Authors: Jada Ryker
Marisa immediately straightened in anticipation. She mentally rubbed her hands in glee.
Elizabeth is ready to explode. Alex hates it when people lose their tempers in the workplace.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Her chest expanded with a deep breath. She opened her eyes. Her face was still flushed, but her hands were open. “No problem, Alex. Jerry and Vickie, what do you think about Marisa’s idea?”
Jerry stared down at his notebook. Across the wide expanse of shining table, Vickie mirrored his body language with her tablet.
When they hesitated, Elizabeth sneered. “Jerry, the CQI Director, and Vickie, the new Social Services Director, are doing their normal Switzerland imitation.”
When they didn’t answer, Elizabeth glared from one to the other. Her face relaxed. “As usual, they hate to commit themselves to anything. Even to each other,” she added slyly.
“Those two have been friends with benefits for ten years.” Tara whispered, her mouth close to Marisa’s ear. “How did Elizabeth find out?”
“Elizabeth, what are you talking about? And what does it have to do with Marisa’s idea?” Alex was bewildered.
She laughed. “Since Vickie was promoted into Linda Borders’ director job after Linda’s arrest and conviction, Vickie is now on the same level as Jerry. With the change, Jerry can’t avoid commitment because of his outdated ideas about fraternization between management and professional levels. Vickie isn’t a staff level social worker. Rather, she’s the director.”
Jerry and Vickie’s heads snapped up. They turned in tandem to glare at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth clapped her hands. “It appears they can agree on something.” She turned to Alex. “It’s a tie.”
“Enough.” A muscle in Alex’s cheek twitched. “I do consult with all of you. Your thoughts are important.” His face was impassive. “At least, your business thoughts are important. But this isn’t a democracy.”
His gaze rested on Elizabeth. “In the world of high finance in the for-profit sector, it may be acceptable to lobby other managers behind the scenes. I won’t stand for it. It’s divisive, and it sets team members at one another’s throats.”
“Marisa Adair has stupid ideas. I won’t—” Her face stiff, Elizabeth swallowed audibly. “I apologize, Alex. I’m new and still finding my way.” She smiled charmingly and hitched one shoulder higher than the other. “It won’t happen again.”
“Marisa’s idea is excellent.” Alex was firm. “Our Information Technology personnel can build the online system. It’ll make money for the hospital. We’ll discuss progress at the next meeting. We’re adjourned.”
As the directors gathered their electronic notebooks and moved toward the door, Elizabeth stopped Alex with a manicured hand on his arm. She smiled and whispered in his ear. Elizabeth glanced over Alex’s shoulder and caught Marisa’s eyes. Deliberately, she smirked.
Marisa hadn’t realized she’d started toward the front of the room until Tara’s tugging hand on her arm stopped her.
“No, Marisa. Tara kept her voice low. “She’s mad because she couldn’t block your idea. Now, she’s baiting you, hoping you’ll lose it in front of Alex. Let’s go to your office… before you kill her.”
Althea rushed through the wide halls of the hotel, checking room numbers. When she found the one she was seeking, she slammed her fist against the heavy door. “Berea, are you alright?”
The door flew open under Althea’s pounding. “Hello, Althea, thank you for coming.” Berea Kenton ushered Althea into the shadowy sitting room. Although it was early, the thick, heavy drapes were drawn. Light from a single dim lamp from the foyer caught the old woman’s movements as she snagged her navy jacket from the back of the couch.
Clay courteously rose from his corner of the couch, his handsome face stiff with restraint. “Althea.”
What is Clay doing here? And he’s obviously still upset with me.
“I thought you said it was of life and death importance, Berea. I rushed here as quickly as I could, thinking you were in distress.”
“Please sit down, Althea. It is of life and death importance. I want to introduce you and Clay to the detective I’ve hired to solve Mayla’s murder.” With the flourish of the inveterate showman, Berea switched on the lamp.
The armchair was flooded with light, revealing the man seated in its beige depths.
Althea smothered a scream. “Good heavens, I didn’t see you there, young man.”
Berea unceremoniously shoved Althea down on the couch.
“Oomph. Berea, what’s come over you?” Althea pulled the scattered folds of her green dress over her knees. “You insulted us by calling us arrogant and pretentious, and then you lured us here with a false SOS.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kenton,” Clay said, “what has come over you? When I discovered your ruse, I tried to leave. You threw yourself against the door. I chose to sit here quietly rather than toss you aside. However, there’s a limit to my patience.” His gray eyes flashed with irritation.
“I feel more alive today than I have in twenty years.” She indicated the stranger with a sweep of her arm. “This is Burke Lee Creed. He’s flown here from his detective agency in Florida to solve Mayla’s murder and bring her killer to justice. I saved a whole box of statements, reports, and documents from the fire at the assisted living center. I’ll give him the box of information about the murder.”
She spun on her heel. “Burke Lee, meet Clay Napier and Althea Flaxton, my very dear friends. Althea is also the celebrated lady novelist, Seretha Ranier. I’m hoping to convince her to write a book about my daughter’s murder. Your capture of the killer will be the perfect ending.”
