You might also notice I refer to the FBI as the BOI. It wasn't known as the FBI until 1935. Prior to that, it was simply known as the Bureau of Investigation.
Chapter 1: Bloodroot
Saturday June 2, 1928
It was a cool June morning, cooler in the woods where the overhead canopy prevented the sun from flooding the forest floor. Paulina Stark was dressed for the chilly temperatures in a wool Shetland sweater worn over riding breeches. The forest smelled fresh, organic, from the hard rain earlier in the week. Trees burst with leaves overnight and wild flowers were blooming.
Her horse, Lady Godiva, wasn't so enthralled by the day's scent. She was huffing and blowing through her nose as if something didn't agree with her. Her ears were perked, swiveling around in all directions, her muscles tensed as if ready to flee some unseen predator.
Paulina kept her at a canter, her hooves thumping on the spongy ground in a steady beat. The two made a beautiful pair, the horse such a pale gray she looked white and her rider a beautiful, aristocratic blonde.
They reached a small wooden bridge that crossed what was normally a small stream but was now swollen with rainwater. Lady Godiva balked and refused to cross the bridge. Paulina patted her neck to calm her, murmuring encouragement. She nudged the mare's sides with her heels and the white horse reluctantly crossed the bridge, her hooves knocking loudly on the wood boards. Once across, she resumed her canter.
The mare hadn't gone forty feet before she once again grew skittish, stopping, and sidestepping off the path as if something repulsed her. She shook her head as if gesturing to the east at something that alarmed her.
Paulina smelled it then and understood what upset the horse. The pleasant spring scent of the forest was tainted by the metallic scent of fresh blood.
From her perch atop the white mare, Paulina looked around and saw something in a bed of bloodroot flowers; the blanket of white flowers was splattered with bright red blood.
Thinking it was a dead deer, she dismounted and tied Lady Godiva's reins to a nearby bush before investigating the figure on the forest floor. The spring's first wave of flies found their quarry and buzzed noisily above the body. Waist high brush blocked her view and she couldn't see what it was. As the body came into view she gasped when she recognized the body of Graziella Romano, her throat slit, her glazed brown eyes open in surprise.
Paulina looked around, the hair on the back of her neck rose, and she had the uncanny feeling someone was watching her. She quickly made her way back to Lady Godiva and deftly mounted the temperamental mare, turning her around and urging her to hurry home.
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Sheriff Malcolm Anders looked at the body of Graziella Romano and shuddered. The investigation of her murder was going to be uglier than her bloody corpse.
Anders was elected by the full-time residents of Walworth County, people who were small town residents and farmers. They liked him because he was well educated and personable, a native son, the perfect buffer between them and the obscenely rich summertime residents of Lake Geneva. It was a job he normally conducted well, always polite and respectful towards the people who funded a big chunk of his salary but also mindful of the needs and desires of his everyday constituents. Usually the conflict between the two gave him a headache, that day he was having heart palpitations.
He directed his men to cordon off the area until the coroner arrived. The coroner was a local physician, an elderly but savvy man who performed the occasional autopsy and signed death certificates for the county. Anders was eager for Dr. Everett Egan's educated opinion on Miss Romano's untimely demise even though it was obvious she died when her throat was slit.
While he waited, he questioned Paulina Stark who proved to be a pleasant distraction. She was a couple of inches shorter than he was at five feet eight inches tall with a full figure accentuated by tan riding breeches and a colorful Shetland sweater with a peach colored background that brought out the pink in her cheeks and the blue of her eyes. She wasn't wearing a hat and her chin length honey blonde hair looked tousled, sexy, as if she just got out of bed. She had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; large, expressive, in a color that altered between pale green and sky blue. She had an accent too, Polish from what he knew about her, her voice soft, melodious and nothing like the harshness of the Slavic farmer's wives he normally encountered.
She explained how she'd been out riding her white mare, a beautiful but temperamental beast he saw back at the stable whose back was almost as high as Paulina was tall, when she came upon the body. She immediately returned to the house to call the police. He was glad she left the horse behind in the stable. Horses made him nervous.
He asked, "Did Miss Romano normally venture onto your property?"
The dead woman's family owned Paradiso, Italian for paradise, the name of the vast estate next door. Angelo Romano had the house built and it was finished three years ago. More of a castle than a house with turrets and a pond that resembled a moat complete with a wooden bridge that resembled a drawbridge leading to the massive front door.
Angelo Romano was a block of a man, thick dark hair, darker eyes, who could be more imposing than Paulina Stark's white mare. He reigned over his estate with an iron fist and was famous for his volatile arguments with party guests, his family, and his staff. But he was a generous man, gregarious when his temper didn't flare, with a fun loving personality. People who remained loyal to him were handsomely rewarded. Sheriff Anders tended to turn a blind eye towards the mercurial Sicilian. Romano was suspected of being mixed up in Chicago's Mafia gangs, the source of his vast wealth a mystery, and Anders didn't want to cross him.
Paulina looked back towards the body and said, "I was teaching her to ride. It was supposed to be a surprise. She wanted to learn because a man she was seeing loved horses. I didn't know she was staying at Paradiso this weekend so we had no plans to ride today. She might have decided to walk over to the house to visit, we'd become friends of sorts. Otherwise she might have wandered onto my property while hiking through the woods. People tend to venture onto each other's land when there are no fences to block the way." She looked back at him with those intense blue-green eyes and repeated, "I wasn't even aware the family was currently staying at Paradiso."
Anders always kept his ear firmly planted to the proverbial ground and normally knew the comings and goings of area residents including the area's wealthy vacationers. The Romanos were not at their country estate that week and he heard nothing about Graziella's visit.
He smiled at Paulina and said, "It comes as a surprise to me too."
He heard Doc Egan stomping through the forest, complaining about flora and fauna as he made his way towards them. He reminded Anders of the late President Teddy Roosevelt with his short, stubby stature, bristly mustache, and wire rimmed glasses. He even had the same demanding voice of the late President, his words clipped and authoritative.
The Doc took off his fedora and beat it against his leg as he asked Anders, "So where is the body?"
He suddenly noticed Paulina and bowed apologetically. "Mrs. Stark, I wish we were meeting under much more pleasant circumstances." He shook her hand as he asked, "You found the body?"
Paulina smiled wanly at the irascible physician and said, "Yes, Doctor. I was out for a ride and smelled the blood before I saw her body. She couldn't have been dead long because it was still bright red."
