Chapter 5 #2
The high gloss on her desk was obliterated by a mountain of paperwork to her left, which was only increments smaller than the mountain of paperwork to her right.
She closed her eyes and tried to relax, playing her favorite what-if game.
The one that went…what if she walked out of the office and never came back?
In her mind, she was halfway out of town when her secretary, Nola Sue, buzzed.
“Mrs. Justice, you have a delivery.”
The mention of her name change alone was enough to yank Casey back to reality.
“Just sign for it. I’ll pick it up later.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Justice, but the man insists on your signature only.”
Casey sighed. “Then send him in.”
Moments later, the door opened and a uniformed messenger came into the room. Brief and to the point, he handed her a clipboard and a pen.
“Sign here, please.”
Casey did as she was told, casually eyeing the flat, oblong package the man laid on her desk.
“Good day, Mrs. Justice.”
And then he was gone.
My, how word does get around in this town, Casey thought, as she slipped a letter opener between the folds of paper.
A glimmer of color began to emerge from beneath the plain, brown wrapping.
The second layer of paper was a thick, pure white embossed with silver doves.
An obvious allusion to the wedding that hardly was.
Curious now, she abandoned the letter opener for her fingers and tore through that layer to a flat black box.
It was a little over a foot in length and no more than three or four inches in width. The lid was hinged by two delicate foil butterflies. Casey gasped at the contents as a card fell out and into her lap.
Inside lay a miniature rapier on thick, black velvet.
She lifted it from the case, hefting it lightly.
It felt heavy, even warm in her hand, and she knew before she turned it over to view the silversmith’s mark that it was probably solid silver.
It was the most elaborate letter opener she’d ever seen.
Curious, she laid it aside and picked up the card, all the while wondering who would send her such a thing. She read, “Casey, On your nuptials: You deserve this… and so much more. Lash.”
She frowned at the oddity of the phrasing, then laid the card aside and picked the small rapier up again, eyeing the double-edged blade with caution.
Something near the tip caught her eye. At first, she thought it was rust, and that the letter opener must not be silver after all, because silver did not rust. Even after she ran the tip of her finger across the spot, it didn’t come off.
But when she lifted it for a closer look, she suddenly shifted in her seat, making room for the unexpected sense of foreboding that swept over her.
She swiveled her chair toward the window and full light, tilting the blade for a closer look still, then tested the spot with the tip of a fingernail.
It came away on her nail. Startled, she grabbed for a tissue and wiped at her finger, unprepared for the small, red stain that suddenly appeared against stark white.
She couldn’t quit staring. The spot wasn’t rust, it was blood—dried blood. But in such a small amount that it might have gone unnoticed.
Now her delight in such a gift was replaced with dismay.
It seemed a travesty of something pure to receive a wedding gift with blood on it.
The urge to put it out of sight was strong.
She laid it back in the box, closing the lid with care, but the words on the card had now taken on a sinister meaning.
You deserve this…and so much more.
Deserve what? What did she deserve? The silver… the knife…or the blood?
The phone rang. It was the private line that only family ever used. She grabbed for it like a lifeline.
“Hello.”
“Casey, darling, it’s Erica. Have you seen Grandmother?”
For once, she was almost thankful for the whine in her half sister’s voice. It gave her something else on which to focus besides Lash’s gift.
“No, I’m sorry, but I haven’t.”
Erica sighed. “It’s nearly one o’clock. She was going to meet me for lunch, and she’s thirty minutes late. She’s never late, you know.”
Casey frowned. That much was true. Gran had a thing about being tardy.
“It’s probably all his fault,” Erica said.
“All whose fault?” Casey asked.
“Your husband…the family chauffeur…however you choose to define him. He took Grandmother shopping hours ago and no one’s seen a sign of them since.
” The tone of Erica’s voice rose an octave.
“We don’t know a thing about him. I can’t believe you actually brought a stranger into this household, shoved him down our throats and then expected us to accept his presence as status quo. ”
Casey stifled a sigh. This was all she needed.
“Look, Erica. Nothing has happened to Gran. If it had, Ryder would have called. He is not a fiend. Besides, why didn’t you call her instead of me? There’s a phone in the Lincoln.”
