1 Executive Lunch

by Maria E. Schneider

  This time, I saw my own address, the real one. "What's this?"

  He looked unhappy. "Huntington insists that you sign over your place to him until this is over."

  "Oh, no." I pushed the paper back at him. "Not in this lifetime."

  Turbo rolled his chair away, refusing to take the paper. "He just turned his condo over to you."

  "I don't care."

  Turbo sighed. He turned my monitor around to face him. "May I?"

  I pushed the keyboard his way.

  When he was finished, he turned the monitor back to me. County records. I scanned them. My mouth dropped. "You've got to be kidding me."

  He shook his head. "The condo is worth more than double your little patio home."

  "That's only because my house isn't in Alpine Hills, and I don't have a golf membership or live two blocks from the course."

  "Huntington doesn't want any problems getting the condo back when this is over."

  "Hmph." I twiddled the pen. "There has got to be a better way! Can't he just trust me?"

  Turbo shook his head.

  I fiddled with the pen and moved the papers around, but he didn't leave. It took me a long time to sign the second set of papers. With each letter of my name, I thought about backing out. I had a feeling that Huntington had done this before. What bothered me was that I didn't know which Huntington was real, the attacker or the board member. Every time I saw the man, I was certain he was both.

  Chapter 10

  I drove to Alpine Hills Saturday afternoon to see my new condo. Even from the outside, it appeared to be as fabulous as advertised. Pulling into the parking lot, I decided I'd better pester Huntington about a new car. I was thinking black, maybe a Mercedes. I was not a Corvette person. I needed to be able to see above the dash, and no one in high heels looked good hauling themselves out of a car that cruised a foot above the ground. Hopping down from a high leather SUV seat or inching one's skirt up delicately to get in…whole different thing.

  There was valet parking and a doorman. "Hello," I said in my brightest, happiest voice.

  Neither smiled, but the valet looked ready to park the car, and the doorman opened the door and gave a half bow. He looked like he was still in high school, scrubbed clean and stuffed into a band uniform.

  The inside of the building was more to my taste than the outside, because it was discreet and quiet. Don't get me wrong; I wasn't giving up my little house in suburbia just so I could live in the neighborhood, but as a temporary thing, I thought I could stand it.

  My number was 324 and it took up one quarter of the floor. The place was decorated with white walls and a barrage of new and old. The living room was all plush leather and sink-in carpet. The bedroom contained a gorgeous antique dresser and a matching carved vanity. The bed looked brand-new except for the bedspread, which may have been purchased at a garage sale. Either that or it had been attacked by a guard dog and chewed on for a while. Even if I didn't have an image to uphold, the giant, faded flowers were ugly.

  Next, I inspected the kitchen. Culinary tools were minimal. The Lenox china was nice, but without pans to cook in, having delicate white china with gold borders wasn't going to be too useful. The place was spotless. I wondered if the condo had its own cleaning team. That wouldn't do at all. I could keep up an image for a while, but there came a time when my sweat pants needed to come out of hiding.

  I grabbed my backpack from the couch, grimacing at having to replace it with a briefcase, and rummaged through it for Huntington's phone number.

  It took me a couple of minutes to find the phone. I hadn't been in the study yet, but it came complete with a computer, two phone jacks and an astounding desk that likely had been dragged in from a junkyard. It tilted rather dangerously and bowed in the middle under the weight of the computer.

  I dialed Huntington's number and realized it was a pager. He probably didn't trust me with his cell phone number.

  While I waited for him to return my call, I checked the refrigerator. Empty. That would have to be fixed immediately. I found another phone in the kitchen, but no phone in the bedroom. That must be where all the rich people kept their cell phones. Go figure.

  The phone jingled, kind of a puny sound. I went to the study. "Hello?"

  "Ms. O'Hala?"

  "This is Sedona."

  "You paged?" Huntington made it sound like I was a solicitor.

