I took another look around Jason’s office and decided I was not going to find anything useful here. I headed back to my office since it was nearly time for Sal to show up.
Minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was Sal, wearing his usual office attire; jeans, dress shirt and sports jacket. He looked every inch the seasoned sea captain with his close cut salt and pepper beard, weathered complexion and piercing blue eyes. But today, his normally gruff and self-assured appearance has taken on a sad pallor.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I said as I came around the desk to give him a big hug. I was immediately enveloped in his warm embrace. I took a deep breath, my nose tickled by the scents of peppermint and tobacco. Someone was still smoking cigars against doctors’ orders. I grabbed the lapel of his jacket and sniffed deeply, before eying him.
“Cigars?”
“Just last night and this morning,” he admitted. “I needed something to make me feel better. I can’t believe that he is actually gone.” He moved me to arm’s length while still gripping my upper arms. Sal had always been close to Jason. I think he initially took Jason under his wing when he saw how ugly the relationship was between him and our father. Over time a strong bond had developed between the two.
“I know,” I replied sadly before moving back to the other side of the desk.
“Do you have any idea why someone would do this to him?” he asked as he took a seat in the chair across from me.
“Two agents from the Interspecies Bureau asked me the same thing last night. Repeatedly.” Between that and the little invitation from McCallister, I was exhausted this morning.
“I noticed that you didn’t actually answer the question I asked.” I looked up to find him watching me carefully, a tense expression on his face.
“When I answered yesterday, I truthfully had no idea. There have been some developments since then,” I said evasively.
“What type of developments?” He leaned towards me in his chair.
“Nothing I can talk about and nothing that can be discussed with the agents,” I replied firmly. “I expect they will be by to talk to you and the rest of the staff at some point.”
“You should be helping the agents, not withholding information!” he said. Sal was nothing if not honorable. That I was lying by omission to the agents of the Interspecies Bureau apparently rankled.
“Normally, I would agree with you Sal but in this case it seems that Jason got himself and Lassiter shipping involved in something worth killing over,” I responded with a pleading look. I was hoping he would trust me on this. “Something that could get more people killed if I don’t handle things correctly.”
He just looked at me with a stubborn set to his jaw. I tried another line of reasoning.
“Sal, I know it’s a lot to ask but I need you to bear with me for a few days,” I said with a sigh. “No one wants to see Jason’s murderer held accountable more than me.” And I plan to make them pay when I find them I added silently, even if it turned out to be Liam McCallister. I had been layering glue on the cracks of my psyche since yesterday. It was likely that when I discovered who the killer was all those patches would be as effective at holding back my wrath as a piñata around a detonated pile of explosives. I would be lucky if I could keep my berserker from killing anyone.
“I will give you some time,” he agreed grudgingly. I could tell he still didn’t like it. I was just relieved that he was going along, at least for now.
“Thank you Sal, for trusting me.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said gruffly. “It was never a question of trust. My hesitation has more to do with your experience.” I must have made a puzzled face because he continued before I could ask what the hell that meant.
“You may have a good nose on you Abigail, thanks to your heritage” he explained, “but I don’t think you have much experience with the smell of an impending storm. My nose tells me that this stinks of a disaster in the making.”
“You may be right Sal,” I agreed. “But I have to try to sort this out on my own first.”
“I respect that,” he said. “Just don’t leave it till too late to take the help that is being offered.” We sat quietly for a moment. Both of us lost to our own thoughts. I was thinking about how Sal was right about the impending disaster but wrong that I did not see it coming. My problem was really that I couldn’t figure out how to navigate around it. I shook my head in a futile attempt to clear my thoughts. There was something else important I needed to discuss with Sal while I had him.
“Sal, I wanted to ask you if you knew who Jason would go to if he needed to get something done off the books.”
“What type of something?”
“Something that had to be shipped without certain authorities noticing,” I explained.
“Christ,” he said, rubbing one if his paw like hands over his face. “Like I said, disaster,” he muttered to himself. There was nothing to say to that really. He was right. He glanced at me and I just raised my brows in inquiry.
“I’m not sure but I will ask around for you,” he finally answered.
“I don’t know if you should do any actual asking,” I suggested for his safety. “What I really need you to do is listen to the scuttlebutt and let me know if anything sounds helpful.”
“I will do my best to help,” he replied nodding.
“Thank you,” I said. “Between the authorities looking into Jason’s death, the funeral, the press and running things here, I need all the help I can get.”
I got up and gave him another hug before he left. Assuring him that I would keep him up to date on anything I found out.
“Ms. Lassiter?” Johanna’s voice came over the phone’s intercom just as I was sitting back down at my desk.
“I’m here, what’s up?”
“There are two agents here from the Interspecies Bureau that would like to see you.” I was wondering when they would show up. I looked at my watch; it was nearly time to go to my mother’s.
“I’ll be right there,” I told her before quickly calling Samantha.
“Can you meet me at Johanna’s desk? The two agents from the Interspecies Bureau are here and I need to leave soon. Do you think you can play hostess and keep an eye on them?”
