Follow the white pebbles

by Lillian Summers

  A tear streamed down Madeline’s cheek. “And how did you find out about your baby boy?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  Susan laced her fingers together and stared at them for a while, visibly clenching her jaw. “Billy’s Momma told me all about it after the police came here when you found Jimmy. She knew it all along, the old hag. They ain’t arrestin’ her, cuz’ she’s rottin’ with cancer. Gonna turn up her toes any day now.” She suddenly raised her gaze to look at Madeline. “Tell me, how he got to kidnap Jimmy?” she asked.

  Madeline swallowed hard. “It was really late at night,” she said. “We were on our way home after visiting Lizzie’s godparents when a cyclist popped out of nowhere in front of our limousine. The chauffeur did not have time to brake. We all got out of the car to see if there was something we could do to assist the poor man.” Her eyes darkened as the memories flooded her mind. “Lizzie was fast asleep in her baby seat on the backseat. It was only after the ambulance took the cyclist away that I remembered to check on her. She was not there anymore.” Hot tears started streaming down her cheeks.

  “No, God, oh no,” Susan gasped. Madeline wiped her eyes and smiled weakly. She suddenly stood up and walked around the table. Her arms wrapped around Susan’s shoulders.

  Susan jumped to her feet in surprise.

  “Thank you for taking care of my daughter,” Madeline said, holding her in a tight embrace. “You are her mother as much as I am. And you are more than welcome to go and see her. Come and see us too, any time you like.”

  Susan opened her mouth to say something then closed it again. Her gaze flew over Madeline’s shoulder toward Arthur’s face. He said nothing. Just nodded curtly. “Thanks,” she replied then. “Make sure you take care of my girl. She needs to get some meat on her bones.” Her eyes started to water suddenly. She pulled away to wipe them with the sleeve of her dress.

  “Is there anything we can help you with?” Madeline asked, skimming the room with her gaze.

  Susan got stiff. “Nothin’, thanks. I’ve been a lot worse than that. I’ve got a good life.”

  Madeline’s arms dropped in embarrassment. “I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you,” she murmured miserably.

  “It’s all right.” Susan hugged her back. “You’re a good woman,” she said, failing to address Arthur as well. She just swept him with an unreadable gaze.

  Susan’s story kept echoing at the back of Madeline’s mind all the way home. Both women had something in common. They had both lost a child eighteen years ago. Only that Madeline had found her baby. Susan had lost hers twice.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rows of finely printed words started dancing in front of Justin’s tired gaze. He threw his head back and pushed out a long, tortured sigh, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. There was only so much he could take, and he had had more than his fill of reports for the day. And to make things even worse, it wasn’t even three p.m. Another three hours at least until he might be able to stand up and go home.

  “Miss Pearce is here to see you, sir.” His secretary’s voice resounded through the interphone. He bolted to his feet and almost ran to the door.

  Kate was peeling a pair of soft lacy gloves off her hands as she slowly paced the antechamber. She looked up at him, the ghost of a smile shying on her lips.

  “Good afternoon, Kate.” He flattened his back against the door to let her walk past him. “Mary, I don’t want to be disturbed under any circumstances.” He sent a severe look at his secretary.

  “But you have a board meeting in ten minutes, sir.” She raised her eyebrows.

  His gaze turned to frost. “I said, under any circumstances. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He swept her with another icy glare then closed the door behind him. He couldn’t even choose his own secretary, the irritating thought boiled through his mind. The woman was more efficient than a modern factory full of robots, he had to admit, but his father had made sure she’d be no catwalk material. She was as ugly as a shaggy cat. He put her out of his mind and made his way to Kate with hasty steps.

  “How are you keeping?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  He muffled her words with his mouth, pushing her bottom against the edge of his desk. A soft moan resonated at the back of her throat, making his pulse drum savagely in his veins. He slid his hand in between their bodies and blindly searched for the buttons of her blouse. Warm skin soft as silk met his fingers, sending a fresh gust of fire through his bloodstream. He pulled away to look down at the demi-bra on top of which the swells of her upper breasts spilled enticingly. His fingers tugged impatiently at the lacy material, freeing a rosy nipple. He dipped his head to draw it between his lips and suckled on it until it pebbled in his mouth.

