Dunston Falls by Al Lamanda Page B

candle light, she brushed her hair in front of the bedroom dresser mirror. She may have been thirty, but she didn’t look it, so everybody said. She took exceptional care of her skin, used creams and moisturizers and avoided the sun during the summer months. During winter, with the dry heat, she took extra precautions, using lotion and cold cream twice a day. At five foot four, she weighed the one eighteen of her high school graduation.
    She put the brush down and inspected her shoulder length, black hair. She was proud of the fact she lacked a single strand of gray. Her green eyes were flawless, the skin around them unlined or blemished. Only her breasts betrayed her age, that she was no longer a girl of twenty-one. While still firm, they had gentle sag and a hint of stretch marks that were imperceptible to a stranger, but stood out like a beacon to her. Still, by anyone’s standards she was a knockout.
    It was no wonder she could command twenty-five dollars a trick. Even more if she operated in a big town like Augusta or Portland. She had thought about it, moving to a city, but always put it off. For on thing, the bigger the city the greater the risks. For another, the chances of facing arrest for solicitation out here in the sticks were slim to none. Besides, she was saving her money and when she had enough, there would be other career considerations. For now, she was content with her modest status in life.
    Linda left the bedroom of her tiny mobile home and went to the kitchen for a beer. She had not run the generator in two hours, but the bottle was still cold. Even the ice trays were still semi frozen.
    She lit a cigarette and checked the battery run clock on the wall over the refrigerator. She had time to finish the beer and maybe have another cigarette.
    She carried the beer to the bedroom where she removed all of her clothes and slipped on a sheer, black nightgown. Goose bumps rose up on her arms. She brushed her teeth and used a mouthwash because men hated the smell of cigarettes on a woman’s breath. Then she  flipped down the comforter and crawled into bed to warm herself and to wait and maybe have a nap.
    At two Am, she heard Harvey Peterson arrive in his truck. She heard the engine shut off and the truck door open. She heard him walk to her front door, open it and enter her trailer.
    “Linda?” Harvey called to her.
    “The bedroom,” she replied. “And it’s about time.”
    Harvey entered the bedroom and smiled at her when he saw her tucked in like that. Kittenish was the word that came to mind.
    “I waited up for you,” Linda said.
    Harvey tossed his jacket and immediately removed his shirt. He was a good-looking man, tall and well built, a cheerleaders dream.
    “How much to stay the night?” Harvey said. “I’m too tired for the drive home.”
    He sounded Canadian, but it was difficult to tell. She hadn’t been home to her small town north of Sherbrook, Canada for so long she had lost the ear for the dialect.
    “I wouldn’t throw you out, Harv,” Linda said. “Not on a cold night like this. Twenty five and we’ll call it even.”
    Harvey grinned at her as he dropped his pants. He was already excited.
    “Only hurry up. I’m freezing.”
    Harvey slid into bed next to Linda and reached for her. She winced at his touch.
    “Your hands are like ice,” Linda complained.
    “You’ll just have to warm me up then,” Harvey said.
    Linda crawled on top of him and Harvey closed his eyes. Neither of them paid any attention to the tiny bedroom window in the corner of the room, or the bright moonlight, which filtered in. Had either of them taken the time to notice, they would have been shocked to see the ski masked figure of a man, watching them through the window.
     
    He wore a dark jacket with matching pants and boots. The gloves on his hands were also black, as was the ski mask. Only his eyes were visible and in the moonlight, they appeared a peculiar shade of yellow. As he watched Harvey and