Return to Ocracoke
By T.L. Peters
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012, T.L. Peters
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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At the insistence of his boss and close friend, Arthur “Skip” Jade, hard-bitten corporate lawyer Tom Sanders reluctantly returns to Ocracoke Island, the scene of his humiliation years before at the hands of two beautiful and savage women. Once there, he hopes to enjoy a few relaxing and restful days with his perky girlfriend Megan. But instead he soon finds himself entangled in a murderous scheme that even his cynical legal mind can barely comprehend. Will Tom keep his wits long enough to survive? And what is perhaps more interesting, will he even want to?
This is a sequel to Peters’ popular story, “An Ocracoke Affair,” although it can just as easily be read as a stand-alone novel.
“There’s no question that Peters is a master wordsmith.” Gerry B’s Book Reviews
Chapter 1
It was all Skip's idea. Arthur "Skip" Jade, a judge's son, Harvard Law, fast track junior partner in one of Buffalo's better firms, my closest peer in age, though unfortunately far above me in both appearance and talent, had decided it might be cool to take a little jaunt down to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Ocracoke Island to be precise, for a few days of fun and sun. "After all," Skip had announced breezily in the murky confines of Conference Room 2B, deep within the august bowels of Bale and Bly, "we'd been busting our butts lately."
As usual, Skip was right. Three weekends and three merger deals to close, and at least fifteen all-nighters sprinkled in. The paperwork, no surprise there, had been mountainous, and, like always, the senior partners had demanded perfection—every t crossed, every i dotted, and then some. I was beat. Skip was exhausted. We both needed a break. But the Outer Banks, especially Ocracoke Island, held no charm for me. It was the last place on earth I wanted to go.
The memories of my trip there two summers before were still painfully fresh. And the scars, too. I continued to sport a dull red abrasion on my left thigh where the chesty blond, who went by the unlikely name Gladys Corbett, had kicked me to near distraction at least a dozen times. My nose was a little cockeyed from all the right jabs she had leveled at my tender white-collar face. And what about my rather pudgy lower back, which had borne a painful bruising from all the times she had casually flipped me over her sleek and gorgeous shoulders onto the hard dunes of Ocracoke?
My spine still ached in the mornings when I squirmed out of bed. That didn't even count all the agony the tall slender brunette, Olga Heimweh, had dished out to my fragile physique with her lethal fists and forearms. I didn't want any more of Ocracoke or the Outer Banks, and I told Skip so. But Skip was persistent.
"C'mon, Tom, don't be a wet rag. We can take the girls along. Megan would love it, and I know Madison needs some R and R. What about it? Thursday through Tuesday, a nice long weekend. The weather's supposed to be perfect, a sunny eighty five degrees with a nice southwesterly breeze. Maybe we can even rent a boat and do some fishing. It'll be great."
I peered skeptically at his dark thick hair, gleaming with a moist black radiance under the dull phosphorescent lights, his slightly unshaven chin and lower cheeks, just enough facial hair to make him look hip but not scruffy, his noble aquiline nose, his shining blue eyes, his winning smile. Skip had it all, especially his dazzling six feet two inches of sleek and perfectly proportioned athletic muscularity, dazzling enough anyway to make the ladies swoon, and that was even before they found out he was everybody's choice to be Bale and Bly's next managing partner. Bale and Bly, as with most law firms in this hectic and fast changing economy, liked its leaders young and full of energy, and Skip fit the bill to perfection.
Skip Jade, in other words, was a hard guy to turn down, especially for me, a plodding corporate type who had all the personality of a lumpy sack of potatoes. But I was a deft scrivener and a crafty technician, and Skip liked me, or at least he had no qualms in delegating to my ponderous hands all the drudgery of preparing and reviewing lengthy legal documents, while he spent his time charming both clients and senior partners alike with his keen wit and glib knowledge of the law. I knew I was getting the short end of the stick. But, on the bright side, when Skip moved up the ladder, so would I.
I shook my head weakly as the distant but still grating image of the two nubile Amazons joyously kicking the snot out of me raced through my mind.
"I think I'll take a pass this time. Maybe next year."
