Summer Heat

by A. C. Arthur

  Because Karena had thought about this one issue all night after Sam left her apartment and then again this morning when she’d awakened, it was on the tip of her tongue when Noelle asked. And because Noelle was her closest friend and probably the only person she could talk to about this, she said, “Because I don’t want to end up like her. I don’t want to fall in love with a man and give him every part of me until there’s nothing left. I just don’t want to make that mistake.”

  “What mistake don’t you want to make?”

  Karena nearly jumped out of her chair, the phone receiver slipping from her hand as she turned to see none other than Noreen Lakefield standing in the doorway. “Ah…hi, Mom.”

  Chapter 9

  Noreen Henson Lakefield was a gentle woman, her silver-streaked hair styled in loose curls that rested just below her ears. Just about five feet four inches in heels, she wore a navy blue skirt suit with a paisley-print blouse beneath. Her complexion was like a cup of coffee with light cream. And just as when they were kids, her eyes were all-seeing, her ears all-hearing.

  “Nothing,” Karena said, answering her mother hastily. “Noelle, I’ll give you a call back.” After hearing Noelle’s goodbye, she placed the receiver on the base as slowly as she could. Buying time.

  How much had her mother overhead? The office door had been closed, or pushed very close to being closed. So she could have possibly heard the entire conversation, well, Karena’s portion. Or she could have only heard the ending. Or…

  “You’re thinking too much, Karena,” Noreen said, putting her Hermes purse on one of the guest chairs while taking a seat in the other. “You always get that crease across your forehead when you think too much. If you’re not careful, it’ll freeze there and you’ll look deformed.”

  Karena couldn’t help but chuckle. “Did you come all the way into the city to tell me to stop worrying and stop frowning?”

  Noreen looked up sharply, then folded her hands on her lap. “No. I came to see how my child was doing. Is there a crime in that?”

  “No, ma’am,” Karena said quickly, unsure of Noreen’s mood at the moment. Usually her mother was all smiles and soft-spoken. If there were two things Karena could count on when she was growing up, it was that on Sunday mornings Noreen would be shaking her to get up for Sunday school at eight in the morning and that her mother’s voice would never be raised above polite-conversation level. Today, something seemed different.

  “Good. Because I’d hate to think I was a prisoner in my own home.”

  Karena stared at her mother quizzically, then caught herself because she knew she was frowning again. “So, how are you?” she asked cautiously.

  “I’m just fine,” Noreen almost snapped.

  Then she took a deep breath. Karena watched as her mother’s ample bosom rose and fell, her hands—the left one wearing only the magnificent diamonds her father had given her—smoothing down her thighs.

  “I’m not fine,” Noreen said finally.

  Karena immediately leaned forward, elbows resting on her desk blotter. “What’s going on? Are you sick?” Her heart had already begun beating erratically at the mere thought of illness claiming her mother.

  “No. No.” Noreen shook her head and lifted a hand as if to wave that notion out of Karena’s mind. “Nothing like that. I’m as healthy as a thirty-year-old. Just trapped in a fifty-seven-year-old body.” She gave a wry chuckle.

  “I guess trapped is as good a word as any,” Noreen continued.

  “Mama, you’re scaring me,” Karena admitted.

  “I know, I’m scaring myself being so dramatic, just like—”

  Karena was already smiling as she finished her mother’s sentence. “Deena. I know. How is she, by the way? Last I heard she had meetings with a literary agent. That was a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, that’s what she’s been up to, trying to find an agent to sell a book she’s written.”

  “The romance story,” Karena said, nodding and remembering her younger sister calling her late one evening with this idea for an older man falling for a younger, less-mature woman. Karena vaguely remembered telling her that happened every day and what would make the story so different that people would want to pay to read about it. Her comments had fallen on deaf ears, as about two months later Deena had informed her that she’d finished the book. Karena, being the dedicated and slightly interested big sister, read the manuscript and was surprisingly pleased. Deena may have finally found her niche.

  “I think she’s really going to do something good this time.” Noreen’s words interrupted Karena’s thoughts.

  “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  “I think it’s time I did something good, also.”

  Her words were spoken quietly as Noreen looked down at her hands and back up at Karena. “When we started the Lakefield Foundation I had so many ideas of things I wanted to do. You girls are grown now, and that house seems so big now for just me and your father. You know Paul has to have his staff, so there’s not much for me to do. But I wanted to do something. I wanted it so badly.”

  Karena couldn’t hide her shock. Her mother had always been—just that, her mother. She’d cooked for them when they were young, picked out and ironed their clothes every day—against their father’s wishes, albeit. She’d helped them with homework when they came home, watched them play outside and drove them to whatever extracurricular activities they were a part of. But never had she worked a nine-to-five job, never had she left them for business meetings or made business-related excuses about why she couldn’t do something with or for them. She’d always been there for her children and her husband. A fact that sent a chill running down Karena’s spine.

  “I still want to do something.”

  “Then do it.” The words rushed out of Karena’s mouth, and Noreen smiled.

  “You girls are so ambitious and courageous. You get that from your daddy.”

  “We get a lot of our traits from you, too, Mama,” Karena felt compelled to say. She didn’t know if it was because taking after Paul Lakefield gave her an unsettling feeling sometimes or if it was that taking after her mother had been the very thing that scared her away from relationships.

  “Sometimes I wish I could be that way. Ambitious and courageous.”

  “But you are courageous. You left your home and your family in South Carolina to be with the man you loved, and you built a great family. That takes courage.”

  Shaking fingers fixed an already perfect curl just above Noreen’s ear. “That’s what I was raised to do. From the time I was old enough to see over the sink, my mama had me cooking, cleaning, sewing, taking care of my younger sisters. There wasn’t a task at the Big House I didn’t do.”

  The Big House… Karena couldn’t help but smile. That’s what the sprawling colonial estate in Beaufort, South Carolina, where her grandparents had raised all six of their children was called. And it was a big house. It looked just like Tara, the house Scarlett O’Hara lived in in Gone With The Wind. Karena remembered visiting for summers as a child and pretending she, too, wore those big fancy dresses and went to fabulous parties where some dashing man like Rhett Butler would sweep her off her feet.

  Of course, the true history of the movie was a slight deterrent, considering the only way she would have been going to fabulous parties in Scarlett O’Hara’s time was if she donned a uniform and worked right alongside Mamie. Still, that’s the old Southern appeal the Big House held.

  “Mama ran that house with no nonsense and a strict hand. She took care of Daddy and raised me to do the same.” Noreen sighed. “I had a good teacher and I learned well.”

  “You’re a great mother and wife,” Karena said, feeling the need to validate her mother on some level.

  Noreen chuckled. “And that’s all.”

  There was so much Karena wanted to say, so many times she’d wanted to have this very conversation with her mother, but now that the time was here, she was speechless.

  “I’ve been thi
nking about the foundation,” Noreen said after taking a deep breath. “About some of the things we could do, really important things.”

  Karena nodded. “The scholarship fund Uncle Leonard instituted is working well. And I think there’s some talk of a new school in Africa.” She didn’t know much about the foundation’s business because the gallery was her world. But as a Lakefield she received the quarterly reports and made a point to read them all. Her father expected nothing less.

  “I want to do something with the children, something a little more hands-on.”

  Karena couldn’t believe her ears. Was this really her mother talking?

  “That’s great, Mama. I’m sure there’s a lot you could do. Have you gotten a committee together yet? Had some preliminary strategic-planning sessions?”

  Noreen held up a hand, a smile spreading across her face, even though her eyes still looked worried. “No. No. You’re moving too fast. I don’t have any experience in this kind of stuff, so I have to take my time. I’ve just been thinking about some things, that’s all.”

  “Well, you have the resources, so there’s really no reason why you can’t get right to work on this,” Karena insisted.

  “There sure is a reason,” Noreen said seriously. “And his name is Paul Lakefield.”

  And there it was, Karena thought, the rain on her mother’s parade. How a woman could be so in love with a man that she gave him everything she was so totally and unabashedly was a mystery to her.

  “He has his work, Mama. Now you can have yours,” she said through clenched teeth. There were certain things her mother just did not tolerate, and on top of that list was disrespecting Paul Lakefield. In accordance with her Southern upbringing, Noreen was a strong believer of the man being the head of the household, the ruler of his castle, the leader of their flock. Karena thought he was just a man who put his pants on one leg at a time just like she did. Clearly she’d skipped the lessons on Southern gentility and all that other female-submission nonsense.

  “You know your daddy likes things a certain way. He doesn’t do change very well.”

  “He’s a big boy, he’ll adapt.”

  Noreen’s quick, cool glare had Karena’s mouth clamping shut.

  “Anyway, I just came to check on you and to see if you wanted to have lunch or something.”

  What Karena wanted was to finish this conversation. “You’ve taken care of Daddy for years, Mama. You’ve taken care of all of us. Now it’s time for you. If you want to go to work, then do it. Don’t let him stop you. Hell, he can iron his own drawers!”

  Noreen was up out of her chair instantly, leaning over the desk until she was only inches away from Karena’s face.

  She knew she’d overstepped her bounds, but the words had been out before she’d had a moment to think. As grown as she was, Karena’s heart still hammered in her chest in anticipation of what her mother would do or say.

  In their house sassiness either earned one quick backhanded slap or two days of solitary kitchen duty, depending on how bad the words were. She didn’t live with her parents anymore, but still Noreen was looking at her as if that slap was just seconds away.

  “You know you aren’t too old to be disciplined.”

  Yeah, she was definitely thinking about slapping her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to say all that.”

  “You should be sorry. Show some respect.”

  “I do respect you, Mama,” Karena said, standing. “I just think it’s time you started standing up for yourself.”

  “I mean show your father some respect, and I stand up for myself just fine. You don’t see him abusing me do you? Am I wanting for anything? My life has been just fine. I could be stuck raising four grandkids like my sister Etta. Or I could be with a husband who drinks his paycheck before the ink is dry on it like my other sister Bernice. But no, your father is a good man, a good provider.”

  A good dictator, Karena thought but wisely did not say.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said instead.

  “So I just had some thoughts running through my mind, they don’t really mean anything. Now, do you want to get some lunch or not?”

