His Secret Baby

by Ashlee Price

  “I’m also looking for an assistant. Someone young, full of energy, nice personality—preferably someone local who knows people who might be potential customers.”

  “Now, that I can help you with.”

  “Really? Who’s that?”

  “Hang on, let me write it down.” She lifted herself off the chair by pushing up on a nearby table. I could see that walking was a problem for her and wished she wasn’t under so much physical strain. She seemed like a really nice woman. She came back and handed me a name and phone number written on the back of a piece of cash register tape. “She’s from here. She went to college for a bit, then had to come back because she ran out of money. I think she’d be good for what you’re describing.”

  I knew how small towns worked. If I interviewed and actually hired her gal, I’d be in. If I didn’t, I’d definitely be out. I wished I’d kept my big mouth shut. I read from the tape, “Melanie Curry. Okay, I’ll give her a call.”

  “You can call her now. I happen to know she’s home, and you can have her come down here to interview.”

  I wondered whether Millie was looking for a job. She’d make a helluva saleswoman. “I’ll do just that.” Actually, what Millie said made sense, because there wasn’t a stick of furniture at the cottage. Melanie answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Melanie, Millie at the cafe recommended you…” I began and went on to explain who I was and what I was looking for. She agreed to come down and meet me.

  Millie was definitely in charge. She withheld my breakfast platter until I ended the call, then nodded with approval and came over with the plates.

  “Thank you, she’s on her way,” I told her, and she grinned and waddled back to make fresh coffee behind the counter.

  Melanie Curry looked to be about half my size. She probably ate a celery stick a day to stay that thin, and something inside made me hate her just the tiniest bit. I watched her eyes as I stood up to shake her hand. I was tall but very curvy, with a chest that got me a lot of attention, particularly when I chose low-cut tops. Melanie was as flat as an airport runway, and I spotted jealousy as she sat down. Her first words confirmed it.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at a table where you’d have room to breathe?” she asked me, and I heard the sarcasm.

  “Oh, this is just fine. So, tell me what you know about interior design.”

  That turned out to be a topic that we both could agree upon. She said she wanted to be an interior designer but was taking some time off school to build up her bank account.

  “What’s your favorite style?”

  “Oh, contemporary, for sure,” she said as though there was no other option. I wondered whether that would mesh with what I loved best. I supposed there might be clients who wanted a little contemporary, and maybe she’d come in handy for that.

  “What do you think about shabby chic and upcycling used furniture?” She had to be able to understand the concept I was after for her to be any use to me.

  “I guess it’s okay, if you don’t have a lot of money.”

  I felt defensive at her words. “Just because it’s repurposed doesn’t mean that it’s cheap. I understand you grew up around here?”

  “Yes, that’s right. My family’s been in town for three generations.”

  “Do you think you’d be interested in making an occasional sales call with me?”

  “I guess,” she said in a somewhat doubtful voice. It was my opinion that Ms. Melanie had a pocket full of ambition but no money. I wondered whether she might become competition at some point. If that was the case, it would be good to have her on board now and take advantage of her local connections.

  “I’m going to be working out of my cottage. I inherited it from my grandmother. It’s on the lake.”

  “I know which one.”

  Well, chalk another one up to small towns. It hadn’t taken long for the word to get around.

  “When would you be available to start?”

  “I could follow you home right now if you like.” Her face was blank, so I knew she wasn’t taking a jab at me.

  “Well, the thing is, there isn’t any furniture at the cottage right now. I’d planned to look around for some used pieces and upgrade them to make an office and a bedroom for myself. That’s just the beginning, but at least I would have some samples of my work for clients to look at.”

  “I can help you with that. There are a few secondhand shops around town, and if we drive north about thirty miles, there’s an outlet store for one of the big office furniture manufacturers. You could probably pick up decent office chairs for about thirty dollars each, and if you weren’t picky, desks for about the same price.”

