Under the Wild Wyoming Skies

"You're embarrassing me," she said.

"Isn't that what you girls want to hear from your boyfriends?"

She looped her hands around my arm. "Yeah, I guess so." She smiled and those perfectly white teeth of hers sparkled. "Now, tell me why you've been hiding out here."

Arm in arm, we walked over to a corner of the barn that didn't sit under a leaky section of the roof, and when I folded back a blue tarp, Diana cupped a hand to her face. "Oh my god, what in the world?"

"It's a tractor."

"I can tell that. Please don't tell me you paid a lot of money for it?"

"Three hundred bucks, delivered."

"Does it run?"

"Nope, won't even crank over, but the block is in good shape."

"You paid too much for it."

"What would you give for a Ford Powermaster 600?"

"Two hundred and ninety-nine dollars less than you paid for it. Where did you get the money?"

"I paid cash for it. Got the complete set of service manuals for it, too. That's what I've been doing out here, reading though the manuals."

"Where did you come up with the money?"

"I sold my bike."

"You did what?"

"The Indian. I sold it to a guy out on the West coast. I got more than my asking price. He drove all way out here with a flatbed and hauled it away."

"Why did you do that? That was part of your life."

""Cause you can't plow a field with an Indian motorcycle. I'm not going back to New York. I thought this out long and hard. I want to stay here with you. You are my life now. This is our place."

Diana's hands tightened around my arm and she laid her head on my shoulder. "Are you sure? It takes a lot of lights to make a city."

"But only two people to make a home."

I squeezed her butt, and when she rose I placed a kiss on her lips.

"Ah damn it, Jack, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

There is a sound only a truck door makes when it's slammed closed. We heard it, and we walked over to the barn door. I rolled it back a foot. In our driveway sat a black Suburban with an official looking decal across the door. The Sheriff's department. Standing beside the truck was a man; I yelled out, "We're over here in the barn." Another door slammed and a second man stood. They began to walk toward us.

"Mister Abbey, you're a hard man to find," the fellow in the suit said. "I'm the county prosecutor, Lee McConaughey."

Floyd said he was young. That was a fact. I didn't ask, but I bet this guy wasn't into his thirties yet. He had on an expensive looking black suit, a white shirt and a grey vest. A black cowboy hat with a silver band around it sat on his head. His face, pockmarked by acne scars, gave him a serious look that was beyond his years.

"McConaughey, like the actor," he said once more.

"There's certainly no resemblance is there?"

Diana snickered.

I pointed to Diana. "And this is—"

"I know who she is, and that's why I came out here tonight." When Diana turned away, the fading light reflected off the butt of her gun. McConaughey noticed it. "Officer, would you relieve Miss Compton of her firearm?"

"No! Is she under arrest?"

"Not at this moment."

"Then she is well within her rights to keep that firearm in the open. You're allowed open carry out here. You know that, too." I turned to Diana, "However, to keep things from getting out of hand, Diana, give me the gun." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the deputy placed his hand on his weapon. Diana handed it to me with two fingers. I wrapped it in a red shop towel and gently placed it in my toolbox. I slid a screwdriver through the catch.

"Happy now?" I asked.

"Not until she's in prison for the murder of Boyd Nelson." He pointed a long thin finger at her, and then at me. "You're shacking up with a woman that kills for the pure enjoyment of killing.

He looked around the barn and then at Diana. "Tonight might have been your last. It's her modus operandi. She gets dolled up, lures her victim into a barn like she did to Boyd and kills—exactly like she's doing to you tonight—my God man, I could have possibly saved your life. You need to run away as fast as you possibility can!"

"Diana Compton did not kill Boyd Nelson."

"So, you're not only a schoolteacher, you're a high priced mouth piece from New York, too. Am I supposed to be scared now or later?"

"Schoolteachers assign homework. We also do our homework. Oh where to begin? The rape kit. By God, that's the one to go with. Why didn't you take the semen samples found in her vagina and have them tested?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Like I said, I did my homework."

"We're a small county. Funds were not available to do the DNA testing. Beside, why? She made it quite clear that her and Boyle were going to have a sexual encounter. There was simply no need to verify if the semen was his."

"But you're not sure are you?"

"Who else's could it be if not Boyd Nelson?"

"The murderer."

