Authors: Donna Richards
“This morning I didn’t have any trouble with my brakes. But when I came to this stop sign, my car wouldn’t slow down.”
“Are you sure you didn’t step on the gas by accident?” he asked, looking pointedly at her ankle.
“That’s what the policewoman asked. I don’t think she believed me when I said the brakes didn’t work until she tried them herself.”
“She tried them?”
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Angie nodded. “Her foot went right to the floor. No brake fluid, she said.” Angie tilted her head. “I was lucky this intersection is on top of the hill. The car had already slowed a bit before I tried to stop. Fortunately, no one was hurt.”
To be honest, Hank could care less about the people in the other car.
All his emotions and concerns focused on the woman in front of him. A policeman halted traffic and the other injured vehicle limped away from the curb. The approaching tow truck with flashing yellow lights was destined for the Civic.
The policewoman returned Angie’s license along with a citation. Angie directed the tow driver to Classic Limo’s garage. After all the details had been sorted out, she slid into the passenger side of Hank’s car.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said. “You know you can stay at my house.”
“Just take me home.” She sounded tired. “My mother came back this weekend. I won’t be alone.”
He was about to protest. He wasn’t suggesting a lewd rendezvous, just some support. He glanced at her face and the words died in his throat. She looked drawn, defeated, and in no condition for a debate. He started the engine and headed toward her house.
“Darn,” Angie muttered under her breath. As if things weren’t already bad enough, the white limousine parked in her driveway signified they were about to get worse. “Stephen must be visiting. Just what I need, a lecture from both Mom and my brother.”
“Would you like me to come in with you?” Hank asked.
“They’re my family. I can deal with this alone.” In truth, this was one confrontation she didn’t want to deal with by herself, but she’d never admit it. If she did, Hank would stay, and that would definitely fuel the flames. “Thank you for bringing me home, but –-”
“I’d like to meet your mother,” he said.
“This wouldn’t be the best time, Hank. Maybe later.”
Maybe never
, she thought. This relationship can only end in pain. Best to move on.
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“When?”
“I don’t know. Just later.” She reached for the door handle but he grabbed her arm before she could exit.
“When, Angie? Give me a date. Tell me a time when I can see you away from the office. Can’t we be friends again, the way we were before?”
It was tempting to believe nothing had changed. But she knew better.
She knew she wasn’t the same child she was a month earlier.
The front door to her house opened, spilling light out onto the porch.
Her mother stepped outside with a sweater wrapped around her shoulders.
“Angie, is that you? I thought I heard your car.” Little puffs of steam from her breath rose like smoke signals. “Who’s that with you?”
Angie glanced back at Hank. He smiled much as he had the night she had raved about his culinary skills. “Will you do the honors?” he asked.
“Or should I just introduce myself?”
She sighed. “Come along. I’ll introduce you.” She exited the car and hurried up the walkway without waiting. Hank caught up to her at the porch.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet someone. This is my boss, Mr. Henry Renard.”
“Mr. Renard,” her mother nodded, her expression placid. Angie recognized the look from countless bedside vigils and hospital conferences. Her mother hid both tragic secrets and restrained joy behind that reserved mask. Which was it this time? The clue to her mother’s true feelings lay in her eyes. Many people assumed Angie inherited her analytical skills from her father, but she knew better. One had only to watch her mother’s eyes to see true critical assessment.
Tonight, however, the porch light didn’t reach her mother’s face, making close observation impossible. Angie couldn’t tell whether or not her mother approved of the man beside her. But then, what did it matter? There would be no future with Hank Renard.
“Angela, where’s your car?” her mother asked.
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She cringed. “It’s kind of a long story…”
“Then you better come inside before you catch your death of cold,”
her mother directed. Angie started up the steps while Hank hesitated.
“You too, Mr. Renard.”
Once inside, Angie and Hank repeatedly bumped elbows as they both tried to remove their coats in the tiny hallway. “I expected you home earlier.” Her mother held out coat hangers for the both of them.
“I did lose track of time at Hayden, but that’s not the reason I’m late.”
Angie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction. “I had a car accident.”
“An accident? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she recited, making her way down the hall. She glanced at the empty sitting room. Her brother must be waiting in the kitchen. No sense rehashing the details twice. She’d tell them both about the brakes and then hustle Hank out the door. “Before you start on me, Stephen, I want you to know –-”
Raymond sat at the scarred kitchen table, cradling a Classic Limo mug. A sudden shiver raised goosebumps on her arms.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Stephen?”
Raymond raised an eyebrow, glancing about the room. “Not here.”
“I can see that.” Hank stood at her back. She fought an odd urge to lean back and surround herself with his strength and warmth. She reminded herself that Raymond was no threat. He was just a driver.
Still…he shouldn’t be here.
“I see you’ve met Raymond,” her mother said from behind them. “He volunteered to bring me home from the quilt store when I couldn’t reach you. So are we going to stand around, or sit like civilized human beings?”
A distinctive scratch on the back door announced Oreo’s impatience.
Angie crossed the room to open the back door. Oreo burst into the kitchen in a flying mass of black and white, working the room for attention before until settling down by Hank’s leg. Her mother poured coffee while Angie reiterated the details of her accident.
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“And no one was hurt?” Raymond asked. She shook her head.
“It was probably a good thing that you left so late,” Hank added.
“Just an hour earlier and the rush hour traffic would have been heavier.
It could have been much worse.”
“Speaking of leaving, it’s time I move on.” Raymond rose from the table. “Thank you for your hospitality.” Her mother followed Raymond to the door. Angie remained rooted to her chair.
“Such a polite, young man.” Her mother said on her return. “I know Stephen depends a great deal on him.”