But Skip would not be denied. He could have cajoled pretty much anyone at the firm to go along with him, but for some reason he wanted me. Maybe it was the public relations challenge of enduring such an awkward friend that intrigued him, or perhaps my omnipresent visage of homeliness aligned so closely with his handsome face appealed to his vanity, a sort of benign elitism he found a worthy complement to his many other virtues. Whatever it was, Skip wanted my company on this trip, and he was bound and determined to coax me to his point of view. If coaxing didn't work, he would resort to bullying, but Skip seldom had to bully me. I was far too cooperative for that.
"I know you had a bad time there once, Tom, but those nasty women are long gone by now. Don't let some sadistic pair of kooks spoil your fun. We can talk about it at dinner tonight. Megan is coming, right?"
I nodded grudgingly. I knew I'd never be able to withstand Skip's powers of persuasion over some long and sumptuous dinner enhanced by a nice bottle of expensive Chardonnay, and especially not with my friend Megan there. Megan liked Skip, almost as much as she liked me.
Of course, Skip was no threat to my rather modest amorous ambitions, and certainly no rival for Megan's tender affections. Skip had so many women on a string, it was ridiculous. And now he was giddily contemplating the prospect of bringing a "new girl" along, this mysterious Madison creature. Skip claimed, with remarkable simplicity, that "she was really something." I wasn't sure how she could top the lingerie model he'd been dating for the past three months, until he suddenly tired of her slow wit and what he regarded as her lack of cultural "hipness," but Skip was always full of surprises.
"Megan
is looking forward to it," I murmured gamely.
"Great
to see you're coming around," Skip chortled, tapping my
shoulders with manly precision and gusto. "You certainly are a
recalcitrant fellow at times, but I guess anyone who labors so
willingly in the salt mines of the law has to be a bit off kilter
once in a while."
"I guess it's my destiny, Skip, to be a little off kilter, I mean."
I heard Skip laugh and then, quite suddenly, I was left alone in the cavernous sterility of the law library. Maybe Skip was right and I had nothing to fear. How likely was it really that I would meet up again with those two violent shrews? By all appearances they had been on a random and malevolent joy ride through the Outer Banks, a kind of sadistic frolic, the purpose of which was to torment some pathetic male, and I had unfortunately qualified as a sterling specimen. They had doubtless long since moved on to other unfortunate victims in other faraway places. The risk inherent in this little weekend excursion seemed to be small, while the reward, Skip's continued favor, was clearly very great.
But there was one caveat to all of Skip's heady plans to which I would hold firm. We would not go to Ocracoke. It was a lovely island, but it suggested to me far too many unseemly and humiliating memories. The Outer Banks stretched some 140 miles north of that lovely barrier island, with plenty of other wonderful places we could stay. Nurturing this tiny bit of resolve, I went back to proof reading the sale leaseback agreement Skip claimed had to be done by five.
Chapter 2
We gathered at a sleepy place downtown, a notorious hang out for lawyers, dim lighting, a well stocked bar, good food, slow service, and nobody ever asked any questions. It was the perfect spot to plan our little getaway. Skip thought so at least, and what Skip thought was really all that mattered.
Skip had hinted to me that he wanted to keep our Outer Banks mini-vacation quiet, the mystery of it all appealing to his sense of white collar adventure. In what he regarded as this drearily predictable age of instant and ubiquitous communication, Skip had often waxed eloquent on how he yearned to vanish for a few days, like a distant phantom, like some dashing and care free rogue, or, in more pedestrian terms, like a guy who was so confident of his abilities that he didn't need to notify his secretary of his itinerary, to alert the senior partners that they'd be on their own for a while, or even to warn the clients footing the bill for his $850 hourly rate that he might be out-of-pocket when they had the itch to give him a call about the latest little wrinkle in the latest cutting edge deal.
It was a wonderful self image to have, one I would have died to acquire. But maybe I didn't have to die to get it. Perhaps some of Skip's luster would rub off if I just stayed close enough. I had long cherished this forlorn hope anyway. After all, at least on this one very long weekend, I, too, at Skip's behest, would disappear from the murky recesses of Bale and Bly without a trace, and not a soul on the planet, other than my three traveling companions of course, would have the slightest idea where I was or what I might be up to. In short, I was all set to be daring for once in my life, and the notion flattered my sense of vanity, as meager as my vanity was, and must continue to be, in Skip's uplifted and glorified presence.
