Secrets & Chance (The Sterlings Book 1)

by Lynn Hastings

  For a moment, he wondered if he should file a missing person report with the police department. But the fact was that his grandmother had seemingly left the house of her own will, and there was a record of her being dropped off at SFO by a Passenger First driver. However, Chance made a pact with himself. If his grandmother didn’t return by the next day, then he was going to do a deeper investigation into her disappearance.

  Chance lay back on the bed and thought about the story she had told him and Rosalie yesterday. What was its significance? Grandmother’s father had been the one with the wealth, and the Sterlings had the son. Chance couldn’t imagine being his grandmother, knowing how ambitious and adventurous she’d always been.

  When he was general counsel for the family business, his father had pushed him to find out if a rumor was true. His grandmother supposedly had kept a lover in New Orleans, one that she might have been married to. This news had been music to his father’s and uncles’ ears because they believed that if she had remarried, then upon her death, the entire Sterling fortune would be left to them without dispute.

  Chance quickly opened his eyes and sat up straight. “No way,” he whispered.

  His thoughts had gone too far. There was no way his uncles had murdered his grandmother. But the thought wouldn’t leave his mind, so he took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and tried calling her again.

  This time, it didn’t even ring before going straight to voice mail, which usually meant her phone was either off or out of power. Without further ado, he slipped quietly out of his bedroom and tried to soften the sound of his footsteps as he tiptoed down the hallway. The other family members rarely used the service elevator, so he dipped into the one nearest his room and took it up to the third floor.

  The doors opened, and he was glad to see that the hallway was clear. He moved quickly down the hallway to his grandmother’s bedroom. The door was closed but not locked. He opened it, slowly stepped inside, then gently closed it behind him. Other than a slash of light flowing in from the slit between two curtain panels, the space was dark. He’d been in her room often enough to remember where everything was, even the reading lamp attached to the headboard of her bed. He tiptoed over and turned it on.

  Now that there was a bit more light, he looked around. The bed was perfectly made, of course. The manor had a cleaning staff that worked around the clock. He walked over to the closet and opened it. There were some items that his grandmother always took with her when she traveled, and one of them was a red silk pillow for her neck. In the past, she had asked him to fetch it for her a few times.

  He walked deeper into her large closet, turned a corner, and observed the black antique dresser. He opened the second drawer from the top. There was the red silk cloth box. He opened the lid, and his heart sank. The pillow was in it.

  Chance breathed briskly as he put the lid back over the box. The uneasy sensations running through his body alarmed him. She never left that pillow behind. He walked out of the closet, sniffing the air. Whenever his grandmother left for a trip, she would spray the same sort of perfume. He walked over to her vanity desk and sniffed some more. The odor of her perfume was so strong that it would sometimes remain in the air for days. He smelled nothing. So if his grandmother had actually taken that ride to the Plus Travel terminal, then she must have done it in a rush.

  Chance folded his arms and gave the room another once-over.

  Then something happened. “What in the hell…”

  The doorknob turned. Chance’s eyes expanded in horror. It was too late to run and hide. The door opened, and he made a decision to face down whoever the visitor was. The person walked in, and he was facing Rosalie.

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise. “I just wanted to…”

  He was both happy and afraid to see her, especially with the lights so dim and a huge comfortable bed in front of them. She had taken off the jeans and T-shirt she had sported earlier in the day and put on the same kimono robe she had worn last night. It took every cell in Chance’s body to not walk up to her and ask if he could kiss her. He would start with her lips then kiss her neck until he reached her clavicle. Her skin would be sweet and soft and smell like a bed of gardenias. He didn’t even have to guess if that was the case; he just knew it was.

  “She’s not here.” He kicked himself for stating the obvious while sounding funny.

  “I know. Did you check for the pillow?”

  “You know about the pillow?”

  “Yeah.” She sounded impatient.

  “It’s there.”

  She sighed. “What the hell is going on, Chance?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m worried.” The sadness in her eyes jarred him.

  “Me too,” he barely said. He cleared his throat. “But we better get some rest before midnight.”

  She nodded. He wanted to hug her, but instead, he walked over to the door and checked to see if the coast was clear. It was.

  “After you,” he said.

  Rosalie tiptoed out of the room, and he exited right behind her.

  AFTER CHANCE CALLED MYRTLE, the Passenger First driver, to schedule a pickup, he couldn’t sleep, work, or watch TV. All he could do was lie across the bed and try to suppress what he really wanted to do, which was be alone with Rosalie and wait. Two hours had finally passed, and Chance jumped off the bed, put on his shoes and jacket, and crossed the hall to rap gently on Rosalie’s door.

  She opened it.

  She had taken off her sexy kimono robe and had on a pair of blue jeans, a thick black sweater and, thank goodness, tennis shoes. The outfit was plain but looked sexy on her. Rosalie would be sexy to him even if she wore a potato sack.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  He stepped out of the way so she could walk out. However, he led the way. Being seen was not an option. So he made sure to lead by example. Their steps were silent all the way to the service elevator, which they took to the ground floor. They didn’t speak until Chance led her out of the southeast exit.