Egan gruffly acknowledged, "Astute observation, Mrs. Stark. Now if you will pardon me, I need to see to the recently departed." He tipped his hat at Paulina and grabbed Anders' arm, pulling him along towards the body.
Sheriff Anders turned back when he heard Paulina ask, "May I return to the house, Sheriff? I will continue to be available for any further inquiries."
He smiled at her and made a shooing gesture for her to leave as he said, "Go ahead, Mrs. Stark. If I need any further information, I will come to the house."
She nodded at him as she said, "Thank you, Sheriff."
When she was out of earshot, Dr. Egan said, "She is one fine looking woman, isn't she? Well worth old man Stark's efforts to find a bride overseas. Lovely lass who looks as enticing going as she does coming."
Sheriff Anders blushed causing Dr. Egan to break out in a roaring fit of laughter.
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Angelo Romano was lying on his back with one hooker giving him an expert blow job and the other straddling his face. The blonde was tasty, her pussy sweet and juicy. She was moaning and groaning as she rode his face like a jockey on a thoroughbred, the bed creaking and moaning right along with her.
The brunette was doing wicked things with her lips and tongue. Her right hand firmly gripped his fat cock and her red lips were tightly wrapped around it. The multiple glasses of champagne must have lubricated her pretty mouth because she kept his cock drenched with her saliva as she enthusiastically sucked and licked it.
He was at his "love nest" in the newly built St. Clair Hotel in downtown Chicago, a posh penthouse rented specifically for entertaining his ladies and conducting occasional legitimate business. The two ladies servicing him were from his stable of well paid beauties.
The blonde came with a shriek and he hoped the floor of the apartment was as soundproof as promised. She continued riding his face as her shriek dwindled down to breathless moans. When he nipped at her sensitive little rosebud, she yipped and lifted herself off his face.
He pushed her aside and watched the brunette's head bob rhythmically over his dick. She wore an emerald green sequined head band with a peacock feather that bobbed and weaved as her mouth stroked his cock, occasionally tickling his belly and thighs. Her generous tits were hanging like pendulums and jiggled and swayed as she worked on his dick, her blue and green crystal necklace glittered in the light of a nearby lamp. He could feel her hard nipples brush against his thighs.
He sat up and grabbed the sides of her head, gripping her firmly as he forced her to take his cock deep in her throat until she gagged. He felt her fight him, pushing back with her head but he proved too strong for her and he forced his cock down her throat again. As she choked, her throat contracted around the head of his dick and her saliva soaked its entire length.
With a chuckle, he let go of her head and she went back to swiveling and bobbing over his dick. With her free hand she cupped his balls and massaged them, rubbing and gently squeezing them until he was ready to burst.
He leaned over to grab his cigar out of the ashtray next to the bed and lit it. He puffed on it as he felt the heat ignite in his cock and balls and spread like a puddle of lit gasoline through his crotch, legs, torso and work its way to his head. With a grunt he warned the brunette that he was going to cum and smiled when she continued sucking. With a growl he shot his sperm down her throat and gulped when she sucked and swallowed all he had to give.
When she was finished, she lifted her head to look at him after giving the head of his cock one last lick. She smiled, a drop of his cum balanced on her lower lip, and he tenderly patted her cheek and told her she was fabulous. Then he slapped the ass of the blonde next to him and said he hoped she enjoyed his tongue. The two women giggled and he told them to go bathe.
He was feeling sleepy, sated, as he smoked the rest of his cigar. His momentary feeling of euphoria soon ended with a frantic knock on the penthouse door. He got up, grumbling under his breath at being interrupted as he put on his robe and went to answer the door. The two hookers were using the guest bath and he could hear them giggling, the bath water running.
He opened the door to find Constantine, his right-hand man. He looked upset and worried, his hat being turned like a wheel in his hands. Angelo let him into the apartment and growled, "This better be good."
Constantine was a big man, a human gorilla, with a bald bullet shaped head, no neck, broad shoulders and muscular arms as thick as tree limbs. He was still fiddling with his hat as he cleared his throat. When he looked at Angelo there were tears in the big man's dark brown eyes. He said, "I have some very bad news, Boss."
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It was late afternoon and Dr. Egan had a bottle of forty-five proof "medicine" in his desk drawer. He pulled it out and took a quick nip before confronting Angelo Romano. He got a call from Sheriff Anders about ten minutes earlier warning him the angry Sicilian was on his way to the morgue.
Egan hadn't conducted an autopsy yet but he did do a preliminary examination of Graziella's body, washing it in the process. Her neck was slit, cut from right to left from behind, meaning the killer was probably right handed or ambidextrous. Egan was able to clean the wound and gently washed the girl's beautiful face in preparation for her family's visit. There were no defensive wounds or other wounds that would indicate the young woman was assaulted or held captive.
He was tempted to take another dose of his "medicine" when he heard Romano's voice booming in the outer office. The man's voice was always turned to full volume when he was upset and angry and today he was probably both. Not a good sign.
Egan could hear his nurse, Greta Schmidt, a normally intimidating woman of significant bulk attempt to hold back Angelo from the back rooms but the broad and dangerous man was having none of it. Egan stood up, slipped a peppermint candy in his mouth to mask the scent of his "medicine", and met Romano at his office door.
He held out his hand and said, "Mr. Romano, thank you for coming. I am so sorry for your loss."
He had to give the fuming Mafioso credit; the man firmly shook his hand and quieted down. He said, "I'm hoping this is a case of mistaken identity and I have lost nothing."
Egan gestured for Romano to follow him as he led the way back to the room where Graziella's body was being kept.
She was laid out on a stainless steel table, a pristine white sheet covering her entire body, her head propped up on a contoured block of wood. Dr. Egan pulled back the sheet just far enough to cover the slit across her throat along with her nakedness. She looked horribly young and fragile, her dark hair still damp and her chin length bob sleekly framing her face.
A mammoth size man followed behind Romano. Dressed in a gray suit that had to be custom made, he was surprisingly quiet despite his massive size. He said nothing as he followed Romano into the room. Romano stopped short as soon as he saw his daughter's body and the big goon behind him nearly collided with him.
Romano started to moan as he approached his daughter's body. He tenderly caressed the girl's cold cheeks, pushing back her coal black hair. Speaking to the corpse, he said, "Graziella, what did you get yourself into my child? Who could possibly do this to you?"
