“C’mon,” I said, “do you really believe we would be invited to a millionaire’s private ‘game?’ This is probably a kidnapping ring or maybe a cult of some kind. I’m open to trying new ways of meeting people, but I don’t have the time for cult-level commitment.”
“Lia, seriously, you can be so cynical sometimes.” Dia twirled one of the feathers in her hair. “The woman from my yoga class is a divorce lawyer. No way she would have been part of something shady. Think about it. Pleeeease?”
“Even if it were legit, I’m not desperate enough to enter a contest with a bunch of juiced-up guys who are practically sporting an innie—and I’m not referring to their belly button. Not to mention the size-zero drama queens who think they gain weight from breathing air. Besides the need to do them bodily harm from sheer annoyance, have you seen the size of my butt lately?” I motioned to my plump body. “I’m lucky I don’t have to have an airplane seat for each cheek. It’s a near thing. Plus, you know about my luck with physical activity. Remember the barbell?”
Dia snorted. “Lia, you’re gorgeous. You’ve got curves I would sell part of my intestines for. We don’t really need all of our intestines, do we? There’s like tons of feet of intestine, right? Better to make them a straight line; saves time. Anyway, that barbell incident wasn’t your fault. So, you’re a little accident-prone—everyone has their challenges. I really think you should check this out. It could be good for you.”
The typical Dia stream-of-consciousness rambling had me shaking my head. Luckily for the kids in her class, she taught art and not biology. “I don’t know, Dia. I need to hire new employees. All those rumors are flying around. I need to focus on my business right now.”
“Lia, the gallery can’t be your whole life. You used to love being an artist. When was the last time you created anything? I know you don’t want to talk about what happened. I get it.” Dia lay her hand on top of mine, a rare solemnity to her expression. “But sweetie, you’ve locked yourself down so tight that you barely even resemble the girl you used to be. I’m not saying that’s all bad, but for a few minutes today, you let go and had fun. You let that bold and brave girl I met in college out of her cage. She’s still there. Maybe this could be the adventure you need to bring her out again. I just want you to be happy. You deserve it. Will you at least keep the card and think about going? For me?”
Dia didn’t get it because I had never told her, or anyone else for that matter. That girl I had been all those years ago had died alongside her parents.
“I have a business to run and bills to pay.”
Dia gave me a pointed look.
“Fine, fine. I promise I’ll keep the card and think about it,” I replied. “I’m doing ok, though. Really. I’m not desperate enough to be part of some game.”
4
One Month Later
It’s a good thing we hadn’t made a bet on the rumors dying down. If anything, it was now worse. I was having a hard time finding new employees. The few people who had submitted their resumes wanted to know if I would be having sex with them to test their qualifications. On top of all that, my business was taking a hit. Everywhere I turned, people were talking about me—and not in a good way.
“That’s her. That’s the one I was telling you about,” a woman down the frozen food aisle whispered loudly to her friends.
If there was a cycle of emotions for dealing with life crises similar to the stages of grief, I was going through it. Anger had given way to frustration. Then to sadness. Now I was just numb. Ignoring the women, I continued to look over the selection of frozen dinners. My bare fridge was the only reason I’d ventured into the store. Keeping Up with Myrtle Jones—better known locally as Myrtle’s—wasn’t usually that busy on a Tuesday night. Unfortunately, my being here could have had something to do with the increased traffic. My worst nightmare had come true.
The rumors had exploded all over town that I was the purveyor of a porn network, making it impossible to go anywhere without drawing attention. The nasty looks and whispers I could ignore. Being propositioned like a prostitute—which happened more than I would have believed—wasn’t so easy. It was disgusting and demeaning. No amount of washing had been able to erase the offer some man had whispered to me yesterday. Avoiding everyone was my only solution. Even Dia.
She had called several times, but I’d let it go to voicemail. There wasn’t anything either of us could do to calm the storm. Unplugging my work phone and letting my cell die was my solution to finally getting some relief from the revolting calls that had been coming in at all hours of the day. I couldn’t handle anymore.