  I already knew he didn't like me. He didn't have to send a postcard. "I need to know if I can hire my own maid to clean the place." I was nervous about asking him for anything and found myself babbling. "I also need a Mercedes or BMW, black, preferably an SUV. The place needs a new bedspread and someone should spend some time at Williams and Sonoma getting a full set of cooking utensils. Maybe a set in copper or Calphalon that can be hung in the kitchen."

  There was a silence on the other end and some static. "Will you be at home for a while?"

  I didn't know why he was asking. "Here? Uh, I wasn't planning on staying all that long."

  "I'll swing by with dinner." He didn't give me a chance to refuse; he just hung up.

  I stared at the handset. "I might have to go somewhere," I told the empty phone. I looked at my watch. It was almost five. I would have preferred running to the grocery to at least stock some basics rather than sit around. Maybe I had time. Maybe I didn't. He hadn't said when he would be by. I guess he expected me to cool my heels.

  The phone rang again. I snatched it up with the intent of telling him where to put his dinner. "Listen, Huntington, I don't have time to wait around here and be your lackey--"

  "Good afternoon, Ms. O'Hala. We have some deliveries. Would you like them sent up?" The cultured tone hit my brain just after my mouth started spewing.

  There was an uncomfortable moment while I corked my mouth and re-established communication with my brain. "Uh, hello?"

  "This is the front reception," the voice repeated in my ear. "If now is not a good time for deliveries, we can hold them here."

  I sighed. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Now is fine."

  "Of course."

  How did the doorman manage to sound so icy and civil at the same time? I put the receiver back down, much gentler this time, although I wasn't feeling all that nice.

  It wasn't long before a polite knock sounded. I assumed from the lack of demand, it must be the guy from downstairs. I opened it. A young blond kid held three large packages for me. Two were overnight packages from Fed-Ex. One looked like the Georgiou order I had spent Friday agonizing over. Excellent.

  The guy handed me a clipboard to sign. He had on the same regulation black pants and white shirt as the valet parking guy. This guy looked slightly older, maybe even twenty. His hair was short, but it stuck straight up on top like a bristle-brush. "Do you always bring packages up? I'm new here."

  He nodded stiffly, not meeting my eyes.

  "Sorry about the phone. I know I get regular mail downstairs in my box, but I see these are too big to fit."

  He nodded again. Breaking the ice was going to be hard. Asking if he lived around here was way too stupid a question even for me, so I shuffled my packages onto the couch and let him leave. I would have tipped him, but I had a feeling he would have gotten even more insulted, so I just let it go.

  Georgiou had come through with a silk twill dress that was sleek and professional. They weren't normally in my price range. Victoria's Secret had delivered the silk underwear that I thought it only fair to purchase. Not that I expected anyone to see my underwear, but I had a part to play and one doesn't dress well on the outside without taking care of the inside, right?

  The doorbell rang again. Before I could move to open the door, the deadbolt clicked and it swung open. There I was standing with my brand new camisole in front of me like a kid playing dress up. I swallowed the part of my heart that hadn't leapt all the way out of my chest. "I knew I needed a gun," I muttered.

  "Nice." Huntington had the nerve to give me a cheeky grin. "I see your ta
ste is improving."

  I shrugged and lied even as my face flamed. "Same old, same old."

  "I bet your date never even guessed."

  "He wasn't my date!" I grabbed the boxes from the couch.

  Huntington paused on his way to the kitchen and looked up at the light fixtures, hopefully contemplating my idea of hanging some decent pans. He then peered sideways out the balcony. "Maybe I should take a look at the rest. Make sure all your ideas are on target," he suggested from across the kitchen bar.

  I stopped on my way to the bedroom and looked back, confused. "You haven't seen the place? I thought you picked it out." He raised a suggestive eyebrow at the boxes in my hands. My face flushed again. "No!" I flounced into the bedroom to hide my goods.

  By the time I came back out, he had dished Chinese onto two plates. Not even my mother would serve takeout on such fine china.

  "So, you want a maid and a new car."

  I nodded and took a plate from him. "Did you bring anything to drink?"