  Kate tipped her head backwards whimpering with burning desire, her fingers tunneling in his hair to pull him closer to her skin. Her hands roamed underneath his jacket down to his belt, feverishly undoing it and opening the slit of his trousers.

  Every one of Justin’s nerve endings came to life, pulsing with fire. He lifted her on the edge of the desk and yanked her forward by the small of her back to bring her in contact with the hardness of his body. She was wearing a thong underneath her flared skirt. He pushed it on the side with feverish fingers and settled himself between her thighs, probing her warm entrance. There was so much need searing through him, he felt for a moment he would explode even before entering her.

  “Oh, God, I want you so much,” he whispered, taking her mouth in another devouring kiss.

  The voice of the secretary sounded through the interphone like a thunderous explosion, making their hearts jump to their throats. “Please, forgive me for interrupting, sir, but your mother is on Line 1 and insists on speaking with you. She says it’s urgent.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Justin cried, pulling away. “I told you I am not to be disturbed, Mary,” he almost shouted as he pressed the interphone button.

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the secretary lamented, “but your mother is adamant. She wants to talk with you straight away. What should I tell her?”

  He just jerked the handset off the hook and pressed the Line 1 button. “Hello, Mom,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Amanda’s voice streamed from the handset’s receiver sweet as a honey river. “You can zip up your pants, for starters,” she said, “then send your little hussy out the door.” Her voice kept cajoling his ear. “Because if you don’t, your father and I will make sure you’ll be out of business and back on your yearly allowance before you manage to count to three. I love you, son,” she reassured him before hanging up.

  He moved the handset away from his ear and stared pensively at it for a moment before sending it flying toward the wall.

  “So, do we have another couple of minutes or not?” Kate remained seated on the edge of the desk, her thighs still enticingly parted.

  “We don’t. You have to go,” he replied bluntly, busying himself with the zipper of his trousers.

  She slipped off the desk in an instant and straightened her clothing, staring at him offended. “You don’t have to take it out on me because your mother got on your nerves,” she lashed out at him.

  He strode to the door without answering and waited for her to join him. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said curtly, letting her walk past him.

  The secretary was engrossed in some supersonic speed typing and didn’t even notice Kate’s departure. It was only her boss’s booming voice that made her stop with a startle that almost sent the keyboard flying.

  “Why did you call my mother?” he barked, bracing his hands on the desk as he towered menacingly over her.

  Her face turned as white as a sheet. “I didn’t, sir,” she almost whispered. “Why would I do that?”

  He snatched the handset with uncontained fury, almost sweeping it off the desk together with its cradle. “Show me the last three redials,” he commanded.

  S
he pressed a button with a trembling finger. “This is Mr. Ortego’s number, your head lawyer.” She pressed the button once more. “This one is George Chamberlain, the CEO, and this one is Mr. Lambert, your couturier.”

  He threw the phone on the desk and stormed back into his office without another word, slamming the door behind him. Who on earth had alerted his mother? It wasn’t like he had microphones or hidden cameras in this room. Sudden horror rippled through him. He leapt toward the bookcases and started pulling out books, vases and any adornment he could find, turning them upside down, flipping pages, shaking and poking at everything until he was satisfied there was nothing there.

  “Jesus,” he snapped, raking his fingers through his hair.

  Back in the antechamber, the secretary finally stopped hyperventilating. She hastily grabbed her cell phone from the desk sending furtive glances toward the office door. She made three failed attempts with her shaky fingers before she was finally able to delete the last dialed number.

  The limousine came to a halt in front of the mansion after having wound its way through small roads and the wilderness that separated the property from the town of Oswego. Justin’s irritation was far from ebbing away, and so was his sexual frustration. He got out of the car without waiting for his chauffeur to open the door and walked up the stairs of the mansion with brisk, nervous steps, ready to bite someone’s head’s off if someone as much as breathed in front of him.