He lifted the sheet to look beneath it and cringed when he saw the ugly slit across her throat. The Doc figured he'd seen worse and probably doled out worse himself. Romano put the sheet back down and turned to the Doctor, his eyes ablaze with fury.
"Why is she naked? Why did you have to see her naked when she is dead? It is evident that she was killed when her throat was slit. There was no need to undress her."
Dr. Egan sighed. "Trust me, it isn't an issue of me wanting to see her naked. It is the furthest thing from my mind when I am tending to a patient - dead or alive. I wanted to make sure there were no other injuries that could provide a clue about what happened to her. Were their ligature marks? Was she beaten? Did she fight back? All these things had to be determined. I treated her as gently and respectfully as I would my own daughter, sir."
Romano turned back to the body and started to quietly cry. Egan looked at the big goon who stood helplessly by with tears in his eyes. Egan approached Romano and without touching him said, "I will release her body tomorrow so you can arrange for the burial. Have the funeral director contact me at my office here and I'll coordinate her transportation with him."
Egan hated to see grown men cry especially tough sons of bitches like Romano. It was sad and disquieting, as if the formidable man fell apart like Humpty Dumpty. He waited patiently for the fireplug of a man to work the initial grief out of his system.
Romano pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his eyes and blew his nose. He gazed sadly at his dead daughter then turned to leave, nodding his head at the Doctor before joining the gorilla at the door. The two men were silent as they left the building.
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Concetta Romano waited for her husband to return to Paradiso. Sheriff's deputies were searching their daughter's room, digging through her things, an act she found obscene. It was like her daughter was being assaulted all over again. They started the search after they questioned her and the staff.
She nervously twisted a lace trimmed handkerchief in her hands. Angelo told her it was possible the body they found was not Graziella's but someone who resembled her. He volunteered to view the body to confirm whether it was their daughter or not. She knew it was Graziella but she didn't object to her husband's state of denial. He could never deny their only daughter anything even death. She braced herself because she knew he'd find some way to blame her for their daughter's murder.
Concetta had no idea why Graziella arrived at their summer home on Thursday morning. The staff said she arrived on Thursday at close to noon, spent the afternoon away from the home, telling staff she was meeting a friend, and returned to Paradiso in good spirits. After her return, she ate a wholesome dinner in her room and soon fell asleep.
The next morning she woke up early and said she was going for a walk before breakfast. She was dressed casually in boots for hiking, a pleated skirt, and sweater. The cook saw her walk across the lawn towards the woods.
She didn't return after an hour and then two. The staff confessed to not keeping track of time and weren't alarmed by Graziella's absence. The house staff thought she might have gone to Paulina Stark's estate for a visit. They said she spent a great deal of time there the previous summer and fall.
It was late morning when they got word in Chicago that their daughter was found dead on Paulina Stark's property. Angelo rushed home, picked Concetta up, and his driver brought them to Lake Geneva where she nervously paced the music room's Persian rug, watching out the windows for her husband's car. It was the best room to view a car entering their driveway. Every so often she'd stop and stare out the window, unsure whether she wanted her husband to return or not.
Her husband would be livid over the presence of the sheriff's deputies. He hated any form of law enforcement, not surprising considering the lawless life he led. He would undoubtedly fret over the deputies finding some incriminating evidence to use against him even though there was nothing at their country estate connected with his work.
Concetta was a tall, willowy woman, an older version of her dead daughter. Unlike her daughter's sleek chin length bob, her hair was chin length but a cascade of dark waves, parted slightly off center. Like her daughter she had what her mother referred to as gypsy eyes: slanted upward, almond shaped, a dark brown that was nearly black. Her daughter wore eye makeup that accentuated her eyes, making her look like the famous Egyptian boy king Tutankhamun's sarcophagus. Where her daughter looked exotic and sultry, Concetta had a natural regal beauty, the profile visage often seen on coins.
She reluctantly married Angelo Romano when she was little more than a child. Their families knew one another in Sicily and since her family was destitute, Angelo essentially bought her hand in marriage. He was a dozen years older than her, a made-man when they married. She bore him two children, Graziella who was twenty years old and an older boy Marco, who lived in Massachusetts and attended Harvard University. As soon as she received the news about Graziella, she contacted Marco and he was on a train to Chicago set to arrive the following afternoon. Angelo arranged for a driver to pick him up at the train station and bring him to the country estate.
Concetta hated the country home. It was vast, cold, and lonely. The lake filled the view out of the windows at the back of the house. The front overlooked the drive with a long rectangular pond that resembled a moat. A wooden bridge crossed over to the circular driveway that wound around an oval shaped garden with a massive fountain at its center. A cavernous entryway separated the front from the back of the house. The house was beautifully furnished, the style posh and stately, but it wasn't like her lovely and familiar home in Chicago where she was surrounded by friends. Nobody cared to visit the country estate until the warm summer months when they could play croquet, golf at a nearby course, or go boating on the lake. Her children loved it. They took to the water like lobsters and enjoyed sailing and boating, swimming, and the latest craze water skiing. They both enjoyed spending the entire summer at the country estate.
Concetta had no interest in water sports. She got seasick on boats smaller than a yacht. The only time she spent on Lake Geneva was aboard a steam engine paddle boat used for a party hosted by P.K. Wrigley and his wife. She hated it.
She started pacing again, the handkerchief still in her hands now a wrinkled mess and moist with sweat. She scrunched it tighter in her grip when she saw her husband's black Duisenberg drive through the gates to their estate.
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When Angelo Romano entered a room, an electrical-like current followed that left the room charged with tension and apprehension. That afternoon was no different. He pushed into the house and immediately yelled for Concetta. She sighed. Her husband was loud, obnoxious, and uncouth. She hurried out of the music room into the foyer.
All she could manage was a whispered, "Was it her?"
"I'm sorry to say it was Graziella. The funeral home will be able to pick her up tomorrow. I have the physician's business card. The funeral director can contact him about her transport."
There was no touching, no hugs, not even reassuring murmurings. The married couple stood a few feet apart seemingly at a loss as to how to respond. Their lack of intimacy and a bond of shared grief was representative of their loveless marriage.
Concetta finally pleaded, "Please, Angelo, don't do anything rash but sheriff's deputies are here looking at Graziella's room to see if there is anything indicating who she planned to meet here and why."
She took a step back when she saw the flash of anger in his dark brown eyes.
"They are upstairs? Now?"
Her hand clutched at her throat as she said, "Yes."
