by Maeve Hart
The call ended.
With perfect timing, I got a text from my virtual assistant that she’d set up a meeting with the Devereaus. Looking at the time on my phone, I had an hour to fill in. That would give me enough time to grab something to eat.
When Mr. Devereau opened the door of his apartment, he didn’t look too happy to see me. I walked further inside and I could see Mrs. Devereau wasn’t happy either. They were a wealthy couple and I guessed them to be in their early to mid sixties. When I had quoted on their job weeks before, they’d told me they’d lived in the apartment for a year and were regretting leaving their large home.
“Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“We were having a few disagreements,” Mrs. Devereau admitted.
“Only because you went back on what you said before,” Mr. Devereau snarled.
“I thought you wanted her.”
“I told you I wanted to go with Chelsea.”
This wasn’t good. I hated people arguing and it was even worse they were arguing about me and, worse still, in front of me.
The other decorator they’d mention was Chelsea Adams. I’d lost many jobs to her and I never knew why. The firm she worked for charged more than me and I was convinced she wasn’t nearly as good.
“If it’s not a good time, I’ll come back later.”
“Yes, that might be better.” Mr. Devereau nodded.
“She’s here now, Frank. Just get this over with. You’re always procrastinating about everything.”
“Why are you always disagreeing with me, woman?”
I stepped toward the door. My life was in too much turmoil to referee a train wreck. They were me and Don all over again.
“You’re embarrassing yourself again, Frank. Just like you did with that young woman from down the hall.”
Things were quickly getting ugly. I froze to the spot.
“Nothing happened. I told you I was just in her apartment changing the light bulb.”
I took two more steps backward. “Do you want to call me at a better time?”
Mr. Devereau strode to the door and opened it for me. I turned around and nodded a goodbye to Mrs. Devereau.
“Thanks for coming,” she called after me while Mr. Devereau closed the door.
I stopped still and stared at the door that had just been closed in my face. Opening my own business had seemed a good idea at the time, but no matter how hard I tried I never seemed to get anywhere. I needed a bigger name, or perhaps I’d do better to give up and work for someone else. A salary wouldn’t go astray.
Granny had offered to do a spell to make my income explode and I had said no. It had felt like cheating at the time—I should’ve let her.
I put the Devereaus out of my mind, but I couldn’t help wondering what had really happened with that woman down the hall. Surely no one would’ve found Mr. Devereau attractive. It was kind of funny that Mrs. Devereau was jealous.
My thoughts turned to Don and the letter he’d left me. When had he written it? We’d been dating for two years and he’d never mentioned he’d made a will. I hadn’t thought to make one—most likely because I didn’t have anything to leave anyone.
Curiosity got the better of me and I called Don’s lawyer friend. He’d be the one who’d drawn up the will. We’d met once at a function and Don insisted I keep his number just in case I needed it. I had him in my phone under ‘lawyer.’ Not that having his number had been much use to me when I’d actually needed a lawyer—I couldn’t use him when I was in jail because he mainly dealt with real estate.
I left the apartment building I was in and headed up the road, trying to think of the lawyer’s name. Gordon Thompson. That was it.
I pressed the call button. Since it was his cell phone number, I got through to him right away.
“Gordon, it’s Destiny.”
“Oh, Don’s Destiny?”
“Yes, Destiny Stephens.”
“This is a coincidence. I had you on my list to call this afternoon. Don had entrusted me with a letter and I was to give it to you in the event of his death.”
“I know. Detective Andrews just told me about it. I was wondering if you were the lawyer who had it. Can I come in today and get it?”
“Yes, by all means.”
Chapter 24
When I got to the lawyer’s office barely ten minutes later, the secretary told me he was out and asked me if I was Destiny Stephens. When I said I was, she produced an envelope and asked me to sign for it. I signed and was pleased to see my name in Don’s handwriting on the front. The letter was really from Don and he’d meant the letter for me. I turned it over to see it was sealed.
“Can I do anything else for you?” the secretary asked.
I looked up at her. I’d been standing there staring at the letter a little too long.
“No. Thank you.” I hurried out of the office to find a quiet space to read the letter.
Perhaps it was a check? I doubted that; he wouldn’t have given me anything since we were never married. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have left me money because he would reason I’d marry someone else, which would mean another man would have access to his money.
There was a small park nearby with seats surrounding a circular fountain. It looked the perfect place to read the letter, so I sat down, placing my bag on my lap. I ripped the letter open and saw it was a single page. It had been folded in three and when I unfolded it, I stared at Don’s neat and precise handwriting before I concentrated on the words.
My dearest Destiny,
If you are reading this that means I am no longer around. I have possibly been murdered because I know things.
There are some dangerous people around and you are so naive you wouldn’t realize that those closest to you are people you cannot trust. If anyone tries to befriend you after my death, be wary of them—very wary. Don’t trust anyone.
