by Kris Calvert
“Of course you do,” I replied sheepishly. “My apologies.”
I stepped into the hallway to call my assistant Micah, leaving my guilt behind in the room.
“Mac,” Micah rasped, disregarding a formal hello. “How are things on the old homestead?”
“What’s up?” I asked, ignoring her question. “I got your text.”
“We received another anonymous email today about 56621. Same encrypted account and anonymous server.”
“Somebody wants to cover their stinkin’ ass,” I muttered, lowering my voice and looking down the hall at a nurse moving in and out of a room. I was thankful to have Micah in my life. Most of the employees at the Bureau were tough, big-city types, and Micah was no exception. She was Betty Bureau all the way, all the time. She had a mouth like a trucker and worked like she owned the place. We behaved more like siblings than co-workers, and fought like brother and sister, although we both suffered from ‘only child syndrome.’ Micah was the one friend, male or female, I’d take shit from. She knew it, and unfortunately seemed to enjoy it a bit too much at times. She was fearless and would tell me when I was being an asshole—something most assistants would never dare to do.
“The boys in IT can track the IP address, but it’s going to take a couple of days,” she said. “Personally, I would get a little distracted knowing my mom was in the facility.”
“I’m aware of that, Micah,” I snapped.
“Look, dickhead, I’m on your side. Remember?” She shot back at me. “Get in, take the asshole down at the nursing home and get back to D.C.”
“Yeah, I will. Yak atcha later,” I said flatly. It was my standard goodbye to Micah. It was my way of saying, I’m sorry I’m a dick, but you know I care.
She always gave me the same loving reply, “Only if you’re lucky.”
As I strolled back into Momma’s suite, I decided it was time to get back to Lone Oak where I could set up a makeshift office and look through the case files.
“Well, he was a fine catch of a beau in his day,” Mimi confessed, unaware I’d returned. “But now he looks like something the dog’s been hiding under the porch.”
“God love his heart,” Momma added.
“Ladies, I think I’m going to head to the house for a little while to get some paperwork started. Momma, I’d like to join you for supper tonight.”
“That would be lovely, dear,” she smiled.
“Miss Mimi, it has been a pleasure meeting you.” I took her hand and gave it a kiss, then turned my attention to Momma for a kiss on the cheek. “I will see you later…” I paused to give them a bow. “By all means ladies, have a wonderful day.”
I stepped out of Autumn Valley and into the warm Alabama sunshine, taking a deep breath. I had work to do, and it was high time I got down to business. I looked across the parking lot and there she was—magnificent, and too sexy to miss.
My heart raced at the very sight of her. Her curves were mesmerizing and her proportions perfect. She was stunning—long and lean. Making my way to her, I couldn’t help but run my hands along her flawless body as I approached her from behind. Caressing her from her bottom up, she was as smooth as silk from a heavenly spindle. She demanded attention and respect, and her almost pure feline appeal made my blood boil.
She was Dad’s favorite—a 1963 Aston Martin DB5 convertible with a Vantage engine. There were only nine made, and it was his pride and joy. He’d jokingly named it Pussy Galore because Sean Connery drove one in Goldfinger. When I was a kid, I thought the car made my dad look like James Bond. Now that I was older, I knew it was a panty-dropper—the kind of car that got you laid.
A truly unselfish man, his car was the one thing Dad did just for himself. After he’d died, Mom wanted me to take it, but the car, like him, was a part of home. I didn’t want to tarnish it with the scum of D.C.
“Aw, hell,” I muttered as I stroked her hood before climbing in and firing her up. She purred like the hot piece of ass she was and I was anxious to shift her gears hard and fast.
She wasn’t my usual car of choice when I visited Shadeland, but this time I felt it was okay, almost warranted. If anything, it made me feel closer to the man I always seemed to fall short of being.
The drive to Lone Oak was too short, but I enjoyed the few moments I had alone with Pussy. I made the turn that led home and sighed. Just the sight of Lone Oak in the distance caused my shoulders to drop and the tension in my body to lose its grip.
I took it all in: the seemingly endless lane to the house, the sweet smelling magnolias blooming, and the one beautiful oak tree poised in the front of the house, for which the plantation was named many years ago.
The large white pillars that surrounded the main house had weathered many a storm, but were freshly painted white—a stark contrast to the red Georgia brick that made up the rest of the massive estate. The house looked as beautiful as ever. I pulled into the circular driveway and surveyed the immaculate lawn and flowers that seemed to grow effortlessly. This was God’s country, and He was a mindful caretaker of the land.
I walked into the house and was transported back two hundred years to a kinder way of life. The massive portraits of my parents graced the walls over the large mantel in the sitting room, as well as those of their parents and the many who came before. Our family spanned the walls of each ornate parlor and ascended the elaborate imperial staircase. The Callahans were, if not anything else, traditional and prolific. Hundred-year-old Oriental rugs lay on the original oak floors. The massive crystal chandelier that adorned the entrance hall was from Ireland, the homeland of my family. My great-great-grandmother had it shipped to America from Waterford before the War Between the States. The family had hidden it when the Yankees got too close to home, and many nearby plantations were robbed and burned to the ground. Mercifully, the Union Army took a shine to Lone Oak and used it as a meeting place, sparing it too much damage.