Angelo charged up the grand staircase like an angry bull elephant.
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Sheriff Anders stood in the doorway to Graziella's bedroom. He could fit half his house inside the suite of rooms. Everything was done in cream, pale pink, and gold. Plenty of gilt furnishings, a gold plated toiletry set on the dresser, gold picture frames. Massive windows looked out on the lake; its deep blue surface sparkled merrily in the dimming light of the late afternoon sun.
His two deputies found nothing of value. No note. No diary. Nothing to indicate who she planned to meet upon her arrival at the country home. The only hint of any evidence was a photograph of her with her arm around a handsome polo player who looked more in love with his horse. Anders assumed this was the man she was interested in and wanted to impress by learning to ride. He wondered what Angelo thought of his daughter's choice in beaus. He'd wager her father didn't approve.
As if on cue, he heard someone storming up the stairs and soon after a booming voice cried out, "Sheriff Anders? Are you here?"
He stepped out into the hallway as he gestured for his deputies to leave the room. Hearing the angry Sicilian, they beat a hasty retreat, squirming past the raging patriarch.
Angelo stood close to Anders, his protruding belly nearly bouncing off Anders' own. Anders stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.
Angelo fumed, "What were you doing in my daughter's room?"
Anders calmly replied, "Looking for clues. I am trying to determine why she came to your country home and if she planned to meet someone here. A note, a diary entry, something that could help us find the person she met here. Your staff and your wife have no idea. They didn't see her with anyone or know of her reason for coming here. The butler and housekeeper said she met someone yesterday afternoon for a few hours but they have no idea who it was. What about you? Do you have any idea?"
Angelo pushed past him into his daughter's room and looked around. Anders' men had been careful to keep things neat, putting everything back in its place. There were no open drawers or scattered possessions. The room looked like it did before their arrival.
Angelo must have approved of the room's condition because he quickly calmed down and sat down on one of four armchairs arranged in front of the fireplace. His body slumped as if in defeat as he said, "I have no idea why she came here. When I saw her two days ago she was happy, giddy, her face glowing. She acted more cheerful than usual, bouncing around like a girl awaiting Christmas."
Anders stepped close to Angelo and held up the photo of the polo player and asked, "Who is this fellow?"
Angelo reached out for the photo frame and held it in his large hands. His voice angry but constrained, he said, "This is Felipe Justo, an Argentine polo player my daughter was infatuated with. He is one of the best polo players in the world. He was in the 1924 Olympics in Paris where his team won the gold medal. She met him when she went with some friends to the Oak Brook Polo Club last summer. He was simply a silly crush. They weren't officially courting." Angelo's attitude was an odd combination of pride and disgust.
Anders quietly asked, "Were there any other young men she might have met here? Or girlfriends?"
Angelo set the photo face down on the coffee table, dismissing the polo player as he said, "If she was here to meet with a girlfriend, the friend would still be here. No woman would cut another woman's throat like that. I don't know any young man she could have met here. The staff would know if anyone was staying in the house. As far as I know she didn't intend to meet anyone who has a home here. Her good friends are in Illinois."
Anders asked, "Did she know Mrs. Stark next door?" He was remembering the rumors that spread like wild fire when Oscar Stark died unexpectedly a few years ago. People were certain Paulina poisoned him. Oscar was sixty-two years old when he died and it was ruled a heart attack. There was no sign of poison in his system but that didn't stop the rumormongers. Stark was rumored to be a vile tyrant giving his wife an ideal motive for killing him.
Angelo shook his head as if to clear out cobwebs as he said, "No. Paulina Stark keeps to herself. She will say hello but she isn't overly friendly. No, Graziella was not close to her."
He looked up at Anders, that angry spark back in his eyes. "She found Graziella's body, right? You don't think she killed her, do you?"
Anders shook his head thinking so much for his no woman theory and held up his hands as if to ward of Angelo's words. "No, not at all. I don't suspect her of a thing except as a witness. I just wondered if she might know why your daughter was here and if she maybe saw your daughter with someone if they were friends." He kept the fact that Paulina Stark was teaching Graziella to ride to himself.
Angelo's bulk deflated once again like a pricked balloon. He said, "Yes, yes, of course. I can't imagine her committing such a heinous crime. She is too quiet, reserved, a true lady. I never saw her get angry even when her horses misbehave while she is out riding."
Anders ventured a few steps closer to Angelo as he said, "We are done here. I apologize for the intrusion. I just want to find the person who did this and bring them to justice. I will leave no stone unturned in that attempt, even if it may upset or anger you."
Angelo stood up as he said, "I appreciate it, Sheriff. If I learn anything about my daughter, I will phone you."
Anders turned his hat nervously in his hands as he said, "Again, I am so sorry for your loss. Please call my office if there is anything we can do to alleviate your grief."
Angelo made a sweeping gesture, dismissing the Sheriff as he said, "Yes, yes. I appreciate your concern. Now leave my family alone to grieve."
Anders didn't need a boot in the ass to know he wasn't wanted so he turned and quickly left the room.
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It was after dinner when Natalia heard the doorbell, which was nearly drowned out by Paulina Stark playing Chopin's Polonaise on the piano. She hurried to answer it, wiping her hands on her apron before opening the door. Sheriff Anders stood on the front step.
Paulina must not have heard the doorbell ring because she continued playing. Natalia asked the Sheriff to remain in the hall as she went to notify her mistress of his arrival.
She hesitated as she entered the music room. She listened to the music for a while, slightly swaying to its rhythm. Her mistress played so well she hated to interrupt her in the middle of the classical piece but the Sheriff was waiting. She called out loud enough to be heard above the piano. "Madame? I am so sorry to interrupt but Sheriff Anders is here. Where would you like to see him?"
Paulina stopped playing and turned on the piano bench to face Natalia. She said, "Bring him here and bring us some coffee and those little pastries you made this morning."
Natalia gave her a little bow as she said, "Yes, Madame."
Paulina stood up to greet the Sheriff as Natalia showed him into the room. The music room was an intimate space, the bulk of its space taken up by the grand piano nestled in the bay windows overlooking the surrounding forest with a small stretch of the lake visible to the west. A comfortable sitting area faced a large marble fireplace. The room's colors were warm: dusky rose, gold, olive green, and pale cream. The furnishings were opulent without being pretentious in floral prints, velvet, turned cherry wood, and marble. It was definitely a woman's room.