  “Really? Actually, that sounds perfect. Well, if you’re available, let me pay my bill and then let’s take my car and go for a drive and check out some of these places. I’m also going to need a used truck so we can catch yard sales and save some money on delivery for the things I buy.”

  “I drive a truck.”

  “Really? Well, Ms. Melanie, I think we have a deal.”

  She actually smiled for the first time as we shook hands. I went to considerable trouble to slide effortlessly out of the booth. Something made me want to look glamorous and buxom at the same time. I knew we were going to be competition for one another—there was no doubt of it. I motioned to Millie, who brought the bill. Evidently she’d overheard the conversation; she already had it all totaled. I paid her, adding a nice tip, and we headed out the door. We decided that Melanie would drive so we could bring back anything we found, and that I would pay her for mileage and gas. It was as if she were custom-made for me. It also gave us a nice opportunity to chat.

  The first secondhand store we went into had a beautiful four-poster bed and matching nightstands. There was also a cranberry colored loveseat, and I decided that if I could find the right fabric, I would make my own bedspread and matching cushions for the loveseat. It seemed like the perfect plan.

  Melanie was stronger than she looked. Between the two of us we managed to heft the pieces into her truck and then headed back to the cottage to unload. “There’s a fabric outlet store along the expressway, you know. They sell fabric by the bolt, almost any kind.”

  “Do you sew, Melanie?”

  “No, not really, but I want to learn. I know that’s going to be part of my job.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I have an industrial sewing machine and I’ll be happy to give you some pointers. You can practice your sewing while you’re waiting for customers to come by. Oh, that’s another thing. We’re going to need a sign, and there are some small construction jobs to be done on the cottage to get it in shape. I’m going to put an ad in the paper and see if I can find someone who’s willing to work sort of on-call. I want to take this thing slowly.”

  Melanie nodded and we headed off to the next secondhand store, where I found a retro Formica kitchen table and matching chairs. It was absolutely perfect, and I bought it without even dickering on the price. We still had some room in the truck, and I found a floral, high-backed sofa that would do nicely in the living room. We managed to get it all into the back of the truck and headed back to the cottage again to unload. I was glad I’d eaten a large breakfast, because I certainly needed the energy.

  It took us all day, but I counted myself lucky to find the pieces I wanted, things that I could modify to make them original and upcycled. That night, instead of sleeping on the bathroom floor, I slept on new sheets and beneath a new comforter with monster piles of pillows. I was already feeling at home. Melanie would be starting the next morning, and I looked forward to finding our combined sense of style.

  Chapter 2

  Jonas

  “Hey, man, let’s hit that place on the corner,” Jose blurted as we circled the block. “I’ve been in there before. It’s just an old guy, and he’s half deaf. And this is Friday night, so you know business has been good. It’ll be a good take.”

  The others
nodded, all except for me. My older brother, Evan, was the uncrowned king of the gang and had the last say. Evan was easily six feet-four of solid muscle and had connections. The gang couldn’t operate without him. Evan had decided to break me in, physically picking me up and putting me in the car as the gang began cruising and looking for a liquor store to rob.

  “Evan, I want to go home.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Jonas. You want to be a sissy? This is the real world, man, and it’s the only way you’re going to get ahead. There’s a lot I can teach you, bro, but not if you’re going to sit home in your bedroom.”

  I was only fifteen, and my older brother was my legal guardian. Our parents had wandered off and turned up dead with four others after a bad batch of heroin. Evan had already been to prison once but had gotten an early parole due to overcrowding at Joliet. He figured he had learned a lot while he was inside and this liquor store would be a piece of cake.

  We cruised around the block twice more, waiting until the store looked empty. Evan jumped out, pulling his revolver out of the holster beneath his jacket. The other two guys did likewise. “Jonas! Slide behind the wheel and be here when we come out. I don’t want to come out and find an empty space where this car should be, you got it?”

  My eyes were huge with fear, but I had little choice in the matter. Evan was the boss and I had to trust him. There weren’t many options. If I refused and something happened to Evan, I knew I would end up in the system in some boys’ home or with a foster parent. Or worse. So, the best thing I could do was help and try to keep Evan from going to prison again.

  I slid behind the wheel and put the car in gear, tapping the brake lightly to stay in place while the three others went inside. I watched over the beer signs and posters in the store window and could see them holding their guns up at the owner. The old man had his hands raised and was nodding. I was nervous; I’d never been through something like this before, but I figured it was about time I broke my cherry.

  Suddenly I heard one shot ring out, and then another. The glass in the door shattered onto the sidewalk and there were two figures stooping through the broken glass and heading for the car. I was ready to hit the gas as the door opened and they got inside. “Hit it!” Jose shouted, and I took off like a rocket. Then I looked back.

  “Where’s Evan? Where’s my brother?”

  “Sorry, motherfucker, he didn’t make it. The old bastard had a shotgun under the counter. Shot right through it at an angle. Evan got it in the chest.”

  “No! No way! He’s back there and he’s hurt, and you assholes are going to go back in there and bring him out.”

  “No fucking way, bro. He’s as dead as they come. The cops will clean him up, but we’re not going back. You want to go back, you go back.”

  It didn’t take me three seconds to make my decision. I whipped the car over the curb, threw it in park and leaped out. I ran for the cover of a dark alley, bending low in case the guys in the car decided to take a shot at me. I fully expected them to try to kill me since I could rat them out. The car sat there for a good thirty seconds, and I realized they were considering their options. Lucky for me, they decided they’d rather get away, and the last I saw of them was their taillights. I jogged back toward the liquor store and arrived just as the cops did.

  Riker

  “Okay, I’ll be down,” I agreed over the phone.

  I sighed heavily and rolled out of bed, reaching for my boots and pulling them on. I splashed some cold water on my face from the rusty sink and ran my fingers through my hair. It wasn’t a fancy occasion; in fact, I’d look out of place if I dressed any better.

  Plodding up the courthouse steps, I smiled to myself as a pair of hookers came out the double doors, offering their services free of charge to me. This had become my world. By day I was a licensed plumber, electrician and general contractor. By night, I tried to save my little corner of the world. The cops in the precinct knew they could call me when they had a young one in trouble. I wouldn’t take anyone who was addicted to drugs or had committed a violent crime, though—I basically looked for those who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and needed a change of scenery.

  I went inside and Sgt. Stephens motioned me with a jerk of his chin toward a small holding room. We went inside and there was a young black boy, about sixteen years old, sitting at the table with tears streaming down his face.

  “Riker, meet Jonas. Jonas, this is Riker. He’s one tough mother, so don’t think you can get past him. Riker, I’m leaving him in your hands.”

  Stephens left us and I pulled out a chair opposite the boy. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  The boy said nothing but continued to cry. This kid was obviously a novice, and I wondered how he’d ended up there. “Tell me your story and I might be able to help you. Otherwise you’ll end up in a general cell, and I can’t vouch for the guys who will be your roommates.”

  “He shot my brother.”

  “Who did?”

  “The old man who owned the liquor store. Evan wasn’t going to hurt him, he would never hurt anyone. The old man got spooked and pulled a shotgun on him.”

  I’d heard similar stories a dozen times. Some young kid got caught up with a bad influence and started his life of crime at an early age. This was when I liked to get my hands on them, before they had become hard. I wasn’t always lucky and they weren’t always salvageable, but I always gave it a try. “You got folks?”

  The boy shook his head. “No one but me and Evan; now just me.”

  “That’s tough. I know, because I’m in the same place. So who else was involved in this?”

  He looked at me with suspicion coloring his mocha eyes. He didn’t trust me, and I really couldn’t blame him. The way he grew up I doubted there was very much in life he could trust at all.

