Lucky Thirteen

by Melanie Jackson

  “Allow me, Sweet Pea,” he said condescendingly as he set her chair behind her knees.

  “Why thank you, Mr. Harrigan.”

  “Angus would suit me a sight better.”

  There was a brief round of musical chairs as Jose and Mark rushed for the chair beside mine. Jose won the much vaunted position by dominating the bulk of the seat cushion with his derriere and holding onto the legs of the chair to successfully avoid being unseated. Wayne and Mark grudgingly took seats elsewhere while Jose stuck his tongue out at them. Alex sat in his place across the table from me, to Miss Hightower’s left. Since the table was so long, we gathered at one end. With the seating arrangements ironed out, the soup course was served without incident.

  “Alex, perhaps you could regale us with your exploits while here in our state,” Miss Hightower prompted.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say there’s much regaling to be done,” Alex admitted. “It’s been mostly boring computer stuff related to system security for a hotel.”

  “Why, that sounds fascinating,” Miss Hightower said encouragingly, though I doubted she was actually fascinated.

  “I’ve dabbled a little in computers myself,” Hillary injected.

  “Seems to me, you’ve dabbled in a little bit of everything,” Jerry interjected.

  “Mr. Dietz!” Miss Hightower exclaimed.

  “Sounds like women’s work to me,” Harrigan bellowed.

  “Mr. Harrigan!”

  “Angus, Sweet Pea.”

  “Alright, Angus! And stop calling me Sweet Pea. You know I hate it when you do that.”

  “Have it your way.”

  “Mr. Harrigan, perhaps you’d tell us about your business,” Alex suggested.

  “I’m a horse breeder and trainer by trade,” Harrigan replied proudly. “I own the best breeding and training facility in the state.”

  This statement elicited groans and mumbled responses from many around the table. Miss Hightower refrained from comment. Most likely she was familiar with such boasting coming from the large man.

  “Alright, perhaps the second-best breeding and training facility in the state,” he amended. “But then, if I have things my way, the two best breeding and training facilities will soon be one.”

  “Oh?” I replied, almost choking on a sip of soup.

  “Mr. Harrigan!” Miss Hightower objected.

  “I hadn’t heard about this,” Hillary said with some concern in his voice.

  “Oh yes, Sweet Pea and I have been talking,” Harrigan hinted.

  “You mean that you’ve been talking and I’ve been refusing to listen,” Miss Hightower clarified.

  “Why that would make Sissy and Wayne brother and sister,” Mr. Dietz pointed out with a chuckle.

  “Shut up, Jerry!” Sissy snapped.

  “Perhaps we should change the subject,” Miss Hightower insisted.

  “So, Hillary, what kind of computer work did you do?” I asked dutifully.

  “Sales,” Hillary responded proudly.

  “Oh? What did you sell?” Alex prompted.

  “This and that. Some of those infernal machines that people work on and other machines that allow them to communicate.”

  “Personal computers and networking equipment then.”

  “If you say so,” Hillary replied, looking defensive.

  Jerry chuckled again at Hillary’s response.

  “Shut up, Jerry!” Sissy repeated.

  “Sissy, what career have you chosen?” I asked quickly.

  “I’ve been thinking of attending beauty college so that I can open my own salon,” Sissy replied. “That is if grandmamma will lend me the money.”

  “You don’t think that you should start out working in a salon first? Just to see if you like it?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “No, I do not,” was her frank reply.

  “And you, Missy?” I asked, quickly moving on to Hillary’s mousy wife.

  Missy was about to reply; in fact, she was about to say the first words I was to hear from her mouth when Hillary replied to the question for her.

  “My Missy is a stay-at-home mother.”

  “Would you like more soup?” Jose asked at my side.

  Being famished, I’d finished my soup and concluded by sucking on the spoon. Jose must have noticed this in his overattentiveness. The truth was that the soup was delicious and I could have made a meal of it. But I realized that I should continue to play the part of a lady of manners.

  “No thank you, Jose.”

