“Who does that belong to?” he asked.
“It’s William’s.”
Chance raised a hand, thanking Garcia for answering. It was his uncle William’s, the youngest of the Sterling brothers. He wasn’t as ambitious as Baylor, Carlton, and Doug, but for every extreme, there was an equal response. William was the poster child for who not to be if your last name was Sterling. He had never married and, as far as anyone knew, had produced no heirs, male or female.
Chance hadn’t seen William since the last time he’d attended a birthday party for his grandmother, which was three years ago. Back then, William had been over three hundred pounds and rising. He’d also kept his glass topped off with mostly vodka.
William wasn’t a boisterous or happy drunk, but he wasn’t a mean or angry one, either. The more intoxicated he became, the longer he would sit in one chair, expressionless and staring out into nowhere.
His brothers would pretend as if he didn’t exist, especially since dignitaries were always present. Chance’s father and uncles wanted to give the illusion that William wasn’t part of the clan.
At the party three years ago, Chance had been struck by an illumination. He had just resigned as general counsel for Sterling Family Enterprises, and he really hadn’t wanted to lay eyes on any of his uncles or his father for a long time. But his grandmother had strongly requested that he attend the party. He figured she wanted to make sure he didn’t do something rash like walk away from the family and never come back. He would’ve never left his grandmother in the lurch. And that ended up being the night she introduced him to Jetson Gordon. While he was getting to know Jet, his eyes had glanced over at William. Chance counted the empty glasses on his table. There were three. Usually, Grandmother kept a service around William to clean up the glasses before guests could count his drinks for the night, but the servers weren’t moving fast enough.
Jet finally said the magic words—“call me on Monday morning, and we’ll talk”—and gave Chance his card.
Once Chance had his next opportunity securely in hand, he walked over to William’s table and asked if he could sit.
William shrugged indifferently and took another swig of his drink.
Chance slouched in his seat. “What a shit show, huh?”
William glowered at him then took another drink.
Chance’s attempt to bond on a relaxed level didn’t work. So he just sat there. Soon, the waiter came to collect William’s empty glasses.
“Another,” William said.
“And I’ll have the same,” Chance said.
William looked at him with one eye narrowed. Chance winked, slouched deeper in his seat, and continued to gaze out over the sea of guests.
The ensemble band struck up another song from the fifties. A woman with a smooth, jazzy voice sang about love and some guy being the perfect one for her.
“What the fuck do you want?” William finally asked.
Chance threw up his hands. “I just want to sit.”
After studying him for a few beats, William adjusted in his seat. “Can’t fault a man for wanting to sit.”
“Sure can’t,” Chance said. “By the way, do you golf?”
“Never.”
“What about tennis?”
William scoffed. “What are you looking for, kid?”
“Kid? I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”
William snorted. “True.”
“I’m just making small talk, that’s all.”
“I don’t make small talk.”
“That’s fine. So I’ll just sit here and share a drink with you. Is that all right?”
William shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
The waiter set a drink in front of Chance, who picked it up and lifted it to the sky while William was being served.
“Now that’s a true statement,” Chance said.
William chuckled as he lifted his fresh glass of booze. “Indeed.”
Chance took a big gulp of his drink. The heat. The bite. It was vodka, straight up. He choked and spit what was in his mouth all over the table. Through his own coughing, he had heard William laughing while slapping Chance on the back.
The memory brought a smile to Chance’s face. He wished he’d kept in contact with his uncle. But William lived in Boston. Chance rarely visited Boston, and William hardly ever flew home to California. So just for a second, he felt excited enough to hop out of his SUV to go inside and say hi to his uncle. Instead, he tapped the icon on his cell phone that allowed him to check his voice mail. He was hoping one of the sixteen messages was from his grandmother.
He listened to the messages one by one. He was happy the issue in Florida had been resolved. They were having problems with litigation in San Diego. Tristan Thomas was a weak litigator.
Chance really hoped Rosalie was serious about sending him her résumé. He could use someone who was comfortable in the courtroom. He had the feeling Rosalie was comfortable with going for the jugular. He had ascertained that she simply wanted to win.
All the messages were more of the same, reminding him that he had a lot to get done next week. However, there wasn’t one peep from his grandmother.
Chance tried calling her again, and again, and then some more. Not once did she pick up the phone. Grandmother had never ignored a call from him. He was worried.
Another car was driven into the spot next to his. It was a silver Mercedes, an expensive model. Instead of Garcia, Manny popped out of the driver’s seat.
Chance opened his car door. “Hey, Manny?”
The young man in his midtwenties stopped and squinted. “Chance, is that you, brother?”
Chance flowed out of the front seat and trotted over to shake Manny’s hand. “How are you?”
“Everything’s good,” Manny said.
“So, is my grandmother finally home?”
Manny tilted his head. “I don’t know. I’ll check.”
“You didn’t drive her?”
“I just got here.”
“Do you know who drove her to wherever she went this morning?”
Manny’s frown intensified. “Nobody drove her anywhere. Her car is still in the garage.”
