There was a loud pounding sound.
The phone rang.
The banging happened again.
The phone rang.
Fumbling in the dark, he reached out and slapped at his touch sensitive lamp. It flickered on. Squinting, he glanced at the clock - 12:45.
The phone rang.
The incessant thumping continued.
He swung his legs out of bed, ignoring the phone, dragged his hand over his face and stood up.
"Mr. Lund, open this door. It's me, Bailey Saunders. I need to talk to you. I need to talk to you about my mom. I think she knew stuff. Important stuff. Stuff that could get one killed." Her voice drifted in, through his open second story window.
He jerked upright, frozen for a moment before sinking weakly to the bed. Realizing his wife wasn't complaining about the noise, he rose and walked across the hall to her bedroom. He briefly knocked before opening her door. In that moment, it dawned on him that she was at her sister's for the weekend. Overcome with relief, he walked back to his room and slumped against the door frame.
"Open up. Please! This is important."
He went into his bathroom, grabbed his robe and tied it around him. Annoyed at not having the opportunity to at least get dressed, he took his time, going down the stairs. He schooled his face into one of concern, before pulling open the door.
"Miss Saunders, please don't take this wrong but call me in the morning and I'd be more than happy to make an appointment with you, to discuss whatever is causing you so much distress." His white knuckles clung to the back of the door, while he smiled at her reassuringly.
She tilted her head sideways and stared at him for a full minute before addressing him. "You've known my mom a long time."
His mind quickly reviewed the odds that answering that would backfire on him. "Y-yes."
She moved a little closer. "A very long time."
The way she said it, sent shivers up his spine and his bowels to almost empty. He stepped back and started to close the door. "Really. Call me in the morning. We can go down memory-"
She shoved him back and slammed the door behind her. Leaning against it she stared at him. "Let me tell you something about myself, Mr. Lund. I'm a very good judge of character. I know that when a man is sugary sweet to you that he wants something, usually it's to steal you blind. I know that when a man puts his hand on the thigh of an eight year old?" She stared pointedly at him.
He gulped. How could she know? She had the picture. He should have told Payme to remove the problem, not follow it.
"He's not looking for the Boy Scout badge. No, he wants to be the one to initiate that young virgin into the real world. And I know when someone is being honest with me."
Walking past him, she turned into the first room on the left. Not sure what to do, he followed her. She was already helping herself to his Port. The way she was gulping his $49,000 1943 bottle, instantly enraged him. His blood pounded through his arteries and exploded in his face, in a radiant heat. He reminded himself that, she was just a street hustler but none were better than he was. You may drink my special brew but you will never be my equal.
Swallowing his anger, he used it to straighten his spine and with several deep breaths, he was able to bring his blood pressure back under control. He walked over to where she was standing by his dark maple liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers of his best Scotch. Her eyes never left his face as he swirled the drink before taking a small drink. Instantly he felt himself relax. He was back in control.
Maybe she'll learn a few refined skills.
He moved over to his fireplace and with the flip of a switch, it burst into flames. Warmth permeated the room. He settled into his high back leather chair, facing the fire.
"Come join me, my dear. I've learned that life is too short to get stressed over the little stuff." He smiled winningly at her.
She moved to the other chair that was placed similarly to his. Slowly he sank back into the comfort. He turned to look at her. She was staring at the flames, lost in thought.
"So what can I do for you, dear? I know this is a tough time for you. If you want I can have someone come and pack at the house for you. I know you said no before but really it's never easy to do at any time. But during these kinds of times I know how difficult it can be."
"No."
She didn't even turn her head to address him. With a hand shaky with anger at her social faux pas, he took a sip of his drink. The rich, smooth taste slid down his throat. It started with a tingly feeling and exploded into an array of flavor. He closed his eyes as he let himself get lost in the sensation, allowing only a tiny shudder.
He set his glass on his custom designed maple table, with its engraved vines of leaves climbing up the pedestal to the orchid shaped top with a glass cover. He rubbed his fingers back and forth over the smooth surface. Of all his collection, this was his prize. Having the artist die while making it had made him the talk of the town. Not that he hadn't been before but it had always been because of his relationship to the Filmores, his multi-multi-multi-millionaire in-laws who were so rich, partly because of him. The fact that they'd started with millions and had thrived without him was of no importance. He'd been the reason they were so successful at taking over small companies, revamping them and selling them for a whopping amount of money.
