Jail's Bait: Parole's Victim (Book 4)

Chapter 11

Claire’s Sedan was parked on the side road to the Hill ancestral mansion, Crimson Crest- just outside the black gates that ringed the immense property. The row of ebony spokes that ridged the great gate looked like they went on for miles. Inside the car, Claire and her community leader, Inamae X, waited. If one was to walk past the parked car at that moment they would see Inamae X, white robe and long beard, sitting in peace with his arms folder behind his back at the steering wheel. If one were to walk closer to the car and peer inside, they would see Claire, Umfana X, leaning from the passengers side to bury her face in Inamae’s waist, her mass of hair moving up and down at a suggestive pace. Gagging issued forth from the car at regular intervals, upon which Inamae would shift his legs- to give Umfana more room to please her Great Leader as they waited for Joe and Joan Hill to come home from the press conference.

Claire slurped busily up and down on Inamae’s massive 11.5 inch dick, feeling the silky strength of the shaft between her lips and tongue, her drool staining the seat beneath Inamae and his grinding waist, pushing his dick deeper down her throat. Just then Inamae grabbed Claire by her hair and yanked upward, pulling her with a slooch! off of his dick, which gleamed wet with her spit.

“I’m sorry, Great leader, am I hurting you or something..?” Claire sputtered, embarrassed.

“Naw baybee, its just thayat y’allz ol friendz are home, they jus drove on in,” he said. “Gwan in an git em upstairs, an make sure y’allz leave a winda open or sumthin, I’ll tayke curr of it from thayre,” he replied, pushing his engorged, sticky dick back into his pants and zipping up.

Claire looked dispiritedly at his zippered pants, and then with a sigh straightened up and began to open the car door to get out.

Quickly Inamae closed his hand over her arm. “An TAKE y’allz time upstairs, baybee,” he added in warning. “I dunno whut kinda security I gotz ta break thru in da den.”

“But Great Leader, how will you know where the den is,” Claire asked Inamae, who had a strangely distant look on his face as he stared out of the window towards the black fence.

“Don’t y’allz worry about thayat,” he said then, still staring out the window; “I know howz ta git up in theyre.”

She nodded. “As you wish, Great Leader,” she replied, getting out of the car and going up to the front gate. Claire knew that Joe and Claire never really expected anyone to come all the way out here to the Bolo Grounds, it was just too far from Seattle downtown- so she knew they didn’t have a lock on the black gate, they just fitted closed. Passing through the gates she walked down the old-time drive, a little more than a half-mile of cobbled road under a canopy of ancient red cedars, to reach the clearing which the great driveway then turned asphalt black, curving to the main building.

Crimson Crest sat against the backdrop of the far distant Rockies Mountains, with endless prairie lands laying between. The vast grounds were cold, however; distant and foreboding, this old mansion was a dying relic of an almost forgotten time, with an echoing whisper of ghosts everywhere you turned.  The Hill family ancestral estate got its name for the eternal skyline of mountain ridges in perfect view of the setting sun’s fire, from all sides of the large antebellum mansion. Once site of a sugar plantation, the Hill ancestors bought it and converted the lands into green, fresh trees, waterfalls and barns for livestock. The monster house ran the length of two football fields alone, and stood three floors in height, complete with sweeping terraces, grandiose staircases and large fireplaces inlaid with stones so large a whole person could fit on one of them. The current masters of Crimson Crest, Joe and Joan Hill, had a cadre of servants to fulfill their every whim.

Reaching the great Eustachian-plated front doors, she pressed the buzzer. A grandfather-clock type chime seemed to echo through the interior. Seconds later the door swung open, revealing a tall, light-skinned, extremely skinny, balding old man in a butler's uniform. "May I help you," he wheezed in a deep voice, bald pate glistening in the afternoon sunlight, smiling with what was left of his teeth.

"Claire Clark to see Joan Hill," Claire replied, wondering how on earth this brittle-looking old man could have the strength to stand up, much less carry such a deep voice.

"Please wait inside," he replied, opening wide the door to let Claire come into a large foyer; "I'll ring the missus right away." And with that he made his way towards a nearby open door with his extremely large feet moving to a shuffling gait. Two minutes later, still shuffling, he reached the door and went into the room beyond.

