Cooked Goose

knickknacks,” she said, “and my porcelain doll and the antique satin pillows...”
    “And your nasty books that were stashed under the nightstand,” Tammy added with a smug grin.
    “You mean, my ladies’ erotica?”
    “That’s what I said... your smut.”
    Savannah put on an indignant face and crossed her arms over her abundant chest. “I’ll have you know, Miss Tammy Smartie Pants Hart, that some of that is considered classic literature.”
    “Aw, pooh. It’s unadulterated filth, and you know it. You should be ashamed of yourself, having that stuff in your house.”
    “So, let me guess: You’ve stashed it in your tote bag, and you’re taking it home with you tonight?”
    Tammy shrugged, then nodded. “I thought it was the least I could do... for your sake, of course.”
    “Of course. How very thoughtful. Whatever would I do without you?”
    Tammy picked up her tote bag and headed out the bedroom door with Savannah following. “You’d be embarrassed when your sister discovered what a pervert you are, reading pornographic materials like that.”
    “There’s nothing in those books she hasn’t done herself; she is pregnant, you know.”
    Tammy grinned slyly. “I thumbed through a couple of pages, and I don’t think most of the sexual practices in those books even lead to pregnancy. ‘Unnatural’ is the word that comes to mind.”
    Savannah pointed to the head of the stairs with her left hand and gave Tammy a gentle shove with her right. “It’s getting late, kid,” she said. “Don’t you have a home of your own to go to?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do need to be going.” Tammy started down the steps, then gave Savannah a playful smirk over her shoulder. “I think I’ll hit the sack early tonight; I need to catch up on my reading.”

    * * *

    7:47 P.M.

    Margie was shaking so badly that she could hardly drive. But he was sitting in the passenger’s seat of her Roadster with the tip of a huge knife pressed against her ribs, so she had to do the best she could.
    “Turn right at the next intersection,” he said, poking her with the blade for emphasis, “and be sure to make a full stop at the sign. We don’t want you breaking any laws or any cops pulling us over, now do we?”
    He was leading her through dark, back roads. So the hope that anyone might notice him sitting beside her, wearing a Santa costume, were next to nil. Besides, he was slouched down in the seat, and when they met another car, he ducked down below the dash.
    She could tell he was taking her to the edge of town. To the orange groves. Not far from where her dad had been investigating the rapist’s last scene, when she had dropped by to ask for money.
    For just a moment, she thought of how her dad was going to feel when he saw her body, lying there on the ground, beaten, cut up, dead. Margie was a cop’s kid, and she had sneaked plenty of peeks at crime scene photos over the years. Eight by ten, full color pictures.
    Now she wished she hadn’t.
    She and her dad might not get along; they might never have been close, like a father and daughter should be. But he was still going to feel really, really bad when he saw her.
    Suddenly, she hated the man sitting next to her. And the hate made her feel stronger, not quite so weak and vulnerable, so she nursed the feeling, allowing it to grow inside her.
    “So... baby... do you know who you’re riding around with?” he asked her.
    She despised the snide tone in his voice. He was actually proud of himself, the bastard.
    “Yeah, I know all about you,” she replied, equally sarcastic. “You get your kicks by raping and beating women. You’re a real fuckin’ celebrity.”
    He hit her on the side of the head so hard that she nearly lost control of the car. It was all she could do not to smack him back, start crying hysterically, or both.
    “Watch your language,” he said. “I don’t approve of women cussing... especially kids. You’re a smart-mouth punk who needs to be taught a few lessons.”
    Margie swallowed the retort that rushed to her lips. She had to be smart. This guy was looking for any excuse to hurt her. The realization that he actually enjoyed causing her pain was like a blast of ice water through her body, alerting every nerve and cell to the mortal threat she was facing.
    This felt like a bad dream, but it wasn’t. This was real. And she had to keep her wits about her if she was going to find a way out of the nightmare alive.
    Summoning every