“Yes, ma’am.”
She disconnected the call and backtracked to the van in search of her purse while her heart trotted in her chest. She checked her wallet for cash—a little over six hundred dollars. That wouldn’t last long. She forced herself to tamp down the panic as she called to check account balances and the available limit on her credit cards.
“Cancelled?”
“On hold?”
“Deactivated?”
“Closed?”
“Stopped?”
“Blocked?”
At the end of the stack, she had a Macy’s Department Store card that was still active, and a gas card. An old savings account contained nine hundred dollars. Every other account was overdrawn or cancelled.
She had her jewelry case with her, but no way was she going to sell her good pieces.
Octavia brought her fist to her mouth. She had to get back to Louisville and figure out what was going on.
A noise sounded from the hallway. She looked up to see Linda skid to a halt, still dressed in yesterday’s funeral dress, her eyes wide. “I overslept. Where are the kids?”
“Fed and on their way to the bus stop with your fat neighbor.”
“What about their lunches?”
“Don’t worry—I fixed them.”
Linda heaved a sigh. “Thank you. I need coffee.” She moved toward the coffeemaker and hit a series of buttons. “How did you sleep?”
“That thing I woke up on is a torture device.”
“Sorry. Sullivan and I—” Linda stopped and blanched. “We don’t have many guests.”
Octavia’s heart shifted. Damn Sullivan Smith for leaving her sister in a lurch. Damn men everywhere, dammit. “Did you get some rest?”
“Some,” Linda said in an unconvincing voice. “Do I look as bad as you do?”
“Worse.”
“At least I don’t smell as bad as you do. Milk or sugar?”
“Do you have half and half?”
“I have milk and I have sugar. Wait—” She held up the empty jug. “We’re out of milk.”
“I’ll have it black.”
Linda brought two mugs to the table and they sat in silence. There was too much to talk about, none of it pleasant. The clutter of the demolitioned kitchen seem to close in on them. Octavia felt claustrophobic and antsy, her mind swirling. Some of her conversation with Linda the previous night was starting to come back to her. She’d been drunk, but it was no excuse for some of the things she’d said—no matter how true. And she felt bad for Linda, but she didn’t want to get involved in her sister’s life. She had her own problems to deal with.
Linda sipped. “Have you heard from Richard?”
Octavia sipped. “No.”
Linda sipped. “And you still don’t know why he left?”
Octavia sipped. “No.” Although she wondered now about the phone call he’d taken yesterday on the drive here that had upset him...and later when she’d seen him sitting in the car talking on the phone, gesturing in anger. Obviously their financial problems had reached a boiling point.
She could feel her sister’s censure wafting in her direction. And the longer the silence dragged on, the more it rankled Octavia. Who was Linda to judge? “Go ahead...say it.”
Linda blinked. “Say what?”
“This is what I get for marrying Richard for his money.”
“I would never say that. Besides, I don’t know enough about your and Richard’s relationship to have an opinion.”
“That’s right, you don’t,” Octavia snapped. She took another sip to cover the fact that her eyes had filled with unwanted tears. After a few blinks, though, she couldn’t fight the panic anymore and a sob escaped her.
Linda reached across the table to clasp her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
But the dam had burst, sweeping away Octavia’s pride and revealing her low-lying vulnerabilities. The seed of doubt in her mind when she’d walked down the aisle all those years ago had grown over the years, but she’d ignored it...and now she had a growth weighing down her heart. “Don’t you see, Linda? It’s not going to be okay. I did everything wrong. I chose a lavish life with Richard over having a family or a career of my own. If we’re broke, I’ll have nothing to show for it. And I’m going to be the laughingstock of all my friends.”
Linda’s silence rang in the air like a cry of victory. She had children, and the dignity of being a widow, while Octavia was simply discarded alongside the road like a sack of garbage.
Her sister got up and came back with a box of tissue. “So what now?”
Octavia blew her nose noisily. “Will you take me home? I need to find Richard.”
Linda walked to the window. Octavia knew Linda was going to tell her she had too much on her own plate to be pulled into Octavia’s problems, that she had a thousand errands today to run herself. And after being so insensitive to Linda’s situation, she deserved to be snubbed. She was a terrible sister, and she wouldn’t blame Linda if she told her to rent a car or call a cab, neither of which she could afford.
Linda heaved a sigh and turned back. “Well, you can’t stay in this junked up place. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
Chapter Eight
“DID WE HAVE to bring the dog?”
Linda turned an amused smile toward Octavia in the passenger seat. Max stood on the back floorboard with his paws on the console and his head jutted between the two front seats, tongue lolling. “Max isn’t bothering anyone.”
At the sound of his name, he woofed.
“Speak for yourself. He’s getting slobber all over the sleeve of my blouse.”
“That would be the sleeve of my blouse,” Linda corrected. She took perverse satisfaction in the fact that Octavia had to borrow some of her discount clothes to wear.
“And on that subject, let me just say that capri pants are the single worst fashion fraud ever perpetrated on American women,” Octavia chirped.
“You look fine,” Linda said with a laugh. “No one can see the labels on the inside.”