Claire stood there, just amazed at the frailty of Joe's butler, hoping he wouldn’t trip over that pair of overly large feet and break something he might need. She absently looked around the foyer. There were a fair scattering of marble Grecian statuettes of dark and light hues, and what looked like antique vases which held long-stemmed potpourri. The floor was all dark marble and Oriental throw rugs, yet all had the look of being very old. Claire saw an latched window in front of a floor-length Tiffany vase, and saw her chance, going over to it. On the pretense of examining the vase, she reached around and pushed the catch open. There, she exulted, he’s got a way in.

"It's not worth stealin, but they're nice ta look at," said a voice behind her, making her jump. Turning, she saw that Joan, in housecoat and slippers, had appeared in the foyer, being led by the old butler. Claire straightened up, smiling as she innocuously removed her arm from behind the vase and away from the window catch. "Thank you, Smithers, that will be all for now," Joan smiled to the old man.

"As you wish, missus," Smithers nodded back, shuffling out of sight.

"Sorry bout not coming right down, I was puttin my teeth back in," Joan said to Claire.

"Teeth?" Claire asked, incredulous. "I didn’t know you wore false teeth, Joanie."

"What? Aww hell naw," Joan said, smiling to reveal her diamond-studded 18K gold fronts. "I meant these. I dont wear em out to Joe's campaign meetings, so until he gets elected I hide em on da low."

Claire listened as the old man's footsteps finally faded away. "How does that ol butler stand up straight," she asked in a low voice filled with levity. "A strong wind would blow him over."

"Girl, I tell you I wonder that myself," Joan replied, staring after the old man. "But Joe insists on keepin him. He's supposedly been with the family since he was a little boy; he hasn’t never really stepped foot off this property. We call him Smithers but that’s jus his last name, his first name is Marshall," Joan said. "Joe tried ta give him pension an a severance back when he turned 65- but he's too proud to retire," she added, indicating to Claire to follow her as she turned to head into the hallway. Joan continued the story of the Hill family’s ancient butler.

"Girl this is a story for ya ass!!! Smithers was the Hill stable-hand when Joe was a kid, back when the family started tryin ta raise Arabians for money. The story goes that Smithers' father was the original stablehand here but he was killed tryin to save Jenkins the cook's grown-up son from getting trampled underneath one of the wild Arabians they hadn’t broke in yet. Arabians tend ta go wild when they aint cared for; Juke Jenkins had spooked the horse tryin ta ride it bareback without breakin him- da horse threw him an he got hurt; they say young Juke wasn’t never the same after that day- but he survived, which is more than I can say bout Old man Smithers, who died savin Juke’s life. I remember Joe tellin me that our Smithers was almost 16 and he had a twin- a sister, name of Maisie. They mama was already dead an gone, they aint have no other family and Joe's mama had pity on em, so they was both hired by Joe's daddy, ol' J. Mayson Hill, so they could make their own way, I guess. So Smithers became the new stable-hand and his sister Maisie was hired as a maid. After a few years Maisie met up with ol Juke, they called him that ‘cause he liked hangin out in them jook joints- well they hadn’t seen each other since the day he fell from that horse and they were kinda sweet on each other, but it was left at that. Juke’s first wife died in childbirth, so him an Maisie took up from where they left off and before long they got married, even though she knew his son was the only child he would ever have, accountin on that accident with the Arabian. He was the town drunk though, and there was rumors he beat on Maisie, which is probably why the girl up an ran off a few years after that, though- around the same time Joe's mama left him and his daddy flat, never ta be seen again.

“So wit Smithers' parents dead an his twin runnin off witout tellin him, he went all depressed and never really got over it, stopped carin for the horses and everything; and like I tol ya, Arabians tend ta go wild from neglect,” Joan continued. “J. Mayson died when Joe was 12, an he inherited right away, like the will stated.  When Joe got his inheritance, he sold the Arabians, closed up the barn an made Smithers his personal butler, but Smithers was more of a mentor to him since Joe was still a young teenager himself."

“They never found out what happened to Maisie?” Claire asked, intrigued.

“Well, Smithers never found out what happened to Maisie,” Joan replied solemnly; “but WE did. She died in childbirth at an orphanage, giving birth to Atreyu.”

