by Chiah Wilder
“Is it really? You know your parents want you to settle down and have a family. It’s—”
“They want my brother to marry and have kids too. I think it’s just a parent thing, regardless of the time and place in which we live. Parents want to make sure their kids aren’t alone after they’re gone.”
Scarlett squeezed one of the lemon slices into her water then took a sip. “Okay, I agree with you but I’ll bet the daughters in most households get pushed more into marrying and having a family than the sons do, especially when they’re in their twenties. Look at us—we’re still living at home. We go to the club, we do our charity fundraisers, we date men who say all the right things. Aren’t you bored out of your fucking mind?”
“Not really. Why don’t you find some stud and have a fling? That would perk up your summer. Flirt with one of those guys who are working on the tennis house at your place. Oh God, that would be such a classic stereotype—rich woman with a hired hand.” Kiara giggled.
A thread of guilt wove through Scarlett. Maybe I should tell Kiara about Shadow. Then she reminded herself that he was dissing her, so her summer fling may very well have burned up before the summer had ended.
“You’ve got such a serious look on your face. What’re you thinking about?” Her friend’s eyes sparkled when the waitress set down a Gruyère and paté baguette in front of her.
Scarlett picked up her fork and picked at her spinach and mushroom quiche. “That I’m going to tell Warren it’s over, and that I want to get an apartment and a job.”
Kiara froze in mid-bite and looked over the top of her sandwich at her. “Wow,” was all she said, then she sank her teeth into the crusty bread.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just feel stifled at home. I want my own place, and I want to earn money instead of having an allowance.”
“What kind of a job and where would you live?”
“I’d love to do something in marketing or event planning at a hotel or marketing firm. For the past year I’ve been looking at places on Larkspur Lane. My dad has several apartments over there that he rents. He’s had a few of them for years.”
“Would you rent from your dad?”
“No. I want to do everything on my own. I have money in the trust fund my grandparents set up for me before they died.”
Kiara smiled. “This is exciting. Can I go with you to look at places? You should go for it. It’s scary, but you should do it.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “What are your parents going to say?”
“I know my mom won’t be happy. In some weird way she gets comfort from me being there, even though we’re not close and we never really talk. Oh … she tells me what I should be doing or how I’m screwing up my life, but that’s about it. Strangely, I think my dad will be cool with it.” She pushed the half-eaten quiche away from her. “I could be wrong. With my family, you never know.”
“We could have parties at your place instead of Daisy’s, where her mom is always trying to pretend she’s one of the girls. I feel so sorry for Daisy when her mom does that.”
Scarlett nodded. “Especially when she does it with her boyfriends. Once, when Warren and I were at a party at Daisy’s house, Mrs. Miller hit on Warren so bad.” She giggled. “He overreacted and talked about it for like a month. I felt so sorry for Daisy as she watched her mom make a fool out of herself.”
Kiara placed her knife and fork across her empty plate and leaned back. “I agree. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for her. I’d die if my mom acted like that. When we start partying at your apartment, I bet Daisy won’t be so uptight.”
“I’m positive you’d win that one. You know, I’m going to do this. I’ll call Trudy at my dad’s office and have her line up some places for us to see this week. I’ll swear her to secrecy. I really want to do this.” Excitement streaked thought Scarlett.
“Let me know. This will be so much fun.” Kiara pulled out a credit card. “I have to get back to work.”
“I have to go too. I’m meeting with the chef at the Palace.” Scarlett put a twenty-dollar bill on the bill tray.
After paying their tab, the two women walked out of the eatery and into the heat of the day. Scarlett waved to her friend as she opened the door to her Mercedes sports car and headed over to the hotel.
When Scarlett returned home it was nearly five o’clock, and her heart sank when she didn’t hear any construction noises coming from the north side of the house. She rushed into the house and walked into the den, which happened to face in that direction, and relief washed over her when she saw the workers still milling about. Shadow came into her view and her breath hitched just like it did most times when she saw him. She dashed up the stairs to her room, kicked off her heels, and quickly changed into a simple sundress.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard her mother rustling about in the sun room, and Scarlett crossed the foyer and went into the kitchen.
“Would you like something, Miss Scarlett?” Clara asked as she looked up from the ball of dough she was kneading.
“Do we have any sweet tea?” she asked, opening the refrigerator.
“We have a pitcher of it and another one of unsweetened tea.”
“Perfect.” Scarlett grabbed the two pitchers. “Can you grab me that stack of plastic cups,” she said, jerking her head toward the butler’s pantry.
Clara wiped her hands on her apron and scurried away to fetch them.
“Do you want me to help you?” she asked.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” Scarlett stood in front of the back door and chuckled. “I guess I need you to open the door for me, Clara.”
“Be careful, Miss Scarlett. The pavement is real hot and you don’t have your shoes on.”
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “No worries. Thanks again.”
Scarlett hurried off the pathway and made her way toward the construction area, enjoying the late afternoon sun on her shoulders and the soft grass under her bare feet. One of her favorite things to do as a young girl had been to stroll barefoot in the grass in the early morning dew. The cool softness had felt wonderful beneath Scarlett’s feet, and she wondered why she’d stopped doing that just because she was older.
“Hey,” Smokey yelled out to her.
“Hiya,” she answered as she put the two pitchers on a small patio table and took the stack of cups from under the crook of her arm. Scarlett untwisted the tie and took out about ten of them. “I thought you guys would like something cold to drink. I brought sweetened and unsweetened iced tea.”
“That’s real good of you,” Smokey said, winking at her. “I’ll let my crew know.” He turned around and whistled, then yelled out, “Iced tea if you want it.”
Scarlett scanned the crowd of men, looking for the only face she wanted to see, but Shadow wasn’t among them.
As she poured the tea, she kept hoping that he would come out from the partially-built structure, but he didn’t.
“Thank you for the drinks,” Smokey said as he put his empty cup down and wiped his mouth.
“You’re welcome. How’s the construction going?” she asked.
“Good, considering that it’s been hotter than hell the whole time we’ve been working.”
“When do you think it’ll be finished?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
“We probably got another ten days or two weeks left. I have some other small jobs we’re doing too, so it’s taking us a bit more time than I planned.”
“I don’t think there’s a big rush for you to finish. Just between us, my dad will probably use it a total of four times before he gets bored and the novelty of it wears off.”
Smokey laughed. “I take it you don’t play?”
“I know how, but I don’t like it.”
“I’ve never played the game, but it doesn’t seem like much fun hitting a ball with a racket. I’d rather use all my free time riding my bike.”
“Hey,” Shadow said from
behind.
She whirled around and held herself back from falling into his arms. “Hi. I was just giving out iced tea. Do you want some?”
He cut his eyes over to Smokey. “Don’t you have some shit you gotta do?”
Smokey narrowed his gaze. “You and me both.” He turned back to Scarlett and smiled. “Thanks again.” Then he lumbered away.
“How’ve you been?” she asked, pouring him a cup of tea.
“Good. What were you and Smokey talkin’ about?”
“The construction.”
Shadow grunted and took the cup from her. His fingers brushed along Scarlett’s and a current of desire flashed through her—it was brief, but her body responded to him as if he’d touched her intimately. Scarlett looked up and when their eyes met, an unspoken feeling of want passed between them. He downed the tea and handed the cup to her, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Thanks,” he said thickly.
“You’re welcome.” She bent down and brushed away some ants that were crawling over the top of her feet. “Am I going to see you later?” she whispered as she straightened up.
“I got some stuff to do right after work.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Don’t you want to be with me anymore?” The minute the question spilled out of Scarlett’s mouth, she wanted to take it back. She sounded so weak and needy. How she hated that.
“It’s just that we had a good time, you know. I mean, you’re rich and I’m—”
“Common,” she interrupted.
“Different is what I was gonna say.”
“Common suits you better.” She knew it was a cruel blow, but he’d wounded her pride. She picked up the empty pitchers and cups, and tucked the bag full of unused ones back under her arm.
“Don’t get pissed off, baby. It’s the way it goes. We had a lot of fun.”
“I’m not pissed. I agree with you—it’s time to move on.”
“You’re acting pissed.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You were this summer’s diversion, that’s all.” Scarlett turned to leave when he gripped her arm.
“I’m not buying your bullshit.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not.” She tipped her head toward the work zone. “You better get back there, after all, my father’s paying a lot of money.” She turned away from him with a sharp little jerk, pulling free from his hand, and walked back to the house.
“Here, let me help you, Miss Scarlett,” Jane said as she grabbed the pitchers from her hands.
“Thank you,” she said.
She placed the unused cups on the counter in the butler’s pantry, threw the empty ones away, then scrambled up the back stairs. Tears trailed down her face as she locked the door to her room. She lay across her bed and cried.
Chapter Eight
Flo Karas pushed open the door to her favorite coffee house and looked around the room, trying to find the perfect spot to make the phone call. She settled on a low table in the corner by a window and headed toward it, her heels clacking on the wooden floor.
Flo—her birth name was Florence—had been coming to A Perfect Cup ever since it opened ten years before. She sank into a plush leather chair and crossed her legs as her kohl-lined eyes glanced over at the wall clock: 2:32 p.m. She ran her slender fingers through her russet tresses and smiled when the young lady set down a mocha café latte with extra whipped cream in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said. Flo leaned forward and curled her fingers around her daily indulgence, the bracelets on her arm clinking together like wind chimes. The tip of her tongue lapped up some of the whipped cream, then her bright red lips puckered when she blew slightly before taking a sip. She sighed and leaned back against the chair’s cushion and looked out the window at the tree-lined street. Tourists strolled along sidewalks bordered by quaint shops and several carts selling ice cream and cold drinks. A group of children ran down the pavement and dodged a couple with a baby carriage before they raced into a candy store.
You’ve come a long way from the trailer park. It seemed like a lifetime ago since she’d lived in the dirty, smelly dump she’d called home for almost twelve years. But Flo never wanted to forget how bad her life had been back then so she could appreciate how good it was now. When she’d met Carmen and her teenage son, Shadow—she never could figure out why a mother would give her son that name—she’d just thrown out her third husband. Of course, he’d been a charmer before he put the ring on her finger, but afterward, he’d turned into a cheating bastard just like the other two before him. If it hadn’t been for Carmen, who’d told her to try and get a job at Satin Dolls, she probably would’ve ended up on the streets. Her loser husband had taken all her money and spent it on his cheapies.
Flo took another sip of coffee. Those years at Satin Dolls paid the bills, but she hated the way the men leered at her like she was some cheap hooker. Carmen felt the same way, but she’d tell Flo she’d do anything to keep her boy in school and give him a better chance in life than she’d had.
Poor Carmen. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Flo rubbed her lids that were shadowed too much with gleaming pink. She knew she was probably too old for all the sparkly makeup she wore, but it made her feel young and sexy, and she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
Flo took one more sip of her drink, then fished around in her designer handbag for the burner phone she’d bought the day before. Each time she made the calls, she’d buy a new burner phone. With the dangerous game Flo was playing, she was very much aware of staying one step ahead of the killer.
Her hazel eyes looked around the area, but no one was even remotely close to her. Relaxing a bit, she tapped in the number and waited.
“What do you want?” the voice said in a strained whisper.
“You’re getting better at guessing that it’s me.” Flo laughed nervously. Even though her friend’s murderer didn’t know where she was, Flo always felt that she was being watched when they spoke on the phone.
No reply. Only heavy breathing.
“I need some more money.”
“You already got your money for the month.” Tightness mixed with anger laced the killer’s voice.
“Some unexpected expenses came up.” Flo tapped her fingers against her lavender linen skirt. “I rarely ask for extra.” The truth was, she and a few of her friends were going to Denver that weekend on a shopping trip.
“I’ve given you plenty over the years. Like I told you two weeks ago, this is going to stop at the end of the summer.”
Flo clucked her tongue. “I don’t think you want to do that, but of course, it’s your choice. You do what you need to … and I’ll do what I need to.”
“How much extra?”
“Five thousand by Friday.”
“I can’t get that much that soon.”
Flo took out a tissue and dabbed the sweat from her face then tucked the crumpled Kleenex inside her purse.
“You can get it … You always do.”
“I should’ve killed you that night!”
“But you didn’t. Drop it off at the usual place.”
Flo clicked off the phone, and her hands trembled slightly as she ordered a Lyft. It was much too hot to walk the few blocks back to her luxury condo on Larkspur Lane. In less than a minute, a white Buick La Crosse pulled up to the curb in front of the coffee house. Flo pushed up from the chair and hurried to the door.
Once Flo opened the door to her home, relief washed over her; she felt safe inside with her advanced alarm system. Slipping off her shoes, she smiled when she saw the Rocky Mountains in the distance; she’d never tire of the spectacular view from her condominium.
The thought of losing her only source of income scared Flo, but she doubted that would happen. But what if it does … or what if something happens to me? I should try and find Carmen’s son and let him know what really happened to his mother, just in case. She realized
she had no clue if he was still in Pinewood Springs. In all those years, she’d never bumped into him, so it made her think he must’ve left the area after Carmen’s murder.
Deciding she’d think about it another day, Flo went into her gourmet kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine. She padded back to the living room, leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, and brought the glass to her lips. Looking up, she spotted an eagle soaring high in the cloudless blue sky, and at that moment, she wished she could be free and fly away … far, far away.
Chapter Nine
“Why are we eating here?” Scarlett asked when Daisy turned into the parking lot of Big Rocky’s Barbecue.
“I’ve been told they have the best ribs in town, and they make a real mean martini.” Daisy switched off the ignition and checked out her makeup in the rearview mirror.
“Okay. Aren’t Ashley and Shelby coming?” Scarlett slid out of the car. She wore a short yellow flounce skirt that showed off her long legs, an ivory off-the-shoulder top that molded around her upper body nicely, and strappy sandals that showcased her morning pedicure.
“They’re coming with Kiara. Let’s go,” Daisy avoided Scarlett’s eyes and forged ahead. She kept pulling down her micro miniskirt as she walked.
“Maybe you should’ve splurged for a bit more fabric.” Scarlett joked as she sidled up next to her friend.
As they neared the entrance, she saw two rows of motorcycles lined up, the sun reflecting off the shiny chrome.
“Look at these,” Scarlett said, pausing to admire a metallic yellow bike with skulls painted on it. “This one is so cool.” She was running her hand across the black leather seat when a man wearing a leather vest and blue jeans came over.
“Don’t touch the bikes,” he said gruffly.
Scarlett shook her head slightly and gave a small laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Are you the bike-keeper?” Daisy added. The two women giggled.
The man stared at them stone-faced. “Keep. The. Fuck. Away. From. The. Bikes.” He narrowed his eyes.