by Amy Storm
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Blank Page
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
QUESTIONING LOVE
Amy Storm
Copyright © 2015 Amy Storm
All rights reserved.
To my wife
Chapter One
In a dark hotel room in downtown Boston during the early morning hours, Olivia’s cell phone rang nonstop. She was unaware of the cries of help from the frantic caller trying to get in touch with her. The shower radio playing Olivia’s favorite song drowned out the constant ringing of her cell phone. With a mischievous smirk, she finished lathering herself thinking about the previous night. Last night was wild, which was nothing new for her. She turned off the hot soothing water and sighed as the cooler air enveloped her. After drying off, she applied lavender-scented lotion, covering herself in the sensuous scent. She placed a splash of sultry jasmine perfume on her wrists and dabbed a few drops behind her ears.
She emerged from the bathroom and surveyed the condition of the room. It looked like a tornado had swept through leaving a path of destruction. There were empty champagne bottles tossed around the room. Sexy white and red lingerie dangled off the leg of an oversized brown leather chair turned on its side. On the pillow, she found a yellow sticky note that read, Call me. Let’s do this again soon. XOXO, Tricia. Olivia smiled and ran her fingers over the smudge of red lipstick beneath the note.
She had a flashback of the gorgeous, blond, blue-eyed woman from the hotel bar last night. Too bad Tricia would never hear from her again. Olivia Porter was a private investigator who put her work first and her personal life second. She never saw the same lover more than once and didn’t believe in commitments. She loved pleasuring a woman, but once the night was over she moved on. She exchanged numbers with her conquests, but never returned their calls. The block caller function was her friend.
She slipped into a pair of black pants, a cream cashmere sweater, and black leather boots. Dark red lipstick covered her full lips, standing out against her long, dark brown, wavy locks and pale complexion. Makeup not only accentuated her beauty, it covered up the telltale lines of aging on her forty-year-old skin.
Sunlight broke through the half-opened thick brown hotel curtains. She turned on the television and flipped to the local news station. She turned up the volume to hear what the breaking news of the day was. A reporter discussed information about a priest in the community accused of molesting a young girl named Zoe. Her stomach churned hearing the details. The trial had finished the day before, and the family was outraged because there wasn’t a conviction. There hadn’t been enough evidence to prove the priest molested Zoe. The parents screamed at the reporter and called the priest a pedophile and a monster.
Her phone made a loud beep indicating she had a message. According to the lock screen, she had missed several calls and there were a few voicemails. Some of the calls were from Tricia, but she didn't recognize the other phone number. She played the voicemails, which were from a lady named Clara Boswell. The woman sounded upset and muttered something about, “It’s not fair. You have to help us.”
She listened to all three messages from Clara, but it was unclear who the frantic woman was and what message she was trying to communicate. Olivia took three deep breaths in and out to calm her racing heart. This Clara woman had her curiosity peaked along with her nerves. Once her thumping heart calmed down, she entered Clara’s number and waited for someone to answer.
“Hello? Ms. Porter?” a female asked.
“Yes, hello. Is this Mrs. Boswell?”
“Yes, thank you for returning my call.”
“No problem. I’m sorry I missed your calls earlier.”
Clara interrupted her, “You have to help us. That horrible priest…that monster...our poor baby girl, Zoe.”
Olivia scolded herself for not recognizing Clara as being the mother in the news story. “I’m so sorry. Would you like to continue this over the phone, or we could meet to discuss this in person?”
“Oh thank you, Ms. Porter. Could you meet with my husband and me today?”
“That’s not a problem. I can meet with you and your family to discuss what happened to Zoe. I can come to your home if you would like?”
“Yes. Thank you, Ms. Porter. Thank you.”
“No problem. What’s your address?”
“Thirteen Beacon Street.”
Olivia’s jaw dropped. This was not going to be a typical case or one of her typical clients. Only the richest people could afford to live on Beacon Hill.
Her voice squeaked a few octaves up from her normal confident soothing voice. “Will ten o’clock work for you this morning?”
Clara sniffled. “Yes. Thank you again.”
Olivia jotted down Clara’s address on the back of Trish’s note. “I’ll be at your place at ten o’clock sharp. See you then.”
She hung up the phone. The call left her with palpitations. She would have been better prepared if she had known Clara was the mother on the news.
Her work as a private investigator kept her life intriguing and gave her something to look forward to each day. Those who had used her services before, respected her and recommended her to others. She wondered who recommended her to Clara. If only Clara had contacted her before they went to court, maybe the outcome would’ve been different. What did they expect from her now?
***
Olivia straightened up the hotel room before leaving. She lifted the chair back upright and tossed the empty champagne bottles into the recycle bin. Now there was no evidence of the amazing sex she and Tricia had last night. Well, none in the room. The nail marks on her back told their own story. The buzz and dull headache from partying too hard reminded her that she wasn’t in her twenties anymore or even thirties.
