Mary’s jaw hung open for a few seconds. “I believe a hard place would have been just fine.” She shook her head. “When you get a thought to do something, you sure don’t fool around, do you? Is that why you went back to Boston?”
“Back to Boston?” The question stumped Annie for a second until she remembered that that was where she had supposedly gone during the time she was . . . gone! “Oh! No. That was something else all together. School stuff.” She turned away and started walking again. “I’d been thinking about it for a while, buying the business that is, ever since . . .”
“Ever since when?”
How was she going to explain all of this? Now she started wishing she hadn’t opened her big mouth. Damn! “Ever since you and I had that confrontation with Bill Small at Pack It In Sports.”
“Bill Small? Is that the same Bill as in Bill and Cassandra you just mentioned?”
Annie blew out a lungful of air. “Yes. Pack It In Sports is the business I just agreed to purchase. I got to thinking about it and it just seemed like a really good idea. It was Patrick’s dream to have his own business, and his family could sure use the added income. I even offered to hire his father. Dad and Aunt Gracy and Uncle Henry are even on board with it, though dad took some convincing.”
“And then you and Patrick got into a row.”
“Into a row? If by that you mean a fight? No, no, nothing like that. He folded when my father found out about it. I think it was just too much for him at one time. He is obviously romantically interested in me and I keep stiff-arming him. He’s overwhelmed by my powerful family.” Annie almost added, “And genius friends,” and then remembered Mary knew nothing about the others. “Then I took him with me when I made the deal with Bill and Cassandra, and followed that with the job offer. A couple of hours later my father found out and blew up in his face. I think it became readily apparent to him that we live on opposite sides of the tracks, in more ways than one.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I’m rich; he’s poor. I live in Massachusetts; he lives in Montana. Academically-wise, I’m way over his head. Now with this business I’ll be his boss. The thing is he knew almost from the beginning who/what I was, and he continued to pursue me.”
“The heart can be very powerful,” Mary said.
“I don’t think the heart had anything to do with it. It was his hormones driving and last night when my father got into his face, his hormones dried up. In the end he resigned the position which hadn’t even started yet and then walked away. If it was just me, I’d be fine with it. I’m not ready for, nor do I need, a relationship right now. But it is not just me. I have a verbal contract with Bill and Cassandra.”
“I’m sure they’ll get over it, Dearie.”
“The funny thing about it all is after Patrick left last night, my father did a one hundred and eighty degree reversal. He wants to be a partner.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, maybe. Now I don’t have a manager.” She sighed. “I also really wanted to help Patrick’s family.”
“Ahhhhh.” Mary nodded her head. “You’ve never really told me about them.”
“He has a sister, Leslie. She’s thirteen.” And then Annie went on to tell Mary about Leslie’s accident and the guilt that Patrick lives with.
By the time she had finished they’d turned around and were heading back to the cabins. For a time they walked silently. Stopping briefly at the sitting log, Mary said, “Do you think this is all about your guilt from what you said to Tony?”
“What do you mean?”
“You feel you cannot fix your life so you try to make up for it by fixing someone else’s.”
Annie almost blurted out, “But I did go back and fix it.” Instead she said, “I’ve been working on my issue and I’m feeling better about it.”
“Could you have been feeling better about it because you thought you were helping someone else?”
Annie knew there was no way she could argue with Mary about it because Mary did not and would never have all the facts.
“Possibly,” Annie said in hopes to end the topic. “Let’s go get our men and get to breakfast.”
To Annie’s delight, Mary agreed.
Chapter 83
June 19, 2007
Annie cruised Wal-Mart’s parking lot just before 4:00 looking for Patrick’s Blazer. She’d waited all day, planning to catch him as he left work and offer to buy him dinner. But he wasn’t at work, or he got off early. She considered trying to call him, but didn’t really want to haggle with him over the phone. She wanted to talk to him face-to-face. She’d go to his house.
His Blazer was parked in the same spot as when he took her to meet Leslie and his mother. He was in the yard doing something with two-by-fours on a pair of sawhorses. From the looks of the partially constructed porch, he’d been at it all day. She didn’t remember him saying he had the day off. When she pulled up in front of his Blazer, he looked up and then turned away as though not interested. She got out and bit down on her lip, determined to press forward, not knowing where it was going to end. She had considered turning away and forgetting the whole thing, but that was the coward’s way out. She was determined to face this head on.
She approached him across the yard, swinging wide to avoid pieces of lumber and to get around to where she could face him. He continued to ignore her, drawing a line along a metal straight edge and then picking up a power saw. She’d never been this close to a power saw before and the sudden noise and flying sawdust startled her. She jump back, tripped on a two-by-four and fell on her butt. By the time Patrick had set the saw aside to come assist her, she was on her feet, only a little embarrassed, she tried to convince herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe for pressuring you into making a decision; rushing you. Maybe for getting you involved.”