“Pleased to meet you.” His voice was pitched so low it was nearly a growl. In a surprisingly graceful move, he stood. His tall frame was covered in a long, black leather coat, the hem hitting his knees. He appeared to be in his early forties, his thin, lightly lined face all angles in the pool of light. His chin jutted and his nose thinned to a point. His hair was white and thick, as fluffy as a summer dandelion. A black scarf wound around his neck, the fringed ends trailing down his coat like baby snakes. The black jeans were inky, seeming to absorb the light. “I love—I mean, my mother loves your romantic novels, Miss Ranier.”
“Althea, please.” She kept her face composed and her voice steady. Inwardly, she felt like wringing Berea’s neck.
“Burke Lee solved a cold case which stymied the police for nearly thirty years,” Berea said. “A young girl was killed in the basement of her house. Police combed for evidence, interviewed suspects, and followed leads. The police gave up and filed the case as unsolved.”
Berea paused, waiting for comment. When no one spoke, she continued. “Years later, Burke Lee was hired by the family. He figured out the murderer was the girl’s perverted uncle. He’d molested the girl, she’d threatened to tell, and he killed her to keep her quiet. Burke Lee brought him to justice. There was even a made-for-TV movie about the case.”
“At times, a fresh pair of eyes can see what others cannot.” Burke Lee slid his hands into his pockets.
Berea picked up her silver pointer from the coffee table. Like a magician weaving a spell, she tapped Clay and Althea’s heads with the pointer.
Clay and Althea yelped.
Berea ignored them. “Clay and Althea have solved tons of murders and brought desperate criminals to justice.”
She touched Burke Lee’s white hair with the pointer. “Burke Lee, I want you to consult with Clay and Althea on Mayla’s case.”
Clay rose from the couch and nimbly swiped the pointer from Berea’s hand. “Mrs. Kenton, I’m not a detective. Last spring and summer, I merely got caught up in the circumstances. I don’t seek the chaos; rather, I crave peace and order. Therefore, I must decline your request.” He turned to Althea. “Thea, I won’t speak for you.”
Tears gathered in Althea’s eyes.
At least he’s calling me Thea. When he calls me Althea, it sounds so chilly and formal.
She rose from her seat. “I agree with Clay. We’ll leave it to the expert.” She smiled at Burke Lee.
Burke Lee smiled back in relief. “That’s settled—”
Berea Kenton stamped her foot. The gesture was lost in the thick carpet. “This is not a request, Clay and Althea.” Her eyes glowed like hot coals in her pale face and her fists clenched. “You will all three work together.”
Clay placed his body between Berea and Althea. “Berea, are you well? Just six months ago, you were in a wheelchair, unaware of your surroundings and not able to care for yourself.”
Berea visibly quelled her temper. “That witch at the nursing home had me on medications to keep me confused and disoriented. Once I was off the medications, I was fine.”
A crashing sound came from a corner of the suite.
Burke Lee leaped to the closed bedroom door and gripped the gold knob. “Mrs. Kenton, are you alone?”
Berea’s thin body straightened in outrage. “Of course I’m alone.”
His shoulders squared, Burke Lee twisted the knob.
“Don’t go in there—”
His body an inky column of tension, Burke Lee eased to the doorframe and threw the door open.
A small body streaked from the bedroom. It launched itself from the floor to Berea’s arms. “My sweet little Princess!” The old woman buried her flushed face in the dog’s thick fur.
Burke Lee stared at the dog in Berea’s arms. He staggered back and fell heavily against the couch. He covered his face with his shaking hands.
Althea touched his hunched shoulder. She felt a faint sense of surprise when she realized there was padding under the leather.
Perhaps he thinks his shoulders are too narrow and feels self-conscious about them.
“Are you afraid of dogs, Burke Lee? Shall I ask Berea to put the dog back in the bedroom?”
As if it required superhuman effort, Burke Lee lowered his shaking hands.
“Nonsense.” Berea shook the dog’s paw at Burke Lee. “Princess is the sweetest and most beautiful Pomeranian in the world. She’s as scary as a feather duster.” She slid nearer to Burke Lee. His face tightened.
Clay blocked her path. “Mrs. Kenton, the hotel has a strict policy against dogs on the premises. She can’t stay here.”
“The hotel is run by a bunch of ostriches with their heads in the sand. Everyone knows the world is becoming more pet friendly. If they want to stay in business, they’ll have to open the hotel to the four-footed sector.” Berea laughed when Princess licked her wrinkled cheek.
Burke Lee rose from the couch and walked unsteadily to the door, swinging in a wide arc around Berea and the dog.
Berea frowned. “Burke Lee, you’ll have to learn to work with Princess. And you will too, Althea. She’s central to Mayla’s story. Before my daughter’s death, we had a wonderful little Pomeranian named, of course, Princess.” The age-spotted hands tightened on the little body. “Princess died in the fire with my daughter.”