She slid into her black jacket inhaling the scent of leather. Its collar was as smooth as butter against the back of her neck. She grabbed her belongings, found the nearest staircase, and headed downstairs to check out. Olivia was not fond of elevators. When she was a young teenager, she went to a party in New York City with her friends. Too many drunk people entered the elevator at the same time and it dropped making a loud screeching noise that scared the hell out of her. The elevator came to a stop on level fourteen and opened up, but the elevator was between floors. A few people close by helped free everyone, but it terrified her enough that she sweats every time she has to take the elevator.
Reaching the lobby, she walked across catching the eye of the redhead, Sue, at the front desk. Sue looked to be in her early thirties. She smiled at Olivia with those piercing green eyes. Thoughts of taking Sue upstairs ran through her mind. She often wondered what kind of smoking body Sue was hiding beneath that navy blazer and gold-plated name tag. Good thing the desk forced Olivia to keep her distance.
“Wild night?” Sue asked. "The champagne and chocolate strawberries alone total two hundred dollars this time.”
Olivia leaned forward over the counter. “A girl has to have fun every now and then.” She licked her lips. “You should try the strawberries. The chocolate melts in your mouth or anywhere else…”
Sue blushed. Olivia loved flirting and never missed an opportunity. She handed Sue her platinum credit card letting her fingers drag across Sue’s wrist.
&nb
sp; “You’re becoming a regular here. Do you do a lot of business in the area?”
“You could say that. In my business, I do my best to please everyone.” She winked at Sue. “I hope we can continue this conversation next time. Maybe I’ll even share my chocolate strawberries with you.”
Sue’s blush returned as she slid Olivia’s card back across the counter. “I would love that. Ask for me next time if you don’t see me at the desk.”
Olivia bit her bottom lip. “Be careful what you ask for, I might hold you to it.”
She winked at Sue and blew her a kiss before turning to leave. She strutted out of the hotel swaying her hips like a runway model. She loved being in the spotlight with all eyes on her every chance she got.
Her swagger died down as she looked for her car. She couldn’t remember where she had parked it last night. What kind of detective can’t find their own car? She almost walked around the entire block before she found it.
Shivering against the bitter cold air finding its way beneath her jacket, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. It felt like winter, not fall. Sometimes, it was hard to tell the difference with the fluctuations in temperature lately. It was cool for late September, even for Boston. The highs were only supposed to be in the low thirties with gusting winds. After placing her overnight bag in the trunk of her car, she got in and pressed the push-button ignition. Heat radiated up from the seats warming her from the bottom up. The rearview mirror allowed her to check her makeup again, verifying her hair whipping in the wind hadn't smeared it. She noticed a dot of lipstick on her front teeth and wiped it with a tissue. She hoped Sue hadn’t noticed it, although if she did it hadn’t stopped her from flirting back.
She glanced again at her eyeliner and shiny red lips reflecting back in the mirror. She entered Clara’s address into her GPS and floored it out of her parking spot forcing her way into the crazy Boston traffic.
Her GPS, which she had named Blue, began announcing directions. Blue had a sexy female voice that she had downloaded to personalize it. She loved the sexy tone of Blue’s voice, which was the closest thing to a steady relationship she had.
***
It was a Saturday morning so there wasn’t too much traffic. Olivia thought about what the Boswell family wanted with her and how she could help. She assumed they were pretty wealthy judging from the area they lived. They had hired Paul Sturbridge, the most respected top-notch lawyer in Boston. She couldn’t imagine what his fees were.
After glancing at the clock on her radio, she knew she had time to grab a quick breakfast before her meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Boswell. There was a drive-thru coffee shop up ahead, so she pulled in and waited in line after ordering a latte and cheese danish. Patience was one thing she didn't have a lot of, so she left room between her car and the vehicle in front of hers in case she had to go inside.
An elderly woman in the tiny red vehicle in front of hers shouted at the person working the window. “What’s that, dear? Ten dollars?”
A few more minutes went by and the line had not moved. The woman continued to shout at the boy in the window. Olivia couldn’t afford to waste any more time. She threw the car in park and squeezed her way between the car in front of her and the window.
“What seems to be the problem here?”
The young boy at the window rolled his eyes at Olivia and shook his head.
The little elderly woman peered up at her and then back down to her lap where the contents of her wallet laid. “Oh dear, I don’t know where I put my money. My son gave my twenty dollars yesterday. Oh shoot, it has to be in here somewhere.”
Now was Olivia’s chance to pay it forward. “Don’t worry about it ma’am, it’s my treat. Can I get you anything else?” The lady reminded her of her late grandmother, Florence.
The woman looked up at her with teary eyes. “Thank you.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “They do have the best danishes here with creamy frosting.”
Olivia turned to the window and handed the cashier her card. “Please add a danish to her order.” She felt a gentle squeeze on her arm, and she turned towards the woman.
“You’re so kind young lady. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.” Olivia hurried back to her car.
She pulled up to the window and handed the boy her card again to pay for her own order. The cashier handed her the receipt and her card back.
