“And you’re telling me some dumb-ass lawyer signed off on this?”
“What’s not to sign off on? We told him we were selling Alice Nolan Sanders underwear. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Gus slapped at his forehead. “Just how the hell old was Alice Nolan Sanders when she . . . expired?”
“I think she was ninety-two,” Violet said, “but she died almost twenty years ago. We didn’t start the business until shortly after you and Barney entered high school. And even then it was difficult keeping you and Barney from finding out about it.”
“And she wore thong underwear?”
“No, actually, she wore Depends. She wanted to wear a thong, but it wasn’t practical,” Rose said. “This is one of our biggest sellers. We can’t fill the orders fast enough. In fact, it was the first product we ever sold, well before Web sites and the like. Although, when we first started selling them, orders were soft. Then we decided to monogram them, and we couldn’t fill the orders fast enough, as you can see by our inventory reports. We had to buy extra machines, but we have a staffing problem. We’re looking to expand by recruiting from other assisted-living facilities.”
“Expand?” Gus was in a daze as he followed the sisters out of the room.
“Yes, expand.” Rose stopped in her tracks and turned around to glare at her grandson. “Where do you think the money came from to raise you, send you to college, buy and pay for the house that is no longer yours, and set you up in business? We don’t farm the farm. Your grandfather left just enough insurance to get us through the first few years. And this farm has to be maintained. Well?”
“I don’t know, I’m ashamed to say. You never discussed money with me. Never, Granny. Even when I asked, you wouldn’t discuss it. I sure as hell never thought you put me through school selling Anna Nicole Smith thong underwear. I’m never going to be able to get that out of my mind.”
Violet was heartless. “Easy for you to say after the fact. You’ll get over it! Can we just get this show on the road? We’re losing valuable work hours.”
“Door Number Two. Fortune cookies. We get the fortunes. We bake the cookies, too. But, again, it’s a problem keeping up with the demand. We supply all the Chinese restaurants within a twenty-mile radius.”
“Well, at least that looks legitimate.” The sisters shot Gus a glare that could have melted candle wax.
“Door Number Three. This is our voodoo and spell room. Or witchcraft, if you prefer that word. I think it’s self-explanatory. This is very profitable, and we have tons of repeat customers, though we only started this service about five years ago. We craft spells designed to a person’s wish. A lot goes into this part of the business. We have a newsletter that goes out once a month. We sell candles, incense, and anointing oils to go with the spells. It’s quite lucrative. The referrals are astounding, and we have thousands of repeat customers. Again, a staffing problem. We could be making three times as much money if we had more people to help us,” Iris said.
“Door Number Four. This is our astrology room. Big dollars in astrology. We have a newsletter for this, too. Personal horoscopes at a hundred thirty dollars a pop. We have two-hundred-dollar-a-year memberships, and we had to cut it off because we simply can’t keep up with the demand. That’s another way of saying we know what we’re doing,” Rose said.
Gus followed the sisters in a daze. He pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. It hurt, so, no, he wasn’t dreaming.
“This is Door Number Five, or the parlor. We needed the biggest room in the house for this portion of Initial B Enterprises. We closed off all the pocket doors to keep the room airtight. We have to keep all the vents closed. All we can do for you right now is to open the door a crack so you can see inside. If we open the door all the way, the feathers will start flying, and it is impossible to catch feathers,” Violet said.
Gus let his mind go back to the Initial B Enterprises Web page. At the top and at the bottom, there was a duck quacking across the screen. He hadn’t thought much about it until this very minute. “You’re selling the Aflac Duck’s feathers?” he asked in horror. “You could go to jail for that! I’m sure that duck is protected. Oh, my God!”
