Sadie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “Who’s asking?” Sadie asked, remaining under the table. Somehow, it just felt safer cowering in the shadows as though she were still a child hiding from the bullies.

  “Courier service, ma’am. I’ve got a package for a Ms. Sadie Williams. I need her signature to complete delivery.”

  Lovely. Sadie backed out from under the table and tossed the scrub brush into the bucket of sudsy water beside her. Not bothering to rise, she wiped her wet hands on her jeans, then held out her hand. “I’m Sadie Williams. Any idea what it is?”

  The uniformed young woman shook her head, her face completely devoid of expression. She kept the bulging manila packet firmly tucked under one arm and stepped back, retracting her clipboard and holding it closer to her chest. “No idea, ma’am, and I’ll need to see some ID, please.”

  Seriously? Sadie motioned to her grimy jeans, the bucket of water, and the length of scuffed baseboard she still had to wash. “I don’t usually keep my ID on me when I’m crawling through the hallway wiping down walls.”

  She reached up with both hands this time, wiggling her fingers toward the clipboard. “Come on. I promise, I’m Sadie Williams. Anybody here can vouch for me. Someone had to have directed you to me. That should be good enough and get you out of here to your next delivery.” Sadie knew how things worked with these mail runners. Their prime directive was staying on schedule.

  She gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Why else would you ask me who I was when I’m on my hands and knees under a table? I promise I won’t tell a soul that you didn’t check my ID.” How many couriers had she used that could easily be talked out of their packages because they were running off schedule?

  The courier shook her head again and took another step back. “Sorry, ma’am. I’ve got to see some identification. I’ll be happy to wait here for you if you’d like to go get it.”

  Sadie bit her tongue to keep from cursing out loud and directing some of the choicer words running through her mind at the innocent courier standing in front of her. The girl was just doing her job—and doing it by the freakin’ book, apparently. This would have to happen two days before she was due to leave town. She had enough on her mind without adding some sort of unknown time bomb sent via special courier.

  “Fine. I’ll get it.” Sadie shoved herself to her feet. If that package was some sort of subpoena or summons from Delia, she was going to hunt down her sister and shove it up her skinny ass—that restraining order could just be damned. She pointed at the floor. “Wait here.”

  “Yes ma’am.” The girl backed out of the way, moving over to stand against the wall beside the front door.

  “Who’s that?” Miss Martha asked as Sadie passed her on the way to her room off the back porch.

  “A courier, and she needs my ID before she’ll give me the damn package.”

  “Language, Sadie,” Miss Martha gently scolded as she continued on her way to the dining room. Tossing a smile back over one shoulder, she paused at the swinging doors. “Sometimes good things come in surprise packages. You should be more positive.” She didn’t wait for Sadie to respond, just walked on.

  “I’m positive I don’t have time for this shit,” Sadie muttered.

  “Language!” peeled out in a sterner tone from the other side of the double doors.

  Damn, the woman’s got the hearing of a bat. Sadie huffed her hair out of her eyes, then smoothed the messy strands back toward the ponytail holder they’d escaped. She charged into her room, startling Harold the cat enough to trigger a warning hiss.

  “Sorry, Harold.” Sadie held out her fingers for the nearly blind cat to sniff. “It’s just me. Go back to sleep.”

  Harold rapidly flipped the end of his tail and flattened his only remaining ear before tucking back into his standard curled-up ball and drifting back to sleep.

  Sadie retrieved her billfold from the dresser beside the bed, then hurried back to the waiting courier. She flipped open the wallet and held it up in front of the girl. “There.”

  “Could you please take it out, ma’am?”

  She’s just doing her job. Don’t take your shitty life out on her. Pulling in a deep breath, Sadie forced a smile as she worked her ID free of the plastic sleeve, then held out the card. “There you go.”

  The courier clipped the ID to her clipboard, made large black X’s in three places, then pointed to the lines. “Please sign here, and initial here and here, ma’am.”