"You're reaching for straws. We found no evidence that any other person or persons were at the scene of the murder. Only Diana was there. She killed Boyd for the oldest of reasons—money—pure and simple, it was for the money."

"Yet, you didn't find her name on any document that would give her Boyd's money. No house deed, no insurance money, no savings at the bank. Absolutely nothing. As a matter fact, you can't even put her in the barn at the time of his demise."

"Where are you getting your information?"

"Your own police files."

"Impossible!"

"Not if you ask nicely. You staff handed over every page and photograph you had."

"How did you get those? I demand to know!"

"Like I said, I did my homework."

McConaughey slapped his hat against his leg. He pointed that long finger at me once more. "I have a dozen witnesses that put her and Boyd Nelson together. They all saw them leave Russ's place around seven. There was no mistaking her wearing a flimsy dress and that red hair. It was like a beacon."

"Red hair and a flimsy dress do not make a murderer."

"Listen," his voice went high, "Diana Compton subdued Boyd Nelson in his barn to try and get his money. When he refused, she took one of her stockings off, and strangled him until he was dead. And for some sadistic reason, she filled every opening in his body with grease. I bet she got her jollies off as he screamed for her to stop before he died."

"I didn't kill him!" Diana yelled. "I didn't. I didn't. Please, Jack, believe me, I didn't kill Boyd!"

"You're overlooking several facts," I began in Diana's defense, "The forensic people took photographs of Diana in her underwear after they found her wandering on a road thirty miles away. I've seen those photos. They clearly show the birthmark on Diana's right thigh. Diana is so self aware of that mark that she does everything possible to hide it from view.

"I am not an expert in woman's hosiery, but I know stockings come in different shades. That lone stocking you have is dyed a very light tan. Stockings, like those, have elastic around the welt to hold them up the thigh."

"What the hell does any of that have to do with this murder?"

"Plenty. You see, Diana would never have worn stockings in the first place."

"And you're going to tell me why, I suppose."

"I'd draw you a picture if it would help, but it's simple. Even if she pulled the tops, the stocking's welt, as taut as possible, it would never hide the birthmark on her thigh. They were too light in shade, as well; they wouldn't have covered the birthmark worth a shit. She wore dark brown pantyhose with a control shaper top that night. Why would she wear both hose and stockings? Those brown hose were the only thing she could have worn that would have hid the birthmark simply because it was dyed a dark color and the elastic part came midway down her thigh.

I looked at the deputy. He had a nametag stitched onto his uniform. "Harris, is it?" He nodded. "Tell me, do you think Diana Compton needs do wear control top anything?"

I had watched the good deputy eye Diana since he stepped into the barn. He studied her figure more intently since he had permission.

"Well?"

"No sir. I don't believe she needs to wear that type of clothing."

"Your own tests proved that Diana never touched a grease gun. There were no hydrocarbons on her body, clothing or under things. Had she pumped grease inside Boyd Nelson's penis, she'd had to hold it in one hand, cup her fingers around the tip and the business end of the grease gun while she used her other hand to work the pump. Your own forensics proved that she didn't have a microscopic drop of grease on her hands or under her fingernails."

McConaughey spat on the ground. "I came all the way out here tonight to try and talk some sense into you. Maybe save your life. Right now, I'll wait for the I told you so at your funeral." He looked at the deputy and pointed at the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Before you go, I have to say I've never read a case like this one. Why didn't you treat that lone stocking as evidence? There was DNA on there, not only from Boyd, but maybe his killer."

He pointed his finger at Diana. "I know who the killer is! And when I'm done with her, I'll put her in a prison so deep, so far down in a hole, they'll need to pump sunlight into it."

They marched out of the barn, and a minute later the sound of the Suburban as it started filled the night air. They were gone.

I pulled out a couple of bails of hay and sat on one. "Sit with me?" I asked Diana.

She sat and twined her fingers together as she stared at the ground. "How long have you known?" Diana said without looking up.

"Within a week of the first night you stayed. I got plenty of hints. Even received a few anonymous letters warning me about you. When were you going to tell me?"

"Tonight."

"I see."

"You don't believe me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Call my Dad. I was to drive you to Gilbert to meet Dad and my brothers. We were all going to go out and eat. I wanted my Dad beside me when I told you about McConaughey and Boyd Nelson. Call Dad and ask him."

"Okay, let's hear your side."

