by Dara Girard
But what if she could win the bet? What if she surprised everyone and succeeded at something nobody thought she could? She would be a heroine. The Sapphire Pendant would be back in their possession, and generations of Cliftons would live to tell the tale of how Jasmine Clifton had won it back. She had to win. She could not deprive Clifton descendants of their heritage.
She had to get over the memories of his betrayal. She wasn’t that girl anymore; she was a woman now, with a woman’s cunning. In a month, she planned to hold the pendant in her hand. Jessie stood and went to the collection of stones she kept on a bookshelf. She glanced at the rich blue of a labradorite, the deep red of a fire opal, a brilliant amber, and a somber topaz. She ran her hand over the collection, then grabbed a pink tourmaline, a stone known to relieve nervous tension and enhance self-esteem. She lay on the bed with the stone resting in her palm and let the healing energy sweep through her. Calm soon descended.
“Okay Dad, I’m doing this for you,” she whispered. “I’m going to charm Kenneth and get the pendant back, and then you can be proud of me. You too, Mum.” She blinked back tears, gripped the stone in her fist, and sat up. She would succeed. She had no other choice.
Her bedroom door opened a crack. Michelle peeked in. “You know, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
Jessie picked up a pillow and threw it at her.
* * *
The sky that Monday morning was as indecisive as Jessie’s mood. The sun reluctantly made an appearance through a stream of clouds, only to decide that it would much rather sleep, leaving the day warm but gray. She was thankful for the half-hour drive to Bedford, a community known for its huge houses and affluent residents. It gave her time to practice the smile she would use. She silently rehearsed what she would say and what delicate hand gestures she could use.
As she drove up Kenneth’s meandering gravel drive, she expected to see a magnificent mansion with pillars and huge windows. Instead, she approached a simple two-story, white-and-blue colonial home with lively green bushes and magnolias lining the walkway. Behind the house loomed a forest, like a protective mother hen.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She had taken extra care with her looks, ironing her blue blouse and making sure her jeans were clean and without holes. Michelle’s curls had given her hair a nice bounce, and Teresa had outlined her eyes with a smoky purple eye pencil to make them appear brighter. Overall, she thought she looked pretty good, considering what she had to work with. She was ready to dazzle Kenneth with her charm.
She got out of the car and walked up the drive, feeling the gravel crunch underneath her sneakers. She rang the doorbell and waited, a smile plastered on her face. Unfortunately, Kenneth didn’t answer. Instead an older, medium-sized woman opened the door. She reminded Jessie of a kangaroo with her bouncy enthusiasm, animated wide mouth, and light brown eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re not one of those silly girls after Kenneth,” she said in a faint Georgia accent, giving Jessie a once-over. She narrowed her eyes. They disappeared into slits in her slightly wrinkled brown face. “You aren’t, are you? He’s got enough trouble without some woman filling up his time.”
“I’m just here for Ace,” she assured her.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’m also pleased you’re not family. His family could drive a nun to hell. I’m Freda.” She held out her hand and gave Jessie’s hand an enthusiastic pump. “Good.” She nodded in approval. “A nice, sturdy girl. You didn’t give me one of those dead-fish handshakes. Can’t stand those either. Makes me want to reel them in and fry them. ” Freda looked down at Jessie’s suitcase. “I suppose you’re going to stay here at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I just made up one of the guest bedrooms for you. Mr. Preston said that you probably wouldn’t stay, but I made it up for you anyway.” She winked. “Glad I did, aren’t you?”
“Yes, very glad.”
“Come inside, dear, come inside.” She grabbed Jessie’s elbow and yanked her inside like a naughty child caught doing mischief. She closed the door behind her with her foot. “Follow me. Try not to touch anything. I just finished dusting and polishing.”
Jessie snatched her hand back from a sculpture she was about to examine. “Looks very clean.”