Exhaustion dogged my every step down the aisle. This whole ordeal had drained me mentally and physically. If I ate dinner tonight instead of falling asleep at the table—again—it would be a shock. Scanning the coolers, I looked over my choices. Chicken-like mystery meat. Beef-like mystery meat. More mystery meat. Oh, what did it matter? They were all the same. Grabbing some dinners, I threw them in the cart. A few more things, then back to hiding.
Hiding had become a skill these last few weeks. Sneaking into my gallery at dawn and back home after nightfall had helped me avoid most people. Even with my odd hours, though, it was impossible to dodge everyone. I had a business to run, after all. Every busybody in town had stopped in at some point to stare and listen in on every word. Eventually, I’d put up a sign that read: “Anyone lingering within the gallery more than 20 minutes must make a purchase. Loitering will result in eviction.” At least I made some money off the more persistent ones.
Unfortunately, my plan to wait until right before closing time tonight to do my grocery shopping had backfired. I’d been hiding out so much lately that I hadn’t realized that it was the annual Founders Festival.
Port Lawson was founded by William Charles Lawson in the late 1800s. Lawson had been the youngest son of the Duke of Lewiston. He moved to America and became a merchant and, eventually, a well-known shipbuilder. He had established the Lawson Shipyard that was still owned and operated by the family today. Every year the city celebrated its roots and the still thriving shipping and marine industries with the Founders Festival.
Main Street had been teeming with people waving flags, wearing hats that looked like various sea creatures, and eating tons of seafood. Kids pedaled carts around that looked like tiny ships, and men bragged to their friends about how much “catch” they could haul at the game booths. Even sticking to the outer edges of the crowd didn’t work when you were currently as infamous as I was. The whispering had started up before I made it down a block. You would think it was the 1900s by the way some of the women pulled their kids to the other side of the street to get away from me.
Thankfully, Myrtle’s had been mostly empty when I got there. But by the time I’d grabbed the necessities, the crowd had doubled, and I doubted they were all there for the sale on canned tuna. Were they following me? At this stage, a lynch mob or stoning wouldn’t have surprised me. Either way sounded like a horrible way to die. Time to go.
“I heard that she seduced poor Brice Kingston to get her business loan.” It was the same woman from earlier. “Mrs. Kingston said that one told Brice they were going to get married as soon as her business started making money. He helped her get the loan, but then she started acting strange. Trying to get him to experiment sexually. When she invited her girlfriend to their bed, he broke up with her. Mrs. Kingston said that one tries to get him back all the time. Just last month she invited him to join her in a hotel in Seattle. Can you believe the nerve?”
That pathetic little weasel! How dare he imply that I would ever sleep with him. Ewww!
He was turning everything around to make me sound like the bad guy. I was the one who had turned him down after he tried to tell me that the time we spent together filling out my loan paperwork were dates. Then he started talking about picking out a house near his mother’s after we were married. Now he was trying to pin that creepy invite to join him in Seattle on me. No doubt it was
his way of getting back at Dia and me. I’d heard that he spent some time at the hospital having them run all kinds of tests on him after Dia’s contagious illness stunt.
“Poor Brice,” one of the other women replied. “He deserves to be with a good girl like my Maggie. Not some . . . Well, I won’t say in polite company. You know my Maggie has always liked him. He never noticed her because he was stuck on that one. I guess he can move on now that everyone knows what she’s really like. Brice is finally taking my Maggie out on a date, and she is over-the-moon excited about it.”
Frustration at the lies and vicious rumors bubbled up to a boiling point. I couldn’t even defend myself. Who would believe me against Brice, Natalie, and Daron? Tears stung my eyes as I quickly pushed my cart toward the checkout counter. My appetite was long gone.
How had my life come to this?
A loud popping noise startled me from my morbid thoughts. A man was standing in the aisle holding a can of tomato sauce that appeared to have exploded all over him. Globs of red dripped down his shocked face. Guess my day could have been worse. Good thing I wasn’t in the mood for Italian.