She invited the Sheriff to sit and he sat on the edge of the sofa covered in big cabbage rose flowers of dusty pink on a gold background while Paulina sat across from him in a gold armchair. She heard Natalia's approach with the service cart carrying the coffee and pastries and said, "Here are some refreshments."
She dismissed her housekeeper and poured coffee for her and the Sheriff. He admired the dainty way she handled the silver pot as she filled the delicate cups. He helped himself to what looked like apple and cherry strudel cut into bite size pieces. She asked if he took cream and sugar and he said, "No, I prefer it black."
He asked, "How well did you know Graziella Romano?" He pronounced her name Grot-zee-ella.
"Only slightly. I started to teach her to ride late last summer and early fall. She'd come by almost daily in the morning for her lesson. She was doing very well but she was worried she'd forget over the winter months. We resumed our lessons in April, one weekend when it wasn't so wet."
"She often talked fondly of a young man, a polo player she met at the Oak Brook Polo Club when he was playing with one of the teams there. Their relationship sounded serious and she wanted to learn to ride for his sake. He was foreign, Spanish speaking but spoke fluent English. He was from South America but I don't recall the country. She said he won a gold medal in the last Olympics. That much I remember."
"Sometimes she brought up her father. I got the impression he spoiled her badly and she never wanted for anything. But he was strict with her, demanding to know where she was going and who would accompany her. It was difficult for her to keep our riding lessons secret. She often told the family she was going hiking in the woods when she really came here for her riding lesson."
"I know her and her family well enough to say hello. We attend the same church when they are here and I attended some events at their estate but we never spoke at length."
He looked up at her as he reached for another pastry and asked, "How would you describe your relationship with Miss Romano? Were you friends or strictly instructor and student?"
Paulina sat back in her chair, the saucer of her coffee cup in one hand as she raised the cup to her lips. She took a sip and set it back on the saucer and then set it down on the table next to her chair.
"We were friends but not close. Acquaintances might be a better word. Like I said, she talked about personal matters, probably more to pass the time than to nurture any sort of friendship between us. I tended to let her do all the talking, not divulging too much about myself. I viewed our relationship as more instructor/student than close friends."
Anders watched her as she took a delicate bite of one of the pastries. She moved gracefully, each movement like a ballet, her fingers long, her hands elegant. She was beautiful, her appearance quite different from how she looked earlier that day when she discovered Graziella's body. That evening she wore a comely yellow flowered frock made of some filmy fabric that fluttered around her as she moved. She wasn't shapeless like so many of the modern girls he encountered on the wealthy estates; she had a full, ripe figure that was concealed by the shapeless dress. Her body was better suited to the corsets of his youth when hourglass figures were all the rage. Now her honey blonde hair was neatly arranged in natural waves, her blue-green eyes still as riveting.
"Did you notice anyone in the woods while you were out riding?"
"No but then they could have escaped towards the water or taken another path that leads to the Taylor estate to the south and I would have never seen them. I did feel like someone was watching me but it might have been my imagination. I didn't see anyone."
"Any idea why Miss Romano would be in the woods at that time of day? Did she call to let you know she planned to visit?"
"No phone call. She probably went for a walk for the same reason I was out riding. It was a beautiful day, the birds were twittering, flowers were blooming, the ground wasn't wet. It was as if Mother Nature announced spring's official arrival. She might have been out for a nature stroll or she might have decided to stop by here to discuss her coming riding lessons."
"Did she often just drop by without calling first?"
Paulina smiled sadly as she answered, "The riding lessons were a surprise and she was afraid the servants would tell her parents if they overheard her on the phone. Sometimes she drove over here but most of the time she walked here through the woods. It is the shortest path."
He swallowed another one of the delicious pastries and took a sip of coffee before asking, "Who do you think killed her?"
Paulina sighed. "I can't even fathom a guess. I can't imagine anyone around here committing such a heinous crime."
Anders raised a skeptical eyebrow and said, "Not even Angelo Romano?"
She looked shocked as she said, "No! He would never harm his own daughter. He doted on her from what I could see."
Before he could ask another question, she held up the coffeepot and asked, "More coffee, Sheriff?"
He pushed his cup towards her in response and she refilled it. He took a sip and savored what was undoubtedly an expensive blend. Such moments were one of the rare perks of his job.
He asked, "What about one of Romano's associates? You know the big thugs who seem to surround him. Have you seen any of them around in the past few days?"
"The only people I have seen around the Romano estate are the usual staff. I've seen people mowing the lawn, cleaning windows, and working down by the boathouse. I haven't seen any suspicious characters around the estate."
He drank the last of his coffee and stood up. "Thank you, Mrs. Stark, for your assistance and hospitality." He wiped his right hand on a linen napkin and held his hand out for her to shake.
She shook his hand and then led him towards the front door. She said, "I am sorry I couldn't be of more help. I feel awful about Miss Romano's death and wish I had more to tell you."
"Do you mind if I question your staff tomorrow morning? They might have seen someone wandering around the area."
She smiled at him and said, "Certainly. I will have Natalia round up the staff for you when you arrive. You are free to use my study to question them."
She followed him to the front door and watched as he got in his car and pulled away. She didn't retreat back into the house until he rounded a curve in the driveway and lost sight of her.
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Sunday June 3, 1928
Sheriff Anders arrived at the Evergreen estate to question Paulina Stark's staff. He saw the gardener working in the front garden as he parked in front of the door and he could see Paulina talking to what he assumed was the groom outside the stable north of the house. He rang the bell and a plain looking maid answered the door.
He told her he was there to question the staff and she led him down the hall to a room off the kitchen. It was small in comparison to the others, utilitarian, neatly kept with no stray papers on the large oak desk or file cabinets. Two wooden armchairs faced the desk nearest to the door. The space was softened by pots of flowering plants and vases of wild flowers on the window sills and atop the desk.
The maid must have fetched Paulina because she swept into the room, her sweet orange blossom scented perfume following in her wake. She was dressed in tan loose-fitting pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Despite the very casual attire, she still managed to give off a distinguished air. She shook his hand and then left the room to have the housekeeper gather the employees.
He questioned the staff for nearly an hour. There weren't many: two indoor women, the groom, and the gardener. It was the exterior staff's day off but they reported to work just to be questioned. The gardener said he heard a motor boat on the lake the morning Graziella was killed but he didn't see it. He said, "I don't even know if it is related to her murder. It was probably just someone out fishing or boating."
As Anders left the house he heard Paulina playing Beethoven's somber Moonlight Sonata.