Claire’s mouth opened in surprise. “I knew that there was more to the long-lost brother story,” she said then in shock; “I just couldn’t get anyone to tell me about how you all found out about this Trey. He’s Robbie’s father, right..?”

“Yup,” Joan said then, shaking her head. “All that business was a nightmare, just be glad you didn’t have to stand there and watch it in living color like I did... I feel sorry for Joe, though; he found a long-lost brother and lost him forever- all in the same moment. This is the real reason why he keeps Smithers around; technically Trey was Smithers’ nephew, the only blood relative on his mothers’ side that we know of that’s still living.” Joan paused. “We can’t tell Smithers any of this now, of course.”

“I can see why, he might die on the spot from the shock, brittle as he is,” Claire agreed.

“At least Marquis knows who Smithers is- he comes by sometimes to play checkers with him; Smithers doesn’t know he’s been playing with his great-great-nephew all this time, but its better this way. If he hears how Maisie died, never even seeing her own-”

“Say no more,” Claire said, nodding her head. “He can’t be told. Let him live his life out with people that care about him. I understand now why Joe has loyalty to the old man; he was a part-time servant, part-time teacher, and yet a full-time father-figure. What a story."

The women were passing suits of armor in alcoves and faded portraits of forgotten ancestors on the walls, until they reached the main stairwell which fronted a large receiving room, dressed with dark velvet drapes over the floor-length windows and delicate pieces of furniture which dotted the whole area- again all looking every old and unused. The grand double staircase ran a rosewood railing down both sides, and the steps were covered in the same dark color velvet of the drapes. Yet in the shadows that seemed to roam everywhere, it was impossible to tell what the color the faded velvet on the drapes and stairs once was in the gloom.

They started up the stairs. "Why is it so dark in here," Claire said.

"This mansion was built back befo electicity caught on," Joan said with a smirk. "By the time they decided ta add light switches to this place it was more money than ol' J. Mayson wanted to spend- stingy son of a bitch," she spat contemptuously. "That's why when Joe inherited Crimson Crest he jus closed off most of the older parts; I mean, to re-wire the whole place NOW would be mo money than he should spend, and I agree on that. If ol' J. Mayson had got it over with way back when, it would’ve been a lot cheaper... it was decided to only wire the main areas of the house, and leave the rest with candles and fireplaces," she indicated to the large dark gaping structures placed in certain areas of the lower floor.

"There are a whole lot of fireplaces," Claire said, eyebrows raised as they continued on up the long stairway. "Weren’t they worried about the mansion burning down..?"

The reached the first landing and made a left turn. "Not this house. J. Mayson's granddaddy built a whole well system all over the property," Joan answered, leading Claire down a long, dark hallway full of carpet, portraits and statues, "before they laid down proper pipin. And with all the stonework an marble in here, even if the furniture caught fire the main structure would’ve still stood; a big bucket of soapy water and some new fabrics, and voila! instant redecoratin," Joan laughed. They reached a large set of double doors and Joan led Claire inside. "Our suite," she explained.

The room was enormous, a sitting room yet with obvious upgrades here than mostly everywhere else Claire had seen so far. There were electronics all over the area, such as a wall unit with a flat screen T.V. mounted on the wall above the impressive stereo. Fresh cut flowers lined the great speakers which stood at either end of the room, and in the room's center there was a small set of carpeted stairs which led to another great set of reddish wooden doors.

"Our bedroom is thru there," Joan indicated, "and that's my personal bathroom," she pointed to the closed door to the right of the wall unit, indicating that the matching closed door to the left was Joe's personal bathroom. Great bay windows looked out upon the gardens and cobbled driveway below. "I know this is an incredible amount of space here. I mean, there are so many stories to tell about this place, it might take all day," Joan sighed.

"So, tell me more," Claire urged. "I love a good story- and I'm curious, let's go look at the old part of the manor too, I'd like to see how it was styled back a century ago since I'm sure no one's been in that part for decades, probably."

"Sure," Joan said then, looking directly into Claire's eyes; "jus as soon as ya tell me what you're REALLY doin here, 'Umfana'.

Claire started, then smiled hesitantly, hoping her stall tactics were giving Inamae the time he needed to break in and find a safe...