Diana stood and began to pace in front of the hay bales. She twisted her fingers together. "McConaughey is right. I was with Boyd, and yes we were going to have a sexual encounter at his place. When we got there, he asked if I'd like to do it in the barn."

"Fuck in the barn? With you wearing, as McConaughey called it, a 'flimsy dress'?"

Diana nodded.

I raised my hand. "Miss Compton, I have a question. Why in the world would you want to go out with Boyd Nelson and have sex with him? I mean we all do it, but according to Coach, he wasn't much to look at, and as Coach put it, a bit slow on the draw." She was about to say something when I cut her off. "Yes, Coach filled in a lot of details."

Diana melted onto the bale of hay. "He paid me for it." She turned away from me. "I'm not what you're thinking."

"Diana, look at me. If Boyd paid you for a sex act, there is only one way to interpret that. How much did he pay you?"

"Five hundred."

I blew out a long low whistle. "Does McConaughey know?"

"Of course not."

"You'd better keep that a secret."

The barn grew silent. "Did you kill Boyd?"

"No!"

"Do you remember what time it was?"

"Early evening."

"Sun was still up?"

"Yeah, so?"

I rubbed my chin. "I don't want to sound cruel, but what kind of sex did 'ol Boyd get for his five big ones? And if the sun was still shining on that late summer evening, how did you keep him from seeing your birthmarks on your breast and thigh? It took a month for you to showed me your breasts, and I had to work at it, then. Come on, something's not adding up here."

"He only wanted clothed sex."

"Pardon? Clothed sex? What in the name of God is that?"

"He liked to mess around, you know, touching me here and there, but only through my clothing. When he was ready, he'd take a pocketknife from his pants, it had a set of tiny scissors in it, and he'd cut out the gusset of my hose. I'd put my legs over his shoulders and he would...you know..."

"So neither one of you undressed?""

"No. Never. It's not that unusual—clothed sex. People do it all the time. That way I knew he'd never see my birthmarks."

I walked over to Diana's bale and sat beside her. "Why? Why, Diana, did you do it for money? There's got to be a reason?"

She took my hands into hers. "My mom. I used the money to help dad pay for Mom's care. She looked at me through weepy eyes. "Go on, call me what you're thinking. Call me a whore. A slut. A hooker. A murderer. But, Jack, I swear I didn't hurt Boyd."

Things still weren't adding up. Okay, so she sold some pussy. It's not like that's never happened before, and if it's the only asset you have, you go with it. First year teachers in the Wyoming back country don't make much money. We needed to budget every dime we made. Okay then. I wasn't going to hang her on the cross for that. I guess, what's the difference between buying a piece of ass, or selling it? God knows I've handed my money over many a time.

I had a thought. Maybe those semen stains on her panties she showed me a month ago were from an encounter that she made a few bucks on. That made sense. But why get so upset and drag me into it? Maybe a ploy to have me ask her to move in? If that was true, it worked.

"Don't get mad. But have you ah, you know...since."

"Fuck for money? Is that what you mean?"

"I was trying to be gentle."

"It was wrong. All right? I knew it wasn't the right thing to do. No. Boyd was the only guy. Besides, Mom died within a few months after Boyd was killed."

"You don't remember anything?"

Diana shook her head. "Only going from the restaurant and then to Boyd's farm. I remember going into the barn. He had planned our rendezvous 'cause he had a blue tarp down, like the one over your tractor, so the straw wouldn't get caught in our clothing. I sat down on a bale of straw. He started to touch my legs. I wouldn't let him kiss me. That was my rule... and that's all I remember until I woke several days later in the hospital in Gilbert. I swear that's all I know." She reached out and touched my shoulder. "Sometimes in class, if I close my eyes, I hear voices. I can see a face... maybe two... but it's like I've got a burlap bag over my eyes. It's all blurry and the voices are like shadows dancing on the side of a barn."

"And you never took your clothing off for Boyd?"

"No. Never. Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Boyd never undressed in front of you?"

Diana moved her head. "No... I swear."

"Are you absolutely sure neither one of you undressed? I don't care what you two did to each other, you're adults, but it's important to know if Boyd was naked."

I didn't know if I should tell her or not, but what the hell, it was going to come to the top one day.

"When the sheriff went to Boyd Nelson's farm, they found Boyd not only dead, but naked as well. The forensic people took photographs of his body covered in red Shell grease. Boyd was utterly and completely nude. He didn't even have his socks on. That's why I asked."

