Widow's Row

by Lala Corriere

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Kate says my landlord, Ari Christenson, found me. Guess he heard me scream and hit the floor. Honest, I’m okay now. The doctors just ran some tests.”

  “What kind of tests?”

  “An EKG to check my heart, check for any burns, any aftermath loose wires in my brain, that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds like you were lucky,” Adam said. “Your landlord is the one who called me. Nice of you to put me down on your lease as an emergency contact number.”

  “That was just in case I didn’t pay my rent on time,” I smiled to myself.

  “I think we have a nice little lawsuit,” Adam said.

  “Lawsuit?”

  “Your landlord says the burner had a faulty wire, which is why you got buzzed with the 220 volts. But then he goes and tells me he just put in new burners right before he leased the place to you. What an idiot.”

  “Adam, then you already knew what happened to me?” I shook my head.

  “I have my sources.”

  Kate noticed my change of mood as she replaced the phone receiver back in the cradle. “You’re in a hospital, so sulking is allowed. But you downright look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I stumbled with the words, but I had to ask. “Do you think Ari would want to hurt me? Maybe even kill me?”

  Kate sprang from her chair and scooted next to me on the bed, grasping my hand in her lap. Her intense chocolate eyes studied mine as she contemplated what I’d just asked. “No. No, I don’t. Ari is a lot of things, most of them not very pretty, but I’ve seen him scoop up a spider and set it free outside rather than smash it. If anything, he has a little crush on you, and he’d be more into getting rid of Adam.”

  She reached into her pocket and produced my engagement ring. I didn’t even realize it was missing. “Ari pulled this off your finger. I guess it was a medical thing he learned when he was over in Nam, something about removing constrictive jewelry off electric shock victims. He gave it to me to keep safe until I could return it to you. That doesn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer to me.”

  I slipped the ring back on my finger, knowing it would have brought in a pretty penny at any pawnshop. “You’re the only one that knows anything about this, Kate, but...”

  She squeezed my hand, “...and it will stay that way.”

  “First there’s the gun and Dad’s mysterious mistress to deal with. Then the dead rose, the nasty note. And Benny disappearing from my apartment when I know I locked him inside. I took those as warnings. Fine. But is it possible they were death threats? Is it possible someone might have deliberately rigged my kitchen burner to kill me?”

  Kate’s face fell to my immobile left arm. “The stakes are getting high, Breecie. I think your life is in danger. The doctor said you were lucky. You could have died. Someone meant to kill you.”

  There were the words that I would not speak. My mom’s life was in danger and I didn’t know it. I should have known something. God, I never believed those street thugs murdered her.

  Kate interrupted my thoughts. “And don’t forget the snake you refuse to admit might have been set out to greet you,” Kate said. She squeezed my fingers again.

  “But why would someone want to kill me? For what?”

  “That I don’t understand. This town embraces pretty much anybody. You know that by now.”

  “It’s like I know too much. But I don’t know anything. But you know what? I’m going to find out. And someone else is going to find out he or she is messing with the wrong woman.”

  Kate didn’t have to respond.

  Three days later, home and fully recovered, I faced my calendar. In another three days Adam expected me to be in D.C. enjoying an evening wrapped on his arm. It sounded dreadful. I opted for a morning walk to clear my head when I stumbled upon Jonathan sitting on a bench, softly picking chords on his guitar.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just head off up the mountain.”

  “It’s okay. Sit down. I was sorry to hear you had an accident,” he said.

  Did you hear or did you know? I wondered. Maybe he discovered I’d been in his apartment the morning of the so-called accident. He was a weirdo with a snake cage, shrine or no shrine.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Thank you,” I said, still standing. “Just a little mishap.” I watched for any of the telltale signs I’d been trained to see in the courtroom. Most people could control fidgeting fingers, and even wayward eyes. But there was always an unwelcome need to swallow, or a wincing eyelid, or a pulse beat showing in the vein of the neck of a liar.

  “Actually, I wanted to offer my congratulations.”

  That one floored me. I’d been engaged for months. It seemed a little late to be bestowing wedding blessings. “Thank you.”

  “Just watch out for the sharks,” he said, picking chords on his guitar.

  Was he referring to Adam going into politics? Sharks to politics were like what Bloody Marys were to hangovers. Fun food for the feeding frenzy. But it was an odd comment. He caught my puzzled look.

  “I heard about it from one of my clients, well, old clients. He’s an editor with a big publishing house in New York. He always told me it was a rough business full of charlatans. He said things are changing. You can’t just stick with the big guys and think you won’t have any problems.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your manuscript. Isn’t that what we’re talking about? I understand you’ve found an agent.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Daffodils

  Adam named the time and the place we would meet with the wedding planner.