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Bureau of Investigation (BOI) Special Agent Mitchell "Mitch" Monroe had just entered the office when he heard the news of Graziella Romano's murder. The news shocked him. His team had the Romano family under surveillance, concentrating their efforts on Papa Romano, and he noticed Graziella seemed happy, cheerful the last few days of her life. His men were aware that she left Chicago and one car followed her to the country estate in Lake Geneva but they left knowing there wasn't anything incriminating at the Romano country home and their true target - Papa Romano - remained back home.
Mitch felt like there was a lead weight in his stomach as he thought how his men could have probably prevented her murder if they had stuck with her. She wasn't of great interest to them so they were lax in their surveillance of her and her mother. They only kept tabs on the Romano women because of their association with Angelo.
Mitch knew Graziella was involved with a number of men since she turned eighteen two years ago. They ranged from polo player Felipe Justo to an attorney at the Thompson Law Firm old enough to be her father. She was a wild, uninhibited creature, beautiful and spoiled. He had firsthand knowledge of her illicit affairs with men, even possessing photos of her taken by his men showing her in compromising positions with her lovers. He wasn't surprised she ended up dead but he was surprised it was done so quietly, insidiously. He pictured her being shot or strangled in the heat of anger. The culprit could be one of her many beaus, men who were jealous or upset because she spurned them or possibly pressured them to marry. Or it could be one of her father's many enemies from business rivals to people he crossed over the years. The suspect pool was about half of the population of Chicago.
He asked one of his men to find out who was investigating the Graziella Romano murder. He wanted in on it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~
Doc Egan was sitting in Sheriff Anders' office smoking one of his Cuban cigars when Anders returned from the Stark residence. A deputy manning the front desk told him of Doc's arrival and he hurried back to his office, eager to find out what the Romano autopsy revealed.
He walked through the open office door and closed it behind him as said, "Doc, tell me you have something I can use in this investigation because I'm not getting anywhere." He sat down behind his desk and tossed his hat onto a nearby file cabinet.
"I found something very interesting but I'm not sure how much help it will be."
Anders made a rolling gesture with his hand to encourage Doc Egan to spill it.
"She was pregnant. I'd say close to twenty weeks. She was barely showing and with today's fashions, she probably hid it well. If nobody suspected, they'd just think she gained some excess weight."
Anders was counting on his fingers and Egan said, "She would have gotten pregnant right around the New Year. Any idea who the father could be? Because he'd be a prime suspect."
Anders groaned and closed his eyes as he massaged his temples. "The only guy I know of is a professional Argentine polo player from a photo she had with her. I've got someone trying to find out if he is in the country right now. If not, he'll be ticked off the suspect list."
Egan asked, "Are you going to tell her father? I'm sure that'll go over like a fart in church."
Now Anders pinched the top of his nose to stave off the headache that was pressing against his skull.
"I'll have to otherwise I won't get much information on the men she was involved with prior to her death. My main concern is Romano taking matters into his own hands and a dozen men in Chicago ending up dead."
"Have you thought of getting the Bureau involved? They'd love to delve into anything related to the Romanos and the headache would be out of your hands. Seems plausible because she lived in Illinois and was found dead here, multi-state jurisdiction. They could question people in both places more easily than you."
Anders sighed. "That's a thought. I'd love nothing more than to hand this mess over to the feds."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~
Monday, June 4, 1928
BOI Special Agent Mitch Monroe called an elated Sheriff Anders and arranged to meet him at 10:00 a.m. that morning. The Sheriff told him the funeral home handling Miss Romano's funeral was picking up her body at 2:00 p.m. He hurried out of the office so he could get to Elkhorn before her body was released. He wanted to look at it firsthand.
Elkhorn, Wisconsin was about ten miles northwest of Lake Geneva and was the Walworth County seat. It was a typical small town with a main street flanked by brick businesses built in the late 1800s.
He arrived at the Sheriff's office at 9:45 and was seated on a bench in the lobby to wait. The Sheriff's office and county jail were inside a two story stone building near the intersection of Walworth Street, the town's main street, and Church Street so named after St. Patrick's Catholic Church.
Sheriff Anders entered the lobby and Mitch was a little surprised at his appearance. He expected someone more suave after speaking to him over the phone. Talking to him on the phone the man seemed educated, a bit refined, not a typical small town sheriff. The man in front of him was the epitome of the small town sheriff - average height, portly with a belly that bulged over his belt, with thinning gray hair and a bulbous nose. But his voice was as deep and resonant as it was over the phone.
"Agent Monroe." He held out his hand, the fingers thick as sausages, and Mitch shook it.
"Let's go back to my office to talk. I told Doc Egan you wanted to view the body so he is waiting for us at morgue where the body is being kept."
Mitch sat down in one of the two chairs across from the Sheriff's massive oak desk. The room was painted olive green with glowing hardwood floors. Wooden file cabinets lined one wall and a brown leather sofa was pushed against the opposite wall. The Sheriff's office looked out on Church Street and the stately homes across the road. There were no personal effects present, no photos of loved ones, or photos with influential or famous people.
Mitch said, "I imagine you'd like to be rid of the Graziella Romano murder case. The suspects could be from anywhere and you undoubtedly are limited in the scope of investigation outside your county. I thought I'd do you a favor by taking over the case but keeping you apprised of our progress. We are capable of questioning people in both states and beyond if need be."
Sheriff Anders crossed his hands over his substantial belly as he leaned back in his desk chair. The chair squeaked in protest.
"I appreciate the BOI's help in this matter. You are correct. I would have a difficult time questioning people in Illinois. It is possible the killer lives nearby but I tend to suspect someone in her father's orbit or possibly some young man she was seeing. You see, Agent Monroe, Miss Romano was about twenty weeks pregnant. It is quite possible the baby's father is the killer."
Mitch got out his notebook and started taking notes. He knew there would be written reports but they might not contain all the information he needed.
He asked, "Did anyone see her with someone just prior to her death? I understand she was staying at the family's summer estate in Lake Geneva."
"That's correct. She arrived at her family's vacation home on Thursday close to noon. The staff was unaware of her visit so her arrival was a big surprise. She came alone and nobody came to the house to visit her. She left for a few hours after her arrival to see someone according to the staff. They estimated that she was gone for about four hours. They had no idea who she was seeing or where she went. So far I have been unable to find anyone who saw her that afternoon."
"Have her parents speculated about their daughter's killer?"
