Lily (The Regulators Biker Series Book 0)

by Carolina Mac

  Thank you, God . . . And Mr. Barton

  Next stop, insurance office. My appointment was with Matthew’s agent, Camilla Brockhurst. The directory in the lobby sent me to the twelfth floor.

  Ms. Brockhurst appeared in the waiting area after being paged by reception and asked me to follow her into her office. She was a willowy blonde with legs up to her neck. Her tomato red blouse was unbuttoned just enough to show generous cleavage. I could see why most men would stampede to buy insurance from her—several times over.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Talbot.” She motioned to one of the black chairs in front of her desk.

  When I passed her the death certificate and copy of the policy, she stared at Matthew’s name and burst into tears. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she blubbered.

  Why was she crying? Did all agents react this way?

  I was stumped for a moment, and then the other shoe dropped. Did I look like I just fell off the turnip truck? My eyes met hers for a second, and I was sure that she knew I knew. Ms. Brockhurst took a minute and regained enough of her composure to carry on with business. She gave me the appropriate papers to sign and I complied with a minimum of waterworks on my part.

  “Your claim will begin processing tomorrow. I can call you when your check is ready for pick up, or courier it to you when it comes from head office or you can opt for a direct deposit into your bank account.” She focused her gaze on her pen and avoided looking me in the eye.

  “Direct deposit will be fine, thanks.” I smiled as I gave her a void check with the account number.

  Hope you rot in hell, bitch.

  On my drive home, I couldn’t help but wonder how many mistresses Matthew might have scattered around town. He’d had plenty of opportunity, late meetings, golf games, working out at the gym. I didn’t want to venture a guess or dwell on it. I turned the radio to a country station and smiled as Toby Keith blasted out ‘Red Solo Cup.’ I sang along and stepped on the gas.

  AS I pulled into the driveway, my eye was drawn to the front window. I could have sworn the drapes were open this morning when I left the house. My stomach flipped and I felt prickles up the back of my neck.

  I slowly turned the knob on the front door and found it locked. I used my key and pushed the door open. No sound. Maybe my imagination was working overtime. Nothing was disturbed in the living room or dining room, but the door to Matthew’s study was ajar. I distinctly remembered closing it after I had found the insurance papers.

  Should I call the police? They say never to enter your home if you think an intruder is still inside. Who are ‘they’ anyway? My hands shook as I gave the study door a tiny one-finger shove.

  I sucked in my breath. The room was trashed. All the drawers in the filing cabinet were dumped, folders scattered everywhere, and the desk drawers stood open too. Pictures had been removed from the walls. Somebody was looking for what? A safe? Money? How did they get inside the house? Who were they and what did they want? Should I call the police?

  Do I want the police snooping around? What the hell do I do?

  Well, the choices seemed clear, either back out of the room and call the police or clean up the mess and try to figure this out myself. I picked up the papers, sorting them into alphabetical piles and putting them back into the file folders. I read everything as I inserted the documents into their appropriate folders. I gasped when doing the ‘B’ section and discovered there was an unmarked folder dedicated to me under my maiden name, ‘Brownell’.

  The file was thin, containing only a copy of my birth certificate, an old report from Children’s Aid and a few court papers following my life through the foster system. It shocked me that Matthew had obtained those documents without telling me but it renewed my enthusiasm to pursue it later.

  After an hour looking at household bills, receipts and articles cut out of The Wall Street Journal, I was no closer to discovering why someone had tossed Matthew’s files. Then again—they might have found what they wanted and taken it. In the end, the room was back to normal, but I was not. My hands were trembling, and every noise made me flinch. The Yellow Pages were sitting on the desk in front of me. I flipped to ‘L’ and called the closest locksmith, then to ‘S” for security listings and called Apex, the first one on the page with a block ad. They promised to send a rep over at four. The locksmith would arrive at three.

  I locked up the filing cabinet and was returning the keys to the desk drawer when I noticed the extra keys on the ring again. What were they for? Maybe a lock box or a safety deposit box?

  Brian would know. Brian Pickersgill had always been Matthew’s attorney. I had to let him know about the funeral and I could ask him.

  Thumbing through Matthew’s contacts on his phone I hit call. “Brian, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Matthew had a heart attack yesterday.” I took a breath and paused. “He passed away.”

  “Oh, Portia, no. Matt was always lecturing me on smoking and high cholesterol. I can’t believe this. He just had a physical a month ago. What happened?”

  Was Brian suspicious or am I being paranoid?

  “He was eating dinner last night, same as always, and he had a heart attack. The paramedics came right away, but it was too late. They couldn’t save him.”

  “I’m so sorry. Are they doing an autopsy?”

  No, thank God.

  “No, the doctor said it was a heart attack. Plain and simple.”

  “You’d better come down to the office. There are some things that I should go over with you. When is the funeral?”

  “It will be held on Saturday at Barton and Barton. Two o’clock. I could come over there tomorrow around nine-thirty, if that’s OK.” I jotted the time on a post-it.

  “Of course, come over in the morning and we’ll go over Matthew’s will. Everything is straightforward as far as I can remember. I’ll be ready for you.”