  “Adam, as long as I’m flying all the way up there, let’s meet beforehand. I really need to talk to you.”

  “Listen, you’re the one that ran us out of time. I can’t get away before then. We’ll have a great dinner after we wrap things up with her. I have nothing but you on my calendar.”

  “But, Adam...”

  “...No excuses.”

  With my dad barking at me, no progress on my manuscripts, and still being scared out of my mind after the electric shock incident, I obeyed.

  Per his modus operandi, Adam insisted I not get a cab and instead sent his black stretch limousine. Appealing, I admit. Adam was a class act.

  “Your luggage, Ms. Lemay? Where is it?” the chauffeur asked.

  “I have everything I need, thank you.”

  The skillful driver quickly had us on I-66 heading east toward the District of Columbia.

  “Do you have the address of where we’re going?” I asked him.

  “Yes, Ms. Lemay. Mrs. French’s.”

  “Darling, it’s my job to provide you with the event of your lifetime. Now you aren’t really helping me and that’s why Mr. Chancellor is irritated with both of us,” Mrs. French said, placing our thick file on the pecan table in front of me.

  “Mrs. French,” Adam said, “you are going to find you’ll have your hands full with her.”

  “She’ll be a good girl with me.”

  Of course, why not treat me like a child? I wasn’t paying her bill, and she damn well knew it. I thumbed through the loose pages now splayed out on the table.

  “The invitations are already being engraved. There are no changes, without a steep fee. Not mine, of course.” She batted tarantula-looking eyelashes at Adam, and he indulged her with his handsome broad grin.

  “Breecie’s fine with your arrangements. I just thought you two should meet.”

  “Well, Adam, that’s the thing.” I spoke with a calm voice, a learned technique from being in front of a jury. “I’m not fine.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Mrs. French said, her soothing intentions directed toward Adam. “This is just her nerves talking.”

  “Mrs. French. This is not my nerves. I’m sure Adam knows I’m usually easy to work with, but the truth is I have some serious reservations here.” Was there a lilt in my voice?

  Mrs. Fre
nch looked at Adam as if she expected him to pull in my rein.

  “For starters, I don’t want an opera singer during the ceremony. I hate opera. I want a classical guitarist.

  “And at the reception, you have a big band. No one my age knows how to dance to big bands. I’d do anything from Willie Nelson to Yanni, to reggae, but no big band.”

  Adam glared at me and offered his high-priced consultant a place to sit at her own table. I was surprised he didn’t offer her a neck roll.

  “And then there’re these dreadful flowers,” I continued. “I don’t like any of them. I want daffodils and glads.”

  “But we must select fall flowers. This is an October wedding,” Mrs. French said.

  “But maybe I want tulips. And definitely I want daffodils. Lots and lots of daffodils.”

  Adam’s nostrils flared, but unlike any politician I knew, he seemed to have nothing to say. I shined in his absence of words. “Eureka! That’s it! I want to marry a man that can appreciate the joy of daffodils.”

  “Breeze, what are you doing?” Adam grabbed my arm and forced it down toward the hard edge of the table.

  “Actually, Adam, I think this might be the beginning of our goddamn problem.” I jerked my arm back. “I don’t want a fall wedding. I want to be married in April. Maybe May.”

  “For god’s sake, this is ridiculous. Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me this months ago?”

  “Why the hell would you make it a media event, and announce our date without first discussing it with me?”

  Mrs. French was shaking her head. Adam recognized the direness of the situation. I think mostly he worried she would quit. I guess he really was nescient. It never occurred to him I had the same option.

  “Above all else, I think I want to marry someone I’m madly in love with,” I said. “I’m sorry, Adam. I should have done this months ago. You better get your P.R. cronies back on board to re-promote you as that most eligible bachelor.” I grabbed my purse to leave, hoping above all else I’d spy a taxi nearby the storefront.

  “You can’t do this, you cunt,” Adam screamed. “You can’t call this off. You owe me.”

  “I can. I am. It’s over.”

  “Not when your father gets wind of this.”

  “Rot in hell, Adam. Both you and Dad.”

  Mrs. French flinched and slunk away to her back office. She must have seen dollars burning.

  “You’re no prize catch, Breecie Lemay. Hell, you can’t cook, you can’t clean, and you’re nothing but an inverted cactus in the sack.”

  I reached the door and yanked at the glass knob. “Call your redhead.”

  “No need to. We already have plans, the minute you board your goddamn plane.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Spoiled Little Rich Girl

  I could have easily been a six year old, explaining how I didn’t mean to smack a baseball though the window and maybe it was the bat’s fault. I could have been a serial killer with the DNA results in, trying to explain to the families of my victims that the spilt blood was my evil twin sister’s doings.

