Mostly Perfect

by Heather B. Moore

  The men who married Ambrose women died young. All of them.

  All the way from her great-great grandfather, George Ambrose’s early death, down to her own father, who had been only thirty-six.

  Her mother had married multiple times, had even more boyfriends than Lauren could remember, and so as soon as possible Lauren and her sisters were out living on their own. Which was part of why Lauren didn’t have much communication with any of her siblings. Different fathers, multiple homes, living under the shadow of what seemed to be a curse, didn’t encourage much family affection.

  None of her sisters or half-sisters had dared to marry.

  A black Cadillac slowed in front of the bed-and-breakfast.

  Lauren rose to her feet as Shelton climbed out. He crossed to her, limping as usual, his nearly bald head shining beneath the sun. Shelton’s age had always seemed indeterminable, but Lauren guessed him to be in his mid-sixties.

  “How are you, darlin’?” Shelton asked, stopping to grasp her hands.

  Lauren squeezed his hands. “Fine. It’s great to see you.”

  Shelton grinned his gap-toothed smile. “You too, doll.”

  He never held back on the endearments, and Lauren didn’t mind them coming from him.

  “Now, let me help you there,” he said, turning to the suitcase.

  “I’ve got it,” Lauren said, picking it up. “Just open the trunk.”

  Once they were on the road, Lauren started with the questions. “Are any of my sisters here?”

  “Sofia is, of course,” Shelton said. “Mrs. Ambrose only requested that you and Sofia be present, since she’s the owner, and you are, the majority shareholder.”

  “So this is about business, then?” Lauren said. “Grandmother’s health is all right?”

  “She’s still ticking,” Shelton said, a smile in his voice.

  When they turned onto the winding driveway that led through a copse of flowering trees to the estate house, Lauren felt both a sense of coming home and an increased anxiety about what this could all mean.

  A sloping lawn led up to the stately mansion that had more rooms inside than anyone knew what to do with. Even when Lauren was a child, her grandmother had kept most of the rooms closed off. Lauren and her sisters had spent hours playing hide-and-seek or daring each other to go into one of the deserted rooms in the dark. Either that or the family graveyard that was behind the house.

  Now, the mansion loomed before her, looking a bit run-down in the brightness of the afternoon. Shelton pulled around to the massive four-car garage—something her grandmother had added to when Lauren was a kid.

  “I’ll take in your suitcase if you want to go to your grandmother directly,” Shelton said.

  Lauren exhaled. “Okay, I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  Shelton nodded, and Lauren climbed out of the car.

  She walked around the front of the house by habit. The side entrance had always been reserved for the employees of the household. As Lauren stepped into the cool interior of the massive hall, with a crystal chandelier above, her gaze went directly to the curved staircase that led to the second floor, where her grandmother’s suite occupied one of the wings.

  The place smelled like a mix of furniture polish and dried lavender, bringing back more memories of her childhood. She wondered if the taxidermy animals were still in the library and if the dumbwaiter still creaked as it moved between the levels of the house.

  She crossed the luxurious carpeting that was sun dappled with the afternoon light coming in through the high windows that followed the staircase. Then she headed up the stairs in the near silence, save for the grandfather clock ticking endlessly. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, voices reached her.

  She heard more than one female voice, and Lauren could only assume Sofia was with their grandmother.

  Lauren headed down the hall to find the French double doors to her grandmother’s suite of rooms open a few inches. So Lauren pushed the door open. Sofia stood in front of the empty marble fireplace. Her beautiful, wavy hair fell elegantly over her shoulders, unlike Lauren’s haphazard tumbled locks. Sofia’s pale skin was delicate and almost ethereal. She was the beauty of the family. And in a damask reclining chair, her grandmother sat with an afghan draped over her legs.

  At first glance, the scene might look tranquil, but Lauren knew that nothing about her grandmother was tranquil.

  Sofia saw her first, and there was no friendly greeting or sisterly embrace.

  “Hello, Lauren,” Sofia said. “Glad you’re here, because our grandmother is about to make a huge mistake.”