  As soon as they walked outside, they were hit by cold, brisk air. Rosalie hugged herself as they walked around to the front of the house on their way to the driveway. He wished he had thought about keeping her comfortable before he asked Myrtle to meet them along the side of the main road where the vines were the highest.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  Chance turned to look at the house. The lights were still on inside, which meant people hadn’t gone to bed yet. He pressed a finger against his lips, asking her to keep quiet.

  Rosalie glanced at the lit windows and nodded. She hugged herself tighter, which made Chance feel even worse than he did before. Out on the grounds, Chance could see that the men had managed to set up the five-thousand-square-foot tent. It was a beast, and he remembered one of the men saying that it couldn’t be done, but Susan had insisted. The walls around the edges were rolled up so he could see the stage in the middle of the tarp. He had expected that Susan, Penelope, and his mother, along with Claire’s help, would make the venue something elaborate and unique, but boy, they had outdone themselves.

  Chance and Rosalie cleared any area where they could be heard or seen shuffling up the long driveway before they spoke.

  “Are we walking there?” Rosalie asked, breaking the silence. Frustration was evident on her face.

  Chance smiled. “A Passenger First driver is waiting for us.”

  She grunted inquisitively.

  “I didn’t want anyone to know we’ve left.” Chance realized he was walking too fast, but he was impressed by how easily Rosalie kept up with him. And as usual, she smelled good.

  “So, who don’t you trust?” she asked.

  He jumped. “Huh?”

  “There’s Penelope and William. Who else is here?”

  He turned to face her. The moon had broken through the night, and its rays illuminated her pretty face, which took his breath away.

 
“My father,” he barely said.

  “He’s here?”

  He shook his head. “He was earlier. I’m not sure he stayed. I probably should’ve checked.”

  “Right,” she said as if she understood the gravity and depth of what he was feeling. “What about your mom? Are they still married?”

  Chance shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re not close.”

  “No?” she asked as if his admission disturbed her.

  Hell, he didn’t even know why he’d said that. He didn’t have to say it. Maybe he wanted her to understand the magnitude of how fucked up his family truly was.

  The silence between them was heavy with thought, and he wondered what was going through her mind.

  “What do you think about that?” he finally asked.

  “About what? The fact that you’re not close to your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  They were almost to the edge of the road, and he could see the driver’s black car parked with the lights out just as he had directed.

  “Truth?” she asked.

  “Please.”

  “I’m not familiar with your mother, but I am with Virginia, Ruby, and even Susan, so I assume she’s not much different from them.”

  “Not much but slightly. She’s changed, I think.”

  “Change can be good,” Rosalie said with a smidgen of optimism.

  They reached the car, and he opened the back door for her.

  Chance felt dazed when she passed him—her face was so close to his—but he managed to smirk anyway. “Yes, change can be good.”

  Rosalie smiled as she dipped into the backseat. “I’m scooting over,” she announced.

  She was making it easier for him, and that turned him on even more. Loving her would be easy. This, he knew. But why was he still so afraid to go for it?

  Myrtle turned to look at them as soon as he got into the car and closed the door.

  “To the Oak Motel?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Her eyes shifted between Chance and Rosalie. Actually, Myrtle looked just how he’d pictured her. She had wiry blond hair with flyaway strands, and her cheeks, chin, and forehead were red and chafed. When she turned her critical gaze toward the house, Chance knew Myrtle wondered whether they were going to the fleabag motel on the outskirts of town to get it on.

  “All right, then.” She drove off the dirt along the side of the road.

  Chance was electrically aware of how close Rosalie sat next to him. Nervousness made him want to strike up a conversation, but since privacy was an issue, he just dealt with his emotions.

  “So are there no more rooms at the inn?” Myrtle asked.

  Rosalie frowned questioningly at Chance.

  “No more rooms at the inn?” he asked.

  “You have a party every year around this time, but most of the guests stay at the Blushing Green or Bay View Inn.”

  Chance nodded. “That’s right.”

  It didn’t take Myrtle long to realize that was going to be the extent of his response.

  “You don’t live at the house, do you?” she asked.

  “No, we don’t,” Rosalie replied.

  “So where are you folks from?”

  Chance glanced at Rosalie to see if she wanted to answer first.

  “I’m from Los Angeles, and he lives in San Francisco,” Rosalie said.

  “So you’re not married?” Myrtle asked.

  “No.”

  “You, though…” She was looking at Chance in the rearview mirror. “You’re a Sterling, aren’t you?”

  He frowned. Then Rosalie patted him on the knee as she laughed jollily. Her touch sent volts of giddy energy up his thigh and to his stomach.

  “How could you tell?” Rosalie asked.

  “The men are good looking, you know, but…” She shook her head.

  “But?” Rosalie urged.

  Myrtle eyed Chance in the rearview mirror.

  “Mean as the devil?” Rosalie asked.

  “I heard something like that.” Myrtle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “But I don’t ever listen to rumors.”

  Rosalie grunted curiously. “Rumors? What sort of rumors?”