I quickly made my way to the front of the store. Ms. Myrtle and several of her friends were standing near the checkout. Their conversation cut off abruptly as I started unloading my cart. A shrill voice called out, “Ms. Jones, I thought this was a high-end establishment. I didn’t know you were letting the common filth in off the streets.”
Dread filled me. Of course, Mrs. Kingston would have to be here. The young cashier looked back and forth between us as if she wanted to crawl beneath the counter. My pleading look was useless, but I gave it a shot. Ms. Myrtle ran a tight ship; the girl looked to her for direction. My speedy getaway plans went up in smoke. Stiffening my spine, I turned to receive the verdict.
Five women stared back at me. Half of the GGs were accounted for and would apparently be serving on my jury. Mrs. Kingston’s face was set in a fierce sneer of superiority that appeared only slightly more malicious than normal. A couple of the others were clearly on her side as they glared at me. The rest, including Ms. Myrtle, looked uncomfortable. My empty stomach dipped like I was on a roller coaster as I faced some of the most influential ladies of the town.
“Good evening, Ms. Myrtle. I’m sorry if my presence has caused you any trouble. I’m sure things will die down when I leave, if you’ll give me a moment to finish checking out.”
The silence stretched out for a moment. My heart pounded as I awaited my sentencing. Would I be banned from shopping here? That would mean driving to the next town for my groceries and general goods. On the bright side, that would at least get me away from all of this on weekends, even if it was inconvenient.
“Alice, finish ringing Ms. Davies up. I’m sure she wants to get home for dinner,” Ms. Myrtle finally said.
Heaving a quiet sigh of relief, I gave her a tentative smile. “Thank you, Ms. Myrtle. I’ll be done in a moment.”
She nodded at me before turning to Mrs. Kingston whose face was scrunched up in anger. “Mrs. Kingston, were you calling my store common?”
“What? I was—” Mrs. Kingston said, startled.
“Did you insinuate my clients were filth?” Ms. Myrtle continued talking over her.
“No, it’s . . . she—” Mrs. Kingston sputtered.
“My store is open to anyone who has the good taste to appreciate what I offer here and the money to pay for their purchases. I know you have at least one of those things, so I won’t hold this against you.” Ms. Myrtle said, pointedly glancing at Mrs. Kingston’s lavish display of jewelry as evidence for the latter.
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Paying for my groceries, I picked up my bags ready to go. “Good evening, Ms. Myrtle. Thank you again.”
Mrs. Kingston’s face was purple with rage as she huffed out of the store followed by the other two women who were her constant shadows.
Ms. Myrtle sighed. “I’m too old for this foolishness.”
“My dear Ms. Jones, you don’t look a day over twenty. What is this rubbish I hear about being ‘too old’?” a teasing, British-accented voice asked.
A genuine smile tugged at my lips as Jack Lawson IV stepped into view from around a display of cat toys. His well-tailored navy suit emphasized his lanky frame. His pale gray eyes and heavily lined face would lead you to believe he was an old man waiting to punch his ticket, but he had too much fun making his family jump to his tune to give into a little thing like death. People often missed that sparkle in his eye and the quick smile that would have warned them that Mr. Lawson was a rascal. He loved to surprise people. At the age of 71, he could run circles around his adult children. His stories about the tricks he played on them kept me entertained for hours.
Ms. Myrtle blushed like a schoolgirl as he brought her weathered hand to his lips. “I for one find your store a tasteful delight and your clientele—most of them anyway—of good character. Now, my dear friend Ms. Davies looks to be a bit weary today. Do you think you could call up that nice grandson of yours to deliver those bags for her? I’ve just come back from my travels you see and would very much like to catch up with my friend.” His subtle emphasis on “friend” did not pass Ms. Myrtle’s attention.
“I’ll give him a call right now. I’m sure you have much to talk about with your ‘friend,’” she replied. Then she glanced at me with an assessing look before turning back to him. “Why don’t you come for dinner at my house tomorrow night? I would also like to hear about your travels.”