“Will you stop being so damned dramatic, Augustus. No one said we are selling the Aflac Duck’s feathers. You are assuming again. We’re selling Audrey’s feathers. As you know, we have ducks down in the pond. And we get tons of feathers shipped from Taiwan. Ethel made a dress out of the feathers and put it on our blog, and, yes, we have a blog. Well, that little number sold to a starlet in Hollywood for five thousand dollars. Before you could say feather, we had so many orders we were going crazy. Again, supply and demand, and we don’t have enough staff.
“Then, the day we saw on the news that Prince William was going to get married, one of our ladies from Shady Pines said we should start making fascinators. Those are the little feather things ladies in England wear in place of a hat. We got right on it, and we were the Web site from which to order for the nuptials. We cleaned up handsomely on that, and the overseas shipping was almost nil because feathers weigh next to nothing. It almost killed us filling the orders because the feathers from Taiwan are white, as are Audrey’s feathers, and we had to spray them different colors. But not only did we persevere, we prevailed. We made a killing on those fascinators.”
“Because of the Aflac Duck?”
“The duck just runs across our Web page. We never claimed to be selling his feathers. The insurance company the duck represents has no quarrel with us; we’re giving them free Web press, or whatever you call it. We cannot be held accountable for what people presume or assume.”
“I think I’ve seen enough,” Gus said.
“Really! We were just getting started. We wanted you to see why you can’t stay here,” Violet drawled.
“How much more is there?”
“Well, there is the entire upstairs. We have an over-sixty sex hotline, an over-seventy hotline, a newsletter, and an advice column that is beyond active. Then there is the foot room. Old people for some reason get purple feet as they age. We have lotions and creams, all kinds of stuff. Right now, though, we’re having a bit of a problem with one of the lotions. Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”
“I think I’ve heard enough. Okay, okay. If your intention was to blow my socks off, you have certainly succeeded. I don’t know if I should congratulate you or cry for you. I just don’t want you all to get in trouble. Tell me again that this is all legal, and I’ll be okay with it.”
“Our people tell us we are doing nothing wrong, Augustus. We stand behind all of our products and services. Customers have access to us twenty-four/seven. If a problem crops up, we take care of it immediately. We’re giving people what they want, and, at the same time, we’re not just sitting around waiting to die. We’re busy, and we’re active, and we all love what we’re doing. Even during the hectic times. Now that you know what we do, are you okay with it?” Rose asked anxiously.
“Well, yes and no, Granny. I’m glad that you’re all happy. I’m going to worry, no matter what you say, about the legalities of what you’re doing. I won’t be able to turn that off. Look, all I want is for us to go back to the way it was. I want you to love me again the way I love you. I screwed up. I’m sorry, but I can’t unring that bell. I’m going to try like hell, though. I’d lay down my life for the three of you. I just want you to know that.”
And then he started to bawl the way he had when he was six years old. The sisters looked at his miserable face and rushed to wrap him in their arms, tears streaming down their faces.
A good cry was had by all. As if on cue, the sun peaked through the window of the front room.
“I think it’s an omen of some kind,” Iris sniffled. Violet and Rose agreed. Gus just hung on tight, not wanting to leave the comfort of the warm arms that were wrapped around him.
Finally, Gus was able to say, “What can I do?”
“Are you serious? Do you really want to help?”
the sisters asked in unison.
“Damned straight I do. And, no, I do not want your accounting business, but I really need to know one thing for sure. Did you really put me through college selling monogrammed underwear belonging to God only knows who?”
“We did,” the sisters said solemnly.
“Well, then, hot damn. I was never first at anything, so I think I can now claim a title of some sort. Not that anyone will ever know, right?”
“Right,” the sisters said.
“So, what do you need me to do? I have all kinds of free time now that tax season is over, and I have a lawyer handling my legal affairs. Just spit it out!”
“Recruit for us. Find us people our age who are withering away, old people who have given up and want their lives back, the forgotten ones. Can you do that for us, Augustus? We have a list out in the kitchen, friends of our staff, and, of course, some friends of our own who for one reason or another are living at other living facilities. We hesitated to out-and-out recruit, but if you’re serious, we’ll give you the list, and you can see what you can do. Next to each person’s name is the name of the friend who works here, and you can use that as a recommendation. Are you okay doing that, Augustus?”
