The Blue Journal by L.T. Graham Read Free Book Online

sublime pressure that made me shudder.
    He was large and stiff and I begged him to get inside me. He obliged, turning around and entering me as I lay on my side. After I came—loudly and with obvious delight—he changed positions, moving me onto my knees and taking me from behind. I came again and then he turned me onto my back, got astride me, and we rocked together in a furious motion until we climaxed together.

    He was clearly pleased with his performance, and I made sure he felt even more than that. I told him that I had never had multiple orgasms before and, with tears in my eyes, said I was completely overcome by the experience.
    He was both gracious and confident in his response, but I could see the truth in his eyes.
    I could see, from that moment on, that I owned him.
    Walker looked up at the other two men. “Nice lady. See what else she’s got in here.”
    When the officer closed the file and attempted to enter the directory, the screen became blank, displaying only a box in the center of the monitor requiring the reentry of the password.
    â€œDamn, must have been on some sort of default screensaver.”
    Walker nodded. “All right. Kovie, have the computer dusted for prints, then take it with you and get started on a warrant to have it impounded. Grab the maid again and find out if she knows which of the Knoebels used this computer. Find Teddy Blasko, tell him we need to get access to whatever’s in there. Anything recent, especially e-mails. And you guys, you keep this to yourselves, you hear me?”
    The two younger officers nodded.
    â€œMeantime, make sure the forensic boys do a good job sweeping this room. And for God’s sake,” Walker said, “tell them to finish with the photographs upstairs so they can cover that woman with a sheet.”

CHAPTER 6
    That evening, Randi Conway stood in her dining room, the telephone clutched tightly in her hand. Phyllis Wentworth, a diffident woman who was one of the members in Elizabeth Knoebel’s therapy group, called to deliver the news.
    Randi sank slowly into her chair.
    â€œIt’s been on the radio. I didn’t know if you’d heard.”
    â€œNo, I hadn’t,” Randi said.
    â€œIt was on the radio,” Phyllis repeated.
    â€œWhat else did they say?”
    Phyllis paused, then provided the few details that had been broadcast. A local woman, wife of a prominent New York surgeon, was found dead in her home, victim of a gunshot wound. They gave her name and said an investigation into the death was underway.
    Randi did not respond.
    â€œDoctor Conway? Are you there?”
    â€œYes, Phyllis.” Randi drew a deep breath, then asked, “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’ll be fine,” Phyllis said.
    â€œI do appreciate you letting me know.”
    â€œIt’s awful, Doctor Conway. Isn’t it awful?”
    â€œYes. It is awful.” When there was no response, Randi said, “Please call me if you want to talk.”
    â€œThank you,” Phyllis said, but she did not say good-bye.
    â€œDid you want to say something else?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe I just want to say that I can’t believe it.”
    â€œI understand,” Randi said. “Neither can I.”
    Phyllis paused again, then said, “Good night, Doctor Conway,” and hung up.
    Randi put the phone down and turned to her computer, bringing up the link to the local news station. The evening’s top headline was the death of local resident Elizabeth Knoebel. The few details given were those Phyllis had shared. Elizabeth died some time the previous day. Her body was discovered this morning by the housekeeper. More to follow.
    Randi sat back, remembering a group session she had conducted just two days before.
    They met at Randi Conway’s office each Monday afternoon, the gathering of her so-called Wives Group. This past Monday all five women were present.
    One of them, a dark-eyed