“You didn’t get me involved. I did that.”
She nodded. “True. But I’m feeling kind of cornered because I agreed to a set of terms with Bill and Cassandra and now don’t have a manager.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“No! That’s not what I meant. Of course it’s not your fault. I should have asked you before I made the offer to them, instead of putting you on the spot.”
He shrugged.
“Am I forgiven for that, for not discussing it with you first?”
He didn’t say anything.
“I like your family. I like you. I wanted to do something for them . . . you. I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly did do that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled and crossed her arms. “Here’s the thing. I need to know for sure, one way or the other, if you’re interested in the job. ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘I don’t think it will work out,’ are not definitive. I need a solid answer, yes or no, so I can advise my investors and we can start making other plans.”
“Investors?”
“Yes. Investors. Four of them. This is now full steam ahead and if you want a part of it you’d better get back in.”
Patrick looked up at the sky and then at the board he had yet to finish cutting. He picked up the saw and hit the trigger for a split second. It roared to life and then faded away.
Annie looked around her feet, turned around and started picking her way across the yard toward the half constructed porch.
“Where’re you going?” Patrick asked.
“To see your mother and father.”
“Why?”
Annie sensed the edge of panic in his voice. “I have a job opening available. Hoping your father might be interested.”
“He won’t be.”
“How do you know? Fifty thousand a year plus health, dental and vacation packages; annual bonuses and raises. He’d be crazy not to consider it.”
Patr
ick looked up at the cloudless sky. “Why are you doing this?”
“To get a piece of the American dream.”
“You can afford to purchase a piece of the American dream in Boston. Why here?”
“Why aren’t you at work?” The best defense, Annie had learned when arguing with her father, was to change the subject.
“What?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work today?”
“I’m building the new porch.”
“Is that what you told Wal-Mart?”
Patrick put his attention back to his cutting. Annie approached him and before he started the saw again, said, “Did you quit?”
He ignored her and proceeded to cut the board. Prepared this time, she simply moved to avoid the sawdust and then waited until the saw went silent.
“Aren’t you supposed to give notice or something?”
He slid another board closer, placed the cut board on top to draw a cutline, set that aside and picked up the saw again.
“I don’t want a quitter on my staff.” She turned around and started toward the house again. “I’ll bet your dad’s not a quitter.”
“I didn’t quit, technically.”
She stopped and looked back.
“They eliminated a department and moved a more senior associate into mine, and then offered me grocery. They were very apologetic, but it was either that or hit the road. I made the choice of hitting the road.”
“They didn’t give you any notice?”
“Two days.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When did they tell you this?”
“This morning.”
“Since you are here building your parents’ porch I gather you chose to hit the road two days early.”
“Maybe not the best choice, but I was a little pissed off.”
“Especially on the heels of walking away from Pack It In Sports.”
He shrugged.
“I’ve apologized and my father will apologize as well. My offer is still on the table. I’d like very much for you to accept the management position, but not until you’re finished building this porch.”
He didn’t say anything, looking everywhere but at her. When the silence collided with her patience, she said, “Is it that you can’t stand working for a woman boss, especially one who you had the hots for?”
“What’s she talking about, Patrick?”
The sudden realization that Mrs. O’Reilly was standing right behind her sent a flush up Annie’s neck.
“Nothing, Mom.” He bent back to his work, appearing to measure the same board he had already measured.
Annie turned around. “Hi, Mrs. O’Reilly.”
“It’s Pat, please. What’re you talking about? Did I understand you right that you might become his boss?”
Annie stepped to the side and turned to have both of the O’Reillys in her vision. “That’s up to Patrick. I’m still waiting for his final answer. If he says no I’ll have no choice but to shift to plan B, and that’s to . . .”
“Yes.” Patrick picked up the saw and said, “Yes. I’ll take the job.”
With that the saw came on. Pat touched Annie’s elbow and, with her head, indicated they should go inside. Just before stepping through the door, Annie glanced back. The saw was silent and it appeared Patrick was staring down at the cut he had just made. Annie was sure that he was grinning.
Epilogue
July 4, 2007
In the following two weeks Annie was busy. She and Patrick, along with her aunt and uncle, made lists, sketched ideas, and then contacted an architect. She hired Patrick O’Reilly Sr. as a consultant to the archery and bow-hunting department. She was also talking to him about overseeing all of the construction and remodeling. The plan was to have all of the outdoor work completed before November. Included in the plans, Annie’s idea, was a room just for Leslie where she could pursue her passion as an artist. It would be called the Leslie O’Reilly Gallery. Patrick’s mother cried when she was presented with the idea.
