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Amorous co-workers investigate a haunting.
He mashed them together, squeezed them, slapped them, pulled the nipples, without regard to Hortense's desires or responses. Finally, he slapped the sides so they would bounce together for several moments before stepping back. Her head hung down. "Well, Horty, we've had a lovely time today, thanks for lunch. Let's do this again, real soon. C'mon, Alfie." He turned on his heel and marched out the door.
Hortense was still bound to the wall, topless, tears streaming down her face. I went over and unbound her, whispering, "Sorry, sorry," before I left her fumbling to cover herself.
"That was rather cold of Artie, don't you think?" Barbara asked.
"Absolutely. If I knew something like this could have happened, I would have let him go there alone. Mary Bayless was telling her friends after Evensong yesterday that her sister-in-law was in the dumps lately. I knew Artie could be wicked, but I never knew he could be as cruel as this."
"It takes all kinds. There are Catholic priests with attitudes that wreak such havoc, I wish they had wives to take them down a peg or two. Problem is, these guys are such jackasses, no self respecting woman would have them, even if they were free."
"Well, I don't think I'll go visiting with Artie anytime soon."
Barbara pondered for a moment. "Shouldn't Artie be afraid of Mrs. Bayless causing him trouble for this?"
"Artie was crowing about how he didn't have to worry all the way home. Hortense wouldn't want it known she has a dungeon in her basement; it would destroy her image around St. Edmund's as the pious matron. She also wouldn't want it known she took her Vicar to her basement with her laundry hanging out so Artie could see her bras and panties. Artie being famously gay doesn't help her either; who would believe that he'd play with her tits?"
We lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. She put her arm on my chest and laid her head on it. "So tell me about your interview with Tommy. What's his position again?"
"Archdeacon is a close subordinate to the Bishop in our system. Don't know what your equivalent would be."
"Probably a Vicar General or something like that."
"Probably. He does whatever Horace tells him to do. Anyway. . ."
I sat across my own desk from Archdeacon Tommy Hughes, who was ensconced in my place in my chair. He was a distinguished man in his 50's: salt and pepper hair, fair skin completely smooth shaven, blue eyes just developing crow's feet, slender with delicate hands. The parish ledger was open in front of him, the Baptismal Register, Marriage Register and Vestry Minutes underneath, and his half lens reading glasses were perched at the end of his nose. "Now, Vicar, about the tuckpointing you had done earlier last year, why didn't you accept the lowest bid you received for the work?"
I pulled a file from my cabinet across the room, and opened it in front of him. "As you can see by these reports, the two companies with the lowest bids have an unfortunate track record in customer satisfaction. The low bidder has several complaints with the local Building commission, and the next bidder has just been shuttered due to fraud and negligence of the higher ups. The firm we awarded the contract has an excellent reputation, so fine that the primary donor, Mr. Frederick Titterington, O.B.E., was happy not only to contribute but to make a further donation of cement at cost. The Vestry voted unanimously to approve the contract. So the overall expense to St. Dunstan's ended up with an expense equivalent to the lowest bid submitted, with the best guarantee that the work would not have to be repeated in the near future."
The Archdeacon looked at the paperwork and clicked his tongue.