by Rifi Strawn
Mr. Reed adjusted his blue, silk handkerchief in his black suit pocket. She’d never met a more well-dressed and dignified man. Did he even own a pair of blue jeans? As always, his short, white wavy hair was neatly combed back on his clean-shaven round face. Today his sad, sunken golden-brown eyes stood out on his ruddy complexion. Maybe he missed Aunt Zoie just as much as she did.
He cleared his throat. “Stanley, my dear. Your aunt loved you very much. She made sure you are well-taken care of in her absence.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose to block the tears. “And I love her, too.” Her voice grew heavy with guilt. “I wish there was a direct line to heaven so I could talk to her. I miss her so much.”
Mr. Reed sympathetically squeezed her hand. “Sweetie, you can call me anytime you wish.”
She soaked her tears with a paper napkin. “Thank you.”
He gave her a notarized document. “This is your aunt’s recent financial statement.”
“Is this for real?” She stared at the bottom line.
He chuckled. “Oh, yes.”
On paper, the listed value of her aunt’s multi-million-dollar estate seemed like monopoly money. “There must be a typo or something in these numbers.”
“I can assure you this is no joke,” he said solemnly. “These legal documents bear the official seal of the State of California.”
Stanley looked out the window at the herb garden. “I don’t remember Aunt Zoie growing weed on this farm.”
Mr. Reed gave her another document. “This is what they call a royalty interest in the oil business.” His eyes narrowed. “Zoie never mentioned this to you?”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “She was very private about her financial affairs.”
He nodded. “Five years ago, Zoie struck black gold on her Oklahoma ranch. She was one of the few lucky property owners in Grady County to strike it filthy rich.” His chest puffed. “I helped her sign the deal with a major oil company. Her lucky streak now passes on to you. Zoie inherited her ranch from her parents, and they got it from their ancestors, who claimed their stake in the Oklahoma Land Rush.” He pumped his fist in the air. “Go, Sooners!”
The numbers were unbelievable. “This is all from oil money?”
“Yes,” he grinned. “Those oil wells pump money day and night while you sleep. If the oil company keeps drilling more wells on your ranch, you’ll only get richer.”
She took a deep breath to calm her thumping heart. “I had no clue.”
He cleared his throat. “I told Zoie to keep her new-found wealth under wraps to avoid estranged relatives coming for help, and charities hounding her for donations. I’ve dealt with this sort of stuff for years, and I didn’t want her to go through what some of my other clients did when they struck oil.” He looked her in the eye. “And now you’ll have to safeguard your wealth from the vultures.”
She calmed her rapid breathing. “I can’t believe this.”
He held her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “My dear, you’re one of the luckiest people on this planet!”
She laughed. “This is better than winning the lottery. I want to stand up and do the dance, but this is too good to be true.”
“Dance,” he said. “Here’s your proof.” He gave her the deed for the ranch and a copy of the oil and gas lease. “I have lived off mailbox checks for years. After my parents died, I inherited their Oklahoma ranch. I’m sure Zoie told you we lived next to each other growing up.”
“Yes, I knew that.” Her eyes widened. “Really, I’m worth two-hundred-and-seventy-million dollars?”
“That’s after taxes, my dear.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe this.” Hand on her thumping chest, she took a deep breath. “I could buy my own private jet, a yacht, a small island in the Caribbean, and still have money to play.”
Mr. Reed held his hand up. “One last thing, Stanley Howard. Before you can claim your inheritance, you must fulfill Zoie’s last wish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I knew there was a catch.”
He gave her a sealed envelope. “It’s your aunt’s letter.”
She looked at the familiar handwriting and paused before reading the two-page letter. Tears flowed from the pouring of love on the light blue stationery paper.
Mr. Reed gently rubbed her back. “Zoie was very proud of you,” he said. “I drove her to Berkley when you graduated. We sat in the front row. For days, she bragged to her friends about how smart and beautiful you are.”
Her voice cracked. “Aunt Zoie has always been there for me. Who’ll watch over me now?”