I gasped and dropped the letter down into my lap. Was he serious or just trying to stop me dating? Noticing I hadn’t finished, I picked the letter up to read the rest.
PS.
If we haven’t gotten married yet and I have given you a ring, kindly return it to my family.
I opened my mouth in shock. “Kindly return it!” I was annoyed at him worried about my hanging on to the ring. Even in death, he was annoying and mean. He’d reached out from the grave to drive another pain through my heart.
“That bastard wants me to return the ring. Well, they can have it.” I’d intended to give it back anyway, but intending and being told are two different things.
A woman sitting close by looked over at me. I’d been talking to myself and not softly. I stared back at her and she looked away.
This is all I had out of the two-year relationship. “He cost me money, he brought me pain, and now he tells me to not trust other people? How about not trusting him?” I had directed the question to the woman near me.
She stood up and moved away.
I had become one of those people who walk the city talking to themselves—only difference was that I was seated.
Don’t trust anyone? If I could wind back the clock, I would never have trusted Don. Why had I loved him? I will never know. As I sat staring at the letter, I was overcome once again with the feeling that my relationship with Don was all about the relationship I’d never had with my father. Deep down I’d always known that, but that never quenched the craving to be appreciated.
I shoved the letter in the envelope and then I remembered Detective Andrews. In my haste to know what was in the letter I’d forgotten my promise to him. “It’s just one thing after another,” I muttered to myself.
I was glad Don was not around to see my failure with the Devereaus. “When is anything ever going to go right for me?” I had asked the question before I remembered something had gone very right for me and that was Jacques Hunter. He was the stuff dreams are made of and he seemed devoted to me.
Even though the police station was a good twenty blocks away, I figured I w
ould walk to help blow off some steam. With every step, I tried my hardest to forgive Don and then I’d feel guilty because if it hadn’t been for me, he might still be alive.
I climbed the front stairs of the police station, forced the door open, and walked up to the front desk.
“Is Detective Andrews in?”
“I’ll just check for you, Miss. Your name?”
“Destiny Stephens.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“He’s expecting to see me at sometime today, but probably not exactly now.”
He pressed the button and made the call. When he hung up the phone’s receiver, he said, “Sit over there and he’ll be out to see you soon.”
Fifteen minutes later, the detective came out and asked me to follow him. I sat down in his office where I’d been earlier that morning.
I pulled the letter out of my bag. “I have it.”
His eyes flew to the envelope and he frowned when he saw it had been opened.
“I’m sorry. I picked it up from the lawyer just now and forgot I wasn’t meant to open it until I got here. There was no official reading of the will, I gathered. The lawyer didn’t mention it if there was one. He just had the letter for me and I had to sign for it.”
“When you were here this morning, you said you didn’t know anything about it.”
“I remembered Don had a lawyer friend and I called him. I didn’t know it was the right lawyer for sure, but I called him just in case and he said he was about to call me later today.”
He raised his eyebrows and put his hand out for the letter. “May I?”
I handed it to him and he opened it.
“I don’t think there’s anything there that’ll help you.”
He looked up. “No, not at first glance. Mind if I take a copy?”
“You can keep it.”
“Is this all there was?”
“What do you mean?”
“He asked for the ring back; he didn’t leave you anything else—no money?”
“Detective, I’m sure you already know that. You would’ve had to see if I had any motive to kill him. As you can see from the letter, he hasn’t even allowed me to keep the ring.”
Wait, the ring—where the hell was it? I was sure it had to be in my bag somewhere.
“That’s just the way he was.”
“I’ll just make a copy.” He was gone a minute and when he came back, he handed me the letter. “Thank you for bringing it in.”
“No problem.”
“Are you still staying at your friend’s house?”
Officially I was. “Yes, I am for awhile. I’ve taken my things out of the apartment.
I just couldn’t stay there; not after what happened.”
“That’s quite understandable. You were leasing the apartment?”
I nodded.
“Well, that’s all for now.”
“You haven’t got any more leads on the person who killed him?” I asked.
“We haven’t given up. We’re looking into a few different avenues.”
I had no idea what he meant by that.
“Before you go, do you have any idea who you weren’t supposed to trust?”
I could think of three—my aunt, my mother, and my grandmother—but I couldn’t tell him that. “No.” I shook my head for extra emphasis.
“And has anybody befriended you since his death like he suggested in his letter?”
I thought hard. “No one at all.” There was only Jacques, and technically I’d met him before Don’s death.
“If anyone or anything comes to mind, please let me know.”
“Of course.”
He walked with me to the front of the building.
Chapter 25
I showered and changed at Abbie’s and felt much better. I couldn’t really talk to her about what had happened with the letter because Steve was there. I wondered if he’d be moving in soon because he had a lot of stuff in the apartment and it seemed to be increasing. It was none of my business so I never mentioned it to Abbie.