“I suppose it’s time for me to be going also.” Hank turned to Angie’s mother. “Mrs. Blake, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps, in the future, we can—”
“I’ll show you out.” Angie said on a rush of breath. She certainly didn’t want him infusing himself into her family. Now was the time to tell him so. She handed him his coat from the hall closet and slipped on her own. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she called to her mother. They exited the front door with Oreo at their heels.
“Thanks for stopping when you saw my car.” She paused on the front porch to wrap a scarf around her neck. “But why were you driving down Schrock Road? Don’t you normally take the parkway further north?”
“You stayed locked in that office all day. I wanted to stop by and see if you found anything.”
She glanced over at him. “You could have waited until tomorrow. If I find anything important, you’ll be the first to know. I told you our arrangement is to be strictly business. That means no after-hours social calls and no family meetings.”
His broad shoulders, emphasized by the brushed camel coat, drooped a bit under her harsh criticism. She instantly regretted her words. He gave her a job, he always seemed to be there when she needed him, and all he had asked for in return was friendship. He shouldn’t be blamed for her unrealistic expectations. She recanted. “But as you asked…”
They walked down the long driveway devoid of the white limousine.
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trying to track the sale of merchandise that is delivered to the Ritchton warehouse. So far, I’ve only managed to confirm about forty percent of the sales. If my numbers are right, that warehouse should be stuffed to the rafters.”
“That’s no problem,” he said. “We’ll go down there tomorrow and check it out.”
“Not so fast. I think someone inside Hayden is behind all this. Several people are involved in buying inventory. With desktop publishing, it would be a snap to phony up necessary paper to cover their tracks. Or they could move merchandise from one location to another. If we tip our hand by visiting the warehouse, we may never find out who’s behind this.” Oreo dashed ahead to dribble at the base of a light post. It never ceased to amaze her how much one dog bladder could hold.
Hank stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “I can’t exactly sit around and let someone steal the company blind.”
“You could take an inventory count,” Angie said. “The count would quantify the problem. Besides the billings would have to be current to maintain a good cutoff, and that would force the direct ship billings to be processed so we could see if there’s a problem. Plus, if Hayden inventory is being maintained off site, we’ll have a valid reason to inspect and count it.”
“Tom Wilson was planning a physical inventory for the end of December. Can we take one sooner? I don’t want to let these people steal for two more months before we do something about it.”
A car veered down the quiet street. Angie called Oreo back to her side to deter her from chasing after the speeding car. An explosion blasted from the side window of the car. Oreo yelped.
“My God!” she yelled as each house up and down the street turned on their lights. Neighborhood dogs barked in a lively cacophony. “What was that?”
Her answer lay in a quiet bundle of fur lying on the ground. “Oreo!”
she cried, rushing to her pet. Hank beat her there. The too familiar stench of blood rose to her nose.
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“She’s been shot,” Hank said. “Is there a vet somewhere nearby?”
“There’s an emergency animal clinic not far from here,” she said, kneeling down to get close to the wounded dog. She lifted Oreo’s head into her lap.
Her mother shouted something from the porch. Hank yelled back and took off in a run. Big sorrowful brown eyes gazed up at her. “Sssh, puppy. You’ll be all right,” she cooed, stroking the dog’s head. A tear dropped on the dog’s nose.
“Wrap this around her to stop the bleeding.” Hank spread one of her mother’s old quilts on the grass before gently lifting and placing the dog on it. He wrapped the quilt securely around the injured animal, and after Angie was situated in the car, placed the dog in her arms.
Police sirens sounded in the distance but Hank and Angie didn’t wait.
Hank sped off while Angie shouted directions from the back seat.
She cradled and cooed to the dog as if she were a child. Oreo’s glazed eyes and soft whimpers tore at her heart. “Why would anyone want to hurt you? Why would someone shoot my dog?”
“Maybe they weren’t aiming at Oreo.” Angie saw Hank’s face clench in a grim frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe they meant to shoot me…or you.”
“No, why would anyone…?” She didn’t finish the question. It was becoming a too familiar refrain. All these “accidents” couldn’t be coincidental. But why were they happening at all?
Hank pulled up to the emergency clinic entrance and they carried Oreo inside. The veterinarian took the dog out of Angie’s arms and rushed behind swinging doors. Hank and Angie waited in silence for the vet’s prognosis.
The captive stench of dog urine and disinfectant inside the clinic burned her eyes, so she closed them for increasing stretches of time. The long stressful day pulled heavily at her limbs, and the eerie late night quiet of the waiting room lulled her senses.
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“Angie, we have to talk,” Hank said, his voice deeper and closer than she’d anticipated.
She lifted her heavy lids, surprised to discover her head on his shoulder. “Bout whaaat?”
“Wake up now, this is serious.”
She rubbed at the corners of her eyes. “Can we get some fresh air?
Clear my head?”
Hank told the receptionist that they’d be just outside if needed. Angie stretched, waiting for Hank before they exited at a far more leisurely pace than they had arrived.
Cold air washed over her face, invigorating her brain. Hank sat on a bench just outside the main entrance to the animal hospital. After a brief spell of arm swinging and stretching, she settled next to him.
“Do you still carry a supply of medications in your purse?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. She nodded. “Because I’ve been thinking you shouldn’t go home tonight.”
“What do you mean?” She asked, irritated. “Where else am I going to go?”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
She audibly sighed. “We’ve been through this before, remember? You met my mother tonight. Have you forgotten already?”
He frowned. “Your mother isn’t going to stop whoever is taking potshots at you. At least, her presence didn’t tonight. They know where you live. I just think you shouldn’t be there when they come calling again.”
The attack tonight frightened her more than she cared to admit. She hadn’t talked to her mother since they had rushed to the hospital, but she imagined the whole incident had frightened her as well. “If it’s too dangerous for me to stay,” she said, “isn’t it too dangerous for my mother as well?”