The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1

by Clayton Conrad

  “I would think it didn’t do much for Frank either,” Clayton said.

  “No, he took it real hard, he kept himself a great deal. He was either traveling or locked away in his study.”

  “As How about Michelle, did you know her very well?”

  “Not like Eddie. Kind of felt sorry for her in a way. The poor kid lost her mother when she was just at the age that a young girl needs a mother’s understanding. She was a quiet one who kept everything inside. I don’t mean to say that she was so clear mooting all the time, just quiet.”

  “That hardly sounds like the woman I was married to, something must have happened.”

  “I think her manner, her whole personality seemed to change when she reached 17 or 18. She was a late bloomer, and I believe she started to rebel about that time. Yes, I’m sure that was it. After that it was hard to keep her at home.”

  “Did you see Michelle the day of the accident?”

  “No, she hadn’t come home at night. The last time I saw her was two, or maybe three days before that terrible day.”

  “What was she like?” Clayton pressed, “How did she act? Were her spirits up, was she depressed? What was she like, but was her mood?”

  “It’s hard to say. As I remember though, she seemed quieter than usual. I only saw her for short time at the breakfast table. She had come down late from her room, and Martha had fixed her bite to eat. She seemed quiet, maybe a little nervous.”

  “But not her normal self?” Clayton prompted.

  “I hadn’t thought about it much, but you’re right. She was in her usual bubbly self, no, not at all.”

  “Would you say she acted… well,” he paused, “afraid of something?”

  “I never knew her to be afraid of anything,” Morris answered, “but they were something, I just don’t know.”

  As they pulled up to the gate at the estate, Morris turned to Clayton. “Please don’t tell Mister Wellington about our conversation. He doesn’t like me talking about family like this.”

  Chapter 6

  That afternoon at the luncheon Clayton was looking for Stephen Driscoll to show up, but to no avail. He looked for him in the great room, he looks for him in the dining room, in the kitchen, on the veranda and a poolside, no Stephen Driscoll. He was a complete no-show.

  Clayton smiled to himself. Driscoll was just another crackpot. The thing was that he had Clayton almost convinced that something wasn’t quite right about Michelle’s death. Well, the hell with it, he thought to himself. Besides, Michelle had a knack for tracking all kinds of net cases and screwballs. Present company excluded of course. He may as well try to enjoy the luncheon, and he did.

  Frank was famous for his dinner parties and luncheons and everyone knew it. For one to call them lavish was a complete understatement. These gatherings were over the top. Five-star, blue ribbon, first-place affairs and people just walk to them. They were always a big success. Care by the same company always used that was known for its experience and skill in the culinary arts.

  That afternoon everything you could possibly think of or imagine to eat was displayed with great care and laid out before them. From imported cheeses and caviar, to every cold cut and fresh vegetable available, fresh fruits and salads, and huge roast beef. A pig slowly roasted on a spit over an open fire until it was juicy and succulent. Even a five piece band played background music that was piped through the large estate.

  Clayton made himself a light lunch from the salad bar and was wandering through the crowd towards the tables, but they were all taken. He ended up outside on the veranda. The veranda was surrounded by a retaining wall of 3 feet high and 2 feet thick, made of brick with a cement cap, so when Clayton thought they were no to tables, he looked around, shrugged his shoulders and hopped up to sit on top of the retaining wall.

  “What a novel idea,” she said.

  Clayton looked around and saw a young woman standing just a few feet away. “Yes it is, and it’s comfortable also, I don’t you join me?” He said with a practiced boyish smile.

  “Oh, I would,” she said, “I’m in the stress and it’s hardly conducive for climbing walls.”

  “Allow me,” he said and jump down, and before she could protester say anything, he took her by the waist. She was nothing to lift, light as a feather. He sat her on top of the wall.

  “I hope Gary didn’t see that,” she said, still a bit surprised, and glanced around as if looking for someone. “Are you that brash all the time?”

  “I’m afraid so, and who is Gary? I hope you’re not with someone important?”

  “No one important,” she joked, “just Gary, who happens to be 8 feet tall with a chest a mile wide and arms like tree trunks.” She smiled.

  “, Is that all, he had me worried for a minute there. Just the same though, you’d better give me your name and phone number before he finds us and kills me.”

  “I’m Rachael Downing and you are Clayton Crawford,” she said looking straight into his eyes. “I saw you at the funeral this morning. I’m one of Michelle’s friends,” and she paused a moment. “Did I say that right?”

  She was wearing a white party dress with a yellow and blue floral pattern on it. Her dark hair had a natural wave to it and was cut in a short bob, close to her head. She wore green sandals and matching handbag with a gold chain, a velvet ribbon around her throat with a single cameo pinned to it. Her green eyes had a certain sparkle that matched her friendly smile and pleasant face. And yes, she was very beautiful, and all woman.