“But—”
“Wait. Maybe she took a Passenger First. She does that, you know.”
“The car service?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would she take a car service when she has her own car and driver?”
Manny shrugged as if to say it didn’t make sense to him, either.
Chance folded his arms and nodded. “Thank you, Manny.”
“No problem. Hey, it’s good to see you.”
“Same here.”
Manny trotted away from him.
“Oh, Manny?” Chance called.
He turned.
Chance pointed to the Mercedes. “Whose car is that?”
“Oh, it’s your father’s.”
Chance’s chest tightened as he raised a hand. “Thanks,” he said in a lackluster tone.
“No problem.” Manny turned and continued on his way.
He didn’t want to make running into his father an option, so he entered the house through the rear entrance and used the service hallways to make it back to his room. There were thirteen bedrooms in the manor. By the end of the night, the house would probably be full of people he didn’t want to see.
He could stay and put up with the rest of his family or pack his things and check into the Blushing Green Inn. But then his room wouldn’t be across from Rosalie’s. He only had another full day to share the same living space with her. Chance didn’t want to put distance between them, not yet at least.
As soon as he made it back to his room, Chance turned on his computer and went to the Passenger First transport service website. He’d used the service before when he had business in cities like New York or DC. Patrons could actually see the profiles of all the drivers. The list of drivers that serviced the Blushing Green area was short. Chance started from the top an
d called each driver, asking if they had made a pickup at the manor earlier that morning.
Five calls later, he had a hit. He reached a woman named Myrtle Bigman. She had a gruff smoker’s voice.
“Sterling Manor?” she asked.
Chance scooted to the edge of his desk chair. “Yes, Sterling Manor.”
“The owner—I guess it’s Edna Sterling—doesn’t use local drivers anymore.”
“Then where does the driver come from?”
“Santa Rosa.”
“Do you know anything about the person?”
“His name is Cliff. I raised a complaint. He shouldn’t be in our area, taking our business.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Hanover.”
“Thank you, Myrtle,” he said with a sigh of relief.
“Alrighty then, if you’re at Sterling Manor and you need a driver, then you’ve got my number. Call me anytime, day or night.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I. Have a good day.” He ended the call.
It didn’t take long to locate and contact Cliff Hanover. The first time Chance mentioned Edna Sterling, the call got disconnected. He thought Cliff had hung up on him, but a few seconds later, his cell phone rang.
Chance answered. “Hello?”
“Sorry about that. I drove Mrs. Sterling up to SFO last night.”
“Last night? What time?”
“About three in the morning. Hey, I thought it was kind of strange, though.”
“How’s that?”
“She usually flies into the Sonoma Airport and takes her charter, but this time, she had me drop her at Plus Travel Airlines.”
Plus Travel was a new economy airline. It wouldn’t have been out of character for his grandmother to fly economy. She liked meeting people she wouldn’t otherwise encounter all cooped up on her private flight. “I like assorted people with an assortment of problems,” she used to say.
On one of their trips to New Orleans, she had insisted they have a drink in a strip club, which was across the street from their hotel in the French Quarter. The memory made Chance chuckle. There was the Edna Sterling hamming it up with strippers, who were very curious as to why he and his grandmother were in the establishment. A few of them thought he was her awkward, impotent grandson, who needed a sexual charge in the form of an interactive lap dance or special favors that went on in the depths of the club. According to a young stripper named Cindy, it was a scenario they’d seen many times before.
“No, darling, I’m merely curious and practicing nonjudgment,” Grandmother said.
It was then that the talent seemed to have noticed the complete picture he and his grandmother presented. He was beyond uncomfortable, and she wasn’t. He tried to avoid looking at the pussies rubbing on the poles and the fake tits bouncing in the air. There were no windows. The music was loud and unappealing. He could smell the mixture of perfume and twat in the air. Chance couldn’t stop thinking about his dad, Pete, Baylor, and even his grandfather, Conrad, who had patronized those sorts of places when he was alive. Seriously, Chance wanted no part of it all and could never fully understand his grandmother’s fascination with the place.
Then he heard Cindy say to his grandmother, “They think we’re fucked up? The guys we shake our asses for are way more fucked up than we are. But the sad part is they don’t even fucking know it. And what’s sadder is that everybody doesn’t even fucking get it!”
Grandmother nudged herself on the chest. “Well, darling, I get it.”
Cindy cocked her head to the side and narrowed an eye. “But do you really?”
“For sixty-two years, my money funded establishments just like this all over the world, starting with my dead husband.”
Cindy laughed out loud. “Then you must be a rich bitch.”
Grandmother winked. “I’m a loaded old bitch.”
Even Chance had joined in with the laughter.
That was the kind of person his grandmother was, which was why the fact that she was missing wasn’t cause for alarm. She was surely capable of running off to an exotic destination, even while knowing people were planning a party for her on Saturday.