Gus couldn’t remember the last time the sisters had smiled at him the way they were smiling now. At that precise moment, he would have agreed to anything to keep those smiles on their faces. “I’ll give it my best shot or die trying. How many?”
“At least twenty. I think we have only eleven names, but I’m sure that each one of those has a friend whom they themselves can recruit. I guess what I’m saying is, get as many as you can get. And if you want to sweeten the pot, tell them they can relocate to Shady Pines. We run a shuttle service between the Pines and here. Meals are free. Nice clean rooms, a bonus every year. Paid vacation.”
“All of that plus a shuttle service! Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Okay, I’m in.”
“We thought you’d see it our way, Augustus,” Rose said happily.
And he did.
Chapter 9
JILL JACKSON, GUS’S ATTORNEY, LEANED BACK IN HER ERGONOMIC chair and surveyed her domain. It was a beautiful corner office, with two huge bay windows. Barney Beezer had given her carte blanche on the decorating, telling her to order whatever she wanted because he wanted her to be happy and to stay with his company forever. Being an orphan, she’d always been on the frugal side, so she hadn’t gone overboard. She’d shopped and bargain-hunted until she found exactly what she wanted, though it had taken her months to get the office to where she was as comfortable in it as she was in her own home.
Barney had been so impressed with her choices, he spent hours in her office when he was in town. He professed to love the buttery-soft camel chairs, the matching sofa nestled in a corner for clients. He said he loved the fish tank, found it so soothing he nodded off a time or two. He’d complimented her endlessly on her green thumb with the two ficus trees, which were full and glossy, and the luxurious ferns she had on matching pedestals. He always kicked off his Brooks Brothers loafers and walked barefoot on the sand-colored carpet. She’d chosen eyeball overhead lighting that bathed the entire room in a soft glow so that clients didn’t feel the need to wear sunglasses. Almost against her will, she’d added a small entertainment center along with a minibar and a built-in coffee machine.
She’d brought blankets and pillows from home for the times when she was too tired to make the trek home late at night. All in all, with her own personal bathroom complete with shower and linen closet, she had been more than happy to sign on with Barney Beezer, and she hadn’t regretted it even for a second.
Jill turned her chair around to stare out at the magnificent landscaping Barney insisted on. Nestled in the intimate gardens were colorful tables and chairs, where employees took their coffee and lunch breaks or snatched a few minutes to read an actual paper newspaper. She loved it here. Absolutely loved it. What she didn’t love at the moment was her new client, Barney’s oldest and dearest friend, Gus Hollister. Jill knew in her gut, in her heart, and in her mind that if she screwed up on this case, she would be out the door in a nanosecond. While she didn’t like it, she understood the politics of such a friendship.
Everything looked so cleaned and scrubbed now in the bright sunshine. The storm of the century, as the newscasters were calling it, was finally over. It would take at least a week of dry weather before the ground would be dried out enough for her and the other employees to enjoy the garden again. More than likely, she wouldn’t really miss the time, because she had a full plate, and that meant eating on the run or at her desk while she saw to business.
Jill swiveled her chair back to the desk. She looked down at her little notepad and interpreted her own squiggles. Appointment in thirty minutes with Lynus Litton, her favorite private investigator. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Phil Ross; she did like him. As a person. What she didn’t like was inheriting other people’s staff, and, anyway, Phil had retired and done the report on Hollister’s wife as a final favor to Barney. She preferred to work with people she was comfortable with and had trained to her liking. Lynus Litton was such a person.
She’d met Lynus in college, and they had become fast friends because she didn’t object to what Lynus called his “gayness.” Lynus came from a blue-blooded Ivy League family who couldn’t accept his gayness and paid him huge sums of money to stay out of their lives, which he did happily, with his partner of many years, Lewis Lippman.
