Sins of the Fathers
A.J. McCarthy
© Copyright A.J. McCarthy 2017
Published by Black Rose Writing
www.blackrosewriting.com
© 2017 by A.J. McCarthy
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-966-4
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
I would like to dedicate my novel to my late father, Glen, who had no discernible sins, but who would have been very proud to read this story.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17:
Chapter 18:
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter: 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Chapter 34:
Chapter 35:
Chapter 36:
Chapter 37:
Chapter 38:
Chapter 39:
Chapter 40:
Chapter 41:
Chapter 42:
Chapter 43:
Chapter 44:
Chapter 45:
Chapter 46:
Chapter 47:
Chapter 48:
Chapter 49:
Chapter 50:
Chapter 51:
Chapter 52:
Chapter 53:
Chapter 54:
Chapter 55:
Chapter 56:
Chapter 57:
Chapter 58:
Chapter 59:
Chapter 60:
Chapter 61:
Chapter 62:
Chapter 63:
Chapter 64:
Chapter 65:
Chapter 66:
Chapter 67:
Chapter 68:
Chapter 69:
Chapter 70:
Chapter 71:
Chapter 72:
Chapter 73:
Chapter 74:
Chapter 75:
Chapter 76:
Chapter 77:
Chapter 78:
Chapter 79:
BRW Info
Chapter 1:
Charlie took a fortifying breath and stared at the ceiling. She knew it would be finished soon, but it was never soon enough. She didn’t understand why she hated it so much. A lot of people didn’t seem to mind at all, many even claimed to enjoy it.
She heard a couple of grunts and a snort, and knew it was almost time. He was so predictable, like clockwork. They had been together for almost six years, and he wasn’t very complicated. It was no surprise she found it so easy to interpret the signs.
The room was cramped and stuffy. A sliver of sunlight crept in through the window, fighting its way through the dust, and past a high stack of storage boxes. It wasn’t a great space, but it was all she had.
When he whimpered and licked her foot, she knew he was ready.
‘It’s okay, Harley. I’m almost done,’ she said. A pair of brown eyes focused on her hopefully.
She would open one more envelope, enter the bill into her computer, and put everything away for the day. Unfortunately, running a business called for days when she did her bookkeeping and paid bills, but she hated it all the same. She would rather be doing physical chores.
Under the beat-up desk, a slightly overweight pug turned in circles a couple of times and plopped back onto Charlie’s feet. She knew he would be patient for only a few more minutes, until he would again hint it was time for their walk.
She picked up the next envelope, but before ripping it open, she gave it a second glance. It didn’t look like her usual business mail, the paper being an expensive velum. The name Charlene Butler and her address were scrawled almost illegibly across the front.
Intrigued, she slid a handwritten, one-page sheet out of the envelope. Unable to help herself, she glanced to the bottom of the page, but there was no sign-off.
Shrugging, she read the short note.
Dear Charlene,
My name is Vincent. That name most likely means nothing to you. I wouldn’t expect it to. You’re a very busy woman and meet a lot of people in the course of a day. One more person wouldn’t be noticed.
I’ve been watching you and I’m very impressed. You seem to be able to do many things at the same time. You must have had an interesting childhood. Did your parents raise you to be so independent and capable? Have you ever considered the concept of nature versus nurture? I would love to get together with you so we could discuss it, among other things.
You probably wouldn’t be interested in spending time with a guy like me. You probably think you’re above that.
Let’s wait and see.
Charlie shivered despite the warmth of the office, glancing around the room as if expecting to see someone peeking from behind a box. This was beyond weird. Who was this guy? Did she have a stalker? First of all, who wrote real, handwritten letters these days? The art of letter-writing had been lost long ago, drowned by technology. Not that this was an artful letter by any stretch of the imagination, but it certainly wasn’t in keeping with the e-mails and texts of today’s generation.
Secondly, what was all that crap about being independent and capable? And nature versus nurture? He wanted to get together with her to have an existential conversation? Two strangers discussing the deeper meaning of life?
Charlie shook her head and set the let
ter aside. She knew she should toss it in the recycling bin, but she wanted to show it to Frank. Maybe he could shed light on the mystery.