The old home was bright with the late afternoon sun, and the large floor-to-ceiling windows draped the house in warmth. It was amazing how something so old could remain so true to itself. Lone Oak had been the same for one hundred and ninety-seven years—the framework that showcased the accomplishments of generations of Callahans. Although I sometimes hesitated to admit it, Lone Oak was home.
I climbed the stairs and wandered into my bedroom to shed my coat and tie. Looking out the window over the back property, I was reminded of all that was here for me. When I left, I’d vowed to find my own way, leaving my father’s wishes for me far behind. I’d been away from Lone Oak while at prep school, college and then law school. I always thought I’d return, but the past few years had tainted me. I thought of Lone Oak as sacred, and I wasn’t sure now if I was worthy of its history or its obligation. I was the last Callahan in a long line of men, and although I knew I could never carry on the legacy, the obligation to be here tugged at me.
I washed my hands and splashed water on my face. Toweling off, I took a good, hard look in the mirror and rubbed my hands through my hair. My bloodshot eyes were framed with dark circles—evidence of the life I’d been leading.
As I began my trek back through the house to the study, I paused at the wedding portrait of my parents. They were so young and in love in the painting. It was hard to imagine now, but even as much of a hard-ass lawyer as my father had been, he was the kindest man in Alabama—especially when it came to my mother. He never allowed her to want for anything. He spent his life making sure she was completely and totally loved. Unlike him, I didn’t even know if I was capable of that kind of love. Just the same, growing up around them it was hard not to want what they had. I had fleeting thoughts of taking care of my own bride someday. But they were just that, fleeting thoughts.
I shook it all off as I made my way to the study to set up my makeshift office. As I sat down behind my dad’s desk, I began making a mental inventory of where I wanted to start at Autumn Valley. Number one on the list: Who was Sam Peterson?
3
SAMANTHA
“Dammit. This dress is still wrinkled from the move months ago. I’m an effing mess,” I said to Polly with a sigh as I dropped my keys while picking up my sunglasses from the polished kitchen floor. Polly had been my assistant-turned-nanny since I took my first job. She knew I couldn’t live in the house and city where Daniel and I had planned our future, so she had agreed to move with me to Shadeland when Mimi offered to give me her home.
She was an attractive blonde-haired, brown-eyed college graduate with a degree in psychology. She was sexy, had a killer body and could easily get inside your head. Basically every man’s greatest fantasy and nightmare rolled into one. Polly wasn’t much younger than me, and I always secretly worried she would find a love of her own, or want to go back to school and leave me for a hot man or an advanced degree. Both would be understandable.
“You’re not a mess,” Polly replied, handing Dax his breakfast at the bar in the kitchen. “Is she, Dax?”
“No,” chimed in my little man.
“Thanks, Dax.” I kissed him on the head and nuzzled his face.
“Do your best, Mommy,” Dax babbled, warming my heart as only he could.
I stroked his little blonde head, already sun-kissed from the early Alabama spring. “I’ll do my very best, sweetie. You do your best to have fun at school today.”
“He will,” Polly said, shooing me out the door.
“Polly, be sure to stop on the way to preschool and pick up the cookies I ordered at Martin’s bakery. It’s Dax’s day to bring the snack!” I shouted as I moved from the kitchen to the massive entrance hall searching for and gathering my briefcase, sunglasses and notebook. “This place is so big!” I shouted to the ceiling. “For the love of all that’s holy, where are my car keys?”
“They’re in your hand, Mommy,” Dax giggled, pointing to my clenched fist.
“Oh,” I quipped. “Sorry about the yelling. Mommy’s just a little nervous. I haven’t had a job since before you were born,” I explained, kneeling at Dax’s feet to tie his shoe.
“Back when I was just a dream you had with Daddy?”
“Exactly. And now you’re my dream come true.” I kissed my little man and turned to make my way out the door to hide my tears. Everyone always worried about me, when really I was just trying to move on a day at a time.
“Have a good day!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”
*
I walked into Autumn Valley carrying my briefcase and a large cardboard box containing my notebook and photos of Dax, Mimi, and even Daniel. It had been three years since his death, but I hadn’t found a way to really let him go.
“Good morning, Miss Peterson,” chimed Stacy’s head and helium voice from behind the reception desk.
“Good morning, Stacy. Please call me Sam.”
“Oh,” she began, hopping down from her perch and walking around the tall desk to meet me. “I’m so sorry. I–”
“No,” I said, stopping her. “It’s just that I’m really not a Miss Peterson. Actually, I was a Mrs. Mitchell until a few of years ago. Anyway, too much information.”
“Oh,” she repeated. “Divorce?”
I sighed, putting down my box and briefcase on the arm of a chair. “No, I’m a widow.”