  “Well, Jonas, is it?” The boy nodded in confirmation. “Let me give you a little picture of what’s going to happen here. If you keep your mouth shut, the judge can throw the book at you because somebody got killed. Doesn’t matter you didn’t pull the trigger, doesn’t matter it was your brother, it’s felony murder. Murder, understand? You’ll end up in juvenile hall for a couple of years until you turn eighteen and then you go into the big house, probably in Joliet. You don’t want to go to Joliet. Those are rough boys down there, and they’ll make you their bitch in no time flat. Let me guess, they left you out front to drive the car.”

  Jonas looked up, surprise in his eyes, and I knew I was right. “Yep, that’s what I figured. How many others were there?”

  “A couple.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t say anything and those couple of guys are going to walk away from this with the money they stole. They’ll get away with it and you’ll take the rap. If you’re lucky, you might get out in fifteen or twenty years, but by then you’ll feel more at home inside than out. You’ll probably end up being a lifer. And if even if the judge lets you go, those other two are coming back after you. You’re the only witness who can tie them to the crime. They’ll take you out before you can blink. Then there’s your other option. You can have a little talk with Sgt. Stephens out there and turn those guys in.”

  “You stupid fuck, they’ll kill me.”

  “That’s where I come in. I take stupid little fucks like you home with me and look after you. You’re going to have to go back to school, and you’ll have to do chores to pay for your room and board, but I’ll make sure they don’t find you. Once they’re locked up, you’re home free. The judge knows me. I’ve done this before for others. I’m tough and you’re not going to get anything past me, but I’m a whole lot better than Joliet. You think it over and I’ll be right outside that door. Just tap on the window when you’re ready to talk.”

  I got up without looking at him and left the room. I heard the lock click behind me. I walked over to Stephens’s desk.

  “Well?” he asked me.

  “I do have the picture, but it’s up to him. He’s gonna rap on the window when
he’s ready to talk.”

  Right on cue, we heard the knocking on the window. Stephens looked at me from the corner of his eye. “You sure know ‘em.”

  “That’s my job. I’ll hang around until you let me know that he talked. Then you hold him overnight and I’ll get the place ready for him tomorrow. That is, assuming the judge agrees in the morning.”

  “He’ll agree,” Stephen said with a sigh. “He pretty much has no other choice.”

  I nodded and watched as Stephens reentered the room. Jonas wiped his eyes as he began to blab. Stephens was taking notes, as was the recorder on the table. Stephens looked around at me at one point and nodded, and I knew it was okay to leave. I went back to my apartment and climbed between the covers, hoping to rescue at least a couple hours of sleep before I set out to help young Mr. Jonas.

  Chapter 3

  Lacy

  If you’ve ever taken on a home improvement project, you’ll understand the mess that greeted me the next morning. The cottage had become a labyrinth of piles of furniture that had yet to be worked on, interspersed with my personal belongings from the car. There were paths to the bed, the bathroom, and the kitchen sink. Anything beyond that and you should plan to do some mountain climbing. We couldn’t even get to the deck without going out the kitchen door and walking around.

  Melanie showed up on time for her first day. It hit me then that it was probably the most crucial day in my life so far, because the attitude and atmosphere I created for my company began right then. If I was too easy as a boss, I’d never regain that ground. On the other hand, if I was too strict, word would get around and I’d be unable to find decent employees. Chances were I’d eventually put myself out of business. So I tried to stay positive, encouraging and lighthearted, yet be very clear regarding what I expected from my employee. I also made sure that she knew she could always ask questions.

  Melanie certainly had some attitude, but I hadn’t seen very many pretty girls who didn’t. They behaved as though the world was theirs alone and everyone in it was waiting to carry out their commands. The sad part was that in a lot of cases, that’s exactly what happened. But just because I didn’t fit into that category didn’t mean that I couldn’t be a success. I just had to be a little bit smarter and work a little bit harder in order to pass muster with the world. It sucked, but that’s the way it was.