As a token they'd given him a commission, not part of the business that he felt was his due. So he'd had to find his own wealth, his own sideline. He tapped the antique beside him. His thoughts returned to it. His 'friends', really wealthy men who were in the same game of one-upmanship he was, envied him the rare piece which alone would be worth millions one day, might be already. It was his insurance policy in case he had to leave in a hurry and wanted more liquid money quickly. He had four guys bidding for it. Had been for years. One day soon, one might be the winner.
"You said the cops would be interested in my past. I think you have?"
She waved her hand at him. "I just needed to get your attention so you'd let me in."
Allowing a tiny inner sigh of relief, he smoothed his hand over his silk robe, not unlike one worn by Hugh Heffner. A man he felt he emulated in many ways - quiet, suave, sophisticated. The part he hadn't quite mastered, was the 'I don't give a damn what people are saying about me'. Slowly he sat up and faced his now quiet, uninvited guest. He wasn't quite ready to believe she knew nothing about the relationship he had with her mother. She turned to look at him. The side of her face was swollen and red. Blood was caked around the edge of her nostril.
He frowned, wondering if his guy had gotten into a tussle with her. "My dear, what happened? Let me get some ice for that."
She waved him off and stood. "I'm fine. Here's what I need to know." She smiled in a way that made his stomach flop as though going down the twenty story Drop of Doom ride his grandkids loved.
"You're the man who used to meet us each summer. I was maybe five the last time I saw you. It was at a cabin somewhere. I need to know what was going on with my mother. What relationship did you have with her?"
He stared at the flames. "We were old acquaintances. I've known her a long time. Yes. You and she used to come to a cabin I owned in northern Alberta." He looked at her and smiled. "Those were great times. You were such a daredevil child. Always on the go. You used to love me taking you out on my fishing boat. You'd scream with joy."
Her eyes now held the gleam of restored memories but her shoulders slumped. "That's it? You were friends?"
He leaned forward. "Yes, dear. What were you looking for, something a little more clandestine?"
A sad smile curved her lips.
He wasn't sure what to make of it. "Your mom was a good person. We kept in touch for a while but she moved so much I only saw her a few times. Well, up until the last six months." He looked at her with understanding. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
Feeling better than he had in a long time, he looked compassionately at her. "Your mom really wasn't one to keep much, was she? Will
the cleaning up take you very long?"
She shook her head as she stared at the liquid swishing around the glass in her hand. "No. I'm pretty much done. I just need to have the secondhand place come and pick up most of the stuff. The rest is garbage."
"You know there used to be pictures of when you used to join me at the cabin. I've since sold that place but would love those pictures."
Her blue eyes glaciated. "Pictures? You've got to be kidding. There are no photos, paintings, drawings. Nothing. Never has been. If there ever were any, she got rid of them a long time ago. There aren't any pictures of anything." She jumped to her feet, eyes wide, chest heaving. Then she stopped and stared off into space for a minute. "That's not true. There was one. Once. Mom kept it carefully wrapped. She'd take it out every now and then and look at it. Then one day she just ripped it to shreds. She said something like, enough of the lies, you'll never hurt me again." Bailey paused. "Then she set the pieces on a plate, took out her lighter, lit it on fire and watched it burn. Tears were streaming down her face. It was odd. I never understood it. And she never talked about it."
Lund was leaning so far forward he was on the verge of falling out of his chair. "Di?"
He cleared his throat. "D-did you ever, umm, see the picture?"
"No. She never let me see it. I peeked over her shoulder one time though, when she wasn't paying attention."
"And?"
When her head whipped around and she frowned at him, he realized his mistake. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to sound so harsh, I just got caught up in the story. Please continue."
She focused on him, for a few more seconds. He did everything in his power not to fidget, a habit of his wife's he detested. He continued his polished look, one that people often saw as genuine sincerity and understanding but what was really his, I-don't-give-a-damn-get-on-with-it-and-what's-in-it-for-me, lawyer contrite look.
"It was grainy, old and black and white. No, maybe it was in color but it was dull. I think there were people in it but it was so worn, crumpled and creased. That's all I could tell. It was a very quick glance. She noticed me right away and gave me hell."
Lund blew out his held breath. "I'm sorry to hear that. No other pictures, eh? I guess with moving so much it was hard to keep anything."
"There's nothing of me growing up. Nothing of mine." Sighing she looked at him for several minutes before turning, only to stop and face him again. "Where's my mom's money?"