"No! That's impossible. He had all his clothing on. We were together once before and neither of us got naked. He never asked. That's why I had sex with him, because he didn't want to see me nude. He always demanded that we were fully clothed." She stood and walked toward the barn door. "If the phone is still working, I'll call my Dad and tell him we won't be able to make the trip tonight. Something came up. God, I planned on having a romantic evening with you and that fuck head McConaughey ruined my life again."

"Nonsense. I was promised an out-of-this-world steak, and I'd love to meet your dad and all your brothers. Besides, I'd sure as hell like to try and get those jeans off of you on the way home." I winked at her.

"You would, huh? Let's not talk about McConaughey any more until I'm with my family."

"All right. It can wait."

Diana returned to my side and pushed me down on a bale of hay. "I'd like you to do something for me. Don't you move a muscle, I'll be right back."

Diana damn near ran out of the barn. I heard the front screen door slam closed.

I knew this night was going to happen. For the life of me I can't make any sense out of it. McConaughey was so sure Diana killed Boyd Nelson, yet there was so little evidence that she did. Even if she was being paid by Boyd so he could get his jollies off, so what? Why would she off her money machine? Naw... didn't make sense.

Clothed sex. Never heard of it before, but then again, I'm sure the world is full of sexual things I've never heard of, let alone done. Who'd guess that people were dying trying to bust a nut while strangling themselves? What about those people that dress up as animals and have sex that way? I shook my head. I heard the front door slam once more. Soon Diana raced back into the barn almost out of breath. She had several plastic shopping bags clutched in her hands.

"Take your clothing off," she announced.

"Out here?" A thought spun around my brain like a hurricane in Texas. Maybe what McConaughey said had a bit of truth to it. She wanted me to undress, and there was that gun in the toolbox not ten feet away. She could wait until I got my pants halfway down and run to get the gun.

"Are you sure we can't do this inside?"

"Oh come on. Get your pants off. Nobody is going to see other than me. Or are you embarrassed? Did you ever think I like to look, too?"

"I'm not embarrassed." Maybe it was pride, but I had never had a woman ask me to undress in front of her. I liked the idea that Diana liked the way I looked without a shirt on.

I sat on the bale and pulled my shoes off, then stood and unbuckled my pants. Diana was as giddy as a kid in a candy store. There was something in her eyes.

"Boxers, too."

"Seriously, Diana. Why out here in the barn anyway? Can't we go inside the house?"

"Please?"

There's no defense to her pouting lips. I did as she asked and when I got my boxers off, I kick them to the pile.

She came around, un-buttoned my shirt and pulled it and my undershirt off. I liked the way she looked at me.

My junk hung in the breeze; she tried not to look, but she did anyway. She reached into a bag and pulled out a cellophane wrapped package. She tore it open with her teeth and pulled out something black and quite small. Diana shook it out and into shape.

"On no! I am not about to wear that thing!"

"Ah come on, Jack, it won't hurt you."

"Oh no. No. No. No. That's a deal breaker. I won't wear it."

It turned out to be a pair of black men's bikini thong underwear. It was smaller than the size of my palm and had shoestring thin straps that were supposed to go up between my ass cheeks and around my waist.

"Two weeks ago, you rooted around in my drawer, and without my permission you slipped tiny black panties on me. I'm asking you to do this for me." She placed them in my hand.

"I don't know." I unfolded it and God there was nothing there.

Diana put my free hand on her butt. "I'm wearing those same black bikini panties tonight that you liked seeing me wear. Please?"

I held the tiny little ball cradle in my hand. "Okay, but this time only." God I hope we didn't get into a car accident, and the hospital nurses had to cut this off of me. I slipped the damn thing up my legs and gently placed the family jewels into the black nylon sling.

Diana came around my backside and adjusted the string between my cheeks. "You look sexy as hell." Diana patted my derrière. She went back to the bags and pulled out a pair of jeans. "These are stone washed. They're soft. Put them on."

I yanked them out of her hands as quickly as I could, and had them up to my waist in a matter of seconds. She was right, they were soft and I kind of liked the feel. Suddenly, I noticed something I haven't in years. My dick seemed to twitch. Oh great. That's all I need. The first time in years I'm about to pop a woody with my dick in a man's thong while standing half naked in a barn.