"I found a photo of her with a handsome Argentine polo player. She looked pretty smitten with him but her father insisted it was an irrelevant infatuation and they weren't dating. I didn't want to point out to him that she brought the photo with her or kept it there so it must have held some sentimental value. He dismissed him."
Mitch looked up from his note taking to ask, "Do you know the polo player's name?"
Anders looked through his own notes and said, "Felipe Justo." He spelled the name. "Lives in Buenos Aires. I guess he sometimes plays at the Oak Brook Polo Club in Illinois. I was unable to find out if he was in the country at the time of her death or not. Hopefully that is something you can pursue."
Mitch looked at his watch and said, "Should we go see the body? Then I'd like to see where the body was found."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~
Mitch was able to examine the body and take notes about his own observations as well as those of the county coroner Dr. Everett Egan. He found he liked the man, considered him to be quite thorough and efficient.
He felt sick looking at the lovely Graziella Romano's body. She was a gorgeous, vivacious woman. Seeing her lifeless was like viewing a wax statue of the bigger-than-life beauty.
Afterwards he accompanied Sheriff Anders to the estate where Graziella Romano's body was found.
Mitch had been to Lake Geneva once before. He concentrated his supervisory efforts in Chicago where Angelo Romano ran his shady business. But he did meet some agents for lunch the previous fall for a progress report on the Romano family but he never saw Paradiso, the name of the Romano estate, in person. He was shocked by the grandeur of the lakeside estates. As they drove by he was able to get a glimpse of the Romano estate. The place looked like a castle with the lake glistening behind it. It was like a scene off of a European postcard.
Anders pulled into the driveway of Evergreen, the Stark Steel estate. The driveway wound like a snake through a tunnel of trees that flanked its edges, the house invisible from their vantage point.
Mitch did some research on the Stark family prior to the day's visit to Lake Geneva. Oscar Stark owned Stark Steel Foundry and Casting Company in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The company was founded by Oscar in 1907 when he was forty-four years old. He was married at the time to his first wife with four children. Within five years he and his family were living in a large mansion on Milwaukee's Lake Michigan lakefront. His wife died in 1916 and his children were all grown, leaving him alone in the massive home. In 1919 he married Polish immigrant Apolonia Zawisza who later became known as Paulina Stark. She was eighteen years old at the time while Stark was fifty-six.
He was unable to find more than a few mentions of her in the society papers. He asked Anders about her on the way to the murder scene.
"She's a lovely lady, quite refined and educated, who keeps to herself. She never remarried and never had any children of her own. Rumor has it her husband was an abusive brute and there were even mumblings that she killed him. The man died unexpectedly of a heart attack a few years ago and there was no foul play. She speaks five languages - Polish, English, French, Italian, and German. She is quite the equestrian with a stable of prized horses. She plays the piano along with a mean game of golf or so I've been told. She is also Catholic, attending St. Francis de Sales Church in Lake Geneva every Sunday."
Mitch said, "Interesting. I did some background on her husband but couldn't find much on her."
"She was considerably younger than Oscar. In fact, some of his children are older than her. It is my understanding her once wealthy Polish family was devastated by the war and Oscar essentially bought her from her family. After their marriage, he insisted she refer to herself as the Americanized Paulina rather than the Polish Apolonia."
"Is she bitter?"
"No, not at all and Oscar's children didn't begrudge her the Evergreen estate. They figured she earned it for putting up with their tyrannical father for the six years or so of their marriage. The eldest son got the mansion in Milwaukee along with the business. Mrs. Stark keeps an apartment in the Cudahy Towers there for when she visits Milwaukee. She is supposed to have a younger sister who lives there and is married to a doctor."
Mitch saw the house come into view after they rounded a curve in the driveway and was surprised. It was a granite mansion that looked like it was transplanted from some lordship's estate in the English countryside, impressive but nothing like the Romano's neighboring estate. It was surrounded by an extensive formal English garden and thick woodland. Off to the side was a granite outbuilding that he assumed was the stable. Another matching building stood off on the opposite side of the house, its purpose indiscernible. A garage was built perpendicular to the house.
A tall woman wearing dungarees, a light blue long sleeve man's shirt, and a big floppy straw hat was talking to the gardener in the front garden. She was pointing at an area and the two seemed engrossed in conversation, so much so they didn't notice the Sheriff's car round the circular drive and park in front of the house. It wasn't until they got out of the car and slammed the doors shut that she looked towards them, a look of surprise on her face. She hurried towards them, her movements elegant as the legs of her pants flapped back to reveal an hourglass body with shapely legs.
She removed gardening gloves before greeting them, her right hand held out as she said, "Sheriff, I'm sorry I wasn't expecting your visit."
Anders shook her hand and said, "I apologize for the unexpected visit, Mrs. Stark. I've been introducing Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Mitchell Monroe to the Graziella Romano case and I didn't have an opportunity to call you first. He and his agents will be taking over the investigation. He would like to see the site where Miss Romano was found. I can show him without you if you'd prefer."
"Would you mind, Sheriff? It will give me a chance to freshen up if you need to speak with me afterwards." She made a sweeping gesture over her body to indicate her working attire.
Sheriff Anders gave her a little bow as he said, "Thank you for your cooperation. We will probably stop at the house before leaving so Agent Monroe can ask you some questions, if it isn't too much trouble."
She smiled at the two of them, her smile warm and genuine. "No trouble at all, Sheriff. Just ring the bell and Natalia will find me."
The entire time Mitch said nothing. He was too mesmerized by the blonde Polish beauty. She was tall for a woman but still four or five inches shorter than him. She had a voluptuous figure, the type that didn't suit the current shapeless fashions. Her hair seemed to change color depending upon the light. In the bright sunshine of the garden, it looked like it was on fire, a golden red when she removed her hat to wipe her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. Closer to the house it appeared to be the rich gold of honey. She wore it at chin length but unlike the more popular sleek bobs or carefully coiffed finger waves arranged like a tight cap, her waves and curls were natural. She had a beautiful face that could look sultry, sexy or sweet and innocent. But it wasn't the figure, the hair, or the face that was so arresting; it was her pale blue-green eyes. They were large, expressive, above prominent high cheekbones, her brows carefully sculpted above them.
Even her voice was captivating - low, husky, and melodious. She spoke quietly with a distinct Polish accent. Her accent was unlike the more guttural speech of Polish women he usually encountered in Chicago along with those in his own family.