A text sounded on my phone and my stomach fluttered as though I was going on a first date. I hoped like anything the message was from Jacques. I was disappointed to see it was from my mother. When I opened the message, it was a reminder about the exhibition. I’d clean forgotten about it.
I walked into the living room and Abbie and Steve looked up at me. “Do you two want to come to the exhibition at my mother’s Gallery tonight?”
“Thanks for asking but I’m too tired. I had a big day at work.” Steve looked at Abbie. “You go if you want.”
She shook her head. “Do you mind if I don’t go, Destiny?”
I knew she would’ve gone if Steve had wanted to go. “Of course I don’t mind. Do you want to quickly help me choose something to wear?” I asked Abbie.
Abbie bounded to her feet. “Sure.”
“How are things with Jacques Hunter? I’m guessing you’ve been seeing more of him?”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
“You’re in love with him.”
“Good guess. I think I am.” I’d mentioned him more than a few times now.
“You weren’t like this with Don.”
I giggled like a young girl, and then I told her about his fabulous penthouse and his house in the woods and finished by saying, “And he can cook!”
“And how’s the lovemaking?”
“Perfect. Just perfect.” I knew it would be. She wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told her Jacques and I had slept in the same bed and nothing had happened.
There wasn’t much of a choice in clothing, but eventually I settled on a green outfit. Donald had liked it. It was a little casual, but my mother wouldn’t complain. She would just be glad if I showed up at all. I nearly told Abbie about the letter, but she would’ve been too angry that Don had told me to give back the ring, and I was trying to let my anger go.
I walked into the gallery glad there weren’t too many people there. At this early hour, there were only the artist, my mother and around twenty people.
My mother kissed me on both cheeks and then grabbed a glass of champagne and placed it in my hand.
“Have a look around and see what you think.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Did you invite any people? I’m going to need more numbers than this.”
“I don’t really know many people, Mother. I asked Abbie, but Steve was too tired after work.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s men for you. Well, just mingle and talk to people.”
I sipped my champagne while I walked around looking at the work. It was the kind of art anybody could have done and I couldn’t see the artist had any real skills. I glanced over at him. He certainly looked like an eccentric artist—tattered clothes, bare feet, and long, wiry gray hair. His jeans were worn and frayed and his shirt only had one button done up. I was certain he would’ve been good looking in his day, but now those days were long gone. The only thing that stopped him looking like a homeless person were are all the gold rings on his fingers and the thick gold chain around his neck.
As the night wore on, the place got more crowded. Everyone was clamoring to talk to the artist and I saw my mother running around placing red stickers next to paintings. I wondered if I should go into the painting business, since Frizelle’s art was actually selling.
I looked at the sculptures in the center of the room. I didn’t see any stickers on those. Remembering it was my job to wander around as if I were a potential buyer, I did just that. I moved closer to Frizelle to hear what he was saying to two women.
“A famous artist once said the best artists are five year olds before they learn what art is ‘supposed’ to be.”
The women nodded and look suitably impressed. I had to wonder, was that true or was it just an excuse for bad art? I noticed that the glass I’d been holding for over an hour was empty. Time to refill.
When I headed off to get another champagne, I saw Aunt Flora waving at me
, so I walked over to her.
“I’m glad you came, Destiny. I was sorry to hear about Ronald.”
“It was Donald. Thanks.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She nodded her head to Frizelle. “What do you think of him?”
“As a man or an artist?” I asked.
“A man.”
“Um. Unique, I guess.”
“He’s well-endowed.”
I stared at her, surprised. “Have you…”
“Yes.”
My face contorted at the images that unwanted information produced in my head. Aunt Flora could do so much better. “I thought you hated men.”
“I do.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look at me like that! They have their uses, apart from the obvious, but if you take that away there’s taking out the trash, foot massages, and doing odd jobs around the house.”
“Oh,” I said again as I looked at Frizelle and then back to my aunt. “Frizelle doesn’t look like he’d do odd jobs around your house.”
“No. I didn’t mean one man could do all that.”
I was starting to see my aunt in a new light. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s something new I’m trying out.”
It was a little too much information. “What do you think of the art?”
“Dreadful.”
We both laughed.
“I suppose I should let him know I’m here.”
“Okay.” While Aunt Flora went in one direction I went to refresh my drink. It was then I saw Jennifer and Peter walk through the door. Then they stood still and looked around as though they didn’t know which direction to head.
Intrigued about why they were here, I walked over to say hello.
I greeted them and they seemed friendly, so I hoped Jennifer was feeling better than she had been at the funeral. “I didn’t know you two were interested in art,” I said, remembering they had declined each and every invitation I’d extended to them to come to the gallery showings.
Peter looked down at the floor, while Jennifer said, “Yes, we’ve always been interested in art. What a coincidence… I mean, it’s a good thing we’ve run into you because we were wondering about the ring.”
