Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [34]
His gaze settled on the screen. Watching the depraved acts that had been captured on film no longer nauseated him the way it once had. Over the years, he had become immune to the disgusting obscenity, the bestial perversions.
Well-endowed men and big-breasted women frolicked about at a costume ball, but their only costumes were beautiful masks covering their faces. They kissed and licked and sucked one another, their bodies entwining in an orgy of carnal acts. Two men, one wearing a devil mask and the other an intricate court jester/joker mask, laid a voluptuous black woman on the floor and while one penetrated her, the other one toyed with her silicone-enhanced tits.
The two men were Charlie Hung, a strikingly handsome man of Asian descent, and a big, rugged blond—Sonny Shag. The dark-skinned beauty, whose red sequined mask had fallen off and lay on the floor beside her, was Ebony O.
In the background the two stars danced, their bodies rubbing seductively against each other. Woody placed his hands on Dewey’s waist and lifted her high into the air, then let her slide down the front of his body until she was on her knees, his erect penis directly in front of her face.
In the background three young women—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead—held hands and danced in a circle, the long, colorful ribbons on their masks floating around their shoulders and caressing their naked breasts.
Puff Raven, the tall, elegant brunette.
Cherry Sweets, the exotically beautiful redhead.
And Candy Ruff, the sex-kitten blonde.
Their stage names were ridiculous, of course, but the suggestive pseudonyms were simply part of the fantasy. Other movies produced by the one and only Travis Dillard had starred some of these same actors, and in each film the credits had read like a who’s who of stupid suggestive names.
He had lost count of how many times he had watched Midnight Masquerade. Hundreds of times. Maybe thousands of times.
He knew the dialogue—what little there was—by heart. And he could mimic every grunt, groan, moan, and scream of delight.
He saw the women’s faces—and God help him, their naked bodies, too—in his dreams. One particular face in particular. The woman he loved. The woman he hated. The woman who had ruined his life. The woman who had made him the man he was today.
As much as Lorie appreciated being guarded by Maleah and Derek, she resented the fact that some lunatic’s actions had run her out of her own home. Whoever this guy was, she hoped the police caught him before he killed again.
For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anyone she’d ever known who might want to kill her.
She placed her suitcase at the foot of the ebonized Federal-style double bed that dominated this guest room on the second floor of Jack and Cathy’s home. Crisp, black-edged, white Schweitzer linens lent a modern elegance to a room filled with antiques. The Bijou linens were handmade in Italy from pure Egyptian cotton. Lorie and Cathy used this type of luxury linens when decorating the homes of clients who didn’t mind paying a little more for the very best. On occasion, she had personally splurged on less expensive items, things like Chanel perfume and a thirty-fifth birthday present for herself—a little white Brahman shoulder bag she had eyed at Belk department store for weeks. These were the only types of luxuries she could afford on her income. And oddly enough, the girl who had once thought fame and fortune would make her happy was perfectly content being an antique shop owner in a small town and living on a modest budget.
“Hey, there,” Maleah said as she walked up to the open door and stopped. “Sorry I had to send Derek to meet you and show you to your room. I was on the phone with Powell headquarters.” Maleah’s gaze surveyed the exquisitely decorated bedroom. “I hope this room is okay. You can take a look at the other two guest bedrooms and use either of them, if you prefer.”
“This room is fine. As a matter of fact, this is the bedroom that I helped Cathy design and decorate.”
“Is it really?” Maleah laughed. “I suppose