Megan, as was her habit, showed up a minute or so late. She had thin pale blond hair, the only blond I ever met, young blond anyway, who always looked a bit washed out. She was slender but not terribly pretty, average height, liked to wear gray business suits to her job as a human relations clerk, and she smiled a lot. She had a nice smile, that and her ripped calves and thighs easily qualifying as her most comely features. How such a plain girl could possess such eye-popping legs was a mystery to me. She claimed she never worked out. Maybe she had been born with them, the favor of a benevolent deity to an otherwise homely but congenial woman.
I wasn't asking too many questions, though, or making too many demands of her either. Megan seemed like the perfect girl for me—pleasant enough to talk to, not threatening in any way, loyal, devoted, even tempered, friendly, the kind of woman I could see myself making a life with, the kind who wouldn't cause me much stress, a soothing presence I could seek out for consolation in the tough times when the big wigs at the firm were breathing down my neck, in other words, a true life partner for my rather modest tastes.
I'd had my fill of exciting and beautiful women. My experiences at Ocracoke had taught me that such capricious creatures could be a real hassle, and if you weren't careful, they might just get you killed. I didn't want to get killed, not for any woman, not for anything.
Megan and I had even discussed marriage once or twice, but I hadn't proposed yet. Maybe this weekend, I thought. It seemed like as good a time as any. I could always buy the ring when we got back.
Skip, however, had an entirely different and far more challenging perspective on female companionship, and that evening at dinner his more exquisite tastes were on full display. Shortly after Megan bustled over to our corner booth—despite her lackluster appearance, Megan was always bustling somewhere—Skip's girl Madison made her grand entrance, strutting through the front door like she owned the place, in the process scattering from their beer stained stools a few lingering male bar flies, who seemed rather awed by her vigorous beauty. How could they not be? Madison was a stunner.
When Skip had bragged to me that his new girl was really something, he was guilty of grand understatement to the extreme. Madison was not just "something", she was a knockout, and she was tall, really tall, a half foot taller than Skip in her bright red pumps, with her luscious pitch black hair falling lightly over her shoulders, a lean killer body accentuated by long sloping breasts that on first glance looked like the real thing, and maybe they were, a tight wiry waist, and calves that made Megan's robust gams look like tooth picks.
Her wide and bristling shoulders were what got me though, that and the lean slabs of muscle along her forearms. She was wearing a sweater, so I couldn't see her biceps, but I imagined—perhaps it would be more accurate to say I fantasized—that they were equally strong and eye popping.
Madison looked like she'd been a basketball star in college, or maybe the chief "spiker" on some All-American volleyball team. It turned out she was neither. My juices were flowing so violently at the sight of her impressive physicality that I just had to ask her how she stayed in such great shape. I knew it was an awkward question to place to anyone on a first meeting, much less to Skip's date, especially with Megan right beside me, and before Madison even had the chance to sit down, but I just had to ask. I was kind of a dork anyway, as you've probably figured out by now, and dorks can usually get away with a certain degree of innocent oral clumsiness. Megan, bless her heart, seemed curious about it, too, judging by the sudden sparkle in her otherwise dull eyes and the smile brightening her otherwise pale lips.
"I lift weights," Madison explained, sitting down languidly, her black skirt hugging her lean and solid hips. "I also do power yoga for flexibility and spinning for cardio. But I prefer pumping iron. It gives me a sense of freedom and power."
"Madison goes to the gym five days a week right before work," Skip observed with evident pride as he leaned over and kissed the towering beauty on her elegantly sculpted cheek. I thought I noticed her wince slightly as his lips touched her smooth and lightly tanned flesh, but maybe it was just my imagination. "She's the office manager at one of our rival firms, or at least that's what she claims. I must confess I've never bothered to investigate her professional resume, but who really cares all that much what she does? We're all friends here."
"She's the enemy then, or at least so it seems to me," I said, gazing into Madison's dark eyes, which seemed to gleam with a stern malevolence, though at nothing in particular, or at least I could discern no ready object for her apparent displeasure.
"I am the enemy, and don't ever forget it," Madison snapped in my general direction, the effect of the edge in her husky voice dampened somewhat by the wide but fleeting grin, though it did not seem to me an especially friendly grin.