“Sure. Is there anything that I should be wary about them searching?”
“I don’t think so but if they request anything that makes you hesitate, call Joshua,” I suggested. “Otherwise, I trust your judgment. Mostly I think they are going to want to interview the staff. If they want to do any real searching, I think they need a warrant, or we should at least clear it with Joshua.”
“Alright, see you in a sec,” she said before hanging up.
As I make my way to the reception area, I could hear Johanna offering the agents something to drink which they both politely declined.
“Agents,” I said offering my hand first to Agent McCabe.
“Good morning.” The rich timbre of Agent McCabe’s voice flowed into the space. “We hoped to talk to some of your employees today.”
“I expected as much,” I said as I turn to greet Agent Smathon. I steeled myself for his clammy limp handshake and he didn’t disappoint. Just as I was fighting the urge to wipe my hands on my clothing, Samantha showed up.
“I promised my mother I would be over to help her with the funeral arrangements and I have to leave shortly.” Agent Smathon tensed. I guess he thought I was going to put them off? “I have asked Samantha to assist you while I’m away,” I continued, indicating Samantha.
“Samantha Goldwater,” she said, reaching out her hand first to Agent McCabe and then to Agent Smathon. I couldn’t help watching her face as she took Smathon’s hand. I struggled to swallow my smile as I noticed her discreetly running her right hand up and down the back of her pant leg. She caught me watching her and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I guess I could have warned you,” I sent. “My bad.”
Chapter 9
The drive to my parent’s
home in Gladwyne takes about twenty-five minutes with good traffic. Today I was in luck and made the trip in near record time, taking a few minutes to enjoy the scenery the last couple of miles. Gladwyne is an affluent suburb of Philadelphia overflowing with tree lined roads and mansions located along the historic Main Line. It has a surprisingly bucolic feel considering it’s so amazingly close to the city.
As I approached the drive, I was surprised to see that the gate was open. With all of the reporters camped outside the office and my home, I had expected to see a gaggle of journalists here as well.
“Hello, Thomas,” I said, stopping to talk briefly to the guard working at the gate. I guess you didn’t have to worry too much about the gate if it was manned with an armed security guard, especially if that guard was also a werewolf.
“Hello Ms. Lassiter,” he said leaning down and putting his hand on the lowered window. “I’m very sorry about Jason. The rest of the staff is pretty broken up about it as well.” Thomas was a good guy. He had been working for our family since I was a little kid.
“Thank you,” I said, patting his hand. “We are all going to feel his absence.” He tipped his head at me with a small smile and stepped back away from the car.
I passed through the gate and headed up the drive, circling around the fountain to park in front of a nearly sixteen thousand square foot turreted monstrosity my father had built when I was five years old. It never ceased to amaze me that my father had requested the home have turrets like those normally associated with fairytales. There were three that could be seen from the drive and two more that were only visible from the back. A medieval castle seemed more in keeping with his personality. But, I had to admit, as children Jason and I had loved to run through the gardens pretending to be princesses and knights. We would hunt down dragons and act out jousts. The memory of those carefree childhood days was bittersweet.
I pulled myself from the driver’s seat before quickly striding up the front steps. I did not knock or ring the bell when I got to the front door; this had been my home for nearly sixteen years. I pushed open the door and breathed in the familiar scents of lemon oil and freesia. The whimsy and imagination of the exterior ended at the entryway. Here there was only a nod to whimsicality in the dramatically curved staircase with its ornately scrolled handrail under which was tucked a baby grand piano shouldering the burden of an impressive candelabrum. The rest of the house was monochromatically overstuffed in a sea of cream and gilded wood.
I strode further into the neutral interior in search of my mother who I assumed will be in the solarium. It was her sanctuary, filled with plants and light. I always thought you would never get the winter blues if you could just spend some time there every day. The abundance of flowers and moist air ensured that within its confines, it was eternally summer.
The warm pungency of earth and vegetation embraced me. My mother was perched on a settee with Aunt Gracie on the far side of the room. She seemed calm although she was blotting at her eyes with a delicate needlework hanky. Somehow, even after a sleepless night and what I knew had to be hours of crying, she still looked regal. Her blond hair was sleek and her clothing unwrinkled. She had the perpetually youthful appearance her elven blood granted her. She looked not a day over thirty-five even though she was well into her eighties.
“Abigail!” she exclaimed, jumping up as soon as she spotted me coming toward her.
“Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” I hugged her tightly trying to convey as much love and regret as possible into a single embrace.
“It’s alright dear,” she reassured me as I released her. “Your Aunt Gracie has been with me.”
I nodded before turning to hug my aunt as well.
“This is what families do. We help each other, through the good and the bad,” she told me with a reassuring smile, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m just glad you were able to be here to help with the funeral arrangements. I was never good as spectacles.”
“Me neither,” I grimaced. “It looks like we have at least forty five minutes before the funeral director gets here,” I said after checking the time on my phone. “Do you think we could have some tea and talk about a game plan before he arrives?”
Over tea we discussed what we wanted the funeral director to take care of for us and what my mother felt she wanted to handle herself.
“Your father already prepared Jason’s obituary,” she told me, pulling a sheet of paper I had not previously noticed from a side table.
I stiffened at the thought of my father writing Jason’s obituary. I tried to shake it off as I took the document from her hands. I could feel my barely restrained control beginning to slip for the second time in less than twenty four hours and I struggled to retain some semblance of composure in front of my mother. I met my aunt’s eyes and saw there a less intense version of the same anger I was feeling. I was guessing she had already read it.
Lassiter, Jason R., Age 27 died on September 23rd at his sister’s home in Villanova, Pennsylvania. Jason was the Vice President of Operations for Lassiter Shipping, a subsidiary of Lassiter Enterprise Holdings. He is survived by his parents, Senator Quentin Lassiter and Katharine Clement-Lassiter of Gladwyne, Pennsylvania and his sister Abigail Lassiter of Villanova, Pennsylvania. Services will be held at [time, day and date of memorial service] at [place of service]. The private interment will be at the Odd Fellows Cemetery in Gladwyne. Relatives and friends are invited to a private reception following the internment at the home of Senator and Mrs. Lassiter.
The obituary was cold and succinct, exactly what I had learned to expect from my father. No mention of how he was the beloved son of Senator Quentin Lassiter, or that he would be missed by his family. It stated just the bare facts. I needed to remember to thank my father for his thoughtfulness in providing the fill in the blank sections for us to write in the particulars of the service. It was completely idiot proof. How methodical of him. I guess he was afraid to leave the obituary to us in case we outlandishly thought to mention that we actually cared for Jason. I was determined that my father would not be doing the eulogy.
“How… thoughtful of him,” I said in a strangled voice while offering my mother what I hoped passed for a smile. It was the best I could muster but I feared it was nothing more than a feral bearing of my teeth. Thankfully she did not seem to notice since she was intently rereading the sham of an obituary. I glanced at Aunt Gracie to find a worried frown on her face as she studied me. Her troubled expression confirmed my suspicion that I was not hiding my stress well.
“So, who gets to fill in the blanks?” I asked. I was hopeful that I could snatch up that job. Then I could rewrite the whole damn thing before I sent it off.
“It has already been sent to Mr. Landry, the funeral director,” she informed me, squashing any hope of making changes. “Once we make our plans today, he will update it and send it off to the appropriate publications.” Leave it to Quentin to think of everything.
“Wonderful,” I said, feeling my frustration mount. Just fucking wonderful.
I had a few moments to stew on that little revelation before Mr. Landry arrived. He was a narrow little man with a milky complexion, ebony hair and a serious but sympathetic demeanor. Everything one could hope for in the person helping you to send your loved one on their final journey. I disliked him immediately even knowing that I was not being rational. I was sure that he was a very nice man on some level but he was the person making the arrangements to bury my brother, someone who my father had picked to keep everything as sterile as possible.
I somehow made it through two hours hashing out the details of my brother’s final goodbye. I even managed to be helpful with the planning while simultaneously worrying about keeping up with McCallister’s timeline.
Chapter 10
My cell rang just as I was getting into my car to head home from my parent’s house. It was Samantha.
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?” I asked after starting my car.
I slowly maneuver it back around the fountain, towards the front gates.
“I think I have come up with a plan to get you to the port for a legitimate reason.”
“Great, let’s hear it,” I said as I passed through the gates with a smile and wave for Thomas.
“The Lassiter Tempest docked this morning and will be in port for the next two days,” she explained hurriedly. The captain of the Lassiter Tempest was Donald Suterman. Donald had been friends with Jason for years. He was a shifter. Shifters, unlike Weres, could have jobs at sea because they are not influenced by the moon. Having a werewolf stuck on a ship at sea during the full moon would be a disaster.
“Alright…” I replied slowly, not sure where she was going with this information.
“I think we should pay a visit to her captain and then check out the containers afterwards. Our cover story will be that we are meeting with each captain as they come into port to discuss Sal’s new role and answer any questions they might have about Jason’s death.”
“That might work,” I said thoughtfully. It really was a good idea. Donald would be upset about Jason’s death and it made sense to visit with him while he was in port. It would also give me the excuse I needed to be at the terminal, a place I practically never visited.
“I think it will too,” she countered excitedly. “It’s perfectly reasonable that you are going to the marine terminal to meet with Donald. No one should notice when we slip out to check the cargo containers on our way back to the car. And, I can ask Sal to have them staged near each other so we are not tromping all over looking for them.”
“I like it,” I said. “It gives us a credible reason to be at the port, and it’s probably a good idea to meet with Donald anyway.” Actually, now that I was thinking about it, I felt a little ashamed I had not thought to go see him already. He was Jason’s friend, and he had to be upset. He’d left a message at the office for me yesterday, and I had asked Johanna to get back with him since I already had a lot to juggle.
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