When she stepped into the living room, her eyes fell on the chocolate couch stuffed with red pillows one could cuddle into, then her gaze shifted to a fireplace perfect for cold nights. She glanced up at a skylight that let the sunlight through like a welcomed guest, then looked at a patio perfect for lazy Sunday afternoons. She walked over to a small oak desk in the corner of the living room, inhaling the scent of baked bread and jam that floated through the air.
“So, what do you think?” Freda asked, clasping her hands together with pride. “Not bad for a bachelor, huh? Mr. Preston decorated it himself.”
Jessie felt strange hearing Freda refer to Kenneth as Mr. Preston, since she was old enough to be his mother. She hoped he didn’t expect her to adopt such a habit. “It’s really nice.”
“More than nice, I’d say.” She straightened a picture frame. “It’s downright homey. Like you, I was surprised. You’d think a man would at least have a stuffed deer head somewhere, a rifle, or even a stuffed fish. You know how men love killing things, but not even a stuffed flea is to be found in this house. God bless him.”
No, Kenneth didn’t have stuffed animal heads, but he did have trophies and plaques placed about the house, like a narcissistic shrine. At least that fit his personality.
Jessie shrugged, knowing Freda was waiting for a reply. “Kenneth was never into things like that.”
“Oh?” Freda looked at Jessie as if seeing her for the first time. “You know Mr. Preston well?”
Too well. Jessie cleared her throat and chose her words carefully. “Well, no, not really. Um…we used to go to school together.”
“Oh, I see. Old schoolmates.” She smiled, widening her mouth an incredible distance. “Well, isn’t that nice?” She glanced around the room. “Let me tell you that everything is in order. You don’t have to worry about leaking roofs, creaky floors, or dirty pipes. Mr. Preston always makes sure that this place is in perfect condition, in case someone needs a place to stay.” She briefly raised her eyes upward. “Which happens enough with his family. He’s just so kind and generous.”
And perfect, of course. “Doesn’t he come home?” Jessie asked, following Freda to the kitchen.
“Sometimes, but usually he stays at his office.”
Jessie silently groaned. Great. He was either a workaholic or a womanizer. Neither scenario was encouraging. It was hard to charm an invisible man.
“Mr. Preston had me stock the fridge in case you came.” Freda opened the refrigerator to back up her claim. It was overflowing with food: boxed juices, fruit, vegetables, and kids’ snacks. She closed it and opened the pantry. It also bulged with enough crackers, crisps, and cookies to create a food avalanche. “And he said that chocolate chip cookies were your favorite, so I picked up a few.”
“That was kind of you.”
“No. Don’t give me the credit,” Freda said, brushing away the praise. “It wasn’t my idea.”
Jessie tried to smile. She should be grateful. It was a kind gesture on his part, but the fact that he remembered her favorite cookies annoyed her. It chipped at the shield she had cultivated against him. Yes, they were at a ceasefire, but she still didn’t like him. She couldn’t afford to like him. She knew where that had gotten her before.
Freda led her upstairs to her bedroom. “Your bathroom has fresh towels, and we have a state-of-the-art intercom system.” She described how to operate it and talked about other domestic issues before finally handing Jessie the keys to the house. She then dug into her pocket and handed Jessie a piece of paper. “Mr. Preston said that you can reach him at this number if you have questions or concerns.”
“Thanks.” Jessie folded the paper. “Freda, may I ask you a
question?”
Freda puffed up a pillow and straightened out the bedsheet. “Sure.”
“Why do you call him Mr. Preston? I mean…you’re older than him.”
“Because he’s my boss.”
“He made you call him that?”
Freda shook her head, disappointed. “You young people throw away simple traditions. Sure, he wanted me to call him by his first name. He said it made him feel funny to be called Mr. Preston, but that’s just too intimate for me. Next thing I know, I’ll forget my place and start treating him like a son.”
“Does he call you Freda?” She assumed so, since he called his assistant Glenda.
“No. He calls me Ms. Rose.” She grinned with pride.
In spite of herself, Jessie grinned back.
When Freda left, Jessie took off her shoes and closed the door. Then she did what she always did in the presence of a new bed: she ran and jumped on it. She sunk into the soft cotton blankets and sighed. She buried her head in the feather pillow and relaxed on the sheets. She rolled on her side and studied her new surroundings. The room was painted a soft yellow and whispered kind words about its owner, murmuring of the care with which the room was prepared. A sturdy sleigh bed filled the room, facing a green couch covered with a cream cashmere throw. There was also a bookshelf with an assortment of hardcover and paperback books. She sat up and let her feet sink into the plush carpeting, as if she were barefoot in a valley.
Jessie stood and began unpacking, but soon abandoned the activity to glance out the window and look at the forest. She opened the window and rested on the windowsill. She had to give him credit. It was a lovely place, and he had finally acquired the trees he had loved since childhood.
She sat on the couch, and a fresh pine scent engulfed her while the cushions wrapped their arms around her, as if in welcome. She closed her eyes. She could stay in the room all day and think about a perfect tennis game, running along the beach, Kenneth…
Her eyes flew open. Where had that come from? This was all a farce—the room as well as the reason she was here—and she couldn’t forget that. She stared at the pillow she was hugging and pushed it away. She rubbed her arms as if trying to rid herself of an annoying perfume. She went back to the bed and quickly finished unpacking, then went downstairs.
Chapter 11
“Hello?” she called.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Freda said.
Since Jessie had forgotten where the kitchen was, she ended up in the living room and then the dining room before reaching the kitchen. There she found Ace eating her breakfast and reading the classifieds while Freda washed dishes. The kitchen smelled of ginger muffins and strawberry marmalade.
Freda glanced at her. “Finally found us, huh?”
She laughed at herself. “Yes, thank goodness.”
“Uncle’s house really isn’t that big once you get used to it,” Ace said.
“I’m glad.”
Ace studied Jessie for a moment. “Uncle Ken said that you and I are going to do a lot of fun stuff today.”
Jessie took a seat. “Yes, we are.” She eyed the muffins in the middle of the table, hesitated, then grabbed one. She cut it in half, spread some marmalade on top, and took a bite. “Oh, Freda, this is delicious.”
Freda laughed. “Don’t give me the credit. I didn’t make them.”
“You must tell me the name of the bakery where you got them,” Jessie said, taking another bite.
“They aren’t from a bakery. Mr. Preston made them this morning.”
Jessie nearly choked; the delicious muffin had suddenly become a hard stone in her throat. She was enjoying something that Kenneth had made? She finally swallowed after two attempts. “He probably used a box recipe.”
“Nope. It’s the old Preston recipe,” Freda admitted. “He won’t tell it to me, no matter how I try to trick him.”
“He made it just for me, because it’s my favorite,” Ace said, licking her fingers.
Jessie put the rest of the muffin down, losing her appetite. This profile of Kenneth didn’t fit her perception, and it annoyed her. He was a jerk, not an uncle who woke up early to make muffins for his niece before he left for work, not a man who offered his housekeeper respect by addressing her by her surname, not a guy who remembered the favorite cookies of a girl he once knew.
“Well, I’ve got to go and run some errands,” Freda said, taking her purse and coat from off of the table. “I’ll see you two later.”
They said their good-byes, then Ace asked, “Are you and Uncle Ken friends?”
No, we are enemies who have agreed not to stab each other all summer. “Sort of.”
“He wasn’t very happy to see you last time. Did you just return to town or something?”
“No. It’s just the way we are. We pretend not to like each other, but way deep, down we did…do.”
“Oh.” She adjusted her cap. “That makes sense. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?”
“Why do you want to know?”
She touched the marmalade on her plate with the tip of her finger. “Can you keep a secret?” She sucked her finger.
Jessie crossed her heart and held up her hand. “Definitely.”