  His head of security bumped into him just as he walked through the entrance.

  “Oh, good evening, Mr. Winters.” Brian Hornsby turned red with embarrassment. “My apologies, sir.”

  “What are you doing here, Hornsby?” Justin asked.

  It was indeed unusual for the head of security to be in the mansion, unless something serious had happened.

  Brian Hornsby winced before answering. “It’s Mrs. Winters, sir. She summoned me about an hour ago and insisted on having her former bodyguards brought to the property.” He picked up his stride behind Justin who was moving toward his main study. “I tried to explain to her that things are not that simple and there is a procedure to be followed, but Mrs. Winters got upset with me,” he kept explaining.

  “What did she say?” Justin asked absently.

  Brian Hornsby turned beet red. “Well… she said… uhmmm…” He cleared his throat noisily. “Mrs. Winters told me to… uhmmm… shove the procedure… uhmmm… up my…” He stopped to exhale noisily, ballooning his cheeks.

  Justin stopped on his tracks and stared at him amused, suddenly forgetting his own frustration. “It’s all right, Brian, no need to say it. I know what part of you she was referring to.” He bit his upper lip to stifle a smile. “Just speak with Mr. Wilburn’s head of security and see if you can organize a transfer, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brian Hornsby nodded.

  Justin sat behind his desk and turned his computer on, signaling that it was time to be left alone.

  Brian Hornsby remained immobile in the middle of the room as if his shoes were glued to the floor.

  “Is there anything else?” Justin looked up at him, a faint note of annoyance in the tone of his voice.

  The color on Brian’s face turned almost purple. “Yes… there is, sir…” he stammered. “I don’t know how to say that… but I think that Mrs. Winters has my wallet.” He suddenly shot out defending hands when he saw his boss stand up slowly, his closed fists braced on the desk. “It was probably an accident, sir,” he lamented. “The wallet must have fallen out of my pocket when Mrs. Winters walked past me, and I have no doubt that she thought it was yours.”

  “What pocket would your wallet had fallen out of, Hornsby?” Justin hissed.

  “My back pocket, sir,” Brian felt the stutter coming again. He stared in disbelief as his boss bolted past him, almost knocking him off balance.

  Justin strode along the corridor toward his apartment, today’s frustration and deep-encrusted fury starting once more to boil inside him. Just as he had come home to a relaxing bath, a warm bed and a good night sleep, he had received the biggest slap to his face.

  “I have no doubt that your wife thought the wallet was yours, Mr. Winters,” Justin kept muttering to himself as he walked along the corridor. “The wallet must have come out of my back pocket as she walked past me, because it suddenly decided all by itself that the pocket was way too tight,” he mocked with indignation.

  He stopped in front of the apartment and pushed the door wide open, scanning the view with murder in his eyes. Lizzie Winters was sitting on the couch with her legs drawn underneath her, a wallet negligently balanced on the cap of one of her knees. Her fingers were busily fanning out the handful of notes which she was counting.

  Justin closed the distance to her in a few steps and towered over her. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he spat the words out one by one.

  Lizzie didn’t look up. “Countin’, are you blind?” she said absently then recommenced a silent wording that she alone understood, in tandem with the movement of her fingers.

  He suddenly leaned down to snatch the pile of notes from her hand and the wallet off her knee, his face a dark cloud.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” she sprang to her feet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he poked a finger at her chest, holding her at a distance. “How could you do this to me, in front of my employee, stealing his wallet? In my own house! You’re behaving like a lowlife petty thief, and like a lowlife in general if I may say,” he exploded. All that afternoon’s frustration welled over. “What’s next? Stealing a pair of stockings from a boutique when you next go shopping?”

  “I don’t wear stockings.” Lizzie shrugged.