  Sadie didn’t bother reading the page. She just did as requested, then handed the clipboard and pen back to the girl. The efficient courier quickly compared the ID to Sadie’s signature, snapped free the card, then handed it and the package over to Sadie.

  “There you go, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

  Sadie halfway expected the girl to salute before she turned and marched out the door, but she didn’t—just quickly exited without another word.

  Turning the package in her hands, Sadie checked the sender’s information first. That might give her some idea how enraged she was going to be when she ripped open the bulging envelope that felt suspiciously like a thick sheaf of legal documents.

  DBS Agency. Sadie frowned at the label. Who or what is the DBS Agency? Knowing her luck, it was probably some bogus private investigator that Delia had hired just to irritate the living shit out of her. Delia was just that vindictive.

  Sadie took a deep breath and peeled the perforated end off the envelope. She peeped into it, gingerly turning the package to try and identify the contents without actually reaching inside. She knew it was silly, but she was almost afraid to stick her hand down in the envelope—half afraid some strange mail demon might take off her fingers at the knuckles.

  Slowly easing the envelope open wider, she spotted the first paragraph of the cover letter clipped to what looked like an airline packet, a narrow wallet-like envelope, and some sort of itinerary. Searching websites. Found your stories. Thrilled to offer representation and already have several inquiries in regards to your work from our Broadway affiliates.

  “Oh bullshit.” Sadie slapped the envelope shut and threw it on the side table as though it held a snake. This had to be some kind of scam.

  Yeah, that’s it. “For just a minimal investment of five hundred dollars, we’ll guarantee your work will be published—reach bestseller status—and have you living in the lap of luxury in just ninety days!” she parroted in her best infomercial voice imitation.

  But why the expensive courier to deliver the packet? Why not just another spammy email promising her the world?

  Sadie glared at the packet. Clenching her teeth, she snatched it back off the table and yanked out the contents. She picked up the cover letter, examining the unusual letterhead, looking for evidence of a con so she could turn the elaborate rip-off over to the sheriff before she left town on Saturday.

  Odd logo. Reminds me of Ireland. The round medallion looked like the rubbing of a stone symbol that might be found in some ancient Gaelic graveyard. The background was gray, with the embossed imprint of Celtic knots surrounding the glossy black initials of the agency: DBS.

  She rubbed her thumbs across the letter’s textured surface. The weight of the paper was heavy. Sadie held it up to the light. Fancy watermark. Looked chillingly legit. She read the letter fully this time.

  Dear Ms. Williams,

  The DBS Agency prides itself on finding hidden gems in the unlikeliest of places. A patron of the arts and a respected and well-established firm for over fifty years, our agency has successfully nurtured and guided the careers of playwrights, screenwriters, and authors to stellar heights.

  “I have never heard of you people.” Sadie scanned through the rest of the propaganda, finally reaching the sentences that had shot a nauseating combination of WTF and OMG through her. There. That was the part she’d spotted that sounded just too good to be true.

  Our associates even go so far as to search websites for undiscovered talent and during just such a search, your ongoing series on the popular website T
he Forum caught our interest.

  “Okay. So that’s where you got my name. How the devil did you get my contact information?” Sadie made a mental note to send a scathing email to the website that had assured her in their contract that all personal information was kept confidential. These people had really gone all out on this con. She scanned farther down the page.

  We’re thrilled to offer you representation and we’re certain you’ll be most delighted to learn that several Broadway affiliates have already expressed interest in your work should you choose to sign with us.

  We understand how this offer might seem a bit “too good to be true” in this devilish age of fraudulence. Therefore, enclosed, you’ll find airfare, hotel accommodations, and a detailed itinerary for this upcoming weekend. We’d like for you to be our guest in New York City for two days of relaxing luxury, then meet with us face to face on Monday to discuss your career and a partnership with DBS Agency.

  The letter was signed by an Ophelia Throgmorton. Ophelia. Greek name meaning “help.” How fitting. Sadie scrubbed at the eerie tingle zipping across the skin on the back of her neck.