Burke Lee’s body was stiff. “Let’s meet in the morning, Mrs. Kenton. We can decide on our next steps. I also have documents for you to sign. I don’t think we need… Princess… in the meeting.”
* * * * *
In the corridor, Althea shuddered. “I thought Berea was going to throw a hissy fit when we said we wouldn’t help solve the murder. I was a little afraid of her. She’s become a fanatic over her daughter’s murder. I was glad the dog’s appearance sidetracked her from her tantrum.”
“Since we’ve known her, she’s been obsessed with finding the killer. Now, she’s obsessed
and
a millionaire.” Clay started to take her hand. He sighed, his hand falling to his side.
“Clay, please don’t be angry with me.”
“Thea, I’m not angry with you.” His gray eyes were as melancholy as a rain-misted sky. “The issue is between you and Marisa.”
Althea watched as he strode away. His shoulders were set and his back was ramrod straight as he disappeared around the corner. She wondered if he was slipping away forever.
* * * * *
In the dim pool of light cast by her reading lamp, Althea bent over the typewriter.
Marisa.
A spasm of pain brought tears to her eyes and despair to her heart.
I miss her so much. She’s the child I never had. Can we ever get back our warm, easy, loving relationship? Or is it gone forever?
She thought about Clay’s comments. She lightly tapped her fingers on the keys without typing as she racked her brain.
What is the nature of honor?
She blinked the tears from her eyes.
Is it intrinsic, something within the heart and mind? Or is it extrinsic, molded by the culture and subject to its mores?
Her fingers nimbly flew across the keys of the ancient manual typewriter.
An Alien Act of Honor
By Seretha Ranier
Part One
“We’re not here to question you again about your husband’s murder, Mrs. Brooks. The sheriff’s office dispatcher received several irate phone calls this morning about a flying object headed for your pond.” His broad shoulders hunched under the thick, aviator-style navy uniform jacket, Sheriff Norton tugged the wide brim of his hat further over his eyes to protect them from the swirling snow.
Shivering in the wind tunnel created by the open door to the dim entryway of the old Kentucky farmhouse, Mae Rue Conner Brooks frowned in disbelief. “You want to check my pond for a UFO?”
A maelstrom of snow swirled across the wide front porch. Sheriff Norton pivoted his back to the wind as his tall deputy slammed a fist the size of a country ham to the top of his hat to anchor it.
The sheriff’s dark gaze swept over her from her messy brown hair to her bare feet. “Mrs. Brooks, isn’t that the same black dress you wore a week ago to your husband’s funeral?”
The sheriff’s gentle tone, contrasting with his former barks and growls of interrogation, brought tears to Mae Rue’s tired eyes.
His round red face twisted into a knowing smirk, the deputy gestured at her wrinkled dress with his free hand. “She heard the police car, ran to change into her widow’s weeds, and sniffed an onion to bring on the fake tears.”
Mae Rue started to close the heavy front door. “It’s bad enough you hound me about Jeremy’s death, as if you could seriously think that I shot my husband with his own gun in his man-cave cabin on the far edge of the farm. Now, you want to use this flimsy UFO pretext to poke around the land.”
A heavy boot jammed into the narrowing space between the door and the frame. “Deputy Blackburn.” She glared at the figure towering next to the sheriff like a creature hovering over its mad scientist creator. “Remove your foot from my door before I fetch the axe and remove it from your ankle.”
Sheriff Norton was authoritative. “Mrs. Brooks, we have to check the area around the pond. If a small aircraft crashed, then people could be hurt.”
Mae Rue stiffened in disbelief. “I didn’t hear or see a thing. You want to look for evidence I’m guilty, without a search warrant. If you don’t leave, I’ll call an attorney. I’ll also file a civil lawsuit against you and the Sheriff’s Department for trespassing and harassment.”
Mae Rae patted her dress.
Damn it, my cell phone’s in my purse,
she thought.
It’s difficult to make a grand gesture if I have to scurry to the kitchen for it.
Sheriff Norton leaned into the narrow opening. “Most of the townspeople think you’re a murderer. Do you really want the rest of them to turn against you because you can’t show even a small amount of compassion for possible accident victims on your dead husband’s land?” His dark brown eyes glittered. “If there’s a trial, this town will be the source of the jury pool.”
Mae Rue’s thoughts raced.
What if people are lying in a field, hurt? He’s already convinced I’m guilty of killing my husband. Letting him check the property is not going to change his mind one way or the other. And he won’t find anything to hurt me.
“Sheriff, you and your minion wait while I change. I’ll take you to the pond.” As she closed the door, Mae Rue heard the deputy ask his boss: “What’s a minion? Is that a cartoon character?”
Part Two
The trio rounded the house, their boots sinking in the soft drifts of snow. Sheriff Norton stopped abruptly, his deputy plowing into him like a stocky Guernsey steer running into a thoroughbred stallion. “What the hell?” The sheriff pivoted toward Mae Rue, his face as frozen as the icicles hanging from the broken eaves of the house.