  Justin thought for a moment that the fury would choke him if he didn’t stuff something down his wife’s throat to gag her. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he exploded. “Trying to push me toward divorce? This isn’t going to happen, Lizzie. I am prepared to tie you up in this apartment while I’m at work, and only let you loose when I’m around,” he threatened.

  “Just try to do that, Winters, and I’ll snap your damn neck in two,” she drawled. “I ain’t nobody’s prisoner.” She turned her back on him, heading toward her study.

  He stared at her for a moment in silence, taking in the defiant line of her straight shoulders and the stubbornness of her steps as she strode along the corridor. “Lizzie,” he called from behind, not quite sure what prodded him to do it after all that had happened. “Stop calling me Winters.”

  She stopped and stood still for a few seconds then whirled on the heels of her boots and walked back until she was only a foot away from him. “You don’t like to be called that, do ya?” she said, her voice filled with uncontained amusement. “Why’s that?”

  “Because it’s my surname, for God’s sake. Family and friends address me by my first name, it’s only natural,” he rolled his eyes.

  She nodded thoughtfully, bobbing her head up and down in a slow movement. “Then why the hell don’t you call me by my name?” she finally asked.

  Justin looked at her disconcerted. “I’m pretty sure I do that all the time, Lizzie.”

  “Stuff that name, Winters. You know damn well that my name is Jimmy. You just don’t want to say it because you’re so damn stubborn,” she said, her voice soft.

  She had turned a fight that had centered on her wrongs into a sermon she was now giving because he was the culprit, Justin realized with a peculiar mixture of bewilderment and surprised amusement. “Tell me, why you stole the wallet?” he asked, changing tact.

  Lizzie remained silent for a moment while she went to sit back on the couch, drawing one leg underneath her. “Habit,” she replied curtly.

  He looked at her dumbfounded. “Habit?” he asked. “Habit?” he repeated, not quite sure he’d heard her right. “And what were you going to do with it, and with its contents for that matter?” he pressed. “You are a rich woman. So rich in fact, this…” He
shook the handful of notes in the air. “This would be barely enough to tip a parking valet.”

  Lizzie stared absently ahead, chewing at her lower lip. “Have you ever been hungry, Winters?” she asked after a while.

  He looked at her disconcerted, forgetting to lower his hand. “Of course I have. Many times. Particularly since I started working at the office. I had to skip quite a few meals in order to keep up with the crazy rhythm of the business life.”

  She kept her gaze averted. “Yeah, I got that, but how many times did you skip meals for a few days in a row?” she asked.

  “Never,” Justin replied.

  “And how many times have you been to a restaurant?” she kept pressing.

  “I’ve lost count,” he answered, a little annoyed by her persistence.

  She finally raised her chin to look up at him, yet her gaze didn’t reach his eyes, stopping on the knot of his necktie. “Well, I’ve only been once, Winters. When Johnny turned eighteen. He saved for it since he was seventeen. He took me and Momma to the cheapest Chinese restaurant in Queens, where flies were squirmin’ over the food, and it wasn’t a damn surprise to find a maggot every now and then in our plate. When we finished eatin’ there were a couple of tablespoons of fried rice left and we asked for a doggy bag,” she said, the look on her face sad and tender at once.

  “A doggy bag?” Justin raised his eyebrows. “Did you have a dog?”

  Lizzie squeezed her eyes really hard. “See? You don’t even know what a damn doggy bag is. You have the word ‘doggy’ and the word ‘bag’ in your vocabulary, but not the two of ‘em put together,” she said. “A doggy bag is a bag with the leftovers. You take it when you can’t eat all that’s left in your plate, but you don’t want to waste it either. It ain’t called this cuz’ it’s for your dog,” she explained.

  Justin looked at her confused. “Why would you need to do that?”

  She blinked fast a couple of times. “See? You don’t understand a damn thing, Winters. You grew up havin’ your ass wiped with money cuz’ you had so much of it you could have filled a hundred swimming pools. I grew up pullin’ those notes out of the pockets of people like you,” she said.