  “This is impossible.” Sadie scanned the letter a second time, then thumbed through the first-class airline packet in her name. “I wonder if they’re British. They sound kind of Downton Abbyish.”

  She ran a finger down the itinerary, growing ever more perplexed and suspicious with every entry she read. Her flight would arrive late Friday night. They’d pick her up, and then the DBS Agency had fully planned out her stay from the moment they scheduled her to open her eyes each morning until the time they turned out her lights and tucked her in at night. “This can’t be happening.”

  “What can’t be happening?” Miss Martha nosed in beside her, peering down at the papers with interest. She pulled her reading glasses from the neckline of her blouse and perched them on the end of her nose. “Are those the papers that fancy mail girl brought?”

  “Yes,” Sadie murmured, still sorting through the packet, trying to spot some telltale sign that whoever had sent the letter was trying to reel her in like a big sack full of stupid.

  “Read this.” She handed the letter to Miss Martha, then picked up the wallet-like envelope that she’d yet to open. With all the other fairy godmother surprises, wonder if this one holds a leprechaun’s pot of gold? She slid away the elastic band and folded back the flap. Inside, neatly stacked and looking as though they’d just been minted, was an as yet undetermined amount of one-hundred-dollar bills with a handwritten note tucked in front of them. The note had one simple sentence written in perfect penmanship: Spending money for your weekend.

  “Holy shit—look at this!” Sadie shoved the envelope under Miss Martha’s nose, pushing it between the letter and airline tickets Miss Martha held in her hands.

  Miss Martha scowled and opened her mouth, apparently about to scold Sadie again for her language, but when she looked down at the money, no words came out. Instead, she gasped in a sharp intake of breath and clutched the handfuls of paperwork to her chest. “My word, how much is in there?”

  Thumbing through the bills, Sadie silently counted—twice. “Five thousand dollars,” she whispered. She closed the envelope, snapped the band back around it, and shoved all the items back into the manila mailing packet. “All of this is going to the sheriff. This is just too weird and it’s scaring the sh…” She caught herself. “Scaring the crap out of me.”

  “Are you crazy?” Miss Martha snatched the package out of Sadie’s hands. “Fate drops a chance like this in your lap and you’re not going to take it? Even when this sweet little cake is iced with five thousand dollars? What’s wrong with you, girl?”

  “It’s too good to be true.” Sadie took the envelope back and clutched it safely to her chest. “And if something seems too good to be true, that’s because it usually is. I’m not about to fly off to New York, alone, and walk into who knows what kind of twisted trap this is.” Sadie willed Miss Martha to understand because she could tell by the look on the old woman’s face that she was gearing up to spew out a sermon. “This is messed up. Stuff like this just doesn’t happen. Especially not to me.”

  Calmly removing her reading glasses and tucking them into the neckline of her blouse, Miss Martha folded her arms across her chest and glared at Sadie with a pinched, disapproving expression. “What if it’s not a scam?” she asked sharply. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone discovered your stories and recognized your talent?”

  Poor deluded Miss Martha. Did she really believe that stuff like this actually happened in the real world? I’ve got news for ya, my dear sweet lady, this shit ain’t real. Sadie had been through too much to fall for something like this. Oh, it was good. She’d give whoever had done it credit for their creativity. But that was just it—the bait for this trap was too good.

  Sadie slowly shook her head and smiled. “I appreciate your belief in me, but trust me, this isn’t legit. I’m turning it all over to the sheriff. His office can hash it out. If it turns out that it’s not some elaborate con, I’m sure he’ll give it back to me—or send it to me in Texas. Once I get settled, I’ll contact him with a forwarding address.”

  “But that will be too late!” Miss Martha thumped the packet, then shook her finger within inches of Sadie’s nose. “That old coot and his staff are slower than salted slugs. By the time they figure out which end is up, you’ll be as old as me—and I’m seventy!”