Papers fluttered as she packed up her things and lowered the screen of her laptop. Grabbing the letter, she folded it and tucked it into the back pocket of her worn jeans. When Charlie stepped away from her chair, Harley roused himself and padded behind her to the door of the office, taking a few seconds to stretch his little beige body. She didn’t tell him to stay behind. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. It was his time.
Behind the bar, Frank wiped the counter with a well-used rag. Charlie was certain she had the cleanest establishment in the entire city of Montreal. Frank always had a rag in his back pocket, and she swore he could catch a drop off someone’s glass before it hit the dark mahogany counter.
‘Hey, Frank. Not too busy, is it?’
He lifted a big shoulder in a shrug.
‘About as busy as it’ll get this time of day. What’s up? You tired of paying bills?’ he said with a teasing grin. She gave him a wry smile. Everyone knew she hated to sit behind a desk for hours on end, alone in an office. She was a people person and much preferred the company of her staff and customers.
‘Yeah. I needed to stretch my legs.’
Contrary to what she said, Charlie settled onto one of the heavy, wooden bar stools as Harley took his usual position on the floor next to her.
‘You know anyone by the name of Vincent?’
The smooth, ebony skin of Frank’s forehead creased.
‘Vincent? I went to high school with a guy named Vincent, but that’s it. Nobody recently.’
Charlie gazed absentmindedly at the line of bottles on the wall behind Frank and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her face almost as pale as the reflection of the white walls behind her. She looked younger than her thirty-two years. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, and her face was free of make-up. She never bothered fixing herself up until later in the afternoon, when people came in for after-work drinks.
‘Why’re you asking? Somebody hassling you?’
Ever since he started working for Charlie five years earlier, Frank took it upon himself to be her protector. Despite Charlie’s efforts to convince him otherwise, he was sure she needed someone to watch over her. Her gaze slid over the deep scar on his bicep, half-hidden by the sleeve of his t-shirt. It was a physical reminder of what he had suffered trying to defend his little sister when he was fifteen and she was twelve. The instinct to protect was ingrained in him from an early age, and Charlie admitted it came in handy to have a six-foot-four man with perfectly-toned muscles standing behind her when some guy decided to get overly friendly.
She smiled in an effort to put Frank at ease.
‘I got a letter in the mail from a guy named Vincent. He sounds harmless enough.’
He laid his hand, palm up, on his treasured counter.
‘Let’s see it.’
The folded paper looked inoffensive as she set it in his hand, and she wondered if she should have kept it to herself. She didn’t like upsetting Frank, but she appreciated his input. His instincts were sharp for his relatively young age of twenty-five.
His face remained expressionless as he read the letter, but when he handed it back to her his lips turned up in a small smile.
‘You’re right. He sounds harmless. Weird, but harmless. I’ll keep a lookout for a dweeb following you around.’
He leaned over the counter and looked toward the floor.
‘Eh, Harley, you and me, we’ll take care of her, won’t we?’
The dog looked up at Frank and his mistress with a worried expression. Charlie laughed.
‘Thanks. I knew I could count on you guys.’
Frank Hill had worked for Charlie at the bar part-time while he studied at Concordia University. Right out of the gate, their personalities had meshed. He was as hard-working, dependable, and fiercely loyal as Charlie. A year ago, he graduated with a degree in Communications. As far as Charlie knew, Frank hadn’t looked for a job in his chosen field of study. Truth be told, she was afraid to ask him about it because of what the answer may be. If she lost Frank, she would lose her right arm.
Charlie slid off the stool and went behind the bar to grab a leash and a roll of doggie poop bags, and as she squeezed by, she gave Frank’s arm an affectionate pat. Harley showed his customary enthusiasm at the idea of a walk, and within a few moments, they were out on the street.
Frank’s laid-back attitude to the letter eased Charlie’s mind. It could be a college guy responding to a dare. There were a lot of McGill and Concordia students who came into the pub on a regular basis, often trying to show off in front of each other and flirting with Charlie. Even though she was at least ten years older than most of them, they found her attractive enough to give it a try. She could generally head them off with a few well-chosen words. If not, an elbow often did the trick.