"What?" He worked very hard to keep his eyebrows from shooting into his hairline. He jammed his fists into the pockets of his silk robe.
"Where's the money she was making from the store?"
He tilted his head slightly and gave her his genuine, caring look. "My dear. I'm not sure what your mother told you but she really wasn't all that good with finances. It slipped through her fingers like oil. She loved to spend it on extravagant stuff. Why that chocolate alone she bought cost a small fortune." However, she did make me a few dollars. I do have a nice bit of cash put away thanks to her. "You see, I gave her the loan for the store and I just couldn't curb her spending. I know she'd had it tough for years so I felt I should indulge her some. Not a good way to run a business. But I'm glad I did it. Who knew she'd have such a short time on earth." He got up and reached out to pat her on the shoulder but she side-stepped him. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to smile. "I'm really sorry, dear."
She hesitated at the door but didn't even have the decency to turn and face him before talking.
"Uhm, do you have a bathroom I could borrow?"
Knowing that he'd successfully diverted her questions and laid to rest any anxiety she may have had, he figured he could meet that one request.
"Just down the hall, second door on your left."
"Thanks." She started to turn but turned back. "I don't know how to say this but, well? I have?"
"What, dear?"
"Well I have, you know, cramps. It's my time of the month. I don't think I have anything to use."
He had a hard time containing his disgust.
"I feel like I'm kind of leaking. It's so gross. But I just don't know what to do. Would your wife or kids have any tam-"
Horrified, he waved her away. There was nothing he hated more than hearing about women's issues. "Upstairs. My wife's bathroom is the third door on the right. She keeps supplies for when the girls come. Look in the big cupboard."
He shuddered as she walked away and headed up the ornate, curving oak stairs. Turning, he went back to his chair by the fire and took the first calm breath he'd had in more than six months, since Donna had shown up at his office demanding some answers. Picking up his glass, he allowed himself to indulge in his luxuries.
The picture is gone.
Instantly he felt annoyed at being duped by Donna again, after all these years. She'd brought him a photocopy. She'd sworn she'd destroy the picture and that was the only copy. Someone looking at it wouldn't have been able to see much in the grainy reprint. But it had been enough to get his back up. If she hadn't been dying?
He could barely contain his laughter, as he thought about the ten thousand dollars he'd given her three months before, to get her to leave him alone. She'd been satisfied with that. He was just glad she'd been so gullible. It had been easy to lie to her all those years and even at the end when she'd come saying she'd expose him if he didn't give her more money. It had really been his delight to know that she had been on death's door. So he'd been generous, he'd given her the cash and he'd agreed to ensure her funeral was organized and paid for. He just never said it would be by him. The owner of the funeral home had a few dark secrets and had been more than willing to foot the bill in exchange for Lund's silence. He just hoped the funeral had been lavish enough.
Knowing he was free of Donna and her threats, he let himself relax. He should have known she'd been playing him all these years. Thinking back, he realized he liked the little bit of danger that she'd posed. He'd only ever had to give her enough. Enough money to survive on, while on the run. Enough warning that her husband was tracking her down. Enough information for her to understand that her husband was watching the border so she couldn't leave the country. Enough lies to keep her right where he could keep an eye on her. And she always bought that he'd sent a cheque to the last address and if she hadn't cashed it, someone had. How did he know she wasn't scamming him? He'd played her so well. He'd known or been ninety-five percent sure she'd never have really gone through with making that photo of him public. Besides she'd given him more crooked federal politicians, along with doctors, lawyers, judges, too many well paid people for him to keep track. Some of them still had a guilty enough conscience that they were still paying, even though they were no longer in the public eye.
He sipped at his scotch, his eyes glancing at the door that Bailey had left through. He wondered what the little snot would do if he told her he'd forged her birth certificate. The thought of letting that piece of information out, was tempting. The fun he could have withholding her true identity. He didn't know who she really was but neither did she and never would. Donna had never said where she'd gotten the baby and frankly he hadn't cared. Smiling to himself, he slowly drank the rest of the Scotch that he'd had to bid on and pay an exorbitant amount for. Scotch that not even his wife knew he owned.
Since no one had found out about him in over forty-five years, since his first 'experience', he didn't know why he'd worried so much. It really was a blessing that Donna had that picture and not her husband. He would have blackmailed him for every dime he had and then made it public knowledge, gloating in being able to bring him down.
Uh, but they lost.
He smiled the first genuine smile he'd had in a very long time.
He was safe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN