Mr. Sugar: A disturbing psychological thriller with a twist of dark romance

by L. D. Fox

  “What?” He half-turned to Kelly, but she was already retreating to her house.

  “Uh, I have to go.” She pointed vaguely behind her. “Pie and all that.”

  “Kelly, wait. This isn’t—”

  The slam of his neighbor’s front door cut him off.

  “Hey, Mr. Sugar,” the girl said in husky voice.

  He twisted back to her with a grimace. “What are you doing with Penny’s car? Where’s my daughter? And who the hell are you?”

  The girl slung a rucksack over her shoulder and stuck out her hand. “It’s me. Angel.”

  He stared at her blue, manicured fingernails and gingerly took her hand. It was cool, soft, and gave him a surprisingly firm squeeze before he could pull away.

  “Penny said she’d tell you I was coming.” Angel gave him a concerned look. “She did tell you, right?”

  “No.” He fumbled in the breast pocket of his charcoal suit. “The last call I got from her was…” When he looked down at his cellphone, the rest of his sentence trailed away. “Shit.”

  Seven missed calls from Penny.

  Why hadn’t he heard his phone ring?

  He looked up at Angel. “Is Penny okay? Why isn’t she here?” He tapped on Penny’s contact and put his phone to his ear as he waited for it to connect. “Did something happen to her?”

  Angel shrugged and then leaned past him to look at the house. “She’s at a villa or something with this guy.”

  “What guy? A villa? Where? What’s his name?”

  The girl finally looked back at him. “Barry?” She pointed at him with a definitive nod. “Fred. No… Frank. Pretty sure it was Frank.” Then her gaze flew back to his split-level slate-roofed house. “Place is just as gorgeous as I remember. Is it locked?”

  “Yes.” Then, to the phone, “Pick up, Penny.”

  “Keys?”

  He shook his head at Angel, frowning.

  The girl crossed her legs and bit her lip. “I really gotta pee, Mr. Sugar.”

  Letting out a low growl, Drew lifted his briefcase and suspended it on his palm. With his phone squeezed between his shoulder and ear, he flipped open the briefcase and took out the house keys. Angel snatched them from him as Penny’s phone went to voicemail.

  “Penny, it’s Dad.”

  “Bathroom…?” Angel mouthed at him, walking backwards and pointing at the house with a thumb.

  He covered the mouthpiece with a hand. “Second door on the left.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He frowned after the girl, and then took his phone away from the phone’s microphone. “You’d better call me as soon as you get this. I have a—” what the hell was the girl’s name? “—your friend here. Says you’re at a villa?” Then, “Call me.”

  Drew stood for a moment beside Penny’s car.

  Was she safe? Warm? Happy? And what about this Fred guy? Was he a decent boy, or was he just trying to get laid?

  Drew sighed and ran a hand over his face.

  He didn’t need this shit. He’d wanted to see his daughter today. She made him feel like a good person, like everything he’d ever done to get this point had been worth it. Justifiable. Necessary, even.

  The longer she was away, the more he unraveled. The more he thought on the past; the bitter things, the ugly things… the unholy things.

  Smoothing a frown from his face, he cast a quick glance at Kelly’s closed front door and strode inside his house. He slammed the front door closed behind him; the girl had left it gaping open as if closing it was someone else’s job.

  It took a quick scan to establish that she wasn’t in the bathroom. Or living room. Or the kitchen. When he flung open the frosted glass door of his office, he found it untouched. He set his briefcase on the immaculate inlaid mahogany desk and followed the smell of Angel’s candy-sweet perfume up the stairs. Halfway across the landing, he stopped walking. His shoes sank into the cream carpet.

  There were three guest bedrooms on this floor, rooms Juliet had been convinced she would fill. She’d been smitten with their daughter since the day Penelope arrived. Smitten, and then obsessed. Even more so, when Penny turned out to be the only child they’d ever have; something Juliet never seemed to forgive herself for. It was as if she blamed herself for each of the miscarriages she’d suffered through.

  Perhaps, on some karmic level, it had been her fault.

  Of all the rooms, only his bedroom door stood ajar. Why had the stranger had chosen his room?

  He pushed open the door, jaw set hard.

  Angel lay on her stomach on his bed, facing the headboard. She typed industriously on her cellphone, bare feet up and idly twining around each other.

  Her boots lay on the floor beside her rucksack.

  “I think her phone’s off.” Angel retrieved a smoldering cigarette from the ashtray on his nightstand. “That blond dude’s probably busy oiling her up next to his pool.” She cocked her head. “Was it Bernard? Billy? Why do I think his name started with a ‘B’?” She peeked at him over her shoulder. “You don’t mind if I smoke in here, do you? Penny made me swear not to smoke in her car, and it’s been like hours since I’ve had one.”

  After Juliet’s death, there’d been no reason for him to smoke in a different room. And, perhaps he’d enjoyed the ghostly scolding his dead wife had given him every time he’d lit a cigarette in bed. But seeing Angel smoking as casually as if this was her room, stoked something infernal, primal, inside him.

  “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Angel turned wide eyes on him as she pushed herself up. She took a long pull at her cigarette — narrowing her eyes as the smoke curled up over her face — and blew out a thin plume of smoke.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Y-you—” his tongue tangled, so instead he took a lurching step forward and stabbed toward her with his finger. Goddammit, he hated stammering.

  Angel watched him with a frown. “I…?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  She crossed her legs, absently rubbing the sole of her foot. “Penny seriously didn’t tell you I was coming?”

  “She…” He dragged a hand through his hair. He was too tired for this shit. “She might have mentioned something about… about bringing… about a friend.”

  He yanked his tie loose and twisted open his top button; the air in this room stifled him, silk shirt or no.

  “Well, that’s me.” Angel grinned wide and tossed her head, sending a wave of hair over her shoulder. “Guilty as charged.” She ran brilliant blue eyes over him. “No surprise she forgot to tell you. Penny’s mind is like candy-floss after exams.”

  Angel stood.

  The smell of her smoke was making him crave a cigarette more than he had all day. But his box of menthols was in his briefcase downstairs, and the last thing he wanted was to leave Angel alone in his room.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?” Angel took another drag — slower this time, as if she knew exactly how much it bugged him — and blew an expressive stream of smoke his way. “Penny said it would be fine. And you have enough room, don’t you, Mr. Sugar? I promise I won’t get in your way.”

  He pressed his lips closed.

  She paused, cocked an eyebrow at him, and then laughed. “What’s wrong? You look spooked.”

  “There’s a stranger in my house.”

  She washed a hand down herself, making a small charm in the shape of a swallow tinkle against her bracelet. “I promise you won’t wake up minus your kidneys or nothing.”

  “Why did you still come?”

  Angel sighed, her shoulders drooping. “You’re not the only one who got the short end of the stick. I was expecting to be knee-deep in takeout and at least three episodes into the first season of ‘Friends’ already.” Angel shrugged and bit the inside of her lower lip. “She said she’d be back on Monday. Would it be okay if I stayed until—?”

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Yeah, okay. I get it.” She
hesitated before going to extinguish her cigarette in the ashtray. Holding onto the edge of the nightstand, she lifted a foot and tugged her boot back on it. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Sugar. I mean, I really thought Penny would’ve—”

  He cut her off with a sigh. “I meant here. You can’t stay in this room.”

  What was the harm right? He’d be working from home the whole Sunday, anyway. The house was big enough that they wouldn’t have to keep bumping into each other. And, maybe, it would make the place echo just a little less.

  The girl paused and peered at him over her shoulder. “I can stay?” Her eyes brightened as a wide smile tugged at her lips.

  He pointed with his chin. “There’s a spare room across the hall. Or you take the one next to it. But not here. Not this one.” He swallowed hard. “This one’s mine.”

  “Yes, sir.” Angel gave him a mock salute.

  Then she picked up her rucksack, yanked on her other shoe, and left the room. Her shoulder brushed against him. She let out a small giggle, glanced at him over her shoulder and opened the door on the opposite end of the hall. She stood for a moment on the threshold, staring inside with wide eyes, and then half-twisted to face him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sugar.” Her smile was wide and genuine. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  When Angel was out of sight, he strode across his room, lifted what remained of her cigarette and drew deeply from it. It had been instinctual, almost as if the nicotine in his system had momentarily taken control of his limbs and moved him autonomously across the carpet.

  There was lip gloss on the filter.

  Pink. Vanilla flavored.

  No, he wouldn’t regret it. But she just might.

  3

  Delegating Obligation

  The next morning, Drew managed to forget about Angel for several minutes. When he saw his alarm clock, he had a moment’s panic thinking he’d overslept for work. Then came the overwhelming relief when he realized it was Sunday. He fumbled for his cigarettes, saw the lip-gloss stained cigarette butt in his ashtray, and memories of Angel closed over him like an enthusiastic wave during monsoon season.

  He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He’d glimpsed Angel twice last night — once when she’d gone to answer the front door and then a few minutes later when she’d knocked on his office to ask if he wanted pizza. A barked ‘no’ had seen her straight — she’d left him alone the rest of the night with a murmur about people that worked too hard.’

  A faint crash had him darting from the room with barely a pause to snatch his dressing gown from the foot of the bed.

  Sounds of tortured crockery and cutlery led him into his kitchen.

  It was large. Pale, gold-veined marble topped the kitchen island. That, paired with white cabinets and double sash windows, lent the room a friendly, almost charming air that did a damned good job at making the industrial-style range hood seem less intimidating.

  At least, the range didn’t seem to intimidate Angel who leaned her hip against it while she did something violent to a pan.

  The smell of onions and red peppers filled the room. Coffee, too, but that was almost overwhelmed by whatever was cooking in Angel’s pan.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a disarming smile. “Morning.” The spatula pointed to his coffee machine. “Made coffee. Hope I got it right; that thing’s darn complicated.” Then she gave him a quick once-over that lingered slightly longer than comfortable on the ‘V’ of his chest that his robe exposed before she pulled her eyes away.

  Drew hastily tightened his belt — cotton boxers didn’t do an excellent job of hiding morning wood. Why did he get a sense that he’d had an explicit dream just before waking?

  “What’s in the pan?” he asked cautiously.

  “Breakfast. Or brunch,I guess. French omelets, to be specific. It’s sad the most imaginative ingredient in your fridge is swiss cheese, but I guess it’ll have to do.”

  “Never needed anything more imaginative,” Drew said as he went over to the coffee machine.

  Angel turned to face him. She wasn’t wearing makeup this morning. Her dark, wavy hair had been scraped into a high ponytail that dangled over one breast. She wore an over-sized gray t-shirt that had slipped off her shoulders… and nothing else. It wasn’t a guess, either; from the way her nipples poked that soft fabric it was pretty damn evident.

  He had a death grip on the knot of his robe’s belt when he opened the front door and hurried down the path to his mailbox. He was usually dressed when he went to fetch his paper, but he couldn’t stand to be in the kitchen a second longer.

  Not with Angel there.

  * * *

  There was a plate waiting for him on the marble counter when he came back for his cup of coffee. Angel had retreated, but he could hear footsteps in the room above. The guest room. He wasn’t going to take the plate with him, but it smelled too good to resist.

  Drew sank into his office chair with a sigh, ran a hand through his hair and down his face, and leaned back to close his eyes.

  This promotion couldn’t come soon enough. He’d had enough of laboring day in and day out. He had to start delegating, else what was the point of this house, his multiple investments, his lakehouse?

  The snick of his briefcase opening sounded too loud in the office. He tugged out a file and put in front of him, grabbing a bite of Angel’s omelet as he opened it.

  He stopped, chewed, swallowed.

  God, it was fucking delicious.

  He took another few quick bites and then slid the plate to the far end of his desk after giving it a quick, guilty look.

  Who’d known the girl could cook? It wasn’t that she gave off bimbo vibes, but… she did seem to relish showing off her body.

  Was that a bad thing these days? Or even something you could be judgmental about? Who the hell knew anymore what was considered decent or—

  He jerked when his cellphone rang. Had it been in here the whole night?

  It was lying on its screen. When he flipped it over, his shoulders sagged.

  He’d hoped it was Penny, finally returning the dozens of messages he’d sent her. He made a mental note to speak to Angel. There had to be another way to get hold of Penny. It was that or he’d start calling the cops.

  “Morning,” he answered before the phone could go to voicemail.

  Bryce laughed into his ear. There was a moment’s staticky noise as if he was juggling the phone against his shoulder, and then the laugh cut off. “Letting it ring more than once, bro? That’s fucking impressive.”

  “You say I’m too OCD. This better? ” Drew sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “The fact that you have to work so hard at being normal, means you ain’t normal.”

  “What do you want, Bryce?”

  “What, I can’t just phone and say hi? There has to be an ulterior motive?”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Drew looked up in time to see a shadow darken the frosted glass pane in his office door. A hand, poised to knock.

  He raised his voice. “I’m busy. Work, you know?”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling.” Bryce’s phone transmitted another crackle. “Jesus. Hold on, Drew.” More background noise, the sound of murmured voices, and a door closing. Then Bryce returned, voice pitched low. “The Morrison project; we’re on the same page, right?”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Drew said.

  Angel moved past the door, and his shoulders relaxed.

  “You’re taking lead like we discussed,” he said.

  “Because Jules called a meeting tomorrow morning, I hope you know that. We should—”

  “You’re taking lead, Bryce,” he said again, louder. “Do you want it in fucking writing?”

  There was a pause. “Hey, everything okay?”

  “What?” Drew forced his eyes away from the door. As an added measure, he swiveled his chair, so he faced out into his house’s backyard where the serene ripples of his swim
ming pool proved a calming focal point. “I’m fine. Just… Just have a busy week ahead. Trying to get behind some of my admin. Which is why I can’t really—”

  “About that.” More static — was his brother running a goddamn marathon or something with all that noise? — and then a heavy exhalation. “I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to need you to wrap up the Eaton Foods claim.”

  “Wrap up?” Drew repeated slowly. “I’ve done everything on that claim already, now you—”

  “It’s been crazy here, bro, what with my new girl…”

  Drew waited to hear the rest of Bryce’s excuse, but it never arrived. He clenched his jaw and glared out over the crystal waters of his pool.

  “No way. I’m already up to my eyeballs in paperwork, now you expect me to…” Drew’s sentence faded away as a frown gradually furrowed into his brow.

  Angel had appeared in the garden wearing a tiny, neon-pink bikini that did a dastardly poor job at keeping her breasts and ass confined. Angel swung around, shading her eyes with a hand, found his office window, and waved. Her grin was enthusiastic and contagious.

  First pausing for a moment as if waiting for him to wave back, the girl then padded to the end of the pool, tested the water with a toe, and dove in.

  The sound of that dive carried clearly into his office.

  Her head surfaced at the deep end of the pool, dark hair plastered over her face until she smoothed it back. She swam to the steps and climbed out, water pouring from her body in a dazzling cascade of—

  “Hey, you there? Drew? Drew!”

  “What?” Reality swarmed back into his mind. Drew swung the chair back to face his door, ran a hand over his face, and shook his head. “Sure, Bryce. Whatever.”

  “Everything okay? You sound distracted.”

  Said the man who sounded as if he was busy packing for a quick break in the Seychelles while he was on the phone. Drew tried to banish the thought, but he had no doubt that his brother would be shoving a pair of swimming trunks in a suitcase if Mr. Trent of Trent & Morgan Associated Loss Adjusters hadn’t called a meeting to decide who would team up for the massive reinsurance claim at Van Der Kloof Manufacturing.