  Lauren’s gaze cut to her grandmother—who smiled.

  “Come here, dear,” her grandmother said, as if Sofia hadn’t spoken at all.

  Lauren crossed to her grandmother, feeling her insides go soft at the loving expression on her grandmother’s face. If there was one person in the world who Lauren could say truly cared about her, it was her grandmother.

  Lauren grasped her grandmother’s hands and bent to kiss her cool, papery cheek. The aroma of roses and Grandmother’s favorite Prince Matchabelli perfume greeted her, and Lauren had no doubt that her grandmother was still taking rose-water baths each morning.

  Lillian Ambrose might be a sweet-smelling, mild-expressioned woman, but she had a spine of steel and a heart that never wavered.

  “Sofia arrived a couple of hours ago from Houston,” her grandmother said. “I wanted to wait for your arrival so that I could tell you together, but it seems in my old age, I’ve lost a little of my resolve.”

  This was hard to believe, and Lauren only nodded. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see that you’re healthy and not struck down with some mysterious illness.”

  Sofia scoffed but said nothing.

  Her grandmother’s clear blue eyes gleamed with amusement. “You thought I was calling from my deathbed to give you last words of wisdom?”

  Lauren smiled, although now she realized how foolish that was. If her grandmother was dying, Sofia would have called her. She was the executor of the estate, after all.

  “You were certainly mysterious on the phone.” Lauren released her grandmother’s hands and took the closest chair next to her.

  “Well, you know how I feel about phone calls, dear,” her grandmother said in a lowered voice. “Anyone could be listening.”

  Since her grandmother was a woman who’d had to claw her way up in a man’s business world, Lauren had no doubt that there had been experiences that she knew nothing about. The proverbial glass ceiling was still in place for career women nowadays, but forty years ago, her grandmother had single-handedly grown her oil-rich land into a major contributor in the oil business. She invested her profits into other companies, namely pharmaceuticals, and the dividends continued to pay off.

  “So . . .” Lauren prompted. “What’s going on that’s so important I needed to catch the first flight out of San Diego?”

  “Your mother has hired a ghost hunter.”

  Lauren blinked. “Is that all?” Her mother had hired other ghost hunters in the past to rid the Ambrose estate of the death curse that affected all men married to Ambrose women. Was this time any different?

  “It’s a woman who’s been on that television program,” her grandmother said. “She’s quite famous.”

  Lauren searched her mind for what her grandmother was talking about. Sure, she’d heard of TV series that went to sites of supposed hauntings . . .

  “Granny,” Sofia said. “That’s not what’s important about this meeting. Tell Lauren about the VC.”

  Lauren slowly turned her head to look at her sister. VC could mean only one thing. Her grandmother was in talks with a venture capitalist? One who warranted calling her two granddaughters home?

  “You’re going to sell out?” Lauren asked in a quiet voice. This was something her grandmother had sworn never to do—not in her lifetime—and according to the organizational structure of the company, as long as two out of the six grandd
aughters were alive, there was no way to sell off the company. Only Lillian Ambrose had the power to do that. Recently, Lillian had officially made Sofia the owner of the franchise, but Lillian still had her say as the co-founder of the organization.

  “Partner,” her grandmother said. “The VC has sent scientific research to me that indicates we might still have vast stores of oil on our lands. Modern technology will be able to locate it, and then the oil part of our company moves back into full production.”

  “And this VC . . .” Lauren started. “What’s he asking?”

  “That’s why I want you two girls here,” her grandmother said. “He sent over the details, and we’ll spend tomorrow reviewing them. He’s coming on Friday to meet with me, and I want you both in the meeting with your questions. Sofia is already set against it, and as the new owner of Ambrose Oil, her word is final. But I hope to dissuade Sofia from taking such a hard stance. Thus, we invited you, Lauren.”

  Lauren exhaled.

  “He’s a swindler, Granny,” Sofia said. “I looked him up, and he takes over companies and crushes them. Turns them over to someone else, making money. He’s nothing but a used-car salesman. He doesn’t care about this land or our legacy.”