“I know that,” Erica snapped. “But no one’s answering.” Casey looked at the stacks of files on her desk and wondered how her grandfather had gone so wrong. She was beating her head against a thousand brick walls and all Erica had to worry about was a late luncheon date.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Casey said. “I’m sure she’s fine. I’m sorry she’s late.”
The connection between them was broken when Erica slammed the receiver back into the cradle.
For a few wonderful moments, all Casey could hear were muffled voices from the outer office.
With a dogged determination of which Delaney Ruban would have been proud, Casey dropped the gift into a drawer and buzzed Nola Sue.
“Cancel my lunch with Rosewell and Associates. Reschedule for sometime next week.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nola Sue said, making notations as she listened to Casey’s orders. “Do you want me to order you something to eat?”
“I suppose,” she said. “And call home. Tell them I’ll be working late and not to hold dinner.”
Within seconds, she’d forgotten about Lash Marlow’s present and Erica’s phone call. Her entire focus was on the figures before her and the study she would need before she could make an offer for the acquisition of the Harmon Canneries near Tupelo.
A short while later, Nola Sue set a small, plastic tub of chicken salad, a cold roll, and a melting cup of iced tea on the corner of Casey’s desk and tiptoed out without uttering a word.
It was sometime later before Casey even noticed that lunch had been served.
* * *
“Want some ketchup on those fries?” Ryder asked. Eudora poked the lingering end of a fast-food French fry into her mouth and then shook her head. Seconds later, Ryder handed her a fistful of paper napkins.
“Thank you,” she said.
When she was certain Ryder’s attention was otherwise occupied, she licked the salt from her fingers before drying them on the paper napkins he’d tossed in her lap, then leaned back against the seat, sighing with satisfaction.
She couldn’t remember the last time food had tasted this good. Stifling a small belch, she lifted her cup to her lips and latched onto the straw poking through the plastic lid, sucking with all her might. A couple of swallows later, she began to suck air.
“How about another cherry limeade?”
“No, but thank you,” Eudora said, and tossed a used napkin on the floor next to the wrapper that had been around her cheeseburger.
The food had been delicious. She wasn’t going to think about the fact that it had all been served in recycled paper.
There was something about reusing paper—in any form or fashion—that smacked of poverty.
Eudora Deathridge had not suffered a day of want in her entire life, and had no intentions of starting now.
She belched again, then sighed. This had been worth her impending heartburn.
Ryder hid a grin. He’d given her hell this morning and knew it. From the time they’d entered the first store, to the last one they’d exited just before lunch, he’d been on her heels at every turn.
He had been nothing but respectful. It wasn’t in him to be anything else.
But he figured the ‘family’ needed to know right off that while he didn’t mind driving them all over kingdom come, he was going to do it his way.
And if that meant making himself a slight nuisance, then so be it.
He was the best when it came to being a pain in the ass.
If they didn’t believe him, then they could just ask his…
Oh, God. He’d done it again. Micah’s name kept hovering at the edge of his mind, popping out when least expected. He hated being weak, but guilt was eating him alive. No longer hungry, he began stuffing his leftovers back into the sack they’d come in.
“Here you go, Dora.” He handed the half-filled sack over the seat.
Surprised by the gesture, she took it before she thought, letting it dangle between her fingers like something foul.
“What am I to do with this?”
“Trash. Put your trash in it.”
She stared at the papers she’d tossed on the floorboard in disbelief. He was asking her to pick up trash? This time he’d overstepped his bounds.
“Now see here,” she complained. “I don’t think you…” Ryder turned. Their gazes met. His eyes were dark and filled with a pain she hadn’t expected.
“Need some help?”
“I don’t believe so,” she said quietly. “But thank you just the same.”
She opened the sack and leaned down. A few moments later, she handed it back, watching as he tossed it in a barrel on the way out of the parking lot.
“Ryder.”
He glanced up. Again, their gazes met briefly, this time in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m ready to go home now.”
He took the next turn, wishing he could say the same.
* * *
It was after eight o’clock. Ryder paced the small apartment like a caged bear—back and forth, from window to chair, unable to concentrate on the story on television, or eat the food congealing on his plate.
Stifled by the presence of walls, he refused to admit that he was worried about Casey’s absence.