“You can call me anytime,” he said. “I’m here for you whenever you need me. And I mean it when I say, do not hesitate to call me any time of day.”
“Thank you. You’ve always been so sweet to me.” Her fingers traced over the fading black ink on the wooden tabletop. “On that awful night that I lost my parents, Aunt Zoie gave me a pen and paper to draw pictures while she got my room ready. In my grief, I scribbled on this brand-new table instead of the paper. I expected a good spanking, but she gave me a hug. She whispered in my ear, ‘I love you, and I’ll always be here for you no matter how bad things get.’ My aunt kept these marks as a reminder of that promise. At the end of this letter, she made the same promise and said you have instructions for me. So, what’s that about?”
He glanced at the jars of ashes. “Your aunt wanted her ashes spread in the Zambezi River at Victoria Falls in Zambia, Africa.”
Stanley crossed her arms. “Zambia?”
“There’s more.” He leaned forward on the table. “You’re to live there three-months and work as a volunteer at the wildlife sanctuary. No one must know your identity or where you come from. You are to leave your phone and credit cards at home. That means cutting off all communication with your friends and work.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was. You’ll tell friends and colleagues you’re traveling to remote parts of the world to discover new anti-aging formulas to stay ahead of the competition in the beauty business.” She crossed her arms. “I know this day has been overwhelming for you,” he said. “You can’t get the inheritance until you fulfill this obligation,”
“What kind of volunteer job am I expected to do?”
“The manager at the wildlife sanctuary will tell you upon arrival.”
“Aunt Zoie knew how terrified I am of wild animals. Why would she knowingly put me through that?” She stammered. “And-I-can’t live without my phone—it’s my lifeline.” She gave him a skeptical look. “And if I refuse, then what?”
“I’ve been instructed to transfer her entire estate to her favorite charities.” He looked at the calendar on his phone. “Starting today, you have three-and-half months to fulfill this obligation.”
“And who is going to run the company in my absence?”
“Neil Lawson.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Hmm. Neil is more than qualified for the job. We both sat at this table as kids mixing my aunt’s beauty formulas.”
“You two are still close?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I rely on Neil at work more than he’ll ever realize.” She looked over the detailed instructions for the trip. “This is the same trip Aunt Zoie wanted me to take with her before she died. I guess she was going to make me go there any way she could.”
“She must’ve thought you need the break.” He gave her a copy of the deed to a property in Zambia. “Zoie bought the lodge you’ll be staying in.”
Stanley raised her eyebrows. “She must love that place more than this farm. Why couldn’t she have made me spread her ashes somewhere close like on the farm, in Bodega Bay or along the coast?” She sighed. “I swear that lodge in Zambia cast a magic spell on her. I had to practically drag her out of there. Her two-week vacation turned into a four-month sabbatical. And how am I supposed to communicate with you, and pay for things without my credit cards?”
He gave her a prepaid phone and
Zambian currency gift cards. “Use these for emergencies. Your volunteer job provides free room-and-board.”
She scoffed at the twenty-five-hundred-dollar budget. “That’s not enough money to live off for three weeks let alone three months.”
“Things are cheap there, so I’ve heard. You’re supposed to be a struggling woman who has scrounged all her savings to spread your dear aunt’s ashes in the Zambezi River.” He looked at her in envy. “I wish I could trade places with you. I’ve always wanted to see the animals in Africa.”
“I wish you could. I’m terrified of lions, snakes, and crocodiles,” she said. “This is a nightmare come true for me.”
He showed her Plan B. “If you decide not to go to Zambia, you’ll still have the house and farm.”
“Do I get to keep my job?”
“No. The cosmetic company will be sold to the highest bidder, and the proceeds will be donated to the charities.”
She hissed. “I’ve heard some scary stories about misuse of funds for so called worthy causes. If anyone is to misuse my aunt’s hard-earned money, it should be me.”
Mr. Reed packed his things. “Why don’t you sleep on this and call me tomorrow?”