  “You can’t expect me to do this—fly to New York and hand myself over to total strangers?” Sadie stared at the old woman, her amazement at Miss Martha’s naïveté somehow helping to calm the chaotic mix of emotions the arrival of the packet had stirred. “I mean…I realize I’m not some important heiress that’s worth bazillions, but this could be how some screwball pervert gets his jollies. You watch all those crime shows about sickos and the things they do. Where do you think they get those stories?” Sadie didn’t wait for Miss Martha to respond. “I’ll tell you where they get those stories—from the evening news and actual cases.”

  “I’ll go with you and see that you’re safe.” Miss Martha jerked down her chin in a decisive nod. “You’ve seen me scald Jimmy Wilson’s ass with my pellet gun when the little brat was throwing rocks at Harold. You should see my aim with a pistol.”

  “You just said ass.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject.” Miss Martha snatched the packet out of Sadie’s hands and yanked the cover letter back out. Returning her reading glasses to her nose, she pointed at the company’s contact information at the bottom of the page. “Look. Their number’s right here. Call them and tell them the only way you’ll agree to do this is if they’ll pay for your assistant to come too. Ask them questions. Feel them out. See how they sound.”

  “You know you can’t bring a gun, right?” Visions of TSA agents dragging Miss Martha kicking and screaming through the airport almost made Sadie cringe.

  She gently took the letter, glancing down at the phone number. The area code looked right for Manhattan. Sadie had called that region enough when she was Delia’s flunky to have it memorized. There was also an 800 number and it looked like the agency had an office in the United Kingdom too. That explained the flowery wording of the letter. She could at least call the people and run a Google check on them before she turned everything over to the sheriff. Maybe that would appease Miss Martha and get her to stand down. “I’ll call them. Okay?”

  Miss Martha excitedly patted her hands together. “Excellent! While you do that, I’ll get to packing.” Then she hurried down the hallway before Sadie could reply.

  Sadie watched her go, amazed at the speed the woman of seventy could move when properly motivated. Blowing out a heavy breath, she looked back down at the letter softly wavering in her trembling hand. “I hope this is real—for Miss Martha’s sake.”

  Who am I trying to kid? I need this—badly.

  Something like this might help keep her mind off all that she’d lost in Brady, North Car
olina—well, keep her mind off almost everything she’d lost, at least for a minute or two.

  Chapter 28

  “Yes. Absolutely.” Dwyn nodded, staring out the window as he spoke into the phone. “Very well then. I’d like an update as soon as ye confirm the details with Miss Williams. Aye, that’ll be all for now.”

  “Well?” Alec felt as though he were about to explode. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. His gut tightened into knots. This sorry business was worse than any battle he’d e’er fought. He’d take a sword fight over this sly parrying any day. “What the hell did she say?” Sadie had to accept. There was no other option. This scheme had t’work.

  Dwyn slid the phone back into his pocket, one side of his mouth lifting in a sly smile as he perched on the edge of the boardroom table. “The only way she’ll accept our offer and come t’New York is if her assistant accompanies her and we cover those expenses as well.”

  “Her assistant?” Alec frowned. Sadie had always kept to herself and from all he could find out, she’d not grown close to anyone in the small town of Brady. Delilah from the café had said she figured that Sadie thought the whole town was angry with her, and knowin’ his Sadie, Delilah was probably right. The woman shouldered the blame for everything. “Who the hell is her assistant?”

  “Mistress Martha.”

  “Mistress Martha?” Alec rolled his eyes. “That conniving old woman. That’s why she assured us she’d get Sadie to ken the agency was real.” Miss Martha had been wanting to return to New York City for years. She’d been there once and fallen in love with the place. She’d even taken to flirting with Dwyn and hinting to him about relaxing over a long weekend with an experienced woman while they enjoyed the town’s sights. Alec tensed even more, the pounding in his temple turnin’ into one hell of an ache. “Ye agreed with the request, aye?”