“You ruined my life.”
“I…”
“My turn to talk, Sam! You did enough gabbing all day, and when talking didn’t work, you acted like a boxer. Don’t stick your nose into my personal life again. Ever. I’ll handle things on my own. You may not mind being a social outcast, but I do, so butt out.”
Stung by the harsh words, Sam remained quiet. Suzy had never, ever, spoken to her like that before. For thirteen years they were consumed by the tight, twin bond between them. Silent tears trickled from her eyes, soaking the pillowcase while fuming over the day’s events.
Streaks of lightning lit up their bedroom, followed by a crack of thunder so loud their beds shook. Sam was terrified of storms and Suzy knew it. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, waiting for her sibling to come snuggle next to her like she always did when thunderstorms came.
Suzy never moved a muscle.
When the second boom rattled the bed, Sam’s eyes popped open. “Are you…?”
“No, I’m not. Deal with your fears while I handle mine.”
Sam sensed things would never be right between them. The knowledge made her sad and angry at the same time. She did nothing wrong and yet was being treated as though she did.
She wouldn’t grasp until many years later the devastating effects of the day’s incident, and how her actions to protect her sister would end up being the downfall of her entire family.
CHAPTER TWO
Friday, November 20, 2015
DESPITE THE WARMTH of the afternoon sun’s rays, the brisk November air made the sisters standing alongside each other shiver in unison. Orange and yellow leaves danced across the parking lot with no discernable pattern. Glancing over at the dilapidated structure behind her, Sam winced at the amount of work to be done. At almost 6,000 square feet, the two-story home, a typical southern colonial design popular in the era it was built in, had been empty for over thirty years. Missing chunks of the aged stone veneer and the sagging roof, along with overgrown weeds and several busted windows, gave a creepy ambiance to the place even during the middle of the day.
Sam didn’t care. The Halstead Home entranced her ever since a small child. The front flower bed used to have tall, white flowers shaped like bells growing, so she nicknamed the home Lily Belle.
She was the new owner and would soon call the place home. A sense of pride swelled inside her chest, excited to fulfill her childhood dream, which happened to coincide with ending a dark chapter in her life.
The home she grew up in, and where her mother still lived, was less than two miles away. When little, other kids around the neighborhood called the Halstead place a spook house, using the location as a training ground to showcase their bravery.
Sam became somewhat of a local legend among her peer group for something else besides breaking Kip Hale’s nose in the seventh grade because she was the only person to go inside the scary building, alone, and spend the night.
Shivering at the memory when she perused every inch of the place with only a flashlight as a companion, Sam’s gaze fell to the empty porch. Soon, it would be decorated with an elaborate swing and numerous hanging baskets of perennials and ferns, and the faded, dirty columns restored to their former glory.
The biting temperature made goosebumps spring up on her skin, and a few popped up while watching the black Cadillac pull into the space next to her older, dirtier, and less expensive Tahoe. Sam considered the crisp air a foreshadowing of her mother’s bitter reaction when she let the truth bomb explode.
“Oh, did you see her face? She looks like she swallowed one, no two, lemons!” Suzy poked her sister’s ribs with a bony elbow. “You sure this is the way you want to break the news?”
Taking a deep breath to steady her resolve, Sam nodded. She let the hint of a smile appear. “I’m sure.”
Suzy’s amusement at the situation irritated the fire out of Sam. Though only five years shy of the dreaded forty, not to mention a successful attorney, she still retained the childhood yearning to please the parental units. Making their father happy had never been an issue and a piece of cake since she was the headstrong child of the pair. Her personality meshed perfectly with her father’s.
The identical twins had Samuel “Big Sam” Chapman wrapped around their collective pinky fingers from the first moment they burst from the womb, yet Sam’s grip was the strongest. Suzy had always been their mother’s favorite, adding bonus points by following in the same footsteps by becoming the wife of a wealthy man, birther of the next generation, and country club member.
In other words, Suzy morphed into a spoiled, rich bitch with nothing better to do than her nails or sling gossip to the gaggle of other spoiled, rich bitches while hired help raised the fruit of their wombs and cleaned their homes.
