Dakota Blues Box Set
California Blues
Dakota Blues
Key Largo Blues
Goodbye to the Blues
Lynne M. Spreen
Dakota Blues Box Set stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2020 Lynne M. Spreen
All rights reserved.
www.LynneSpreen.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dakota Blues Box Set
California Blues Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Dakota Blues Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Key Largo Blues Chapter 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
Goodbye to the Blues Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12 – Rita
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18 – Jessie
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26 – Karen
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30 – Epilogue
Thank You for Reading & About the Author
California Blues
The Prequel to Dakota Blues
Lynne M. Spreen
California Blues Chapter 1
Karen Grace, Vice President of Human Resources, smiled for the camera just as she fell into the lap of a half-naked man.
“Great shot!” Becks squinted at her phone. “Let it never again be said the boss can’t party.”
The exotic dancer helped Karen to her feet, his hands grasping her hips as the flash went off twice more.
“You guys are so fired,” she said.
“Not just us.” Becks held out the photo of Karen’s stripper-dismount.
She gave a fake pained smile before returning to the table to polish off her drink. Thank God for weddings and an excuse to party at the most popular Mexican restaurant in Orange County. And thank God for her staff, the women of Global Newport.
“Ready for another gift, Ange?” Samantha, the maid of honor, handed over what turned out to be a black leather thong with a bow on the back. The girls at the table screeched with laughter. Other diners turned around to see what all the fuss was about.
Normally, Karen would have been annoyed by all the noise and craziness, but under the circumstances and the influence of José Cuervo, she didn’t mind. They all needed to blow off steam.
“Wait! Who was that from?” Barbara waved her notebook in mock frustration. “Hey, I need a name or nobody’s getting a thank you note, the way this is going.”
“Probably they wouldn’t anyway.” Karen shot a look at her assistant. Barbara, close to retirement age, looked like Judge Judy, just a little softer around the eyes.
The waiter cleared their dinner plates, and Samantha handed over the last remaining gift as another pitcher of margaritas arrived. The deep thrum of acoustic guitars cut through the din. A handsome troupe of mariachis strolled across the restaurant toward the bridal party, each man decked out in ruffled shirt, short jacket, and tight trousers with silver conchos running up the side seams.
The men lined up by the table, raised their trumpets, and blasted a series of opening notes to the rafters. As the rollicking tune cranked up, the women danced in their seats, answering the gritos, the raucous calls of Mexican folk songs.
Karen danced right along with them. The two-dozen women at the table were like family. She’d hired and trained them, mentored and guided them. She’d helped to build their confidence as they became consummate professionals.
Except tonight, they reminded her of a bunch of kids. Most were in their late twenties.
The age her children would have been.
She shoved the thought back down with a big gulp of her beverage. Becks jumped up and swung her ample hips in front of a trumpet player. The man grinned and swung right back. Emily, one of the girls in accounting, laughed and choked on her drink. Angelica knocked over her wineglass.
Karen laughed so hard, her stomach hurt. Every time she looked at Becks, she started again. Their noise and the music reached the decibel level of a 747 taking off at nearby John Wayne Airport.
They needed this, badly.
It had been a rough week, with the creeps from corporate poking around the office, looking for bodies to throw overboard in the height of the recession. Her staff had held it together until the audit ended a few hours
ago.
The women of Newport had earned some downtime. Tonight was cathartic.
For Karen, it was better than going home to a dark and empty house. She rocked in her seat, the beat lifting her up. Having lived in SoCal so many years, the banda lyrics were familiar and she sang along in Spanish.
One of the musicians, a gorgeous older man, locked eyes with her while strumming his guitar. His dark hair was silver at the temples, and his mustache lent an air of danger. His eyes were so fierce and compelling, Karen felt mesmerized, and her skin warmed in the flush of attraction. Was there any greater aphrodisiac than the feeling of being wanted?
The man played his guitar slowly, gently, his eyes returning to her face again and again as if he couldn’t look away.
With all her being, she found herself thinking, Yes.
