by Mary Deal
The dogs jumped to all fours, noses sniffed, and tails wagged.
Sara's heart fluttered wildly. At last, they would meet!
His wore an aloha shirt opened at the throat, exposing a bit of dark chest hair and a tan. His beige slacks and sports jacket flaunted expensive silk. The next time Esmerelda said come as you are, Sara would at least put on heels.
“Hello again,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. He dropped a decorative paper bag with oriental writing on it onto the tabletop. “May I?” He took the tray from her hands. He seemed overly gentlemanly, wanting to serve the drinks, or else he had intended it that way so they could make direct eye contact again.
If that were the case, he needn't worry. Sara had wanted to contact him somehow, to talk about the foundation. With her heart fluttering the way it was, she needed to reign in her impulses to talk business appropriately.
“Hux, you're back,” Esmerelda said. Her tone and staged expression was a dead giveaway. Esmerelda's scheming brought them together. Sara had hoped for such a coincidental meeting. It was anything but. She guessed that Esmerelda must have learned that Huxley was back from Asia. That was the reason for the sudden dinner invitation. Sara's heartbeat fluttered nearly out of control.
Huxley retrieved the bag from the tabletop before Choco, paws on the edge and nose rooting around, knocked it off. He offered it to Esmerelda. “For you, Esme,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Sara's felt she might hallucinate, wanting him to kiss her cheek, her lips. She looked away quickly and hoped her emotions weren't showing. Daphine stood aside with a big-eyed Aha! grin slathered over her face.
Deep sadness still permeated Esmerelda's actions. It was expected. For the moment, she participated in activities only to keep her mind occupied. Huxley's gift seemed a healing experience for her. She pulled out the inner bag that showed small cakes neatly stacked in a clear plastic container. She stumbled over the pronunciation.
“Manjyu,” Huxley said. “From Japan.”
“It's the best gift you can bring a hostess,” Daphine said, looking over Esmerelda's shoulder. “In the oriental tradition, of course.”
“Tell me about these,” Esmerelda said.
Huxley looked perplexed and then remembered something. He pulled a sheet of paper out of the outer bag. “I knew you'd want this. It's the recipes for both the dough and the anko, you know, the sweet bean filling.”
Esmerelda, the gourmet cook, was overjoyed at having a new recipe to try.
Huxley's cell phone rang. After listening a moment, he asked into the phone, “Can you call me in the morning?” Before sitting down to dinner, he checked to make sure his cell phone was turned off.
#
Daphine excused herself for leaving so soon after dinner. She flashed one last devilish look. Sara discreetly shook her fist in return.
As dusk approached, Sara stared vacantly out the kitchen window. She had cleaned the table and sink to hide her nervousness. Esmerelda put the plates and utensils into the dishwasher. Huxley lingered over his last bit of juice out on the deck. He checked his phone messages but didn't make any calls.
“He's the busiest ever,” Esmerelda said. “Gets calls from all over the world.”
Huxley attempted to get re-acquainted with the dogs, now older, with changed personalities. Mimie lay on her cushion in the corner of the deck, which meant she was accustomed to him being around. Huxley bent down to play. Choco sniffed Huxley's face and ears and even his hair. Huxley just laughed. Latte sniffed his hands and arms, even his loafers. It was most curious to watch.
“If you'll excuse me,” Esmerelda said once they were outside again. “I've got to make my rounds.”
The music continued. Soon as Esmerelda disappeared, unexpectedly, Huxley took her hand and looked into her eyes. His face was full of expectation. She stopped breathing. His touch surprised her. It was a wondrous spontaneous feeling. She relaxed her hand in his. They stood transfixed, looking into each other's eyes.
The music changed as if on cue. Huxley pulled her to him and they began to waltz. Didn't ask. Didn't wait. Just took it upon himself to sweep her across the deck… in sneakers.
The melody enticed dancers to embrace. He pulled her close and she couldn't resist.
Don't be taken for granted! Sara mentally told herself. Don't let him get away either. All she did since looking into his eyes that first time was fantasize about him and her in the most sensual of situations.
They melted together and danced as one. Huxley respectfully held to the dance posture so nothing cheap would enter into it. They were two people attracted to one another and at that moment, surely heat rose from them like the waves that sizzled up from the hot summer pavements.
Chapter 49
A week before Halloween, work finished at Talbot House. One area, the front staircase, awaited materials. Some of the banister posts that had been replaced didn't quite match the existing ones. Sara decided to have them all replaced by the same manufacturer. The old handrail was left in place, although the contractor strung a heavy rope down the staircase for safety. Still missing, as well, were the lighting fixtures for the three rooms downstairs. Sara located an antique chandelier shop in West Sacramento and hoped to soon remedy that problem. Too, driveway lights were not installed. At the last moment, Sara decided that an unwary motorist driving in the fog could mistake them for a car's oncoming headlights, causing them to swerve and possibly run off the levee. She settled for ordinary red ground reflectors that would work just as effectively in a thick blur.