  Worse yet, I was at my father’s infamous kitchen table, explaining that once and for all my engagement to Adam Chancellor was over. For good.

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this? You love the man,” he said.

  “I was in love with the idea of the man. The glamour of being a politician’s wife. And you’re the one being stubborn.”

  “Ask me some of my questions,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Chicken Little said the sky is”

  “Falling.”

  “It’s raining cats and”

  “Dogs.”

  “Our current President of the United States is”

  “Stupid.”

  “I sleep in my”

  “Naked as a jaybird.”

  “Dad, do you want me to help you with this or not?”

  “I want you to marry Adam.”

  “Why do you own such an investment in this? I get to choose who I marry, Daddy. You don’t get to do that pre-arranged thing in this country.”

  “Ask me more of my questions,” he said.

  “I just asked you my question, and you won’t answer me. Why won’t you let go of this?”

  “Maybe I just want him to be the father of my grandchildren,” he said. His eyes wandered, as if revisiting another time. “He adored your mother, you know.”

  “Everyone loved Mother.” Except you. “Look, I know you have a history with Adam. There’s no reason why you can’t go on to support his candidacy, but leave me out of it. After a few months, when voters are heading to the polls, no one will remember me.” Some redhead will be on his arm.

  Dad’s heavy eyelids reflected his laden spirit, and I realized my visit and my unwelcome news took a toll. I placed a few piled-up dirty glasses in the dishwasher, preparing to leave. “I noticed Naomi must be out of town. When is she getting home?” I prayed he was too tired to hear the urgency in my voice.

  Apparently I didn’t pray to the right god. “We’re neighbors, not each other’s keepers. You have to give it up, Breecie. You don’t need to be digging around here anymore. Hell, that’s why we got you in that small law practice in the first place.”

  I assessed his words and his look of immediate chagrin. Tears traversed down my cheeks but it was rancor that stormed my heart. “What did you say?”

  Dad’s eyes grew pensive. Another secret was erupting from behind the guarded wall of the Lemay family history books.

  “Christ,” he said.

  “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “You haven’t been an attorney all that long, little princess. You haven’t begun to learn the secret language.” Dad’s words emerged slowly, but they became both paced and calculating.

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I don’t care what branch of law you practice. Family. Criminal. Probate or criminal.” He never veered his eyes away from mine. “To be a big player, you have to be willing to go beyond the letter of the law. You’re ill prepared for that world. That’s why we put you in that small suburban practice.”

  “What are you saying, ‘we put you’? I got that job all by myself. I even remember you ridiculed me at the time.”

  “You want all the answers? Think about it. You should have been in a public defender’s office, straight out from the bar. How the hell do you think you made the cut, even in a small practice? Lawyers are a dime a dozen in D.C., damn good lawyers.

  We made some arrangements, and you got a good deal.”

  “Who is this ‘we’ you’re talking about?”

  Dad’s eyes became dull with unresponsiveness. He broke his stare, content to scan the floor for dust bunnies or something far dirtier.

  “No, Daddy. No. Don’t tell me.” I read beyond his incongruous calmness. I read his secret. “Not you and Adam?”

  Back in his downtown Denver office, Baird resumed his habitual pattern of pacing the worn wood floor before addressing his golf ball positioned on the carpet runner. “You have a lot of nerve demanding I give up my Trinidad trollop when it’s your daughter we have to worry about. She has some investigator doing her snooping for her. If you don’t stop her, I will.” He paused to make his putt.

  The other voice boomed from the speakerphone. “I’m telling you I can’t stop her anymore, and we can’t count on Adam to get her back to Washington. I just don’t think we need to get all riled up. She can’t get there,” Lemay said.

  “Get there?” Baird grew annoyed.

  “She won’t find anything. She’s looking into her dead mother’s fate, and there’s nothing but a goose egg at the end of her hunt. We have no worries.”

  Baird hung up and buzzed his secretary. “I need reservations to Mexico City. Leave on Thursday, back Monday.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll notify the embassy.”

  “I need a different hotel. Find one that’s discreet with their bookings.”

  Chapt
er Thirty-Six

  Bye Bye, P.I.

  My literary agent requested all three-hundred pages of my manuscript, ‘Stained Sheets and Legal Loopholes’, along with my curriculum vitae. It still needed editing, but he could sell it off my platform, he said. He also requested a synopsis and the first three chapters of ‘Because My Daddy Loves Me’, even though I was less than half way done with it and kept changing the beginning.