"I really admire someone with your energy," Megan whimpered amiably. Megan was always whimpering amiably. In that respect, she was much like me. "I just don't have the discipline to exercise."
"Discipline is one quality I have in abundance," Madison replied, her eyes sparkling briefly at her demure counterpart before shifting toward Skip. She gently puckered her lips but did not kiss him. Skip gulped slightly as though unnerved by the gesture, but unnerved in a highly stimulating way. "It comes in handy sometimes," she added in a low voice, almost a growl.
"Maybe over the next few days some of it will penetrate into my thick skull," Megan offered, apparently oblivious to the underlying sexual messages being so glibly sent back and forth.
"Maybe," Madison replied sharply as her eyes darted toward me.
She seemed unimpressed with what she saw, because her grin quickly faded into a scowl, which she soon directed with a laser focus onto the menu.
"I hope they have good steaks here," she snarled. "I'm famished."
"They specialize in sea food," Skip pointed out, grinning lustily at her, "but I imagine their steaks are decent, too."
"I like red meat," Madison snarled once more with such severity it made me gulp. "I'm basically a hunter at heart."
"And a brilliant hunter," Skip commented, kissing her again, this time on the corner of her full red lips. "You've managed to entrap me, and I'm not an easy guy to pin down."
Skip at last had apparently cajoled Madison's full attention, and for a moment it seemed as though he and his athletic friend had forgotten all about poor little Megan and me, so rapturously were they gazing into each other's eyes. But then the waitress, a chubby red head with a friendly smile, came over to take our orders, and the spell was momentarily broken.
True to her word, Madison promptly ordered a twenty ounce New York Strip, with a side plate of fries and a large order of steamed vegetables, all of which she was soon devouring with monastic like intensity. There was no more kissing, no more flirting, not even any furtive sideways glances, only the rapid fire action of knife and fork and mouth, all working in perfect and delicious unison.
This enigmatic beauty seemed to draw us all into her ravenous appetites, not that it was so difficult. We were all equally starved. Megan got a salmon salad, I ordered crab-stuffed Tilapia, and Skip chose the balsamic glazed chicken breast. But we were pikers compared to Madison, merely delicate little flowers, sissies to borrow an old fashioned term, or at least I, for one, felt like a sissy as I watched Madison's forearms bristle while she cut the tender meat into sharp little squares.
Finally, the orgy of food consumption stilled somewhat as Madison, her plate now clean except for a few trickles of reddish juice, lifted her glass of blood red wine and glared significantly at her date.
"Have you made the reservations, my sweet little lawyer friend?"
"Everything's set," Skip answered, flinching a bit, like a man who had just awoken from a light sleep or perhaps a mystical trance of some ancient vintage. He then turned briskly toward me with the appearance of great relief, much as if he, too, required a little break from Madison's penetrating gaze.
"I put the rental under my name, but you can reimburse me for your half later."
"And here I thought I was getting a freebie," I lamented jokingly. Then, finally, Skip's old cocky grin resurfaced, and I was glad to see it. Something about Madison unnerved me as well, and I was looking for a respite wherever I could find it, even in my own belittlement.
"Tom's money, you know, is all tied up in cash," Skip continued. "Sometimes I think he's saving up for an early retirement. I can hardly blame him though. The law is such a bore."
"I always thought he was frugal rather than overtly cheap," Megan piped up in my defense, delicately rubbing some ranch salad dressing from her chin as she attempted a brief but engaging smile.
"He's terribly cheap," Skip corrected her. "But maybe some day I can cure him of that depressing malady. Tom's really quite the rising star in the rapacious firmament of Bale and Bly, and rising stars can't afford to be too tight with a buck."
Megan's eyes brightened at the unexpected compliment of her rather dull looking date.
"Really. Tom claims he's barely holding onto his job."
"Barely is an understatement," I noted dryly.
Skip laughed, glancing once more at the tall beauty by his side, whose dark eyes now seemed focused only on the wine and perhaps, I vaguely felt, on some distant point beyond us all.