“A discerning person doesn’t have to see labels.”
“You know the saying ‘beggars can’t be choosers’?”
Octavia sniffed. “I’m calling my accountant.”
Linda shook her head—Octavia was a master at deflecting conversation when it suited her.
It was another beautiful spring morning in the Bluegrass, with plenty of turquoise sky and white clouds. Trees were fuzzy with new leaves and bulb flowers nodded along Versailles Road. There were faster routes to Louisville, but none so pretty, with its stacked limestone walls bordering the road and white board fences that delineated the sprawling horse farms the area was famous for.
Unbidden tears filled her eyes. Sullivan would never again see the beauty of a perfect spring day. Why hadn’t they gone on more picnics? Taken the kids hiking?
Because they’d assumed they had tomorrow.
Octavia’s shrill voice broke into her thoughts. “So help me, Frank, if you know where Richard is and you’re not telling me, I’ll put your balls in a slingshot....There has to be some money somewhere....Then what am I supposed to live on?...Are you insane? I’m not going to sell my jewelry....Fax a report of where we stand financially to the house, I’m on my way there....Yeah, well you have a nice fucking day, too, Frank.” Octavia stabbed the End button. “When is someone going to come up with an app that makes it sound like you hung up on the other person?”
Linda cringed. “I’m not sure you should be alienating your accountant right now.”
Octavia whipped out a mirror and pressed a finger to the crease between her eyebrows. She looked pained. “For all I know, he could be taking advantage of Richard’s absence...maybe he took our money and is lying about everything.”
Linda didn’t offer her opinion. Guilt gnawed at her for mourning the bounced ten thousand dollar check Octavia had given her. Yes, she was eager to deposit Octavia back into her own world (and out of theirs), but another reaso
n she’d offered to drive her sister home was to escape...escape the bill collectors calling and the overdue notices stuffed in her mailbox. Today was Friday...she’d give herself until Monday before she hit the panic button.
For now, God help her, it made her feel a tad better to know that even wealthy people could have financial problems.
She turned to look at Octavia, but Octavia was staring out the window. In the distance, a sleek thoroughbred galloped through a lush field with her foal running along beside her, all legs and head. Her sister always had a soft spot for horses, had taken riding lessons when she was young, and begged their father to buy her a pony to train.
Nelson Guy’s parenting style could best be described as “uneven.” Sometimes he would leave the girls to their own devices to the point of neglect, and other times he would appear and shower them with expensive, impractical gifts. During his long absences they were forced to pool their babysitting money for groceries, then Nelson would return with Italian leather jackets for both of them or a giant TV for the living room, and once—a pony for Octavia.
Of course, Nelson rarely thought past lunch, so little details like where the horse would be stabled and fed, had escaped him. The pony had subsequently been taken away. Octavia had been despondent.
“Have you talked to our old man lately?” Octavia asked.
Apparently, they’d been remembering the same story. “I called him last month on his birthday. We talked for a while.”
“What on earth about?”
“The kids mostly...but he always asks about you.”
“Please don’t tell him anything about my life.”
“It’s not as if I know a lot of details to share,” Linda pointed out. “I usually just tell him that you’re well.”
“For how much longer will he be locked up?”
“Eight months, I think.”
“Good God, what a wasted life. The Guy family legacy.”
Words of protest sprang to Linda’s tongue, but she couldn’t in good conscience argue, not when she was questioning her own choices. They rode in silence for a few minutes, each of them marinating in their own melancholy. At least when they were young, they were optimistic their adult lives would be better than their childhood. Now...
“What are you going to do?” Octavia asked.
“About what?”
“About everything. How will you and the kids survive? Did Sullivan have life insurance?”
“We’ll manage,” Linda said evasively. “The children will receive social security until they’re out of high school.”
“That can’t be much.”
“I’ll get a job.”
“Doing what?”
Linda frowned. “I have skills.”
“Did you ever finish your degree?”
She’d always intended to. “No.”
“Jarrod said something this morning about you winning prizes?”
“Oh. I enter contests, just for fun, and sometimes I win little things.”
“Like a pallet of Kleenex?”
“Yes.” She sighed, thinking of how many boxes she’d already depleted.
“You could’ve been anything you wanted to be,” Octavia said, her voice full of disapproval.
Linda bristled. “I am what I want to be—I’m a mother, and wife—” She broke off, remembering with a start that she was no longer a wife. She wiped her hand over her mouth, determined to keep the tears at bay. “My children keep me busy.”
“Being busy is not the same as being fulfilled.”
“Oh? And are you fulfilled, Octavia?”
Octavia’s mouth tightened. “I’m...recognized.”
“As Richard Habersham’s wife,” Linda added quietly. “You could’ve been anything you wanted to be.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Your entire body says so.”
Octavia turned to stare at the passing landscape. Linda bit down on the inside of her cheek, regretting her remarks. But her sister’s comments had landed too close to their mark—a few days ago she’d been lamenting that she wasn’t feeling fulfilled...and look where it had gotten her.