  I guess it really doesn’t matter anyway, he thought. “You know a Stanley Driscoll?” he asked her.

  “Sure, he was going with Michelle at the time of the accident. They quite a thing you know, pretty tight.”

  “He was supposed to meet me here this afternoon, but he hasn’t shown up yet. I guess he changed his mind.”

  “I don’t think so, he called me earlier want to make sure I’d be here. He wanted to meet you. Something must’ve come up.”

  “Well, when I couldn’t find him, I was writing him off as a crackpot or nutcase,” Clayton said.

  “I wouldn’t say that what time he tends to get a little carried away. Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t seem to be broken up over this.”

  “Broken up, now I guess not like you mean, but it saddens me a great deal. Michelle and I were separated from us three years but I still have, or had some feelings for her, yes,” he paused. “It surprised me to find out. Tell me is what Stephen Driscoll saying true? That Michelle was nervous, that she was being followed, that was afraid of someone, or even afraid for her life?”

  “I saw Michelle three days before the accident. She was a little uptight, not like her old self. Maybe a little nervous, but I laid it to a problem at work. You know, a missing contract or forgotten due date, something like that. I asked her what was bothering her she said it was better that it I didn’t know, I wouldn’t believe her anyway. But then she laughed and brightened a little bit.”

  “You don’t think it was life-threatening, at any rate, right?”

  “You’ve got to know Stephen, he means well, but he’s excitable, and tends to overstate things. I wouldn’t put much stock in his theory of murder mayhem.”

  There was a pause for a moment all Clayton contemplated what she had told him.

  “How long will you be in town?” she asked.

  “I really don’t know. I have a business on the West Coast that I should get back to. Maybe another week or so.”

  “Well,” she said, “I hope we can get together before you leave. You know for lunch or something, maybe a drink or two.”

  “Yes, I’d like that, as I really don’t know anyone around here but Frank.”

  “Fine,” she said, as she reached into her handbag and handed him a card. “Call me any time.” She took the card back and jotted her cell phone number on the back.

  They spent some time together on the veranda enjoying the mild weather and each other’s company. Then as the time pa
ssed they looked around and noticed practically all the guests had left, save for a few diehards like them. The outside lights came on around the veranda and pool area, producing a soft blue hue you that reflected off the shimmering water.

  “Hey! How about we take a swim right about now,” Clayton blurted out of nowhere.

  “Are you totally insane,” she said “I have no swimsuit and…”

  “Frank and supply them for us, I’m sure.” Clayton cut in. “Come on,” he said “as he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Wait,” she protested, halfheartedly, “I just can’t.”

  “Oh yes you can, it will be fun,” and a hurry to the bath house where a clean supply bathing suits were available.

  Well, why not, she thought to herself. It would be fun. She liked to do things differently, and this certainly was different. And besides this guy wasn’t half bad looking with that boyish smile he had more than likely been practicing, and his big brown eyes of his or enough to melt the woman’s heart. Ship, she thought, here I go again, and I know better. I really know better, don’t I?

  Clayton rolled over and looked at the bedside clock on the nightstand it was 330 in the morning and he couldn’t get to sleep Rachael had left around one. Every nice time together and he didn’t press her for anything more. Not yet anyway, he would just let it happen, indeed, if it happened at all. Got out of bed and walked to the window that overlooked the poolside, now quiet and dark. With the side and an effort to relax, he stared off into the night, his mind wandering from this to that. He thought of Rachel and what she told him about Stephen Driscoll. He thought of Stephen and what he said. Then he thought of Michelle.

  There’s was a whirlwind romance for sure, running here, flying there, one night club after another. When country this week in another country the next. Boating on the high seas, sailing down to Mexico, even skydiving and Zephyrhills Florida where they hold the international meets.

  He remembered their quiet moments together the warmth of her lovely body next to his. To him she was perfect like a Greek goddess. Often when they lay together and airlocks each other’s bodies it was pure ecstasy to him. Her faults were few and he overlooked them because she was so beautiful, she took his breath away. Now she was dead. Gone, finished. What a terrible waste he thought as a lone tear trickled down his cheek.

  The following weeks passed with different business affairs that couldn’t be put off it had to be seen to, those in Maryland and in California. Clayton’s vice president called to let him know that the contract with Wilson electronics had to be drafted again as it was unacceptable the way it was. Different papers had to be faxed back and forth on several occasions. There were also papers that had to be dealt with in regards to Michelle’s estate and last minute expenses.

  Frank’s lawyer who also handled Michelle’s legal matters had called and set a date for Frank and Clayton to meet at his office for the reading of Michelle’s last will and testament. Morrison and Martha were to be there, as they were also mentioned in the will.

