by Maggie Thom
"Mr. Lund? Miss Bailey Saunders is here to see you."
Bailey stood by the reception desk tapping her fingernails on the polished wood surface. The secretary glared, sniffed indignantly and then turned sideways, her hand cupped around the phone mike resting against her cheek. She talked quietly into the phone receiver. A brash, no nonsense voice on the other end of that phone though, came through the ear piece, loud and clear.
"Right. Uhm, I need the file on Donna Za-. No. No, forget it. I'll get it. Give me twenty minutes."
"Okay." The receptionist turned toward Bailey with an insincere smile. "Please have a seat. He'll be a while. That's why you should have an appointment."
Although Bailey wanted to slam her hands on the desk, she slid them to her sides and slowly curled her fingers into her palms until her nails pressed into the flesh. She pasted on as sincere a smile as the receptionist. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"
"Isabel."
I'd have guessed Gretchen. "Isabel, my name is Bailey. I really need to see Mr. Lund. My mom just died and I..."
Isabel's demeanor changed like the flip of a coin. "I'm so sorry. That's got to be really tough. I can't imagine what that's like. I'm blessed to have both my parents still alive. I sure don't look forward to the day they pass away."
Unsure of what to do, Bailey nodded and instinctively took a step back. Something in her actions must have gotten through to the other woman because she switched back to her professional self but with a softer edge.
"You have a seat and I'll see if I can speed up Mr. Lund. Can I get you something to drink?"
Bailey shook her head before turning and walking across the expansive chrome and glass lobby. A picture of the CN Tower in Toronto caught her eye. As she got closer she realized it was a painting, not a print as she had first thought. It was an incredible picture. She glanced at the name of the artist. D. Zajic. Hmmm. Never heard of him.
She had jumped to the conclusion that the painter was male and smiled ruefully at that slip. She wanted to ask the secretary about it but was scared the woman would want to continue to talk to her. Wandering around the office, she looked at all the art work displayed. All seemed to have the same theme of high rises in Ottawa or Toronto. The rest of the pictures adorning the walls were nature photographs. Someone had an eye for seeing the beauty in the mountains and in streams flowing over a rock. The scenes were amazing.
She stared at one on the wall directly opposite the receptionist's desk, which depicted a lake with overhanging trees in the foreground. On its left was a painting of a river and mountains. She cocked her head. The scenery looked familiar?too familiar. An icy chill crawled up her neck and wrapped around to brush at her temples. She jerked back.
"Excuse me, Miss Saunders. Mr. Lund will see you now."
Bailey glanced over her shoulder at the starched and pressed receptionist walking away.
Shaking off her unease, which she chalked up to fatigue and stress, she snapped out of her trance and followed.
The receptionist led Bailey to a plush room that could have housed ten individual offices and paid for probably twenty furnished. Behind the desk was a well-dressed older man in a blue-gray fitted suit. His thinning white hair carefully slicked to the side and the hard lines around his mouth gave away that he was past his prime and nearing retirement. The curve of his lips would have looked like a smile, except that it never reached his hard black eyes. He came around his massive cherry wood desk that was twice the size of her double bed.
"Bails."
"What?" Her eyes widened as she stared hard at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Whales. I'm sorry. I was just finishing up on a case I'm working on." He extended his hand. "Miss Saunders. I'm glad to finally meet you."
She carefully schooled her face in only a slight frown but her mind was racing. Something wasn't right. Her mom was the only one who had ever called her Bails. She tilted her head, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Exhaustion and a thousand unanswered questions might have added to her wariness but she knew she needed to listen to her gut instinct. It had always served her well.
It went against every impulse she had but knowing it was the expected norm, she accepted his handshake but dropped his hand as soon as was acceptable without being rude.
"I'm really sorry for your loss. It was such a shock."
Scrutinizing him, she asked, "You weren't aware of her being sick?"
His eyes remained hard and fixed on her for a moment before he reassumed his seat behind the desk. "No. No. I was quite surprised that she had died."
Bailey pondered what she knew but nothing added up. She continued to examine his facial expression. "Yet she had her funeral organized and paid for. Who put up the money?" She sat on the plush leather chair facing him.
"Donna told me you'd be full of questions. Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you, Client Confidentiality." He sounded smug.
His attitude grated. "You don't know?"
"What I can share with you is what's in Donna's Will and that her funeral was paid in full, in cash."
"What's in her Will?"
"Customarily we discuss that after the funeral."
Bailey glowered at him.
He grabbed a file on top of a stack to his left. "Well?" He read aloud the formal introduction and sailed through the three pieces of paper that were the last connection she had to her mom.
She wrapped her mind around the information and asked, "Essentially I get everything except the house? What about the Dandy Candy store and inventory?" She slumped back in the soft leather chair.
"Uhm, there's a letter to do with the store." He picked up an envelope.
She accepted it from him barely restraining herself from ripping it from him and running from the room. Turning away from him, she opened it, careful not to distort or ruin any of the doodles on it. She read the note inside then put it in her purse, careful to hide the extra page that was in the envelope. She'd save that to decipher later.
"What the hell is going on?" Her fists thumped against her thighs. She strode over to the large windows that overlooked the river valley. The Bow River flowed freely, winding through the concrete and noise to continue on its journey from the mountains across the prairies. She wanted to walk right into it and let the water take her where it would. Tempting, but she had to get this over with. She sighed.
Turning, a framed picture on the wall caught her attention. The name "D. Zajic" was again scribbled in the bottom right hand corner. The picture was a tree with branches that draped over a creek.
The cabin was nestled in trees, with the gurgle of a river nearby. The rutted road was rough and overgrown, hiding the entrance. She was running and laughing. A man was chasing her. She giggled and ran faster, loving the game they played.