God, what a mess. She gripped the steering wheel. If not for Jarrod and Maggie, she’d be tempted to drop off Octavia, and keep driving until the van ran out of gas...and just start over.
As if he sensed the tension in the vehicle, Max woofed to break the silence, then began to bay.
“What’s his problem?” Octavia asked, putting her fingers in her ears.
“He probably needs to be walked,” she said, reaching out to quiet Max with a pat. “How much further?”
“About twenty miles or so.”
They were entering the outskirts of Louisville, a rambling river city steeped in history and tradition, much like Lexington. Louisville was world renowned for the Kentucky Derby and as the hub of the horse industry, but insiders knew the heart of the business was in Lexington and Versailles, where limestone-fed bluegrass made for strong equine bones, and the yearling sales drew international buyers.
Linda had always perceived Louisville to be the older sister to Lexington...and a bit of a bully.
Not unlike the Guy family dynamic.
“He’s kind of an old dog for the kids, don’t you think?” Octavia observed with a frown.
“Max is a retired police bloodhound. He helped solve lots of missing persons cases. Bloodhounds’ sense of smell is so sensitive, they can distinguish human skin cells that are shed and passed out of a car’s exhaust.”
Octavia seemed unimpressed, fanning her hand in the air. “You’d think he could smell his own bad breath.”
Linda laughed. “Max is too old to track long distances now, but he’s a good watch dog, very protective of the kids.”
“Protective is good,” her sister murmured almost absent-mindedly.
Linda suspected she was thinking they could’ve used some protection when they were children. After their mother had left, they’d really only had each other, and Octavia had borne the brunt of the responsibility for herself and her younger sister. Linda’s heart softened...no wonder her sister was so tough—she’d always had to be.
“Turn here,” Octavia said, gesturing.
As they entered an upscale residential area, her sister became more antsy, fidgeting and sitting on the edge of her seat. Her head pivoted, and Linda realized she was looking for Richard or his car. With every turn they made, the houses got bigger and more impressive. At length, they turned into a gatehouse. When they stopped, a guard came out and Linda buzzed down the window.
“It’s me—Mrs. Habersham,” Octavia said, waving from the passenger seat.
The guard nodded in recognition, but his face looked tense. “Welcome home, ma’am.” He glanced at the aged minivan with skepticism and looked as if he were about to add something else, then he opened a gate and waved them through.
“What do you drive?” Linda asked as she wove her way through the affluent neighborhood, following Octavia’s directions.
“A Jag convertible.”
Of course she did, Linda thought with a stab of envy. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it could certainly lubricate the sad times.
“It’s the gray house on the right,” Octavia said, pointing.
And what a house it was. Linda pulled into the driveway slowly and gaped. It was a compound, the brick mansion and grounds easily as large as a commercial building, and perfectly manicured. She pulled up and parked in front of the four-car garage.
“Wow,” was all she could say.
“Okay, well, thanks for the ride,” Octavia said, leaning forward for a quick hug.
So she wasn’t even going to invite her inside. That stung, but Linda herself had been eager to deliver Octavia back to her world so she could return to her own.
“You’re welcome,” Linda said. “Do you mind if I walk Max before I leave?”
Octavia hesitated. “Okay...just keep him out of the flowers.”
“Don’t worry,” Lind
a said, holding up a plastic bag. “I’ll clean up after him.”
Octavia wrinkled her nose. “Goodbye, Linda....call me sometime.”
Sometime—not when or if she needed her, but sometime. And it was clear Octavia didn’t intend to call her.
“Sure,” Linda said.
Octavia climbed out of the van and marched toward the front door of the colossal house, then walked inside without looking back.
“Come on, Max,” Linda said, waving him out of the van. She looked back to the closed front door, fighting unexpected tears. “Do your business so we can get out of here.”
Chapter Nine
OCTAVIA CLOSED THE door behind her, and puffed her cheeks out in an exhale. She knew it was rude not to ask Linda to come inside, but she wanted to be alone to sort things out...and to confront Richard if he was home.
“Richard?”
Her voice echoed in the soaring two-story entryway. Gleaming black marble flooring was the perfect foil for the sweeping white double staircase that led to the respective wings of the house. A dazzling three-tiered chandelier that hung over the shared landing winked a welcome. She inhaled the scent of freesia that she’d selected as her signature home fragrance and savored the silence for a few seconds—no boisterous neighbors, kids, or dogs.
But no husband either?
“Richard?” she shouted in a decibel that would pierce even his closed office door on the second floor.
No answer.
If the coward were there, his Mercedes would be in the garage. She marched through the vast dining room with the table that seated twenty-two, the massive kitchen with commercial grade appliances, and the mud room (which had never seen a speck of mud), to the door leading to the garage and flung it open.
It took a few seconds for her to register the fact that Richard’s car was not in its usual parking spot...and neither was her Jag convertible.
Nor the backup BMW.
Panic nipped at her. What was going on?
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Carla standing there in her gray uniform dress, with a fearful look on her pretty face. “Mrs. Habersham—” She stopped and looked Octavia up and down, clearly surprised by the way she was dressed.
Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 7