  Her grandmother was silent for a moment, but Lauren noticed how tightly she gripped the arms of her chair. “Our meeting is at nine a.m. Friday. I expect both of you to have reviewed all materials and be at the meeting.”

  Sofia crossed to the bank of windows and stared out across the winding gardens. “Nicholas Matthews should have stayed in San Diego,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?” Lauren asked.

  When Sofia didn’t answer, Lauren looked at her grandmother. “What’s the VC’s name?”

  Her grandmother met her gaze. “Nicholas Matthews.”

  The Ambrose Library was quaint, and dust particles danced and twirled in the air in front of the bookcase Nick stood in front of. Apparently, this library hadn’t digitalized any texts written by local historians, so literally the only way to read more about Ambrose Estate was to come to the library itself.

  It was all a part of his research, though, and knowledge he wanted to have before his meeting tomorrow. He pulled out a slim volume with a faded blue cover. The Unauthorized Biography of Lillian Ambrose. Nick wondered if Mrs. Ambrose knew this book existed. He opened the cover and read the copyright. Ten years old and published by a press he’d never heard of.

  He took the book to one of the tables by the window and sat down to thumb through it. Information about Lillian Ambrose was hard to come by, but before Nick had gotten his MBA, he’d majored in history. Research was kind of his forte, and he loved the chase for information and obscure details.

  Nick skimmed the first chapter, which covered information he already knew about Lillian. Birth, parents, list of siblings, all long gone now. The second chapter provided nothing new. But he slowed his perusal on the third chapter, where the children of Lillian and her husband, Richard Jacob Millet, were introduced. The couple had had three children, two sons who’d died young, and a daughter named Poppy.

  Nick leaned back in his chair and gazed out the window, not really seeing the small town street beyond. So many deaths, and all males. It was an interesting phenomenon. In fact, in his estimation, no Ambrose man had ever lived past thirty-nine. Nick had read plenty of historical legends and lore over the years, since they seemed to creep into every era and culture. But usually legends were created in order to explain away mysterious situations.

  Nick turned to chapter four. Ah. There it was. The chapter was titled, “The Ambrose Curse.” According to the unauthorized biographer, Mr. Richard Jacob Millet Ambrose had been a hard-headed, controlling businessman who believed that women belonged barefoot and pregnant. Upon his deathbed he made his wife promise to turn over the ownership of the company to his brother. He also forbade her to remarry.

  Lillian Ambrose upheld the edict to not marry, but instead of contacting her brother-in-law or any other in-law, Lillian told no one of her husband’s death. She acted as if he were still alive and running the oil business. She signed his name to every document and communicated through letters. And no one was the wiser. She even added a majority partner to the company—herself—then eventually added her granddaughters.

  And now, Sofia was the named owner of Ambrose Oil, not even Lillian’s own daughter, Poppy. Yet another mystery.

  A movement to his left caught his attention, and he looked up to see a woman step out of one of the book aisles a few rows down. She wore earbuds and carried about five books. The woman’s back was turned toward him as she moved to a table in the corner with a library computer, but her tumble-blonde hair and lithe movements gave her away.

  Lauren Ambrose was in the library.

  He could only see her partial profile, but there was no doubt. Those long lashes, dusky lips, her elegant neck, and her simple, feminine clothing. Her blouse was red and white, a loose bohemian style. Her skirt was long, with tiny red flowers, and reached her ankles. But even all the fabric couldn’t hide her natural curves. She wore wedge sandals, and she crossed her ankles as she started leafing through one of the books on her tables.

  Nick blinked, realizing he was staring. He’d been caught off guard, and he supposed he was curious as well. It was just ironic, that was all. Here he was reading about the Ambrose family, and a family member shows up at the same time.

  Nick returned to the biography and started to read chapter six. It was a detailed description of how Lillian Ambrose grew her business and started investing in pharmaceuticals. All of this Nick knew, and his attention strayed again.