  He moved around me and opened the sliding door under the bar. "Voila."

  It was fully stocked. Not a leftover hunk of bread in the refrigerator, but the bar was stuffed. Remarkable. "No thanks, I'll have water."

  He helped himself to some kind of bubbling beverage.

  Nervous, I sat at the glass table. Marring it with fingerprints seemed like a crime so I stood and started searching for napkins.

  "In the drawer by the stove."

  I found some linen napkins and sat down. "So did you live here or did you just purchase the condo for the Strandfrost investigation?"

  "It's actually mine. I spent some time here after I first bought it."

  I chewed on that and the Chinese for a while. Nothing in the condo fit any of Huntington's various personalities. "So the napkins are yours?"

  "Previous owner."

  "Guess you haven't had it long. I read in the pamphlet at the patent award dinner that you're fairly new to Strandfrost's board."

  A happy cat smile, one that was smug and quite ready to pounce, passed across his face. "They hired me onto the board specifically to solve this problem. I have a history of solving corporate problems. Usually companies prefer I do so without groups like the Feds being involved, but in this case, it will save me the trouble of turning over evidence."

  "It must pay well," I mused, thinking about the cost of the condo.

  His smugness went into hiding. "Sitting on corporate boards pays well even without the inside assignments. Running my own investigation company doesn't hurt either."

  "So you'll keep the condo after this project?"

  "Thinking your new position will provide the extra cash to buy it?"

  "Not my style," I said. "But as long as we're on the topic of style, it needs a new bedspread and a new desk."

  "You don't seem to be having any trouble fitting into this new lifestyle," he observed. "You hoping to live it up big and keep some of it?"

  I blinked. "I'm playing the part you hired me to play!"

  He didn't look convinced. "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself. Why ask for an SUV? Why not ask for a Lexus? Or a convertible?"

  I had no trouble with that question. "A Lexus is too…bitchy. It's a, "I got my money from my husband" car. A convertible is too carefree. Doesn't go with the climbing the ladder image."

  He stopped chewing and set his fork down. "And the SUV represents mountains? Where does the black color fit in?"

  "Black is discreet, powerful. Red shouts for attention."

  "What about blue?"

  "Too ordinary. Not enough statement. Blends."

  He thought about that a while. His eyebrows frowned as if he couldn't decide if I were trying to take advantage of the situation or just make fun of it. "Anything else?"

  I wasn't certain if he was annoyed or not, but since he asked for suggestions, I obliged. "The place doesn't look lived in. Could use some plants, some personality."

  "Personality?" He grunted. "I didn't know they sold those."

  It took all my self-control not to suggest that he buy one for himself to go with the condo.

  We finished dinner in silence. When he was done, he got up to rinse the plate.

  I was impressed. At least he didn't think I was going to do the dishes for him, even if he did bring over dinner. I followed him into the kitchen, but not too close. Getting to near him reminded me of the attack. I couldn't get over feeling that he was the same guy.

  Huntington took my plate and rinsed it, adding it to the dishwasher next to his. That left me with nothing to do so I backed off feeling like I was in his house, rather than one that was supposed to be mine.

  I wandered into the living room.

  "So what about the maid?" he called out from the kitchen. "You can't handle cleaning the place?"

  I pulled on my last bit of patience. "Yes, but I don't imagine anyone else in the building does their own place. And if we hire the same person that cleans the neighbor's places, that person might gossip with the other owners."

  He watched me over the bar without saying anything for about a minute and a half. We shared no trust. As far as I was concerned he could be a thug or a boardroom executive, and I wasn't certain there was enough difference between the two. He found me an extra burden the rest of the board members thought was a good idea.

  Never good at playing cat and mouse, I broke the staring match by escaping to the balcony.

  It was the right choice. "Wow." A view of the mountains and a sparkling pool waited beneath my feet. Suzy was gonna love this.

  I hadn't realized I was smiling until Huntington crept up behind me. "Gloating again?"

  I thought about banging my head against the rail. "I am not gloating."

