by Matt Rogers
Chapter 1
The house was a plantation mansion; a southern monstrosity promoting inherited privilege born from forced labor. Forty acres of manicured lawn complete with fountain, circular driveway and chauffeured sedans. The two men exited their separate vehicles and scanned the area. Both were impressed by its beauty but repulsed by its history. They walked up the white stone stairs to the front door, knocked and waited.
“May I help you?”
The man who answered was a stereotype; a black man in tuxedo wearing white gloves.
“I’m Detective Smith and this is Detective Wesson. We have an appointment.”
The man nodded his head, stepped out of the entranceway, allowed the two men inside and bid them to wait while he found his master.
“Did he just say his master?” Smith asked.
“I believe he did” Wesson replied.
They waited in the Grand Ballroom and once again took in their surroundings. The floor was impeccably clean waxed marble with an ornamental rug on which stood a white pedestal adorned with a glass vase of opaque blue. The stairwell directly in front, the one the servant climbed to fetch his master was ten feet wide, forty steps high and along the walls leading upward were murals of men and women from past ages. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the thirty-foot ceiling and both became aware if it fell they would perish.
“Gentlemen, may I present Mistress Vivian LeTorque. Mistress, these are Detectives Smith and Wesson.”
The woman walking down the stairwell was the most beautiful creature either man had ever seen. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a figure worth every penny of gym membership. She was wearing a black dress with stilettos and appeared at ease navigating the seven-inch drops of marble stepping-stones.
“Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to meet you” she said while lifted her hand first to Smith then to Wesson, both of whom took it in somewhat shocked amazement because their eyes were still adjusting to feminine perfection.
“Mistress Vivian?” the servant asked.
“Yes, Nat?”
“I have set coffee and cakes in the visiting chambers for your meeting with these two gentlemen. If you would follow me?”
They all trailed the man into a room on the first floor where indeed refreshments were waiting. They sat down, Smith and Wesson on a blue couch and the Mistress Vivian LeTorque on a white decorative chair. The servant, Nat, poured coffee for three, handed out delectable pastries and moved to the back wall.
“Gentlemen?” Vivian asked.
“Yes!” they both responded together which was a bit odd since they were generally stoic when dealing with new clients.
They were the two top investigators for Craft and Sons, a private-detective agency specializing in neutralizing problems for the wealthy who, for one reason or another, wished not to involve the authorities.
“I believe you’re wondering why I called you here.”
“Yes, Miss LeTorque, we are. We were a little confused as to why you couldn’t explain your situation over the phone. We usually get some of the facts up front before we agree to take a…” Smith began but didn’t finish for he swore he heard a low growl emitting from somewhere to his rear behind the wall where the servant stood.
“Nat?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Please go tend to the inconsiderate brute growling in the other room.”
“Yes, Mistress” he answered and walked out.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, we have certain… canines who are a bit protective of me when I’m around anyone they don’t know. Nat will take care of the problem. Please continue, Detective Smith.”
Smith nodded his head but was still slightly unnerved because he could quite honestly say he’d never heard a growl of its like before. It was a most menacing sound. It hadn’t been loud and didn’t last long but the timbre of its tone held qualities of death.
“Um, where was I?”
“You were explaining why my being so mysterious was troubling for you.”
“Oh, yes. As I was saying we like to do a little research before we begin negotiations. It’s not because we don’t trust our potential clients, far from it. We do not judge anyone for we are here to solve problems not create them. The reason for our prescreening process is to satisfy ourselves whether we could actually perform the services required of us. Please understand, we hold to a very high standard in Craft and Sons and only take cases we feel could possibly succeed. It doesn’t mean we always do succeed only that we have the resources necessary to make a reasonable effort. I don’t mean to toot our horn but I must say the business model has been very good to us and we have a success rate in the ninety percentile range.”
“Yes, I’ve heard your company was the best and I further heard you two were the best in your company. It’s why I’ve chosen you.”
While Smith was listening to the gorgeous blonde Wesson was taking in the surroundings. It was the way the two worked, Smith was the more engaging and Wesson the observant one. It had made them the top detectives in the top firm in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. What he noticed was an opulent palace adorned with exquisite items on every wall, shelf, table and ceiling. The paintings were masterpieces of the various ages; romantic, classical, Victorian, modern, Avant-guard. The vases, plates, glasses and other show-pieces were of similar quality and he surmised he was witnessing vast wealth with the ability to acquire treasures throughout the world. The funny thing was how everything was hung or sat. He could see no wires, protective cases or anything of security in nature around the priceless artworks. He was an expert against theft and knew it possible to hide a system but also knew the disadvantages of doing so. Displaying alarms dissuaded others with notorious motives. It was why home-security companies hung signs on their clients’ domiciles. A potential thief would bypass the home advertising protection and move on to one which didn’t. The amount of wealth on display in the LeTorque Manor was almost asking a would-be convict to attempt overnight easy-street. It was as though Miss LeTorque was actually daring them to do so or had absolute faith they would or could not. He was silently pondering his thoughts when he noticed Smith and the Lady LeTorque arrive at the point in their conversation where the actual meat of information was to be revealed.
“What exactly can we do for you, Miss LeTorque?” Smith asked.
“I need you to find someone for me.”
“Who?”
“His name is Johnny Johnson.”
“Okay” Smith answered as he wrote the man’s name in his notebook.
“He’s a family member who has gone missing” she added.
“Gone missing?”
“Yes.”
Smith leaned forward and addressed the beauty in black.
“Miss LeTorque, I think it’s important for you to know if he is wanted by the authorities we will not break the law in abetting his escape. Now, we are willing to track down those on the lam but we will not shelter him from…”
“He’s not wanted by the authorities.”
“Oh, okay, can you tell me why you think he’s gone missing?”
“Because he is not here.”
“Sorry, I meant is there a reason to believe he’s gone missing and isn’t merely on a personal vacation of some kind?”
“Yes, because he’s running for his life.”
The statement received the detectives’ full attention.
“Excuse me?” interrupted Wesson.
“Yes, Detective?”
“You said he’s running for his life?”
“Yes.”
“From who?”
She paused before answering.
“This is where It gets a bit murky. You see, Johnny is part of our family and our family is rather powerful in this little world of ours and, well, lately things have changed whereby his death would allow other powerful players to acquire what we possess.”
“What do you possess, Lady Vivian?” asked Wesson.
The smile which crept o
n her face made it appear the sun had arisen from long hibernation. Both detectives were amazed they could be even more awestruck by the beauty of the woman but they were wrong. She was mesmerizing.
“We possess the answer to the question, Detective.”
“What question, Miss Vivian?”
“The meaning of life.”