She looked over the oil and gas lease. “I guess I have no choice but to go to Zambia.” She checked the time. “I better schedule a private jet.”
He shook his finger at her. “Sorry. You can’t do that. You’re to travel on a commercial flight in coach with only a carry-on bag.”
“You’re killing me with the rules. It’s a long flight cramped into a small space. And am I supposed to wear the same outfits the entire three months?”
He glanced at her short, black designer dress and knee-high boots. “I doubt the African bush requires a sophisticated wardrobe. Read the packing instructions carefully.”
“I looked over them. They’re very specific. The list said the dresses have to come down to my knees and all the clothes need to be in brown, green, or khaki colors. My staple black and white travel wardrobe wouldn’t work in the bush. I remember Aunt Zoie saying, the white clothes get dirty in no time, and the black and blue clothes absorb heat and attract tsetse flies who can carry the African sleeping sickness…”
“If I were you, I’d stick to that list.” He scratched his forehead to remember more details. “Oh, I forgot. Zoie used your grandmother’s first name. She called herself Daisy in Africa to hide her true identity. I told her it was dangerous for a rich woman to travel alone in a foreign country.”
Stanley rubbed her flushed face. “Augh. This trip sounds like one of Aunt Zoie’s endless scavenger hunts. She’d send me all over this farm to find tiny things. This must be another trick for me to get to know her property in Zambia. I just hope I don’t have to eat any bugs or monkey brains.”
He grinned. “There are no dietary restrictions for this trip.”
On his way out, Mr. Reed looked her in the eye. “Princess, any negligence on your part that breaks the rules will cost you a fortune. You’re allowed two emergency calls during the trip. Use them wisely. You never know who’s listening.”
She let go of Mr. Reed’s warm embrace and smelled his Old Spice cologne on her clothes. It was comforting on this sad, surprising day.
“Keep an open mind, and the time will pass quicker.” He kissed her cheek and left.
The total silence in the house was upsetting. Thank God, Neil and his family had volunteered to clean up the place for her after she finished with Mr. Reed. It was so nice of them to relieve her of this chore.
Grabbing her purse and keys off the table, she walked to the back door. Aunt Zoie’s favorite sweater brushed against her as she passed by a garment stand in the hallway. She took it off the wooden giraffe hook and held the hand-knitted, blue cardigan to her face. Just like her aunt, it smelled of rosemary and mint in her garden.
She wiped her mascara smeared eyes in the hall mirror and reached for the tan, fedora hat hanging on the edge of its frame. She tried it on and tipped the front brim down, just like her aunt did in her pictures from Africa. How did this happen? She looked just like her.
Stanley walked out of the house wearing the fedora. The hat was going with her to Africa for good luck. After loading the car with a tote bag full of important papers and her aunt’s ashes, she sat in her idling black Porsche. Hands gripping the steering wheel, she eyed the rustic home and farm she’d grown up on. Mr. Reed said there was an interested buyer for the place, but she wasn’t ready to sell her lifetime of cherished memories.
On the drive to her penthouse in San Francisco, she glanced at her Aunt Zoie’s ashes in the TSA-sized cosmetic jars rattling in a box in the front passenger seat. She groaned at the sky. Are you trying to punish me or something for that ad? Why else would her aunt strip her identity, stylish clothes and credit cards, and send her to Africa?
Chapter Three
Stanley scooted to the edge of her seat when her connecting flight started to descend toward the airport in Livingstone, Zambia. Heart fluttering, she looked out the window at Victoria Falls and the winding Zambezi River.
The captain’s voice blared on the intercom. “We’re flying over Victoria Falls, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The largest falls in the world are located on the Zambezi River at the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. Victoria Falls are about a mile in width with a drop of more than three hundred feet…Welcome to Livingstone, Zambia. Enjoy your stay.”