But he was at the house, and so was Rosalie. Grandmother wouldn’t have just taken off without letting them know she was leaving. He was sure of it. William had even shown up early, and he never did that. Chance recalled what Penelope had said about Grandmother not too long ago—she was just being dramatic.
Chance stared at the cell phone in his hand as he thought about the blind signing of the contract and how he had received that letter from Kathy last night on his bed. Who had put that letter on his bed? And Kathy had picked a meeting spot in the lemon grove, which happened to be right in front of Rosalie’s window. If Kathy had wanted to have a private meeting, then why hadn’t she asked to meet at the far end of the north vineyard, where the vines were higher and there were three distilleries to hide between?
Something was definitely going on. At this point, all he could do was follow up on his next clue, which he was supposed to receive at midnight in room 117 at the Oak Motel. The motel was located on the east outskirts of town on Old Oak Highway.
Chance made one last check to satisfy his curiosity. He checked the Plus Travel flight schedule for all the flights that had departed after three a.m. The first flight had left at 8:15 a.m. on its way to Pittsburgh. Could his grandmother have flown to Pittsburgh? He doubted it.
There was a knock on the door, then it opened before he could respond.
“There you are,” William said.
Chance sat watching him with his mouth open. His uncle had lost a solid hundred pounds, leaving him stocky but not obese. William’s skin wasn’t as red and patchy as it used to be either, and as he smiled, he flashed teeth that were more white than mustard yellow like they used to be.
“Hey.” Chance shot to his feet. “How are you?”
“Teresa told me you were here. I usually stay in this room. Did you know that?” William’s gaze rolled around the space. “I like it. It’s my favorite.”
Chance could feel his eyes expand. It sounded as if William had stopped by to claim his domain. Chance would’ve had no problem giving it to him if the room wasn’t directly across from Rosalie’s.
William grinned and winked. “Just messing with you, kiddo. The room is yours. Want to grab lunch?”
“Um…” Chance scratched the back of his neck. What just happened was weird as hell and very Sterling-like. It was a way to walk into an environment and claim dominance. It was fucking with the other person’s head. He never knew William had the ability or desire to play that game, and he was curious to find out how deep the rabbit hole went.
“Sure. Lunch. Let’s do it.”
TEN
ROSALIE STETSON
The antique shop resembled a junk store as far as Rosalie was concerned. The shopkeeper was a thin woman, who looked to be in her seventies or eighties. She had a full head of white hair and wore bright-red lipstick and dark shades, presumably to protect her eyes from indoor light. Her name was Kitty, and Kitty moved at the speed of a snail as she gave them a short orientation on what felt like every item in the shop that cost over ten thousand dollars.
Rosalie knew Kitty had recognized Halo “Sterling” the moment they’d walked through the door, and she was working Halo for a big sale. Her efforts paid off. Halo ended up looking at the online catalog and buying an original Moore family crest from the sixteenth century. The final purchase price was sixty-five thousand dollars with special delivery from Ireland.
Halo waved on the way out. “Don’t forget to have it delivered, wrapped, and with a card on it tomorrow morning before ten!”
The woman waved back. “I surely will. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Jeez, Marie, sixty-five thousand dollars?” Rosalie asked once they were back in the car.
“It’s what you buy a woman who needs nothing.”
“Ancient junk?”
“Ancient shit.”
They laughed.
Halo clicked her seat belt. “And thanks for calling me Marie.”
Rosalie chuckled as she started the engine. “You’re welcome, but I still don’t see what’s wrong with Halo. It’s a beautiful name.”
She was waiting for Halo to repeat what she’d said to Chance earlier, calling it a stripper’s name. Instead, Halo sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed a hand on her chest over her heart. “There’s a lot of pain in here, Rosalie. Shit I can’t undo. And it’s all associated with being Halo.”
Rosalie knew when not to push for more details, and that time was now. “I understand.”
Halo turned her watery eyes on Rosalie. “No, you don’t.”
“Pain is pain, you know? And if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m pretty trustworthy too.”
Halo studied her for a few beats. “Humph. I actually believe you.”
They smiled at each other.
“There’s a really good restaurant on First Street,” Rosalie said.
“I know a better one on Main. It’s Grandmother’s favorite. Hell, we might even run into her there.”
The thought made Rosalie’s eyes light up. Boy, would that put an end to worrying. “All right then, let’s go. Navigate when you’re ready.”
“Make a left out of the parking lot.”
Rosalie backed out of the parking space, made a left out of the lot, and they were on the road.
SIX MILES LATER, they were downtown. Rosalie made a left turn onto Third Street and headed toward Main Street. Napa was such a charming little place. The architecture had the European flair of most old mining towns. But it was the picturesque green hills, which swallowed the charming architecture, that gave it its unique beauty.
“You know, once she threw a tantrum because Grandmother invited Ruby over for Sunday morning tea and not her.”
Somehow Susan had become the topic of discussion.
Halo circled her finger around her ear. “She’s mental, that one.”
“She and Peter run tit for tat,” Rosalie said.
Secrets & Chance (The Sterlings Book 1) Page 13