On June 28th, George and Brenda Smoot arrived and backed their rig up to the trailer. Robert sweetened the deal even more to be sure they took all the time they needed to cross the country safely. With Howard and Thomas on their tail they departed, leaving Annie and her father, Gracy, Henry, Robert and Charles sitting around the grill discussing how to handle the RV. It was agreed that Robert needed to get back to Cambridge posthaste and that Charles should accompany him. Robert promised that he would check in with his doctor and consider an aggressive treatment for his cancer. Annie was afraid that it was too late. They flew out the next day with Henry and Gracy on their private jet.
As for the RV, it found a storage spot behind Pack It In Sports. It would become O’Reilly Sr.’s office during construction.
It was Independence Day and Annie, her father, Mary and Richard were on Flathead Lake, anchor out, feet up, enjoying the sun and fresh morning air. A small runabout pulling a skier passed not too close, but close enough to rock their larger boat. Actually, it was Annie’s boat. The 4th of July cruise on the Flathead was her maiden voyage. The name, “Pack It In”, was displayed prominently on the stern. As the waves eased, Annie stood and scrambled up to the bow away from everyone else. Mary, Richard and Steven looked at each other and then Mary followed after Annie.
“Are you all right, Dearie?”
Annie finished tossing her breakfast over the side and then sat up. “I guess I got a little sea sick; first that fishy smell and then the rocking of the boat.”
Mary sat down next to her.
“You’re not going to force more of that Lemsip on me are you?”
“That all depends on what other symptoms you have.”
“Other symptoms. I feel fine otherwise. Just seasickness.”
“Have you been tired lately?”
“Well, yes. But I’ve been busy. All the paperwork for the business, buying the boat, hounding my grandfather about doing his radiation, picking up after my dad, trying to squeeze in some hiking.”
Mary put her hand on Annie’s arm. “Your temperature is up.”
“I just got sick.”
“Have you been tender?”
Annie blinked at her. “What do you mean, tender?”
“Your breasts. Have they been tender?”
Annie’s mouth started flopping open and shut like a fish gasping for water. “What are you implying?”
“I take that as a yes. Do I need to go through the other symptoms?”
Annie put her hands to her mouth and looked big-eyed at Mary. “Oh . . . my . . . God!”
# # #
Thank You...
...for reading the Time-Travel Duo, Before Anne After and Time Will Tell. If you enjoyed this book, please consider Deserving of Death.
One might say that CJ Washburn is obsessed with Stella Summers. After all, common sense all but takes flight when she goes missing for a time. How could he not think to check his email or voice mail or not find the note she had left in his apartment? He runs to the scene of a body dump in fear that it is her, possibly the third victim in what appears to be turning into a serial killing rampage.
"And this guy calls himself a private investigator?"
A private investigator he is, and a good one at that. However, women's bodies keep turning up and by the fourth victim he becomes a person of interest; by the fifth, the prime suspect and the subject of a manhunt from the Idaho panhandle to Southern Arizona. Bodies continue to drop around him until his deepest fear is pushed upon him and his investigative skills are challenged at the highest level. In a message from the killer he learns that the next victim will be one of the women in his life; his daughter, his girlfriend, his attorney or even his ex-wife. Who is the next target of this deranged killer?
And now, the first two chapters of Deserving of Death...
Chapter 1
It was the best of days; it was the worst of nights. The words kept replaying in CJ�
��s head, though different from whatever novel inspired them; what novel and how they were different he couldn't remember and he wished they’d get out of his head. There certainly had been some good days since hiring Stella Summers and in the last few years there had been some great nights. But at this particular time, this particular night, things weren't so great. He was in his office, lights dimmed, alone with Jack D., wondering how he had gotten himself so worked up. Where the hell was Stella anyway? Was she dead like the other victims, stuffed in a dumpster as though nothing more than last week’s hot chili tacos? Or did she head up into the mountains, Summerhaven or Madera Canyon, like she was always talking about, to clear her head and realign her psyche? What the hell does realigning ones psyche mean anyway?
He took a sip of the amber liquid.
If she simply took off, that was okay. Well, maybe not okay because….
He sipped again.
Of course it wasn't okay. If she needed to clear her head, why wouldn't she want to clear it with him? He'd be glad to go into the mountains with her. She did say she wanted them to spend more quality time together. She even gave him her key. What the hell did that mean and what is quality time to a woman anyway? Does she even know? Does any woman know?
It's all about feelings, or so he's been told by every woman he has ever been with, including his first and only wife after whom he'd sworn off marriage seven years back. How the hell does a man get a hold of feelings? It's not something he can wrap his hands around.
He looked at the glass, held it in the air, swirled the liquid, emptied it with one gulp and licked his lips.
A man can deal with something he can touch, feel the grain, the weight, the strength... the taste. How can a man touch a feeling? He held the glass in the air again, stared through it and then at it.
Time-Travel Duo Page 113