  Did she want to have lunch with her mother? Did she want to sit across the table from the woman she’d watched do everything but spoon-feed her husband his dinner and who now had aspirations of her own but refused to follow up on them because of said man? Hell no!

  “I’m kind of busy today, Mama. Maybe some other time.”

  Noreen had straightened and was already picking up her purse. “You work too hard, Karena. Take some time to smell the roses,” she said as she moved to the door. “Before they’re old and shriveled, take time to enjoy life. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

  And as abruptly as she’d come in, Noreen left.

  Karena sat back in her chair, wondering just how much her mother was sorry for and if she’d ever do anything about it.

  Chapter 10

  “Look who decided to pay us a visit today,” Sabrina Desdune Bennett said as she leaned back in her chair, legs crossed on top of her desk.

  “We were beginning to think you’d forgotten where you worked.” This smart remark was from Bailey Donovan, Trent’s cousin and Bree’s new partner in crime.

  Sam eyed both of them. Bree, with her small frame, smooth cocoa skin and long dark hair that was more often than not pulled back into a ponytail, was a petite woman who packed a lot of punch—ask any of the men and women who’d served with her the eight years she was in the Marines. Then there was Bailey, an Alicia Keyes look-alike, dressed in jeans that rode too low on her hips to be legal, a tank top and an open button-down shirt. Bailey was lethal, with brains, beauty and balls bigger than any man walking—a deadly combination on a woman.

  Thus his response was carefully worded before it rolled out of his mouth. Working in the office with two women of this caliber for the past three months had taught him something.

  “Good morning, ladies. How’s it going?”

  When their responses were a mixture of snickers and grunts, Sam kept moving into his office, knowing instinctively that they would follow.

  “So why didn’t you come back to the office yesterday? Did something else happen on the new case?” Bree asked, sticking her hands into her pockets as she stood on the other side of his desk. Bailey had come in as well, perching her hips on the edge of his desk and looking over her shoulder at him.

  “Nothing else happened on the case. Where’s the file on Leandro?”

  “On my desk,” Bree said.

  “The Lakefields are very attractive women. How do you know them and which one of them called you?” This was Bailey in her low, smoky voice.

  “D&D Investigations is well-known,” Sam responded tightly. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him, or interrogating him, for that matter. “Don’t you have something to do? Follow up on the Chester case maybe?”

  “All my leads have run into a dead end. I’m tapping the phones for a ransom call but not really holding out on it. I think it’s someone they know who has the girl. Someone they pissed off, looking into possible cartel connections.”

  Sam looked up from the messages he’d been flipping through as he sat down behind his desk. “Cartel? Are you serious? A drug cartel in Greenwich?”

  Bailey shrugged. “Hey, people are getting high all over the world, it’s not a segregated pastime.”

  “Don’t be smart. I’m just saying that even during the years I was on the police force, there was never any word of a drug cartel in town.”

  “You were a suit-wearing homicide detective, of course you wouldn’t know about a cartel,” Bree said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “And you were traveling the world in a uniform with rifles in hand, so don’t act like you knew,” he shot back at her.

  “At any rate,” Bailey interrupted, “we all know now that there’s a distinct possibility that the Chesters of Greenwich are connected to a cartel in Columbia. When I was out there day bef
ore yesterday, I picked up a packet I spotted in the bushes. It had three dots on it, red, black and purple. Agent Greer looked into it for me. It’s the mark of the Sanchez Cartel.”

  Sam was rubbing his chin, digesting Bailey’s words. “Sanchez Cartel. So what’s your theory on why they took the girl?”

  “Revenge. Bad debt. Warning. Punishment. Any number of weird sadistic things that somebody needs to pay for. Greer is working the profiles.”

  “You sound like you’re seeing a lot of Agent Greer. I thought you were told to steer clear of the FBI.”

  Bailey lifted from the desk and turned, flattening her palms on the desk, her face only inches from Sam’s. “Look, you’re not my handler and Trent isn’t my father. If I want to work for the FBI, then I will and you can’t stop me.”

  Sam nodded. “I can’t, but Trent can, and he is.” When she was about to go off again, Sam held up a hand. “But that’s an argument for another day. Keep working the Chesters and the cartel angle. I want a daily report on where you stand with that. Unfortunately, it’s probably a good idea to keep the Feds in on it. Now, Bree, I visited a couple of other galleries that Leandro is showing at. Nothing as high-class as the Lakefield, so he’s definitely moving up in the world by contacting them.”

  “Did you show her the picture? Was it him?” Bree asked.

  “No. It wasn’t him.”

  “And that’s why you’re so uptight?”

  “I’m not uptight.”

  “You are.”

  “Bree, I’m not in the mood for this today.”

  “That’s because you’re uptight. So why don’t you just tell us what’s eating you so we can get to the bottom of it and move on.”

  It was times like this Sam hated being a twin. Although he and Sabrina didn’t look alike, except for the color and shape of their eyes, they were as close as if they were identical. Something about a twin-sense they shared. And because Bailey was a twin as well, she’d known exactly what they were going through.

  “It’s just something about the case that’s bugging me.”