"That's his clever little game," Skip went on glibly. "Tom pretends to be humble, but the reality is far more complicated. I'd go so far as to say that if it weren't for me, he'd have the inside track to managing partner. He's slow but steady, Tom is. Lawyers like that, clients too. I'm a tad more boisterous, but I somehow get by."
"Fat chance I'd ever qualify for the top job," I hastened to downplay his lofty assessment of my abilities, "not with the great Skip Jade so deftly blocking my path," and I languidly rolled my eyes for emphasis.
Skip was right, though. I might have had a small chance at the top spot, if Skip were out of the way, a possibility that did not seem at all likely any time soon, so unlikely in fact, it was hardly worth thinking about.
Skip chuckled as he raised his glass of white wine to his ruddy lips.
"You're better off working for me, Tom. I'll keep you out of trouble, and you'll earn a good living in the process."
"Just as well," I observed blandly as I scraped my fork over the last juicy morsel of crab meat. "The bright lights give me a headache."
"Now you see why I like to have Tom on my team," Skip continued, leaning over and kissing Madison on the cheek, or at least he was aiming for her cheek. Her long hair mostly blocked his mouth as she suddenly turned her head away. He drew back with the disgruntled expression of a spoiled little boy whose mother had just taken away the last piece of candy. "It's Tom's particular brand of genius that he knows exactly what he's about at all times."
"But do you know what you're about, Mr. Arthur "Skip" Jade?" Madison suddenly asked, emerging from her trance long enough to swing her dark eyes toward the startled young lawyer, who nonetheless recovered quickly.
"What I'm about, for the moment at least, is whatever you want me to be about," Skip replied cheerfully. "Is that good enough for you?"
The tall beauty's eyes sharpened, and her lips puckered suggestively. I thought she was about to kiss him, but instead she pinched his cheek between her long slender fingers. This time I was sure I saw him wince.
"Did you order the mats?" she cooed.
"Yes, my lovely," Skip answered promptly as she pinched his cheek once more before finally letting go.
"Mats?" Megan asked, glancing between the two. "What kind of mats?"
"Wrestling mats," Madison explained, her eyes once again sparkling at the diminutive blond sitting so quietly next to me. "I like to wrestle. It's the other dimension of my fitness program, effective not only for cardiovascular health, but also an excellent means of resistance training, so long as the competition is worthy."
"Do you wrestle men?" Megan gulped, her eyes widening.
"I wrestle anyone I have a mind to," Madison answered, bending over so that her breasts meshed solidly with the table top.
"Madison says I am an especially worthy opponent," Skip broke in, leaning toward his date and this time adroitly managing to lock his lips onto hers.
"It should be an interesting trip then," I observed awkwardly as Madison's long reddish tongue flashed out of her mouth and into his.
Skip was about to grasp her broad shoulders in his muscular arms when she suddenly pushed him away. Madison studied Skip's disappointed expression grimly before her eyes darted once again toward Megan.
"Perhaps I can teach you a few techniques and holds."
Megan chuckled nervously, her face reddening for a moment before the underlying paleness once again asserted its dominance.
"I'm too much of a klutz to be a good wrestler."
"You have nice legs," Madison observed, staring irritably now at her empty wine glass. "I can teach you to do a lot with legs like yours."
As Megan squirmed rather uncomfortably, I noticed that Skip had regained his composure and was beaming now with lusty delight. I was about to ask what in particular Madison intended to teach my perky little friend when Skip addressed me in his usual flippant way.
"You'll be happy to hear that we'll be staying about as far away from Ocracoke as we can get and still be considered on the Outer Banks. I rented a house just north of Corolla, some little refuge off the beaten trail. According to the rental agent, there isn't even a paved road for the last mile or so. It's a spacious place though, ten rooms and two kitchens. A great hideaway for a nice long weekend romp."
"Remote, is it?" Madison asked, motioning to the waitress to bring her another glass of wine. "I wanted to fly to the Bahamas, until Skip explained how out of the way this place was."
"Very out of the way," Skip said, leaning into her with his eager lips, but once again coming up with little more than a mouthful of hair.
"I like remote places," Madison snapped, her dark eyes gleaming as Skip once more grimly withdrew.