  Lauren typed on the computer keyboard, and although Nick couldn’t see exactly which searches she was typing in, she seemed to be googling for information. Numbers littered the screen, and Nick could tell she’d pulled up a financial site of some sort. She stared at the screen for a couple of moments, then she exhaled loud enough for Nick to hear and dropped her face into her hands.

  Nick stilled. Was something wrong? His simmering curiosity upon seeing her was now burning at full heat. He watched . . . and waited. When she didn’t move for several moments, he felt compelled to cross to her to see if she was all right. But he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. He should mind his own business. In fact, he should leave the library and not bother her at all.

  Yet . . .

  Lauren raised her head and picked up her phone. Then she answered it.

  First, Nick was surprised she’d answer her phone in the quiet of the library. Second, he was immediately riveted to her words.

  “Stop calling me, Kevin,” Lauren said in a hushed voice. “No . . . It doesn’t matter anyway . . . Things are over . . . I’m sorry if you felt like I led you on . . . I’m sorry . . . That won’t make a difference . . . I’m hanging up now . . .”

  She clicked something on her phone, then set it back on the table.

  Nick didn’t move. Now he’d feel terrible if she saw him and realized he’d heard everything.

  He noticed the slight tremble of her hand as she used the mouse to exit out of the screen and type in another search. She continued to click through several links and didn’t appear to be focusing on one particular thing but endlessly scrolling. Too fast to be reading anything or even skimming.

  Maybe Nick could escape down the aisle and she wouldn’t even notice. Or maybe . . . he could pretend that he’d just arrived at the library and hadn’t been sitting there. But something propelled him to stand. He walked over to Lauren, knowing he shouldn’t, but his legs weren’t obeying his mind.

  She looked up, and her lips parted in surprise. Her blue eyes took in the whole of him, which made Nick feel uncommonly warm.

  “Hi, we meet again,” Nick said, lamely. Smoothness with women had never been a weak spot for him, but right now he felt like a fish out of water because of the guilt pounding through his chest. Although he couldn’t exactly explain what sort of guilt that was.

  Instead of returnin
g his greeting, Lauren Ambrose rose to her feet and took a step back. Then she raised her hand and pointed at him. “You need to leave. Now. We don’t want you here, and if you harass my grandmother one more minute, I’m filing a lawsuit.”

  Nick was speechless. The vehemence in her voice was genuine, and the fury in her eyes burned through his chest. “Lauren . . .” he began.

  But she cut him off and moved closer now, bringing with her the scent of wildflowers. “You don’t know me or my family, and men like you only care about one thing. Yourselves. My grandmother might have invited you to present your proposal, but I’m uninviting you.”

  She was close enough that Nick noticed she had at least two different color blues in her eyes, and she was still wearing that silver chain, which once again disappeared beneath the neckline of her blouse.

  “Can we talk?” Nick asked. “I’m happy to answer any questions.”

  “No,” she shot out. She moved away now, and with a final parting look at him, she hurried off. Leaving her books behind.

  Nick debated whether he should chase after her. But through a small-town library? And then what? His gaze cut to the table where she’d been sitting. The titles of the books she’d been looking through were like neon signs. Mergers and Acquisitions. The History of Venture Capitalism. The Oil Industry of the 90s and Beyond.

  Then his eyes connected to the computer screen. His company’s annual financial reports were staring back at him.

  She’d been doing research, all right. On him.

  Lauren didn’t know where she was going, but the last person she wanted to see, or speak to, was Nicholas Matthews. Her cell phone buzzed through the fabric of her bag, and she dug around inside of it, then pulled out her phone. Kevin was calling. Again.

  Now she was angry. Guilt for not breaking things off with him sooner was no longer plaguing her. Yeah, she’d liked him plenty. But now . . . he was only annoying her. The man couldn’t take no for an answer, and she’d only now realized that his personality was pushy all the way around. She knew if she went back through her call and texting log that she’d find that they’d been in contact multiple times a day over the past month of dating. He’d been overwhelming from the beginning, and Lauren had let his attention flatter her.