  “Thank you. Oh, by the way. Do you know if Matthew had a safety deposit box?”

  “I’m not sure. Just call the bank and they might tell you. See you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I was sweating when I hung up the phone. I practiced some deep breathing to get control.

  I didn’t know what Matthew would have in his will.

  What did Brian mean, things I should go over with you?

  The growling in my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything. The fridge was as bare as the Mojave and I was in no mood to go out. I found three eggs and half a loaf of bread. Scrambled eggs and toast would have to do. I made a new pot of coffee and drank it black while scribbling a grocery list. After putting food in my stomach, I popped two more pain killers. My arm was telling me to rest, but that would have to wait. There was too much to do.

  I returned to the study and retrieved the key ring, picked up my purse and headed for the door.

  Matthew had been in charge of the banking since we were married. He paid the bills and gave me household money. I never questioned him on anything. There was no need and it would have caused trouble and provoked an argument that I didn’t need or want. Now, I was getting a whole new perspective on my beloved.

  The bank Matthew used was six blocks away. With my arm aching from driving earlier in the day, I walked the distance.

  While the receptionist searched for the manager, she ushered me into a glassed-in cubicle where I waited in plain sight. All of the customers seemed to take turns gawking at me. A long twenty minutes passed, and the manager made his appearance. He was a rotund little man nearing retirement age, dressed in a black pin-striped suit and red silk tie. His high blood pressure gave his face a sunburned appearance.

  “I’m Jim Timberman,” He extended a stumpy hand. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Talbot?”

  “My husband, Matthew, recently passed away and I was wondering if he had a safety deposit box here?”

  “Oh, dear, I'm so sorry for your loss. Let me check on that for you.” He looked me up and down, left the office for a few minutes and when he returned, seemed noticeably cool.
“Could I see the paperwork regarding your husband’s passing?"

  “I’m seeing the lawyer tomorrow. I’m sure he will provide me with what I need.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Talbot, but I can’t give you any information until that paperwork is in order. Client privacy is very important in our business.”

  “No problem.” I smiled, standing up. "Thank you for your time.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry about Mr. Talbot.”

  Part way home, I popped into a trendy boutique and spent an hour shopping for funeral attire. Matthew would want me to look my best. I settled on a black silk suit that I truly loved and bought a wide-brimmed hat that made me look like Kate Middleton. Black stiletto heels added four inches to my five foot six, and the diamond sweetheart necklace was reserved yet beautiful.

  The walk home was difficult with one arm aching and the other laden down with bags, but I inhaled large lungfuls of crisp April air and it seemed to clear my head. Once in the front door, I took more meds and went straight up to the bedroom to hang up my purchases. Matthew’s clothes and shoes took up three-quarters of the walk-in closet. I had one little corner for my things.

  Why was I just noticing this now?

  Despite the aches, I flew down to the kitchen and hummed as I opened a new box of garbage bags. I spent the next hour removing every trace of my recently departed from our bedroom. The smell of his cologne on his suits made me nauseous and touching his clothes reminded me of the hell Matthew had put me through, but the more bags I filled, the more my energy surged. Even though it was slow going, it was the most fun I’d had in years with my husband.

  When I removed his shoe boxes from the corner of the closet, one felt extremely heavy. I gasped when I removed the lid expecting to see a pair of expensive shoes. A hand gun, a box of ammunition and a bill of sale, dated only a month ago, was in the bottom of the box. I knew nothing about guns, but the receipt listed the weapon as a nine mm Beretta semi-automatic. The gun had been purchased with cash, at the same time as the new insurance policy—Matthew had been ready. What a fool I had been.

  It was kill or be killed all along.

  After slugging all the tied bags down the hall with one arm, I let them roll down the stairs to the front foyer. Then I called Sally Ann. They scheduled a pick up for the following morning at nine.

  Next, I let Mr. Barton know I had chosen a suit and tie for Matthew and I would drop the clothes by the next day. I didn’t give a shit what Matthew wore for his big exit, but a devastated wife would want her beloved to look his best.

  The doorbell rang as I hung up the phone. I ushered the locksmith into the foyer and left him to it. He installed new locks on the front and side doors in less than an hour, presented me with the keys and an invoice and was gone.

  Not long after, Apex security rang the bell at four o’clock sharp. A short husky dude in a navy uniform introduced himself as Vince Darnelli. His dark hair was cut short and his face was showing the hint of a five o’clock shadow. He wore the same expensive Armani cologne Matthew wore and I fought the stomach lurch.

  In the living room we sat facing each other as he pulled brochures out of his briefcase and displayed them on the coffee table.

  “I’ll give you the info on three of our most popular systems, and then you can make a decision. How soon would you like the installation?” he asked.

  “As soon as possible. I find myself a little nervous in this big old place now that my husband is gone.”

  “I understand. There have been a few break-ins in this area recently. Two weeks ago, I installed a system two blocks from here after the homeowners were robbed.”

  Vince explained what Apex had to offer clearly and expertly. The system could be installed as early as Monday. If Matthew had been here, he would have insisted on at least three prices before making a decision, but I didn’t have the luxury of time on this. My instincts told me something was going on.