She sat in awe at the rising mist and the brilliant rainbow above the thrashing water. They were nothing like she’d ever seen. Such splendor had only occurred in her magical dreams. The vast wetlands and lush green landscape around the mighty falls gave hints of the roaming large animals and safari lodges. The pitched, thatched roofs and earth tone buildings left no doubt she was in Africa—the land her aunt had fallen in love with.
~*~
Stanley rolled her carry-on suitcase to the curb outside the airport. Her lightweight, khaki green shirt stuck to her body in the heat as she reread her printed confirmation from Waterfall Haven Lodge.
She was in the correct pickup spot, but there was no description or name of the person who’d pick her up. Someone could kidnap me, and no one would know. Hidden behind her dark aviator sunglasses, she scanned the buses and vans.
Pulling her aunt’s tan fedora hat from her tote bag, she put it on. Fanning her face with her French manicured hand, she watched another commercial tour company pick up its passengers. She checked the time on her watch. Thirty minutes late. This was no way to make a first impression on a weary guest after a long flight.
Shaking her tired legs one at a time, she got the circulation going. The risk of a possible blood clot traveling up to her heart was at an all-time high. She’d sat cooped up in a tight space for over twenty hours. The man in the front seat reclined too far and practically laid in her lap. To top it off, he snored like a freight train.
She eyed the people around her. Thank God she’d stuck to the packing list for this trip or she would’ve looked like a slut in her usual shorts and sleeveless top. The locals here dressed conservatively in cotton or linen clothing. None of the women wore shorts or halter tops, not even tourists.
Stanley dodged a buzzing fly trying to land on her face. The damn thing wouldn’t leave her alone. When I wished for a tsetse fly to bite me to sleep, I didn’t mean it right now. After a quick glance at the red, burning skin on her arms, she rolled down her long sleeves.
She wished the airport security hadn’t kept her full bottles of organic insect repellent and suntan lotion or she’d use them right now. She’d forgotten the commercial airlines enforced the carryon sizes. If anything, they needed to make a rule that all passengers must wear deodorant or baby powder. She about puked from the horrible body odors surrounding her cramped seat.
A green Land Rover drove by her for the third time. This time, it backed up and stopped in front of her. She fumbled in her purse for the pepper spray. Damn. TSA also kept that.
She clutched her su
itcase handle and looked at the handsome man sticking his head out the window to talk to her. He took off his sunglasses and squinted from the bright sun in his face. “Hello,” he said.
On guard, she took a step back. The dreamy bad guys in movies always charmed the trusting women into ruins.
“Are you Stanley?” he asked.
How did he know her name? Heart racing, she cocked her head. “Maybe.”
“I’m Jeremy Bergen, the manager of Waterfall Haven Lodge.”
His charming accent disarmed her from the irritation of the long delay. “Do you have any identification?”
He pointed to the tiny embroidered logo on his safari shirt pocket. She could barely see the insignia. “Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Yes.” He gave her an ID and a business card from his brown leather wallet.
In one quick glance, she compared his smiling face to the serious man in the license picture. The safari hunk’s ID said he was six-foot-two and a hundred and ninety-five pounds. His dark brown wavy hair and light gray eyes stood out on his tanned face as in his mugshot. If I were manufacturing male safari guide dolls, he’d be the perfect specimen to copy.
Her gaze lingered on his date-of-birth. The thirty-six-year-old was born on July 7th. That would make him a Cancer man, ideal for a Scorpio woman like her. The horoscope mating chart she’d read for fun said these homebody guys were intelligent, passionate lovers, but moody.
She glanced at his manly face. Hmm…He didn’t look like the type who’d sit around sulking like a big baby. And if even he was, he must look damn cute doing it. No one was perfect. “Thank you.” She gave his ID and business cards back. The only flaw she saw in him so far was his lack of care to nourish his skin. He could use their overnight moisturizing cream to soften those fine lines on his forehead and around his eyes. But then again, those light creases could be the reason for his rugged, manly good looks.
She extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Stanley.”
His gentle grip squeezed her hand. “Welcome to Zambia.”
“Thank you.”