  He was closer than I would have liked. I could smell his cologne. He could pick me up and throw me into the pool. Maybe I'd land in the water. Maybe I wouldn't.

  "Don't get too used to this lifestyle," he advised sharply.

  Through gritted teeth I said, "All business. Nothing more."

  He looked down at the pool and then back inside. "Right. That's why you need a new desk, of course."

  "Have you seen the desk that's in there?" I nearly bellowed. "It's not my fault the place looks abandoned."

  "Abandoned?" he snorted.

  I pointed sideways. "See those other balconies? They all have plants. It makes it look like someone lives there on occasion."

  He never took his deep blue eyes from mine. "Plants." Then, the cat smile was back for just a half-second. "Fine, I'll buy some plants."

  I wasn't sure if it was a challenge or if he thought it was funny that of all the things I asked for, he offered to get the plants.

  He sauntered back inside. I stayed on the balcony while he took his leave. Even though it appeared he had his own key, I locked up behind him.

  After he left, I called Angela. She was thrilled when I made an appointment for the new hairstyle.

  I didn't sleep at the condo. No matter what the paperwork said, it wasn't mine.

  Chapter 11

  Sunday morning rolled around, and I had to put in an appearance at church. Don't get me wrong, I probably needed the word of God more than most. I just had this thing about sitting still long enough. Sadly, if I didn't show up now and again, brother Sean got worried and started nagging incessantly. If it went on too long, he dragged my parents into it, and they all started worrying about me.

  I sat in the pew behind Sean and Brenda so that he wouldn't have to watch me fidget. Derrick Sawyer, one of the policemen Sean worked with quite often, sat next to Brenda. Derrick looked more like the kid next door than a policeman. His red hair was always on end, and he had a face full of freckles. Yes, freckles. From the attentive look on his face, he was getting more out of the sermon than I was. I sighed and tried to pay attention.

  Sean heard the noise I was making. He twitched.

  I scooted to the edge of the pew. Maybe I should just go to the cry room. Suzy was probably in there,
and I couldn't wait to tell her about the condo with the pool. I had already decided on a half-baked story about watching it for someone.

  Sean turned slightly, catching my eye. I smiled weakly and settled back. It probably wasn't a good idea to go to the cry room without a baby anyway.

  After the service, I hopped up and looked over the sea of heads, trying to spot Suzy. Sean caught my arm. He had to shake it twice to get my attention. "What?" I asked in exasperation.

  He rolled his eyes. "I said I need a favor."

  I narrowed my eyes warily. Sean had stopped asking me for favors after the incident at the homeless shelter. He couldn't believe that someone as skilled as I in the kitchen had started the place on fire. It wasn't my fault, but he didn't believe me. "What kind of favor?"

  Must not have been the right question. Sean's mouth formed a tiny little line. I finally noticed Derrick standing just behind him, looking at his toes and shuffling.

  "Well, what is it?" I repeated.

  "Can you come outside?" Sean was a gentle man, even though he was my brother. He only half dragged me into the parking lot, which was rapidly emptying.

  "Slow down, I have dress shoes on." I noticed that Derrick followed meekly, rather unlike him.

  When we got to his car, Sean planted his foot on the fender of the Accord. "Okay," he said. "Here's the deal. Derrick has made arrangements to meet with a battered wife." My eyebrows shot up. Sean raised a hand before I could interrupt. "Mrs. Harrison has some evidence, not on the beating, but on her husband's drug distribution habits." He glared at his friend. "He was going to meet with her without any backup."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "So that she will talk freely," Derrick said.

  "Probably to get setup," Sean growled.

  I knew what Sean meant. Beaten wives tended to turn on their husbands for brief periods of time before running back and living under the same conditions. If Derrick had a battered wife lined up, she may have intended good things when she called him, but that didn't mean she would keep her word. "This doesn't sound good."

  Sean agreed grimly, "She has one prior complaint against an officer for sexual harassment. As Derrick's lawyer I've advised against the whole thing, but he insists on going through with it."