To her horror, he nodded.
Had she actually mouthed the word? She looked away, her face burning, humiliated by falling for the practiced routine of a performer. He probably did that ten times a night, picking out the older woman in the group to flirt with. Knowing the woman probably had years of heartache and baggage. Knowing she couldn’t help but respond.
Karen flushed again, mortified. To be safe, she trained her eyes on the bride-to-be, who was getting her own special performance.
The lead singer knelt down on one knee in front of Angelica, singing a heartfelt ballad in a rich baritone. Under the influence of alcohol and machismo, she leaned toward the man, looking ready to climb into his lap. Samantha reached over and pulled her back. The music shifted to a faster beat, the singer stood, and the troupe filed out to applause and wistful glances.
Samantha fanned herself. “Holy hell, Ange, I thought you were gonna go after him.”
“I wanted to,” Angelica said. “But Karen wouldn’t have let me. Would you?”
Karen shook her head and smiled, but she was tired and tomorrow would be a very long day. She pushed away from the table. “It’s been fun, you guys, but I need to head home. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah, Karen, we’re just getting started.”
“That’s what she’s afraid of!”
Angelica stood to say goodbye. “Are you sure you can’t join us at the spa tomorrow?”
“Wish I could, but I have that party, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. The guys from corporate.” Angelica pantomimed sticking a finger down her throat.
“It’s worth it,” said Karen. “We want them to think well of the Newport office.”
“Taking one for the team,” said Angelica.
The women quieted. One by one, they pushed away from the table to hug and thank Karen. She couldn’t help but feel like a warrior being sent off to face the enemy alone.
But that was management.
She slipped out the heavy doors to the parking lot. The noise of the restaurant faded, and the damp salt air settled on the back of her neck. She pressed the remote, and the lights of her Mercedes coupe flashed a welcome. She locked the door, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.
The base of her skull ached.
Twenty years ago, she would have been right in the thick of it with her girls, but in the past few years, she could get a hangover from a bag of M&Ms. Besides, she was their supervisor, which put her in a bit of a box.
She started the car, drove out of the lot, and merged with Friday night traffic, thinking of what to wear to the wedding. Her closet held a fine selection of party dresses, any one of which would fit her, given her meager appetite lately. Her blond hair was long enough for a fake-casual updo, and at five-eight, she could get away with flats.
As the night’s adrenaline faded, the thought of dressing up for a wedding made her feel tired. What difference did it make what she wore? She wasn’t looking to find a new husband. She still had the old one. Sort of.
The wedding would be held outdoors in the garden of a local art gallery. Karen imagined sitting in the audience making small talk and politicking until the first chords of the wedding march. She imagined the tears of joy, the kissing, the dancing. The romance.
She wondered if Angelica would hate her if she called in sick.
But Karen was nothing if not stoic. She would smile, laugh, and keep her chin up. The wedding would be a big deal at the office for years to come.
If they managed to keep their jobs.
All week, her staff acted as the professionals Karen had trained them to be. She appreciated their calm demeanor, which nevertheless turned to panicked whispering when they caught her in a quiet hallway.
“They’re looking for reasons to fire us,” said Samantha. Karen hired her right out of high school. Now she ran the billing department.
“Practically did a strip search on me,” grumbled Ben, the tattooed and earringed refugee from the mean streets of Los Angeles. Karen had paid for his classes at community college and then turned him into a supervisor.
“What are we going to do?” asked Monica, a mature workforce returnee.
Karen sensed their fear. They expected her to tell them everything would be all right, but she knew this recession could go on for years. Americans lost their homes, medical coverage, and retirement savings while Washington shoveled money out the door, trying to stave off a depression. She expected the shitheads from San Francisco to use the recession as their excuse to cut payroll.
In every case, Karen reassured her people, delivering the same message along with a hug or a consoling pat. “We’ve had tough times before,” she told them. “We’ll survive.”
Everyone was glum except Angelica, who planned to quit after her wedding.