The two construction workers reluctantly moved out and Sara hired a cleaning crew to give all four floors a once over. The house carried an inviting new smell, new wood, and new finishes, exactly to her demanding specifications.
Huxley arrived from Sacramento, his home when not in Oregon. He lived in a condo when in California on business. The MIA search group with which Huxley was involved was based in San Francisco, but he spent a lot of time in Sacramento at the capitol and in Washington, D.C. with politicians and lobbyists.
“At last,” Sara said as she gave Huxley a tour. “I can call this house my own.”
“You're definitely doing the right thing with your plans for the property.”
She admired him secretly, with a whole lot of love and hope. So what if he was four years her junior. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and it had a lot more to do with compatible wants from life than mere physical attraction. Surprisingly, both she and Huxley found it easy to keep their personal desires separate from their work. That determination seemed to seal the unspoken truth of their mutual respect and admiration, though at times, working together did tempt them both toward personal conversations. That glorious physical ever-present tension bonded them closer to taking the next step that surely they each mulled over since saying their first hellos.
They were finishing an excruciatingly busy ten days, one in which Sara learned just how much this man was respected, giving his life over to the search for MIAs. Her foundation was as important to her as his mission was to him.
Huxley's many contacts would help with activities that Sara planned for her foundation. If her plans were to fall into place, one last meeting was required before filing documents with the IRS and the State of California.
They went to visit Esmerelda. Demetrio took all three dogs for a run. Huxley took one call after another and finally turned off his cell phone.
Sara, Daphine, Esmerelda, and Huxley sat around a circular table in the vacant sunroom inside the hospice facility. Daphine brought along a large drawing pad and stood it on an easel beside her chair. The kitchen staff served coffee and small bowls of fruit slices.
Daphine slipped Sara a newspaper clipping under the table. While Esmerelda and Huxley enjoyed light chatter before settling down, Sara read the article titled:
Missing Dogs Found Dead
Two dogs stolen from the Humane Society at the recent Pear Fair were found with their skulls crushed. Two bo
ys out frog hunting found them in a ditch on the south end of Sutter Island. Someone must have transported them or they wandered across the Sacramento River on the Paintersville Bridge near Courtland.
An old shovel was found with the dogs, subsequently identified as the weapon used to kill them. The shovel was thought to belong to Ike Ames. Upon questioning, a Sheriff's deputy verified that Ames had, weeks earlier, reported his shovel stolen.
Sara's growing suspicions jumped into the fray. The rest of the article suggested a connection between two slaughtered animals and a shovel, used to dig graves. In making their suggestions, what they weren't saying was that the killing could be a sign that the psychopath was active again and his modus operandi was crumbling. He might be losing his grip on what little was left of his sanity. “This has got to stop,” she said.
“What is it?” Esmerelda asked.
Sara had not meant to disrupt her own meeting, but the article brought back jitters. News of the serial killer had died down and she, perhaps erroneously, felt safe again in her secured home. “Maybe you should see this,” she said, passing the article to Esmerelda. Sara stood and walked to the window looking out over the grounds. She sensed Huxley watching her and that made her feel giddy. How long it had been since she felt that way. When she returned to the table, he had just finished reading the news clipping.
“We must stay alert,” he said. “Including you in that big empty house, Sara. Maybe those beefy construction guys should have stayed with you a bit longer.” Huxley's words almost came out as an order. Evidently, his adoration did not include jealousy.
“I'll keep the dogs more often,” she said.
He turned to Daphine. “You have good neighbors there in Isleton?”
“Nosey as all get-out,” she said. “There's always a pair of eyes peeking out from behind the curtains somewhere.”
To get the meeting back on track, Sara called their attention and then said, “Our mission is straightforward. The foundation provides funding for families of missing people throughout the state, and the country, to help them continue searching for loved ones. Priority is on cold cases no longer being actively investigated.”
“I'm working on getting start-up funding,” Huxley said, breaking the silence as each digested the magnitude of the undertaking. “They could match what Sara donated to start the foundation.” After the foundation has proven itself, more funds could be solicited from grants, government agencies, and other charitable sources.
Esmerelda thrilled at hearing about Sara's latest project. She simply sat, nodding, absorbing the information. “What about the officers and such?” she asked curiously. She took a bite of an apple wedge.
“Okay, I'll Chair the Board,” Sara said. “And sign the checks. You know.” She paused and glanced around, watching reactions of the others. She had high hopes for their group, but others should join only if meeting the goals and standards established. “Daphine has consented to become our Secretary, keeper of records and vital advisor. She is the contact person when no one else can be reached—with the stipulation that if the work becomes too much, well, she has her own business to attend. We'd find someone else.”
“Thanks for that,” Daphine said.