“Splendid!” He handed her a business card. “Ring me at this number with the details. I look forward to dinner tomorrow, Ms. Jones. Good day to you.”
Mr. Lawson walked over to me, barely leaning on the cane in his right hand. He had once confessed that he had found the cane in his family estate and only used it because his daughter hated it. He held his elbow out for me. “Shall we, my dear?”
I left my groceries with the cashier and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. The familiar scent of the ocean that he always seemed to carry with him filled my nose. “Mr. Lawson, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Ms. Davies, the pleasure is, as always, mine. Shall we adjourn to your gallery so that I can see what new works of art you have for me?”
I nodded, and we headed out. It took longer than expected to cover the few blocks to my gallery. Mr. Lawson was somewhat of a celebrity, and even with me by his side, everyone wanted to say hello. When we finally made it inside the gallery, I made us some tea at the machine near the sitting area, preparing his just the way he liked—heavy on the lemon. Then we settled into the plush gray chairs. My finger absently traced one of the vibrant purple swirls of the upholstery. A cheery fire leaped in the stone fireplace. Part of my attempt to pass the time during the slow business hours these days was tending to the fire.
“How are you, my dear?” he said in his soothing voice as he sipped his tea.
Reluctant to confess everything that had happened, I tried to divert the conversation. “I’m doing well. How was your trip to Tanzania?”
He smiled at me knowingly. “I will tell you all about my trip, my dear. But first I want to hear about how you are truly doing. I have heard some of what has happened here, so do not try to make this conversation all about me. You rarely speak of yourself, but this time I won’t allow it. If you fear to tell me the truth, keep in mind that I have lived a very long time. There isn’t much that would shock me. I do not judge how others wish to live their lives. All the same, I think the rumors are rubbish.”
He flashed his perfect white teeth as he let out a raspy laugh at my expression. “Do not look so shocked, my dear. I may not know all there is about you, but I do know you. I also know who raised you. I told you that your father and I were business associates. Truthfully, we were also friends. I knew you would not remember me as you were in pigtails last I saw you, but I remember that little girl fondly. And, dare I say, we have become something of friends ourselves these last few
years, yes?”
I nodded mutely at this new information.
“My dear, you keep me young.” He chuckled again, slapping his knee. “I admit I started visiting your shop out of respect for a friend who passed away too young. That first day I saw you working side-by-side with the contractors to put this shop in order, you reminded me of your father. He was not afraid of hard work no matter how wealthy he became. He was a good man who loved his family deeply. I was very saddened by his loss.”
We sat in silence for a moment lost in our memories. Mr. Lawson cleared his throat and continued, “I came to your gallery that first time for my own selfish reasons. I wanted to reconnect with a man I had lost touch with over the years through his daughter, but instead found a delightful young woman who has brought joy to my life.”
I swallowed thickly as tears welled in my eyes. Mr. Lawson had shown up one day not long after my gallery opened to buy several paintings for a room he said he was having redecorated. Ever since he’d been a regular customer, buying up several items at each visit. When I finally got up the nerve to ask where he put it all, he had laughed. Then went on to tell me that he had several homes that could use some splashes of art, in addition to an ancestral estate in England that had enough space to display purchases of artwork from my gallery for generations to come.
“Thank you, Mr. Lawson. I may not remember you from when I was younger, but you have been a great comfort to me these last few years.”
“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, my dear. I do not doubt that you will weather this storm.” He settled back into his chair, crossing his legs. “Do you know who is behind the rumors?”
“I . . . no. It seems others are taking advantage of the initial rumors to add their own.” I tried to hide the sickening feeling the situation brought on by taking a sip of my tea. “Natalie told everyone that I fired her because I was jealous of her. Brice has turned everything he’s done around to make it sound as if I was to blame. But all of that happened after the rumors had already started. I have no idea who or why.” I bit the inside of my cheek to stop my lips trembling.
Paldimori Gods Rising Box Set Page 4