For Sam, winning affection and approval from their mother was a whole other ballgame, and the task grew tougher after Big Sam’s passing five years prior. Why did she still care? The answer was probably something only a trained therapist could unearth. The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was the small part way deep inside her chest desperate to hear certain, foreign phrases such as “Good job!” or “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart!” or best of all, “Samantha Marie, I love you” from her stoic mother.
“My baby sis. I still can’t believe you kept this secret from Mom for so long.”
Sam shot a dark glance at her sibling. “You didn’t crack and tell her about this, did you? Or anything else?”
Suzy burst out laughing. “And miss watching her reaction after you drop the bombshell and start squirming when she flips out? No way. This nail in her coffin is all yours to hammer. Your other business is your business. Mom’s not stupid. She will figure some things out on her own and pepper you with questions until you break. I’ll play dumb when she drags me into the conversation. Oh, Sam. What have you gotten yourself into?”
“You’re two minutes older than me. When are you going to stop acting like its two years?”
“I’ll change my spots when you stop butting heads with Mom. You need to learn how to handle her—be a bit more passive—like me.”
“So, never. Joy.”
Suzy returned the smirk, followed by a playful wink. “Correct! Your vag is made of steel, baby. Steel! I envy your strength, but boy, if I was in your shoes—which I’m not because I’m the older and wiser twin—I would’ve sent Mom a letter with the news. You know, when I was on vacation at least three states away so I couldn’t hear her screeching barbs of doom and gloom.”
“You’re mixing up my body parts, sis. Nerves of steel and a broken uterus removed, remember? Yet another reason why you’re the Golden Child and I’m not. Oh, wait. Maybe I should address you as Mighty She Whose Womb Brought Forth Grandchildren?” Sam deadpanned.
“Stop that, Sam. You’re amazing and you know it.”
There was something comforting—though at times eerie—about seeing a carbon copy of your own face staring back without looking in a mirror. Their facial features remained the same, yet Suzy’s auburn hair was longer by close to six inches. Suzy tended to wear it piled on her head in a sexy, messy bun, much to the disgust of their mother. Sam’s grazed her shoulders, cut in a straight bob. The style was sleek, professional, and the perfect cut for an attorney.
Suzy spent hours working out at the gym to retain her figure, plus thousands of dollars on the expensive makeup, applied to perfection every day, just like Mom. Suzy’s life choice appeased their mother—Sam’s did not.
Sam was glad Suzy came to act as a buffer between mother and daughter when she broke the news, and Nana Chapman was on her way. She wished Big Sam was still alive to tackle the roll, but her sister and nana would have to do. When alive, ol’ Big Sam had his wife’s number. With one, thousand-watt smile or hearty laugh, he had a strange hold over his headstrong spouse, turning Charmaine “Charmee” Chapman into pliable jelly, which meant the girls would get their way.
No other living soul wielded such power over Charmaine, not even
her two children.
Giving a final glance around the parking lot, she prayed Nana would hurry up and arrive.
The twins watched, one with dread and the other with sick anticipation, as Charmee stepped out of the Caddy. Heels clicking on the pavement and head held high, her dark azure pantsuit made from expensive wool hugged her svelte frame. Across the street, a disheveled looking man nearly tripped over his own feet while watching the trio of women. Charmee had enough plastic, silicone, and chemicals in her skin to retain a youthful appearance, along with bi-monthly visits to the salon to keep the gray away. From a distance, she looked more like Suzy and Sam’s sister rather than mother. Sam wondered if she knew that when the sunlight hit her hair in a certain way, her head looked like flames were shooting from the skull.
The glowering look of repugnance on Charmee’s face while staring at the dirty man on the other side of the street was strong enough to bore a hole through the concrete. The stare made Suzy snicker. Sam rolled her eyes.
Stopping at the edge of the sidewalk, Charmee took in everything around her, pert nose crinkling in disgust. With a flick of her well-manicured fingers, she clucked her tongue in irritation. “Samantha Marie, why did you stop here? Why are you two standing in front of this dump? I loathe this dangerous side of town. Why, the news reported a murder less than a block away last week! Surely this isn’t the surprise you mentioned at lunch? Are you trying to give me a heart attack or perhaps have me mauled by a scruffy vagabond like the one across the street? What kind of joke are you playing? Halloween was weeks ago. I’m not interested in being frightened.”
Fishing the key from her purse, Sam forced her voice to remain neutral. “Please stop being so dramatic, Mom. Crime is everywhere, even where you live. Did you forget your neighbor, the oh-so-proper Dr. Kevin Dodson, D.D.S., was arrested last month for raping two of his patients?”
Rather than respond to the baited question, Charmee crossed her arms while tapping an impatient foot. Sam’s ability to turn the tables on a conversation made her think about Big Sam. He used to do the same thing to her when they argued, and it made her livid. Glancing away from Sam’s provoking stare, she spotted a small sign tacked next to the large front door. The black, fancy lettering on the stark white backdrop made her gasp.
Following her mother’s gaze, Sam took a deep breath. “Surprise! Welcome to the new location of S.M. Chapman, Attorney at Law.”
“I…don’t understand…”
“I bought the building, Mom. This is where I’ll be working from now on.”
Charmee’s heart fluttered at the thought of her daughter working so close to the dredges of society. Didn’t she get her fill of danger by defending criminals? “Why did you buy this eyesore, Samantha? Oh, dear Lord, Big Sam is rolling over in the grave, aghast at the waste of money!”
Here we go! Let the frenzy begin! Sam thought.
Ignoring the barbed comment while fiddling with the new lock, Sam concentrated on getting inside. The cold breeze and her strung-out nerves made her fingers tremble.
“You paid off your student loans less than six months ago, Samantha Marie! This is not the time to go into debt. Again. The cost to renovate this place will be staggering, not to mention all the headaches involved while remodeling.”
“The work will stay within the family, Mom. Another great perk of having a brother-in-law in charge of Daddy’s construction business and a sister with an interior design degree. Reed agreed to do the work and at a discount. Suzy and I will be in charge of all the decorating. We scoured several antique shops and found some great bargains.”
Suzy’s face blanched. She wanted to watch the sideshow, not become a part of it. The steely look from her mother made the hair on the back of her neck stand erect.
Nonplussed by the response, Charmee asked, “What about your job at Benton & Baxter? You don’t have any clients in Hot Springs! How will you pay the mortgage? Utilities? Buy food and gas? Advertise for new clients?”
Sam flinched at the mention of the firm where she used to work. The memory of the last interaction with senior partner Richard Benton sent oily waves of disgust rumbling inside her stomach. “I quit, Mom.”
Charmee felt dizzy. “You did what? When?”
“Two months ago.”
“So, you lied to me about being on vacation this entire week? And you went and bought a building when no longer employed? Are you using or dealing drugs? You must be since you seem to think this is a grand idea. Is that how you’re paying for all this?”
“Like Big Sam, I’m frugal with my money. The funds aren’t from ill-gotten gains, I assure you. And the only thing I’m on is 2.5 milligrams of hormone replacement therapy every day. It was time for me to make some changes in my life. I told you when I accepted the job at Benton & Baxter years ago I didn’t plan on staying forever. Being a tax attorney isn’t my preferred legal niche. I decided it was time to open my own practice—be my own boss—and concentrate on wills, trusts, estate planning, and probate. After all the mess we went through when Big Sam and Pop passed on, I’m sure you understand why. I assumed the news would make you happy, since I’ll be working with your preferred societal hierarchy rather than lowlife tax dodgers. Oh, wait. They usually are one and the same.”
Charmee narrowed her eyes. “Are you insinuating I’m a snob?”
“Come on, Mom. We all know you are,” Suzy added. “You’re a Hawthorne, remember?”
Sam chuckled. Suzy seemed to be enjoying the hell out of the situation. “Besides, the one-hundred-mile roundtrip drive was getting expensive as gas prices soar, not to mention dangerous with all the construction on I-30.”