Ace smiled at the solemn gesture. “I’m hoping to convince Uncle to let me stay with him, so I figured I have to get her to like me, just in case they get married or something.”
“Why do you want to stay here? You have a father.”
Ace took another swipe of the marmalade.
“Isn’t he well?”
Her eyes slid away. “No. No, he’s…he’s sick, so I need to find a new home.”
“What does he have?”
Ace swirled her finger on the plate, spreading the marmalade around. “Will you get mad if I don’t tell you?”
Jessie rested her arms on the table. “No, I just thought that perhaps I could find someone who could help.” She lifted the girl’s chin. “I used to know your father when he was young.”
Her expression became guarded. “It’s weird to imagine Dad young. Did you like him?”
Jessie chewed her top lip. Eddie Preston. She remembered a young man with his brother’s arrogance and his mother’s good looks. No, she hadn’t liked him. But honesty wasn’t necessary right now. “Let’s just say I’m happy he had you. Because if I hadn’t known your father, your uncle might not have let me have the job.”
Ace nodded her head, and her face relaxed. “So do you know?”
“Know what?”
She sighed dramatically. “If Uncle has a girlfriend.”
“No, I don’t.” Jessie’s head began to pound as an icy fear crept over her. She hadn’t even thought about that. What if he had a girlfriend that he was already considering taking to the charity ball? She would never have the guts to steal a man from another woman, even for a bet. Besides, how could she compete with the type of woman he liked? What about the two women at his office?
“Hello?” Ace snapped her fingers in front of Jessie’s face. “Are you all right?”
Jessie shook her head like someone who had been hypnotized. “Sorry, I was just thinking of…” My stupidity. “No, I don’t think he has a girlfriend. If he did, everyone would know about it.”
“Why?”
“Because a lot of women want to marry him.”
Ace nodded. “Yeah. Uncle is a good guy and he’s rich. It always helps if a guy’s rich.”
Jessie decided to switch the topic. “So, Ace, what’s your real name?”
“Syrah,” she grumbled. “Alias Shiraz. As in ‘Try a sparkling Shiraz with wild duck.’” She kissed the tips of her fingers.
Jessie smiled. “It is unusual, but it has a certain flair. Do you mind if I call you Syrah? I like it better.”
She shrugged. “No, I don’t mind. So what do I call you?”
“You can call me Jessie.”
Syrah bit into her muffin. “Do you mind if I call you Aunt Jessie, sort of like you were family or something?”
Syrah adjusted her cap. “So what do we do first?”
“What do you like to do?”
“I like to play sports and watch TV and go to movies and eat pizza and go out and…”
Jessie held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, okay. I get the picture. I see you also like to read the classifieds.” She gestured to the paper Syrah had tossed under her chair.
“Yeah. I…like to see what people are…selling.”
“That’s nice.”
“Right now I need to find a job.”
Jessie reached for the remainder of her muffin. Who cares who made it? It tasted good. She’d insult its creator another time. “What for?”
“So that I can earn my keep.” She picked up her milk. “You know, just in case Uncle gets into a bind. I want to make sure there’s enough money around. I have some left over from my trip, but not enough.”
Jessie folded her arms. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“You know, ten’s pretty young to be worrying about taking care of your uncle. He’s a grown man.”
“My dad’s a grown man, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
Jessie paused. Eddie must be really sick. That was unfortunate. He had always gotten into trouble, but he had been a healthy kid. Life had a way of knocking you about. “Well, I know for a fact that Kenneth—I mean, Uncle Kenneth—will be able to provide for you.”
“I know, but I need a job,” she said firmly.
“For now, let’s just focus on being a kid, okay?”
Syrah shook her head, her serious eyes determined. “No, you don’t understand. I need to have money of my own.”
Jessie relented. “All right. How about this week, you focus on being a kid, and next week, I’ll help you look for work? Sound good?”
Syrah hesitated, then reluctantly said, “Okay.”