  “Small towns carry gossip like pollen in the wind.”

  “Well, I assure you that Chance here isn’t like the others. So the gossip isn’t about him.”

  Chance couldn’t stop feeling her hand on his knee. Rosalie’s and Myrtle’s voices were fading behind the sound of his pounding heart and the purring of the engine. The scent of ground-in dirt and dampness intermingled with fruity shampoo began to overtake the rich and rounded sweet smell of Rosalie’s perfume. He wanted to pull Rosalie closer and take a deep whiff of her to remember that she was the only one he wanted to experience at the moment. Focus, Chance.

  This was not about getting his rocks off. There were two types of relationships he was willing to have with Rosalie—a colleague at Lord and Lord Enterprises or a lover. One was more lasting than the other. She was close to his grandmother, and all day long, Rosalie had already felt as though she were a sane part of the Sterling clan. He had to get a goddamn grip. Colleagues, he had chosen colleagues.

  Finally, she took her hand off his thigh, and he could relax.

  “But there’s always a grain of truth to rumors,” Rosalie said.

  Chance wanted their conversation to end. There was no need to hear about how his grandfather and uncles had lied, stolen, and stripped people of their livelihoods and dignity to get whatever they wanted. The stories were many, and the risk of retribution was always looming.

  “You heard what happened today, didn’t you?” Myrtle asked.

  “No.” Rosalie’s tone was highly inquisitive.

  “There was a woman that used to work for the grandmother. She ended up dead in a ditch.”

  Chance and Rosalie widened their eyes at each other.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What’s her name?”

  “Don’t remember, but my nephew is a deputy in town. He knows her name. He knows what’s going on too. He called me earlier to ask if I or anybody else picked her up. You mean to tell me none of you know?”

  Rosalie leaned forward to hug the back of the passenger seat. “No. We’ve been in Napa for most of the day.”

  “I’m not sure if the story’s been on the local news tonight or not, but I can call Barry and find out.”

  Rosalie grunted. “Barry? What’s his last name?”

  Chance was impressed by how thick Rosalie was laying it on. She was controlling the tone and texture of the conversation like any lawyer worth her salt would.

  Myrtle glanced toward her shoulder as though she was thrown by Rosalie’s question. “Fitzpatrick.”

  “Barry Fitzpatrick, I know him. We went to school together.”

  “But you said you were from LA.”

  “I live and work there now, but I grew up in Blushing Green.”

  “Oh!” Myrtle sounded really excited. “What about your parents?”

  Rosalie glanced at Chance. The conversation threatened to veer off the path she was taking. What Chance saw in her eyes was a slight moment of panic and recovery.

  “No, my dad’s from Hartford, Connecticut, and my mom’s from San Diego. But gosh, I hope it wasn’t someone Barry and I knew who ended up in that ditch.”

  “I’ll just call Barry now and see what he can tell us.”

  “Wow. Okay. Thanks.”

  Rosalie sat back and flexed her eyebrows at him. He winked at her to let her know he was impressed. She did good work. Chance couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in his gut that the dead woman was Kathy Lunsford.

  Myrtle turned against a red light onto Old Oak Highway with one hand on the steering wheel while the other fidgeted with her cell phone. She was breaking three laws at once—speeding, running red lights, and using her cell phone while driving. It finally occurred to Chance that those were probably the reasons why hi
s grandmother had never called for her services.

  “Barry?” Myrtle asked in her gruff tone. “It’s me. I want to ask you about that woman they found in the ravine this morning.”

  Chance could faintly hear Barry ask, “What about it?”

  “What was her name?”

  “Christine Valdez.”

  “Didn’t she work for the Sterlings? The grandmother?”

  “I don’t know about working for them, but I think she knew them.”

  “Oh, okay, well, I heard she worked for them.”

  “Aunt Myrtle, you’re not supposed to be talking to anyone about this. Are you?” he asked.

  “No, no, no…” she lied.

  “Good. Is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “All right, good night, then.” He hung up.

  It wasn’t a surprise that Barry was curious about why Myrtle had asked all those questions. Chance had already pegged Myrtle as a habitual gossip. Her nephew was probably used to her trying to acquire information that was none of her business.

  “Her name was Christine Valdez,” Myrtle announced.

  Chance grunted. “Never heard of her,” he said, purposely pretending as if he hadn’t already heard the entire conversation.

  “It’ll all be on the local news soon enough, but keep it to yourself for now.”

  He and Rosalie glanced at each other.

  “Definitely, yes,” she said.

  A sense of relief was displayed on Rosalie’s expression as the car made a left off the highway and into the motel’s driveway. The establishment resembled the average cheap motel. There were two floors of no-frills rooms. In the windows of a few rooms, Chance could see light outlining the edges of the curtains. But most of the rooms were dark.

  Myrtle stopped the car under the carport near the double glass doors.

  “Could you park in the lot while we see if we want to check in?” Chance asked.

  Myrtle turned around to look at them the same way she had when they first climbed into the backseat. Chance was impressed by how Rosalie couldn’t give a damn about Myrtle’s apparent judgment.