We all stared at each other for a few awkward moments until Megan broke the ice by excusing herself to go to the ladies room. Without a word Madison got up and followed her, her sturdy hips swaying suggestively, her shoulders broad and imposing. When they were gone, I turned to my rebuffed colleague, who was now once more grinning from ear to ear.
"I can't wait to get on the mat with that beast," he remarked cooly. "What a hunk of femininity."
"I didn't think you went for that kind of girl," I noted quietly
Skip's eyes narrowed in a sly but congenial way.
"What kind of a girl do you mean exactly?"
I glanced at my empty plate and struggled to find a suitably descriptive term that would not give offense, or at least would give only mild offense. When I looked up, Skip was staring at me with an amused grin, as though he sensed my predicament and sympathized with it.
"Well, she does appear to be rather authoritative," I muttered.
Skip laughed and took a sip of water.
"Oh, Madison's all right. She's just a tad kinky. Aren't we all a little kinky? It's nothing to worry about."
I recalled my painful experiences with the lovely Amazons at Ocracoke.
"You might be biting off a bit more than you can chew. Maybe we should postpone this little adventure."
He slapped me on the back.
"I'm not into pain or submission, if that's what you're worried about. I just like a little excitement once in a while."
"I'm sure Madison will give you plenty of that," I agreed.
He leaned into me.
"What's with the long face? I bet your little Megan morphs into a tiger when the lights go out."
I sternly shook my head.
"Megan's a nice girl, and that's fine with me."
"To each his own," Skip replied, rubbing my shoulders with his large powerful hand.
Just then the girls returned, this time with Madison leading the way. Skip seemed eager to leave, and I was in a hurry too. I wanted a good night's sleep before tomorrow's twelve hour drive. We agreed to meet near the entrance ramp to the Interstate at five o'clock sharp. As we watched Skip and his vibrant friend recede into the darkening night, Megan turned to me with wondering eyes.
"I really like Madison. She's got a lot of gumption, and she's so beautiful. Skip's a lucky guy."
"I'm the lucky guy," I replied, heartily grasping her soft hand as we strolled along the noisy streets.
Chapter 3
Skip breezed around town in a spanking new silver Jaguar, while I drove a two year old gray Volvo. He parked in a thousand dollar a year leased spot in the top level of the parking garage attached to our building. I slid my Volvo every morning into the dirt lot across the river for two fifty a day. That was all anyone needed to know about the differences between us. But what did I care? I was doing okay, so long as I kept a firm grip on Skip's coattails. And if Skip ever got a little too cocky for his own good and stumbled in his headlong rise to the top, maybe I'd be lucky enough to sneak by him. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't counting on it. I never counted on much of anything. But I had found a decent niche at Bale and Bly, and I wasn't complaining, not too much anyway.
We met at a diner just before the on ramp. Madison was sitting in the passenger seat of Skip's Jaguar like a granite statute, all angles and stony frowns, disturbing her frosty repose only long enough to sip on a plastic cup filled with steaming black coffee. Skip had his bare elbow out the window, and his beaming grin suggested he didn't have a care in the world. He must have snuck into a tanning salon for a late night treatment, since his face displayed a deep even brown.
Skip had always claimed that a well groomed look mattered more than anything in the corporate rat race, and who was I to argue? I would have mimicked his stylish habits, if I'd just had something to work with. But I would have needed a lot more than just a tan and a fancy hair cut to make much of an impression, so I stuck with what I knew, pounding out well crafted legal documents and keeping my mouth shut. Maybe a few days at the beach would perk up my sad sack appearance and give me a rosier view of the world. It was something to hope for anyway.
Megan was beside me, shivering and cuddled up in a little ball, her teeth rattling, her eyes blinking, her cheeks pale and a little fleshy. It was about forty five degrees on that foggy June morning, a little chilly though hardly freezing, but maybe she was nervous. I couldn't believe anyone would be nervous going on a trip with some dumpy loser like me, but maybe Skip was right. Maybe I sold myself short. I wasn't worried about her though. Megan was a solid girl, solid like me. She'd snap out of it eventually.
"You lead the way," I shouted at Skip.
Skip gave me a casual salute and took off toward the open road. I was already a half mile behind him and we'd barely gotten started, but at least I knew where I was going. I had plugged the address of our beach house into my navigator the night before. I may not have been all that bright, but I was always prepared.