After college and law school, Lynus further angered his blue-blooded Ivy League family by opening a private security firm. He gave quality service at cheap rates, further annoying his upper-crust family; and then he added insult to injury by having Lewis Lippman, the top pastry chef at a five-star hotel, provide pastries for his clients, which arrived fresh three times a day. Lewis Lippman also came from a blue-blooded Ivy League political family that could not accept his gayness, either. His family, however, chose not to pay him to stay away; they insisted on it and disowned him. Jill adored Lewis as much as she adored Lynus. Lewis had even signed a note saying he would make her wedding cake if she ever decided to get married. “Don’t go there,” she’d said of the offer, “because that isn’t going to happen,” to which Lewis had responded, “Never say never.”
Lynus had a swanky suite of offices in New Town, where he knew everyone and everyone knew him. He never lacked for clients. When Jill called, he immediately put her and whatever she needed at the top of his list and made sure she had his best investigators, which wasn’t hard because everyone he worked with was the best.
Jill gathered up her jacket, her backpack, and her Wellington boots and left the office. She needed the yellow Wellingtons to get across the parking lot—unless she was willing to go barefoot, which she did not want to do. If she showed up either barefoot or wearing the Wellingtons, Lynus’s sense of fashion would be offended.
Jill was surprised to see how warm it was. Just three hours ago, when she’d practically canoed into the parking lot, certain the engine of her truck would stall out, it had been around forty-five degrees. Now it felt like it was approaching seventy. The sun was exceptionally bright after the monster storm. She loved days like this, when everything looked like someone had scrubbed the world with a brush and soap and water. The day smelled as wonderful as it looked.
Jill made it out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would take her to New Town and Lynus’s swanky offices. The trip, which under normal circumstances could have been made in fifteen minutes, took forty-five minutes, what with the flooded roads, downed trees, and drivers unsure where the detours would take them. When she finally arrived at Lynus’s building, she was glad she had worn the yellow Wellingtons. She slogged across the parking lot to the front door, where Lynus was waiting for her.
Jill smiled. Lynus could have posed for GQ or Town & Country in his elegant attire, and the truth was, he had been on the cover of each of these magazines twice, to the absolute mortification of hi
s family. Today, he was wearing a charcoal gray Armani suit with a pristine white shirt and red-striped power tie. Lynus never wore anything but Armani because he said the suits draped his slender body to perfection, something Armani himself attested to. Lynus had even modeled for his buddy Giorgio Armani on more than one occasion.
They hugged. “You smell good,” Jill giggled.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to spritz yourself with something. Don’t you get tired of smelling like grass and fresh air? Those boots have to go!” They bantered back and forth as they walked arm in arm back to Lynus’s suite of offices, which had, of course, been professionally decorated, no expense spared.
It was a black-and-white experience. Stark white, pitch-black, yet soft and comfortable at the same time. She didn’t know how that could be, with all the chrome and glass, but it was. The carpet was ankle deep and coal black, with not a speck of lint anywhere. The plants were glossy and green, healthy and luxurious. The glass-top modern-looking desk was virtually bare, except for a phone console and a laptop. Jill knew there was a state-of-the-art recording system, somewhere in one of the drawers, which Lynus used instead of taking notes. Lynus was a one-man shop indoors. He did have a reception area, where he had a blowup Betty Boop doll sitting behind the desk. Just for fun. He preferred to greet his clients at the door himself and did not accept walk-in appointments. The foyer door was kept locked at all times, but he did have a remote control in one of his desk drawers that he could activate in case law enforcement showed up regarding clients.
The two old friends made small talk on the leather sofa. In between bites of the delectable pastries and exceptional coffee—made from some exotic beans Lynus had shipped to him from someplace far away that she couldn’t pronounce—Jill outlined what she needed from Lynus. Lynus listened, committing it all to memory, knowing that his recording system was his backup.
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