Chapter 8

It was late; he had worked much longer than usual chasing down a callused, habitual runaway girl who had chosen to violate her parole from the Home after two weeks, and Jack Heath was closer to nodding off to sleep than his lovely wife had suspected. Nevertheless, he welcomed the stiff bourbon-soda she concocted for him while he loosened his tie and collar, stretching out in his favorite chair in their apartment living-room.

With head resting back against the chair, he watched his lovely, long-haired wife in her wispy, negligee-covered panties and bra gather herself into one corner of the sofa, feet tucked beneath her daintily, the tiny scintillating lights in her deep blue-eyes advising him that she was bursting to tell him something. He half-grinned over at her and said:

"Okay, Carrot-top, let's hear it before you explode."

Carol couldn't help but giggle as she brushed her strawberry- blonde tresses behind her shoulders and leaned forward eagerly; in the three years of their marriage she had never been able to hide from him her natural exuberance that choice excitement aroused in her. Lord, the lovable darling could read her like a book.

"All right," she said with enthusiasm, "and brace yourself, Honey. I heard Max Keele talking to Judge McGraw on the phone today, and he mentioned the Spaxtons... something about their next meeting! So, we were right... the organization does exist and Max Keele is a member!"

"So... ? Not to belittle your information, Baby," her good- looking, tall husband replied after sipping at his drink, "but we were already fairly certain of that fact, weren't we... ?"

"Fairly certain, but not positive, Jack," she reminded him. "Now, we are!"

He nodded; she was right there, of course. Prior to this, the so-called social club was little more than a rumor... an under-the-breath tale whispered in notable circles of power and influence, with elaborate tributaries of extra-curricular, sexual activities mentioned as a potent part of the club's secret ritual... not an offensive program to either of them. Her sensual little smile was contagious, and he couldn't contain his own in response.

"What else did you accidentally hear with those shell-like ears, Mrs. Heath?" he teased, drinking from the glass again.

She pouted cutely. "Not much, I'm afraid. There's to be a meeting soon, but I don't know when or where." She bolted from the davenport and went over to drop onto her knees between his spread legs, resting her chin on her clasped hands and looking up at him. "Oh... Mr. Keele chucked me under the chin rather suggestively as he was leaving the office, and I caught him looking at my legs a half-dozen times... if either of those incidents might interest you, my ambitious husband."

"Hmmmmmmm," he mumbled, letting his brow furrow intentionally. "Flitting your bottom around the place, I suspect... trying to drum up a little attention. Well, don't think you were the only one being scrutinized. The beautiful Madam Superintendent dropped by while you were out for coffee, and I was suggestively subjected to the once-over."