  “Do you want to take a day or two make a decision?” Vince asked.

  “No, I think I’ll go ahead with the second system you showed me. It has all the features I’m looking for.” I wrote a check for a deposit and signed the contract on the dotted line. “Thank you, Vince. You made this easy. I appreciate your patience.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Talbot. I’ll be here Monday to supervise the install.”

  After Vince left, I changed my clothes, drove to the hospital and spent an hour with Marcy. She moaned a little now and then but never woke up. She was still sedated. Tears rolled down my face as I drove home.

  WITH the rest of the evening stretching empty ahead of me, my mind was a whirl of worrisome thoughts. Tired of all things related to Matthew I decided to distract myself with finding out more about my mother and my past. From the file in Matthew’s cabinet, it was obvious he had paid someone to do a search, and there was nothing in that file that I didn’t already know. I had my mother’s maiden name, Grace Brownell, and the hospital where I was born—Scarborough Centenary.

  I'd come up with a place to start—find out where my mother went to high school and get a copy of the year book. At least I'd know what she looked like and maybe that would be enough. To do that, I'd start by visiting the libraries of the closest high schools around the hospital and see what I came up with. All of this thinking tired me out. I took my meds for my arm and crawled into bed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SALLY ANN rang the bell at ten after nine. The driver thanked me for my donation and picked up all the bags from the front foyer. Good riddance to that load. Someone less fortunate would be thrilled to wear Matthew’s expensive wardrobe.

  I arrived a little early for my appointment at the lawyer’s, but Brian was in his office waiting for me. He was an attractive man, six feet tall and slightly chunky around the middle. His dark hair was graying at the temples and he was sporting a neatly trimmed mustache. He stood up and shrugged into his suit jacket when I walked into the room.

  “How are you holding up?” He offered me his hand and patted mine.

  “I’m a little better today, thanks.”

  “Have a seat and we’ll get started. Would you like a coffee?”

  “No thanks, I had two cups at home.”

  “I didn’t have to call anyone else for the reading of the will, because you are the only one named. It’s completely straightforward.”

  “I see. I didn’t even know Matthew had a will. He never mentioned it.”

  “Well my dear, everyone should have a will. Now that you have property and assets, you should think of making one as well.”

  “I should. I’ll put that on my list.”

  Brian read the document to me confirming that I was the only person named and all Matthew’s assets were coming to me: the house, his mother’s antique furniture, any money in the bank, the cars, and the property in Maynooth.

  “What property? And where is Maynooth?”

  “It’s a little village in Northern Ontario. The property isn’t in the village. It’s a fairly large acreage on the outskirts. I think Matthew mentioned a cabin, but I’m not sure on that point. Here’s the deed. The survey is attached.”

  “Matthew never once talked about this property.”

  “Maybe it was just an investment and he never intended to use it.”

  “Maybe.” I slid the deed into my purse.

  Brian gave me some paperwork to take to the bank so that I could access the accounts and the safety deposit box, if there was one, while he finished up with the will. I'd bet changing the will was number three on Matthew's list, right after—buy insurance policy and get gun.

  Too bad you didn’t have time to do it.

  “I’ll let you know when everything has been finalized, but it’s just a formality. No question.”

  “Thanks so much. I appreciate getting this out of the way. Will I see you at the funeral?”

  “Of course.” He nodded with a grimace.

  On the way home, I stopped by the bank. The manager, Mr. Timberman, to
ok a quick look at the paperwork Brian had given me and led me back to the vault. He assigned a teller to inventory the box upon opening. She removed the box from the wall and set it on a small table. I took a deep breath, almost afraid to look as she lifted the lid. There was a discontinued Canadian purple thousand dollar bill, a diamond tie pin, an emerald ring and fifty thousand in US funds.

  With the inventory list completed, I was allowed a moment of privacy. I look at the items, closed up the box, took it back to the slot and replaced it. I turned my key and the waiting attendant finished the locking ritual. So much for that.

  Before I left the bank, I opened two new accounts in my own name, one savings and one checking. They gave me a new bank card and I withdrew some cash for the market and incidentals. On the way out, I also picked up the card of an investment specialist.

  At the market, I stocked up on staples. As always I started with the fresh fruit and vegetables, and then realized I could get whatever I wanted. Ten minutes later, my cart was loaded with ice cream, cookies and assorted other goodies forbidden by Matthew. Other shoppers gave me a wide berth in the aisle. Was it the silly grin on my face, or the fact that every now and then I’d start to giggle? At the checkout, I paid and requested a delivery. The delivery boy from the market would bring everything to the house and into the kitchen. My arm would be happy.

  When I arrived at home, I was about to collapse into a nap on the sofa when the sound of footsteps on the porch made me cringe.

  Please leave me alone.

  Ding-dong.

  The last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone. I peeked through the lace curtain on the sidelight and recognized my neighbor Susan from across the street.

  “Hi,” she said when I opened the door. “I saw the ambulance Wednesday evening, and I was wondering if everything was okay?”

  “Not really.” I paused and sighed. “Matthew had a heart attack and died.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she made a grab to hug me, and I gasped, turning my broken arm away.