  “If you should need for anything, you let me know. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Fortunately, our soup bowls were soon whisked away and replaced by our dinner serving consisting of Cornish game hen, asparagus, and baby red potatoes. I had to hold myself back from attacking the contents of my plate like a wild hyena.

  “Perhaps we should discuss what I’m sure is on all of our minds but has remained largely unspoken: namely, the race tomorrow in which Soft Spoken Hal will leave that Slippery Weasel behind in his dust,” Jerry Dietz suggested.

  “Mr. Dietz!” Miss Hightower protested.

  I wondered if every meal was like this.

  “More likely break a leg at the quarter-mile post,” Harrigan countered.

  “Father!”

  “You forget, Harrigan, I’ve seen your horse run. Trust me when I tell you he doesn’t have a chance.”

  “More of a chance than your worthless sack of dog food.”

  “Mr. Harrigan!”

  “Just why did you have this man to dinner tonight?” Jerry asked with temerity.

  “Mr. Dietz, it is not your place to question whom I have to dinner.”

  “Yes, why did you have me to dinner this evening, unless it was to discuss plans for the merging of our fine facilities?” Harrigan wanted to know.

  “Father!”

  “I was hoping that we could iron out our differences and get to know each other socially,” Miss Hightower explained.

  “Well, I have no intention of remaining to be insulted,” Harrigan bellowed, rising from his chair and throwing his linen napkin down on his seat. “Come, Wayne. We’re leaving.”

  “Please, Mr. Harrigan.”

  But Miss Hightower’s plea was no use. Harrigan strode from the room and was gone. I for one hadn’t stopped eating for one moment. The game hen was cooked to perfection and marvelously seasoned. I considered asking Miss Hightower if she would mind me eating Mr. Harrigan’s serving since he hadn’t touched his plate, but thought better of it.

  “I apologize for my father,” Wayne said, rising from his seat. “It appears I must be going. Good evening, Miss Hightower,” he said, bowing. “Sissy,” he added, nodding his head to her.

  Then he too was gone. Sissy began to cry openly. Before long she dashed from the room. Her mother scurried after her and after another moment Hillary rose, his expression indignant, and followed at a moderate pace.

  “Mr. Dietz, you may excuse yourself from my table,” Miss Hightower suggested.

  “As you wish, madam,” Jerry said, rising.

  And then he was gone along with the others. Jose said nothing when he rose, dropped his napkin on his seat, and followed. I realized that I could easily slide his plate over to my place, though it was half-eaten, but still resisted the urge to look like a pig in front of the others. Lord knows I was hungry enough.

  That left only the four of us—Miss Hightower, Alex, Mark, and me.

  “Well now, that was interesting,” Mark commented.

  “Interesting is hardly the word for it, Mr. Halifax. In fact, I now find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to apologize for my guests, family, and employees.”

  “Nonsense, Miss Hightower,” Mark countered. “The food and company have both been sensational.”

  “Perhaps we should retire to the parlor for our after-dinner drinks,” Miss Hightower suggested.

  This time Mark had no one to fight with as he assisted me from my seat. He flashed his dazzl
ing smile as I rose and thanked him. I looked to Alex across the table and saw him frowning. You had your chance, I tried to convey to him through my glare. Instead, Alex assisted Miss Hightower from the table. Mark offered me his arm and we followed Alex and Miss Hightower to the parlor. Of course, the room was fit for a king. Done all in hardwood and antique furniture, there was already a fire burning in the marble fireplace when we entered. I caught sight of Charles standing attentively by the liqueur trolley awaiting our orders.

  “What will you have?” Alex asked Miss Hightower after guiding her to a beautifully upholstered wingback chair.

  “A brandy, if you would be so kind.”

  “And you, Chloe?” Mark asked me.

  I almost ordered a highball as I took a seat in the matching wingback, just to see the expression on Mark’s overly confident face.

  “I’ll have a brandy as well,” I said instead and hoped that I would like it. I’m not much of a drinker.

  The men strolled to the liqueur trolley and ordered two brandies, and scotch on the rocks for themselves. Charles prepared the drinks and handed them across, then he left the room through a side door. I could hardly wait to hear where the conversation headed after they’d each had a couple drinks under their belts.

  “Miss Hightower, would you please tell us about this race tomorrow,” Mark prompted as he took a seat at one end of the sofa.

  “Ah, the great race,” she began. “It is to be the greatest race in Soft Spoken Hal’s long illustrious career. It will be his thirteenth victory, if all turns out as it should.”

  “Lucky thirteen,” Mark commented, to my annoyance.

  “Yes, exactly right.” Miss Hightower winked at me.

  “But it would seem that Mr. Harrigan has entered a horse that he thinks will win instead. I believe he said that horse’s name was Slippery Weasel?”

  “Yes, so he has. Although his entry is very strong, the horse doesn’t stand a chance against Hal. His only hope is if Hal gets scratched from the ticket.”

  “That would be unfortunate,” Mark agreed.

  “What about your brother and his family?” I asked. “Are they interested in horse racing as well?”

  “They couldn’t care less,” Miss Hightower replied in disgust. “They have only one interest and that interest is money.”

  “Which would explain why Mr. Harrigan’s ill-chosen statement regarding merging your two facilities affected your brother so,” Alex observed.

  “Yes,” Miss Hightower groaned.

  I recognized the need to change the subject if the party was to have any chance at a rescue.

  “Wayne Harrigan seems to be a decent young man, and it’s obvious he has eyes for your young niece.”

  “And may God help him if his desire for her hand in marriage is ever realized.”

  “Amen,” Mark said, under his breath.

  Miss Hightower smiled and I tried unsuccessfully to fight back a laugh. I could imagine Mark’s feelings, the consummate single swinger, regarding marriage to the likes of Sissy Hightower.

  “Well, your trainer and jockey seem to be firmly committed to a win tomorrow,” Alex pointed out.

  “Yes, I am thankful for that.”

  Though her words were positive, Miss Hightower’s expression seemed concerned. I knew just how to put her back in high spirits.

  “Miss Hightower, perhaps you’d tell us some more of your stories about races past,” I prompted.

  “But you don’t want to hear about that.”

  “That sounds great,” Alex chimed in.

  “I’m game,” Mark added.

  For the next two hours, Miss Hightower regaled us with stories of horses, racing, and the men and women who made the sport great. Some of the stories were sad when they involved horses and people who had passed, but most were amusing and exciting. I could see that both Alex and Mark were equally intent on each story. As I closed my eyes, I was back in the stands, cheering each of the horses on as they rounded the final turn and entered the home stretch. I was eventually awakened by Alex applying a gentle shake to my shoulder.

  “Chloe, it’s time to go,” Alex prompted, though I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “You know, Mr. Lincoln,” Miss Hightower said, “there is an alternative.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” Alex asked.

  “You could spend the night and attend the race with me tomorrow as a guest in my private box.”

  I was awake immediately.

  “Alex, could we?”

  “But Chloe, I have work tomorrow,” Alex explained.

  “You know, Alex, I could use the day to punch a few new holes in your security system,” Mark interrupted.

  “You wish, Halifax,” Alex countered gruffly.

  “Nevertheless, there is no need for you to be at work tomorrow.”

  “But, Miss Hightower, we couldn’t impose on you at the last minute like this.”

  “Nonsense. You can borrow sleepwear from Hillary and Sissy and sleep in the guest bedroom which is always prepared and at the ready. Charles can drop you off at your hotel after the race.”

  “Alex, please,” I pleaded.

  “Alex, please,” Mark mimicked.

  “Alright, you two, I’ll grant your wish,” Alex said with a smile.

  “Yay!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands.

  “Oh goody,” Mark said mockingly.

  I shot Mark a disapproving glare and he smiled back, which irked me to no end. He knew it irked me—you could read the fact in the challenging tilt of his eyebrows. This knowledge only seemed to broaden his smile.

  “Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but if I’m going to be doing the work of two tomorrow, I’d better be going,” Mark said, rising from his seat. “Miss Hightower, I’d like to thank you for a lovely evening,” he added, bowing low.

  “I’m glad you were able to come, Mr. Halifax.”

  With these pleasantries exchanged, Mark headed upstairs to change. Meanwhile, Charles appeared with a pair of pajamas and a nightgown. We exchanged our goodnights, I gave Miss Hightower a hug and a kiss, and Alex and I followed Charles upstairs to a charming guest room where the covers had already been turned down.

  “Your clothes are bein’ cleaned and pressed,” Charles announced. “They’ll be brought to your room in the mornin’.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” I replied.

  Charles bowed and left, leaving Alex and me alone to consider our new surroundings.

  “Well now, that was certainly an entertaining meal,” Alex observed.

  “Scary is more like it,” I countered, holding the nightgown up to my body. It was ridiculously oversized. “I wonder how Miss Hightower maintains her poise living amongst such high-strung people. That Sissy almost makes me like Althea. Almost.”

  We changed into our bedclothes, laying our eveningwear on a chair in the hope they wouldn’t become wrinkled, then we climbed into the soft warm bed. The down comforter and feather bed made it seem like I was enshrouded in clouds. I was asleep soon after my head hit the pillow. Naturally, I dreamed of horse racing.

  I slept the sleep of the dead until I was awoken by the unmistakable sound of footsteps outside our bedroom door. Alex remained dead to the world as I slipped out of bed to check out what was going on. I cracked open the door and took a peek down the hallway. I saw nothing, but heard someone padding softly down the stairs. I can’t explain why this bothered me. It could have been anyone out there on any number of innocent errands. But, after the evening we had, I was certain it wasn’t anything like that.

  Without the comfort of a robe, I still decided to follow.

  I arrived on the ground floor beside one of the windows in time to see someone carrying a flashlight climb into one of the golf carts parked just outside and drive off. While I remained in the shadows watching, I heard another coming downstairs. I could tell by the silhouette that it was Miss Hightower. She too left the house by the front door and drove away in a golf cart in the same direction as the f
irst. I couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss, but I was in no position to do anything about it.

  Having discovered all I could, I returned upstairs to the guest bedroom. As I crept down the hall, I heard a door click shut. I stopped dead in my tracks. I heard nothing more and assumed that I had either interrupted yet another late-night skulker or that someone else was watching over the goings-on in the hallway. I entered the guest bedroom and slipped between the sheets, placing my cold feet against Alex’s shins.

  “Where did you go?” Alex asked sleepily.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know, but I have no doubt we’re going to find out in the morning.”

  “Alright then. Goodnight.”

  Alex fell back asleep instantly. I, on the other hand, spent a sleepless night battling with an uneasy feeling of dread.

  Chapter 4

  Race day began pleasantly enough with the sound of clomping feet outside the guest room door and the first rays of sunlight shining across our bed through the window. I stretched and kicked my feet to the cold wooden floor then reached over to shake Alex awake, but he wasn’t there. That’s when I heard his portable electric razor start up in the adjoining bathroom. I rose with a yawn and saw that someone had set freshly washed jeans, my blouse, and undergarments on the chair where I’d left them the previous night. I found it a little creepy to think that someone was able to slip into my room in the night without waking me, but I shook it off and stepped into the bathroom to clean up the best I could at the sink.

  “Good morning,” I declared as I tried to nudge Alex aside to catch a look at myself in the wall mirror.

  “Good morning,” Alex said, nudging back playfully.

  Based on the brief glimpse I was able to catch, I determined that it would be best not to examine myself too closely until I’d at least washed my face and brushed my hair. I set to these tasks which involved further shoving and jostling for position at the sink. A concluding glimpse in the mirror proved that I was now presentable enough, so I padded back into the bedroom after my clothes. Cleaned and dressed, I turned to find Alex standing behind me in a freshly pressed business suit. He looked good enough to eat, which reminded me that I was hungry. We shared a knowing smile and then raced each other downstairs to see what we could find in the pantry.