“If you wouldn’t have purchased that gas guzzler out there,” Charmee pointed to the Tahoe, aware her voice was rising in timbre. “The price of gasoline wouldn’t be an issue.”
“That’s not what I recall you saying when Sam considered buying a Subaru.” Suzy’s gaze darted between the two, enjoying their verbal sparring match. “I believe you said she should purchase a sturdy, American made vehicle rather than…”
“Suzanne Marie, aren’t you too old to get enjoyment by egging us on?”
Opening the door, Sam burst inside. Dust bunnies attacked without mercy, sending Sam and Suzy into sneezing fits.
Pulling a hanky from her purse, Charmee held it over her nose. “Oh Lord. The condition is worse than I thought. Samantha, Suzanne, do not go in there! The ceiling could collapse any second! Look at all the cobwebs! What if the place is crawling with black widows or brown recluses, or the floor gives out and one of you break a leg? What if there’s a homeless person inside waiting to pounce on either of you like an ol’ pole cat?”
Oh no, I think I finally pushed her over the edge of sanity Sam thought as another sneeze made her shudder.
“You’ll end up in bankruptcy court in less than two years, mark my words. I hope you don’t plan on asking me for funds from the trust to pay for this pile of termite-infested wood with bat poo mortar. If so, my time and yours is wasted because it will never happen. Mercy! You will never attract a decent man to marry you and raise children…”
“Mom! Low blow!” Suzy shot an apologetic look over at Sam. It hurt her soul to hear such an ugly remark. She couldn’t fathom how it made her twin feel. It had only been a month since Sam underwent a complete hysterectomy.
Clenching her jaw so hard she feared a tooth would crack, Sam said nothing, focusing all her attention on scavenging for a Kleenex inside her purse.
Charmee recovered from the slip about children. Rather than apologize for the insensitive remark, she fiddled with the Hermes scarf around her neck. “You’re strapped with so much financial baggage now you’ll have to retire at ninety. You may not be on the road as much, yet you’ll have to work twice the hours to keep your head above water. This place will be a money pit. Once one thing is fixed, something else will fall apart. My word, what’s gotten into you? Are you taking your hormone pills?”
Despite the chilly air, hea
t from Sam’s anger made sweat appear on her brow. A nasty response at her cantankerous mother’s words itched to be released. She despised the superior attitude. She couldn’t count the times she heard the introduction of “Charmaine Nicole Chapman, nee Hawthorne,” spoken in the exact same condescending tone over the years. Charmaine liked to let strangers know of her rich heritage from being born into the privileged oil and gas Hawthorne clan from southern Arkansas.
The high-society attitude made Sam’s blood boil. She studied the maternal side of the family tree years ago for a high school history project. The Hawthorne clan had generational wealth, yet they didn’t come by it legally, at least not at first. Running moonshine didn’t count as a legitimate business in her book.
Warm fingers touched Sam’s elbow, giving a light squeeze. The interaction with Suzy was meant as a warning not to lose control. Though it would be difficult for an outsider or even a family member to read Sam’s face, Suzy had the ability to sense trouble brewing.
Sighing, Sam held her tongue, forcing a smile. She wouldn’t let her mother ruin the first day of an exciting adventure. “Mom, I bought it because Lily Belle is a piece of history. Look at the architecture! You don’t see this attention to detail or craftsmanship any more. It was built in 1918 and is still standing, despite the years of neglect. I couldn’t stand watching it sit abandoned and slowly deteriorate any longer, plus I need the extra space. Too many other beautiful buildings in the downtown area are gone. I have the financial wherewithal to save this one, so I bought it. And I disagree—if Big Sam were alive, he would be proud of me. You know how much he loved this town and this house. The location is perfect—only one block over from the courthouse. Try imagining how beautiful she’ll look after some TLC. Come inside. Let me show you how the grand staircase and interior was converted into two, separate areas and the layout.”
Charmee pursed her thin lips while staring at the cracked windows and missing mortar between several bricks. “Working with designers and construction crews can be tricky, Samantha. Your smart mouth will piss them off so fast they’ll leave you quicker than your last boyfriend.”
Fatal Agreements Page 2