The breeze felt cool on her exposed neck, and Harley lifted his flat, black nose, breathing in the scent of the fresh spring air. Charlie put the letter out of her mind for now. They walked along Drummond Street to René-Lévesque, leading them to a park on the other side of Peel. Charlie gazed at the many monuments and the stately Sun Life Building overlooking the park as Harley sniffed and snorted, diligently searching for the perfect spot to do his business. When it was over, Charlie tugged on his leash, and the two set off for a walk around the block.
What could have been a brisk walk was hampered by the many shopkeepers and other regulars who stepped outside to take advantage of the sunny day. Harley, always a sucker for attention, stopped to be petted, and in many cases, given a special treat. Since Charlie took the dog to work with her every day, and they routinely walked the same route, he was a well-known and popular sight in this area of downtown Montreal.
Charlie had been born and raised in the neighborhood, and she loved it. Most of all, she loved the diversity of Montreal. Conversation switched freely between French and English, often being a mix of the two. The variety of cultures, races, beliefs, and traditions contributed to the vibrancy of the city. And, like most big cities, the neighborhoods segued smoothly from one distinct personality to another.
Woman and dog made it back to Butler’s Pub in time to get ready for the first of the late-afternoon customers. Even on Tuesdays, they drew a steady crowd, something Charlie credited partly to the combination of an Irish pub with a sports bar. It had the warmth of mahogany furnishings for the traditionalists, and the TV screens to satisfy the sports junkies. The walls were decorated with prints of Irish scenery and local professional athletes. But she believed her biggest asset was her staff. Frank had an infectious, welcoming smile, and her full-time servers, Melissa and Nathalie, were outgoing and charming.
Charlie settled Harley into the back room and took her place behind the bar with Frank. She’d work there unless there was a need to help with the service to the tables. As the customers came in, she greeted many by name. Those she didn’t know, she made it her business to get to know them. The evening progressed as usual, and the letter was all but forgotten.
Chapter 2:
Three days later, it was remembered anew when Charlie found another envelope in the mail. She expected it to be from the mysterious Vincent again, but she was in for another surprise.
Dear Charlene,
You probably don’t know me, but my name is Amy. We’re about the same age. I always wanted to work as a bartender, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. You’re certainly a very fortunate person to be where you are today at such a young age. I hope you appreciate everything you have.
I’ve been watching you, and I can’t help but be impressed. You seem to have a lot going on.
You have good friends and a great business. It must be nice to feel so productive and appreciated. I wish I had a life like yours.
Maybe someday we could get together and compare lives. I would enjoy that.
It didn’t make sense to Charlie. The first letter had seemed like a come-on, but this one wasn’t. It was apparently written by a woman, yet the handwriting looked very similar to that of the previous letter.
The bottom, right-hand drawer of her desk squeaked noisily as Charlie looked for the slightly crumpled letter she had received a few days earlier. She laid the two papers side-by-side on her desktop. She was right; the handwriting was precisely the same. The two envelopes were also made of the same paper, with no return address on either of them.
A ball of anxiety grew in her chest. It was easy enough to write off the first letter as a prank, but things were more bizarre than she had thought. Charlie grabbed the most recent letter and charged from the room, Harley scampering to keep up with her.
This time, Frank didn’t brush it off.
‘This has me worried. You should go to the cops,’ he said.
‘You think so? What can they do about it? They’re just letters.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing, but what if this guy’s dangerous? What if you’re not the only one? What if this is happening to other women, and maybe they can catch the guy? I think it’s worth a try.’
‘But this one is from a woman.’
‘Or a guy posing as a woman. It’s the same handwriting, remember?’
‘You could be right,’ she said, chewing on her lip. ‘Damn, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a business to run. It’s Friday, and we’ll have a full house tonight. I’ll go tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s fine, but, don’t go off by yourself anywhere tonight. I’ll walk you home.’
‘You don’t have to do that. It’s out of your way.’
Sins of the Fathers Page 1