“Thank you so much for helping out that lady. That was kind of you.” The young boy handed her a rose, which was a little bit beyond its prime. “This is from the lady you paid for. She wanted me to give it to you.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet.” She inhaled the rose and smiled. Her grandmother used to tell her to always take the time to stop and smell the roses.
She took a sip of her latte, but it was piping hot so she nibbled on the outer crust on the enormous danish as she drove off. The woman was right, the danish tasted divine.
Up ahead, a fender bender caused traffic to back up. The slow traffic allowed her to finish breakfast without having to concentrate on the directions. Blue continued to chime, Traffic ahead. Do a U-turn. She hit the mute button on the GPS and enjoyed every bite of the delicious cheese filling in the center of her pastry. The car behind her honked the horn jolting her back to reality. She brushed it off, as she knew it was her fault for not paying attention. The traffic began to move forward, and according to Blue she had about ten minutes left.
She was on her last few right turns now. She ogled the breathtaking enormous condominiums that lined the street. Only wealthy people could afford to live on Beacon Street. She could only dream of their good fortunes. She made a nice income, but not enough for this prestigious neighborhood. She pulled into the parking spot reserved for guests, which Clara told her about.
She took off her sunglasses and placed Blue on the passenger side floorboard. This was a habit of hers since having her previous GPS stolen. “Wish me luck,” she said as the display on Blue went black. She grabbed her purse. After a quick look at her reflection in the car’s side mirror, she turned and made her way to condo number thirteen.
The building consisted of three condos. She wondered, which condo was Clara’s. She saw thirteen A, thirteen B, and thirteen C. The only information she had from Clara was thirteen. Olivia checked the note where she had written down the address to verify it.
A door opened and a man greeted her. “Are you Ms. Porter?”
She turned to find a young man dressed in a sharp pinstriped gray suit, black and gold-rimmed glasses, and expensive leather shoes.
“Yes. I’m here to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Boswell.”
“My name is Simon. Follow me, Ms. Porter.”
“Thank you.”
She followed Simon into a large foyer. He buzzed Mrs. Boswell on the intercom, and she recognized Clara Boswell’s voice through the speaker. “I am on my way down. Thank you, Simon.”
The place was enormous. It became clear that Mr. and Mrs. Boswell owned all three condos as part of one huge complex. The ceiling was grand, maybe twenty-five feet high. White and black swirled marble and gold fixtures filled what she could see of the home. She marveled at the magnificent staircase in front of her and the grand piano off to the left side. Gathered near the piano were luxurious black and cream-colored leather sofas. The air smelled of cinnamon and pine, so inviting. A fireplace crackled near the piano. The entire setup was breathtaking. The condo was huge, but the warmth from the fire made it feel more comfy.
A short elderly lady with a bright white apron and a black dress disappeared around the corner carrying a large silver tray. She never made eye contact with Olivia, but went about her chores like a robot.
As she waited for Clara, a cute young girl with blond hair wearing a sparkling red dress and black stockings ran up to her. Olivia recognized her from the news.
“Hi. I’m Zoe. You’re pretty. Are you a news lady?”
“Come play upstairs sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy have to talk
about important grown-up things with Ms. Porter.” Clara Boswell looked down at them with her arms crossed from the top of the staircase.
Zoe’s enthusiastic grin transitioned to a pitiful frown. She waved at Olivia before turning to go upstairs with her shoulders slumped down at her sides. With her head down moving at a tortoise pace, she brushed past her mother. She disappeared around the corner and Olivia heard a door close.
Clara made her way down the stairs after making sure Zoe was in her room. Her black high heels reverberated against the wood as they made contact with each step in a slow, graceful manner. Underneath her short black leather skirt, were thin, long, sexy legs. She carried a black designer purse on her right shoulder that Olivia guessed was worth a few thousand dollars. Olivia dreamed of one day owning a purse like that. She was more beautiful in person with a thin figure and wisps of blond bangs draped over her eye reminding Olivia of a sexy model.
Clara apologized, “I’m sorry about making you wait. Sorry about Zoe before. I told her to stay upstairs and play.”
Olivia extended her hand and gave Clara a firm handshake. “It’s okay. Zoe is adorable.”
Clara shook her hand returning the firm grip. “Do you mind taking off your boots?”
Olivia looked down at her boots. “Sorry about that. Where are my manners?”
Clara shouted down the hall to Ms. Rosa, her housekeeper. “Ms. Rosa, please take care of Ms. Porter and refresh Simon’s memory on my policy,” she said nodding towards Olivia’s boots.
The small-statured elderly woman she saw earlier appeared. “Excuse me ma’am. May I take your coat? I’ll take your boots and gloves also.”
Olivia forced a smile before bending down to remove her boots.
“Shoes are so messy,” Clara said.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m so sorry.”
She released a nervous chuckle to ease the build up of tension. She glanced down at Clara’s high heels. I guess Louboutin heels don’t collect dirt. She reminded herself why she was here. In any other circumstance, she would’ve told Clara where she could shove her heels.
