiable. And maybe I was too. Five years of being alone will do that to a man. I fell asleep in her arms with her scent in my nostrils.

When I woke up, it was morning and she was gone. I got dressed and went out to look for her. I found her in the solarium, next to a potted palm. Staring through the glass walls, at the forest in the distance.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she said glancing at me, then back at the trees.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, with little conviction.

My first thought was that I’d been nothing more to her than a one night stand. Had I disappointed her? Or was she just bored with me?

“I made a business decision recently.” she said, “I’m just thinking about it.” Then she turned to me, and said, “Shave, take a shower. Then we’ll eat something and take a walk.”

When I went back to the kitchen Kira was at range with a frying pan. She slid an omelet onto a plate, handed it to me, and said: “You’re not the only one who cooks around here.”

“Let me guess,” I said, “The Sorbonne?

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