Before she walked away, he noticed she wore her wedding ring on her right hand as if she were divorced rather than widowed. It was impressive platinum setting with a 4.0 carat marquis surrounded by smaller marquis diamonds and baguettes. Her fingers were long, elegant, perfect for playing the piano.
His fantasies about Mrs. Stark were interrupted by the Sheriff nudging him and saying, "Come on. I'll show you where Miss Romano was found."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~
Mitch looked at the lovely bed of bloodroot flowers on the forest floor. It was a patch in a small clearing surrounded by towering mature trees. Sunlight filtered down between the budding branches, creating a dappled pattern atop the small white flowers. The flowers reminded him of hard boiled eggs, the petals white with bright yellow centers. The flowers that had bloomed when Miss Romano was struck dead had already withered and others blossomed to take their place but he could still make out the dark splattering of blood on leaves and on the ground.
Mitch asked, "Any idea how the killer escaped?"
Sheriff Anders looked towards the lake glinting between the tree trunks and said, "We think he left by water. We found a fresh trail through the brush, a few footprints, and the drag marks at the shore from a canoe or rowboat. I had my men ask around and no one noticed a canoe or rowboat on the water that morning. He probably kept close to the shore, the small vessel probably not noticeable at that time of morning from the houses on the lake. Most aren't occupied by their owners and are manned by a skeleton staff."
"Nobody rented a boat either. So far we have been unable to find a discarded canoe or rowboat."
He pointed at the ground as he said, "I had photographs taken of the footprints. They were quite distinct, probably made by work boots. We also measured them so if we find the man and the boots, we can match them. Whoever he is, he doesn't appear to be very large. Probably average size with medium size feet. One of my deputies estimated they are about a men's size eight."
Mitch was taking notes and looked up to say, "You have done a thorough investigation, Sheriff. I appreciate it."
"Thank you, Agent. We try not to be bumbling fools around here." Mitch started to protest that he didn't mean to imply that and Anders held his hands up, chuckling as he said, "No, no, I realize you didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying we try to be thorough and detailed so there is no doubt about a culprit's guilt especially considering the wealth and power of our part-time residents."
He hitched his pants up with a huff and said, "Plus we have to be careful. Some of the people around here resent these rich folks and would hang them with minimal evidence if given the opportunity. I want to make sure they are truly guilty before going to trial. I don't want to jail an innocent man."
Mitch could understand Anders' predicament. He often faced it himself. The rich were able to buy power and encourage the law to look the other way if they promised to contribute to their next election campaign. The poor and middle class were fully aware of that power and resented it. If given the opportunity, they'd sentence a wealthy person to jail or worse without much evidence against them.
They walked to the water where the Sheriff showed him where the boat was dragged ashore. The markings were no longer there but the Sheriff described them. Mitch looked around as they stood on the edge of the water. The lake was beautiful, a vivid blue with mild waves sparkling beneath the afternoon sun. There were large homes visible along its shoreline with piers and boathouses jutting out into the water.
The Romano house was not visible from where they stood but a patch of lawn that led down to the water and the Romano's pier and boathouse were. A small boat was docked at the pier, bobbing gently in the water. No one was around. It was a secluded spot.
He asked Anders, "Any idea why Miss Romano would meet her killer out here? He must have been a trusted acquaintance otherwise she wouldn't have met him in such a secluded spot. He was definitely someone she knew and considered friendly."
Anders shrugged his wide shoulders and said, "No idea. It's possible she was taken by surprise too. The killer might have been stalking her, waiting to get her in a quiet, secluded spot. Mrs. Stark was teaching her to ride horses. Miss Romano apparently wanted to impress the Argentine polo player she'd been courting. Mrs. Stark said Miss Romano would often cut through the woods to her house for her riding lesson. She never called beforehand. She might have been heading towards Mrs. Stark's home or her family said she liked to hike through the woods by herself. Her brother has arrived and I was hoping to question him. Maybe he could be your first step in this investigation after we leave here. He and his sister were close, thick as thieves when they were staying at Paradiso in the summer. He might know more about her private life than her parents."
Mitch nodded towards the Romano estate and asked, "Is he there now?"
"Yes. One of my deputies saw a driver, one of Romano's men, drive through town with the son sitting in the back seat. That was before your arrival at my office."
Mitch clapped him on the back and said, "Let's pay him a visit after I question Mrs. Stark."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~
As soon as Sheriff Anders and the BOI agent left to view where Graziella's body was found, Paulina rushed into the house and up the stairs. She hurried into her bedroom and quickly discarded her garden attire on the floor. Naked, she hurried into the bathroom to take a quick bath.
She felt such a magnetic attraction towards BOI Agent Monroe it was frightening. Seeing Agent Monroe awakened hormones she thought long dead. With a heightened sense of urgency, she sat on the edge of the claw foot tub as it filled with water and spread her legs. Closing her eyes, she touched herself with her fingertips, slowly caressing the sensitive nub at the top of her vaginal opening.
She imagined her fingers were the BOI agent's tongue, lapping hungrily at her center. She pressed harder and groaned as her other hand reaching for her left breast. As she massaged her clitoris, she squeezed and pinched the nipples of her breasts.
She moved her hips as if thrusting them towards an unrelenting tongue. Breathless, she started to pant as her pussy wet her fingers and made loud snapping noises.
She whispered, "Yes, yes, touch me there." She moved her hand down and inserted three fingers into her vaginal opening. Bending, she thrust them deep inside her, the walls of her pussy slick and wet sucked at her fingers.
Her strokes kept a steady rhythm; her hips thrust and rolled on the edge of the tub. As she pressed down with her hips, opening her thighs as far as she could, she touched the sweet spot inside of her that sent a hot sensation through her groin that radiated down her legs and up her torso. She felt it in her aching breasts, which felt like they might explode. Then the sensation reached her head and she bit her lip to stifle a cry as she climaxed.
She removed her fingers from her silky center and continued to massage her clitoris. She started panting again as another orgasm blossomed, this one more intense than the first. With an unladylike grunt, she climaxed again. This time her juices spout from her pussy like a fountain, dripping to the floor and drenching her hand.
Spent she let her hand drop and sat on the edge of the tub, her breath coming in labored gasps. She sensed the tub was nearly full and finally stood up on weakened legs. She turned off the faucet and stepped into the aromatic tub, sliding down so the water covered her up to her shoulders. She sighed, wondering if the BOI agent had a long hard cock or not.
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