  It was a simple document, cut and dried. She had changed her will since her separation from Clayton and left him the bulk of her estate, some $20 million and change plus the luxury apartment in the city that her father had bought them as wedding gift.

  To her father she left some keepsakes that belonged to her mother. To Morrison Martha she left a tidy monthly income see them through their retirement years if and when they ever did. But retired or not, they still would receive it. And some money went to different charities.

  Clayton sat back in his chair stunned at first at the large sum left to him. He wasn’t expecting anything maybe a small token, if that. What on earth possessed her to do such a thing, without Frank? He was her father and by all rights he should have gotten it all. He looked over Frank with a concerned look on his face.

  “Frank, I don’t know what to say.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I had no idea she did that we never discussed anything pertaining to this.”

  “Don’t worry yourself with this clay. I have more money than I could spend into lifetimes. And besides Michelle I talked all over and it’s what she wanted, to leave things just the way they were you two were together.”

  Chapter 7

  They were standing at the curb waiting for Morrison to bring the car around when elderly couple from across the street was shouting at them.

  “Mister Crawford, Mister Crawford, wait. Please wait for us.”

  Clayton turned to see was calling out to him. He didn’t recognize them at all, but they knew his name and where to find him. The man was tall, 6 feet three or four, in his 60s and very handsome, while the woman was a bit younger, and as pretty as the man was handsome.

  They came rushing across the street, dodging the heavy traffic with the sound of blaring horns and screeching brakes. They hurried up to where Clayton and Frank stood completely out of breath.

  “Wait a moment please, while the catch our breath,” the man said as he bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “We have run the last three blocks, the damn newspapers gave out the wrong address,” he managed, breathlessly. At the same time Morris pulled up with the car and Frank told him to circle the block until they found out what was going on here.

  “You are Clayton Crawford, aren’t you?” the woman asked, taking a tissue from her purse and wiping her for head and dabbing her cheeks, try not to smudge her makeup.

  “Yes I’m Clayton Crawford, now what can I do for you?” Clayton perused her face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you. Have we met somewhere?”

  “No we were introduced, but we saw you at the funeral. We’re Stephen Driscoll’s parents,” the man said as he straightened up and took out his handkerchief to wipe his face. “I name is Douglas and this is my wife Dolores. We were waiting to see you come out of the lawyer’s office, but because of the foul up in the newspaper story; we were waiting at the wrong address. We realize the mistake until we ask someone and they sent us here. We ran all away.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for your inconvenience, but I don’t see what I can do for you. What do you want of me? Why are you seeking me?”

  “We haven’t seen her son since the funeral; we were wondering if he knew where he was. We know you talk to him there and we hope you might be able to tell us something that might help.” The concerned look on Dolores’ face was unmistakable.

  “I haven’t seen your son since the funeral either. We made a tentative date to meet that afternoon at a luncheon at the Wellington estate, but he never showed.”

  “Well he’s completely disappeared. He’s not as home, and he hasn’t shown up at his job at all for the past six days. We feel something is dreadfully wrong here. We’ve been to the police and filed a missing persons report. We just don’t know what else to do, we thought of you.”

  “I still don’t know how I can help you. You say you read about me in the newspaper, I don’t understand?”

  “Word got out about the reading of the will. Can’t keep something that big quiet for long. It was right up about it in the society column a day or so ago. Only thing is, they got the address wrong.”

  “Well I’ll be,” Clayton said, shaking his head in wonderment, “and you think I can help in some way.”

  “The police took our report but I don’t think they’re interested or at least they don’t appear to be. They haven’t done anything that we know of. To them it’s just routine, but to us it’s much, much more.”

  “I’m very sorry for your dilemma, but I still don’t see how I can help,” Clayton insisted.

  “Well, you being in security, we thought you could ask around and check up on him somehow, find them for us.” Douglas spread out his hands in a feeble gesture.

  “Wait a minute, and insecurity all right, even armed security, but I’m not the police by a long shot. I own a security company on the West Coast but I don’t know how I can help you with this.”

  “We thought your experience in secur
ity that you would know all the ins and outs of things like this... The right questions to ask, where to look for him. He would just go off like that cannot tell anyone; it’s just not like him. We know he worried over the death of Michelle and then he talks to you and any just disappears. Please help us we just don’t know what to do. Just take a little time and have a look around for us, ask a few questions. Will gladly pay you, please help us.”

  When Douglas saw Clayton’s resolve start to weaken, he shoved a piece of paper and a set of keys into his hands, “here’s his address and the keys to his house.”

  Before Clayton could protest further, they both hurried off and were lost in the crowded streets.

  “For crying out loud,” Clayton explained, “just what do you make of that?”