It was a show stopper every time. I was too young to have buried a husband and everyone knew it. I’d already had a tough morning getting my butt from home to here. Explaining Daniel’s death for the millionth time and why I had gone back to my maiden name to try and start anew might put me over the edge.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m not from around here. I grew up four counties over. But I’m a single mother too, although he’s grown now, works in programming. His father left him with me to raise all by myself. I don’t use my married name either. It’s been a struggle, I’ll tell ya. He’s a handful most of the time. I’d just like to set him out on the street because he’s twenty-three and still lives at home. I mean what kind of man at twenty-three still wants to live with his mother? He likes to do live-action role-play on the weekends. He’s a wizard, and—”
“No, no. It’s perfectly okay,” I explained, cutting her off and picking up my belongings again. “I’m looking for my office, Stacy. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“Yes,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “First door on the left.”
“Thank you,” I replied with a single nod, thinking that maybe her swishing pantyhose were cutting off the oxygen to her brain.
“Good morning, Miss Samantha.” Miller sang the words as he sashayed into my office right on my heels.
“Good morning, Mr. Miller. And please, call me Sam.”
“Very well then. Please call me James.” He eyeballed me up and down like a cheap prostitute. “Now get your little self settled in and let’s meet around ten in my office,” he said, motioning down the hall with a limp wrist. “I want to go over some duties I’d like to turn over to you ASAP. We have a hospital board meeting coming up real soon, and I want to get some items taken care of in advance.”
“I’ll be there.”
“With bells on?” he asked, doing a little dance.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, it’s just an old saying, ‘I’ll be there with bells on!’” He laughed at his own joke and adjusted his comb-over.
“Ten. With bells.” I gave him a fake smile, promptly dropping the items still in my hands. “I’m all thumbs this morning,” I confessed.
Miller quickly rushed in to pick up my belongings. “Here you go,” he gushed, turning my leather notebook over for a thorough examination. “Did you bring your diary to work with you?”
“It’s just something I’ve done since college. I keep all important notes in one place so I never have to look through piles of paper for information. It helps me track dates, notes from phone calls, names and phone numbers—the essentials.”
“Not a bad idea. Of course I keep all that up here.” He pointed to his shiny head with confidence.
I nodded, thinking there was probably a lot of empty space up there.
“Alrighty then,” he chirped, prancing into his large office full of big things.
I began the easy process of putting the few personal items I had away at my new desk. The room wasn’t large, but it was cozy and I could give it the charm it needed to be livable in no time. I carefully placed my photo of Dax by the phone system, thinking it would be the place I would see his face most often after my desk became cluttered—which inevitably it would. Stacy had left a stack for me: clearly marked keys to the office, a security badge with the photo I had taken after my interview…not bad, information on my computer system login, and my official email, [email protected] with instructions to set a password.
I settled in and went through the empty drawers, adding my pens and creating a place for my notebook. I had volumes of them at home. Notes from meetings, places and people from years past. I kept the current edition with me at all times.
The bottom right drawer of my new desk had a few files still hanging on the rack. I pulled them, and tossed them on the credenza for later.
I walked to the break room for coffee, passing the same custodian that greeted me yesterday before my interview. He nodded, and I smiled back as he followed my every move at the coffee machine. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention and suddenly friendly had turned into weird. I glanced at his name badge as I looked for the cream. Hector. Great, another creepy man to add to the list: James Miller, and now half-creep Hector.
I quickly stirred my coffee and went to Mimi’s room for a chat. It was only nine a.m., and I wanted to surprise her with a quick hello. I pulled the very official security badge from my dress pocket and clipped it to my lapel as I made my way down the B wing.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, walking into Mimi’s elegant suite.
“Morning? Hell, I’ve been up since six,” she laughed delicately. “The doctor’s
been poking and prodding me since dawn.”
“Routine? Or is this something new?” I asked, moving in to sit beside her on the sofa.
“It’s always something new when you’re ninety-eight, baby girl. Besides, I think they like to torture me!” she shouted, hoping her nursing staff outside the door would hear her.
“Mimi, really? You’re a grown woman.”
“Honey, if I acted my age, I’d be dead,” she said with a wink. “How are you today? Do they have you busy?”
“I only have a minute. I have a meeting with James Miller shortly,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Already hitting on the help is he?”
“He’s harmless enough and I’m thankful to be out of the house. I’m thankful for the chance to occupy my time with anything other than looking back at my old life.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s thankful for the chance to look at your pretty little backside every day.”
“He at least seems to know what he’s doing,” I conceded, still unsure I was ready to head back into the real world of work.
“Honey, if brains were dynamite, he wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose.”
“You are a wicked, wicked woman.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Mimi frowned at me changing the subject. “Now, stand up and let me have a good look at you.”
I stood and gave her a little twirl, careful to hold my arms from my dress so that it flowed in a circle.
“Love the blue dress,” Mimi raved. “I always love you in blue. It matches your eyes. You know,” she continued, “from the day you were born, you had the most lovely blue eyes. Your parents said you’d lose them, that all babies were born with blue eyes, but yours…yours, darlin’, were special.”
“I think you’re biased, Mimi. There’s nothing all that special about my eyes.” I paused and leaned in to kiss her on the head. “Except that they are gazing at your beautiful face.”
“Ah, the quintessential Southern lady—refusing praise, yet passing it to others.”