“We’re moving to Texas,” she’d announced. “My inlaws own a bookkeeping service. When we have kids, I can work part-time, and we’ll have family around to help.”
The lunchroom had erupted with joy at the prospect of babies and families. Karen would be sorry to see Angelica go. The young woman, who started as a student intern, had become a cornerstone of the team.
The Mercedes picked up speed. Once out of the busy city center, traffic thinned, and the highway grew darker. Well-tended landscaping and sidewalks lined the two-lane parkway. It swept uphill toward a residential area, where affluent gated neighborhoods perched above the city. Karen drove up to one of the gates, slowing to allow the digital tag to register. The gates swung open. Although the community was more lavish than she needed, she felt safe and comfortable there. The one-and-two story homes were family-friendly, running about four thousand square feet, with sprawling lawns and backyard pools. Some, like Karen’s, offered expansive views of the coastline. Across the street lay a walking path and park.
Inside the house, the great-room was cluttered with packing boxes. She changed into sweats, poured a tall glass of water, and popped a couple aspirin before starting her last task of the day. She needed to move the cartons to the garage.
An hour later, it was close to eleven and her headache had abated. She flopped on the sofa in the media room, put her feet up on an ottoman, and aimed the remote at the television. Nothing else remained to be done in preparation for tomorrow’s cocktail party, a send-off to the San Francisco team after their week in Newport.
Karen felt ready. She expected her guests would be on their best behavior, in spite of their mission to throw employees overboard as soon as they returned up north.
Not on her watch. Her staff trusted her. They’d been through rough times together. HR people inevitably became entangled in the personal issues of employees, although not by choice. Sometimes these issues were serious, as with marital difficulties, aging parents, or drug-addicted kids. Fortunately, the employee benefit plan provided access to medical and psych services—services they stood to lose in a layoff.
Karen turned off the television. She wasn’t watching it anyway. It was almost midnight and she needed her sleep. Tomorrow would be a challenge, and she wished for the thousandth time things would stop changing so much and so fast. Her time at Global
stretched back thirty years, a lifetime. It used to be so good, back when she was young and had stars in her eyes. Now, she had climbed too high and knew too much. Her career had become a job.
She shook her head. Too late in the night to think about work. She needed to shut it off and get some sleep, to be strong for the battle ahead.
Tomorrow, Karen would save her employees, and the people from corporate would go back up north emptyhanded.
Chapter 2
Karen laced up her running shoes. In the living room, the grandfather clock, a wedding gift from her parents, chimed North Dakota time. She mentally subtracted two hours.
If she hurried, she could get in a solid run.
She did a few stretches and then took off in the cool morning air, her muscles warming with the effort. Track had been her sport in high school, and the running habit stuck. She liked to start her mornings with a gentle mile to get her brain in gear. A few neighbors were out, giving a quick wave as they went about the serious business of exercise. She smiled to think how her farmer ancestors would view them, wasting all that good energy without milking one cow or pitching one bale of hay.
Back at the house, she showered and dressed. The house was clean, the refrigerator full, the bar stocked. Karen knew how to throw a party. It was the main reason Steve had wanted to buy the house, years ago. With its hilltop patio and view of the ocean, it provided a gracious setting to cultivate prospective clients—and to Steve, a financial advisor, that meant everybody. They hosted cocktail parties, backyard barbecues, and formal dinners. Even the neighbors couldn’t escape his overtures, but the socializing gave Karen a chance to break away from work. As a result, she knew quite a few of her neighbors. Steve’s extroversion had balanced her out.
Remembering this, her anger softened. A long-term marriage was a complicated thing.
She did one last survey of the house. Every surface gleamed. Jean, the housekeeper and occasional caterer, was meticulous.
The clock chimed again. Karen took her place in the leather office chair and dialed her mother, her Saturday routine for years. By this time, her mother would be bustling around, busy with her hobbies and craft projects, or perhaps dressed for volunteering at the church.
As the phone rang and rang, Karen wondered if her mother had forgotten their call. She was about to hang up when Lena answered, her voice resonant with fatigue.
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