“But we need a couple more members,” Sara said. “Executive Director and—”
“How about Fredrik?” Esmerelda asked. “He's followed the Underhill case and others from the beginning, remains friendly with the Underhill family. He certainly knows how to handle death and closure.”
Sara cringed. She had thought little about inviting Fredrik, until they caught the serial killer, or at least until she could rule him out as a suspect. His preoccupation with death didn't seem normal. “He may be a bit too busy,” she said in a friendly manner, hoping to hear no further mention.
“I wish there was an organization like this years ago when….” Esmerelda sighed wistfully and stared out the window.
Huxley noticed Esmerelda's discomfort and picked up the discussion. “So far,” he said. “We've found two detectives who've consented to join as board members. One is retiring from service and can devote as much time as needed. The work will be right up her alley. The other is a few years away from retiring. Both are well connected in circles and groups we need to count on.”
“How did you find them?” Daphine asked.
“Our friend, Johanna,” Huxley said. “She recommended them. Sara and I liked both officers when we interviewed them.”
“Huxley will be an advisor,” Sara said.
“You'll need a lawyer,” Esmerelda said.
“Haven't found one,” Sara said, shrugging.
“What about mine?” Esmerelda asked. “I've used her for years.”
“Now there's an idea,” Daphine said. “Do you think she might?”
“Well, let's analyze what works in our favor. She and I think alike. She heads a couple of charity groups.”
“Sounds too busy already,” Daphine said. “But let's hope she'll be interested.”
“One major position remains,” Sara said. “That of Executive Director of the board and member in charge of operations. Day-to-day stuff, you know.”
Esmerelda looked out the window. “Day-to-day stuff, huh?” she asked, though she didn't say anything more. That was a good sign.
Sara held her breath and looked Esmerelda straight in the eyes when she returned her attention to the meeting. “I want you for that position,” she said hopefully. “You have quiet clout and the public adores you. As do we.”
“Oh, please,” Esmerelda said, smiling and waving her off, but she knew it was true. She had worked long and hard for peer respect. When she and Orson opened the hospice, the community rallied round and validated her leadership.
“Say you'll join us,” Daphine said.
“I don't type anymore,” Esmerelda said, joking.
They laughed heartily, then hushed, mindful of being inside a hospice full of very ill patients.
“No typing,” Huxley said. “But lots of PR.”
“You don't think I'm too old, do you?” Esmerelda asked.
They laughed and caught themselves being loud again.
“I think, given a chance,” Daphine said. “You'd work circles around us.”
“Well,” she said in an openly joking manner. “I was hoping to be included.”
Peals of laughter rang out. Fredrik stuck his head inside the doorway squelching the giddiness.
“By the way, what's the name of this foundation?” Esmerelda asked.
“That's the reason it would be right for you to be Executive Director,” Sara said.
Daphine stood and rolled back the cover of the artist tablet waiting on the easel.
Esmerelda's jaw dropped. She reached for the tablet and pulled it to her as she tried to focus through bleary eyes. “Orson,” she said. “My Orson.”
The drawing was of a man's hands holding a pan as he panned for gold. Shiny nuggets reflecting sunlight filled the bottom half, settled under a bit of water. The composition was in tasteful blues and muted whites. The large golden letters OTF shone on the bottom arc of the pan rim. Around the upper arc was the name,
Orson Talbot Foundation.
Chapter 50
Esmerelda insisted they accompany her to the garage storage area when the meeting ended. She pointed to one door and Huxley opened it wide to let in the sunlight. He pulled the string to the overhead light. Esmerelda pulled back the edge of a dusty tarp and called their attention to three large aging cardboard boxes sitting on a shelf. She fanned away dust. “Hux,” she said, coughing some. “Can you bring one of those down without getting grimy?”
Tripp appeared out of nowhere, carrying a hoe. “Can I help?” he asked, propping the hoe outside the doorway.
“Sure,” Huxley said. “Grab an end.”
As they shifted the box to the floor something inside tinkled.
“Careful now,” Esmerelda said. “Tripp, open that, would you?”
“Sure, Mrs. T,
” he said, producing a pocketknife. He slit the strapping tape on each end and down the middle with as much energy as Zorro carving his initial.
Esmerelda opened the flaps. “Well, I haven't seen your finished house yet, Sara, but these should fit nicely.”
In her peripheral vision, Sara noticed Tripp watching her every move. She ignored him and peered into the box. Inside lay an antique chandelier with most of its decorative crystal ornaments individually wrapped. “You're giving these to… what are… where did…?”
“They were in the house when Orson and I bought,” Esmerelda said, with a mischievous grin. “I stole them when I had to sell the place.”
“You said 'they',” Sara said. “You took all three?”
Esmerelda motioned to the other two boxes on the shelf and then came to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “They're yours, girl.”
“This is your lucky day,” Daphine said, sounding truly envious. Expressing in that way was something new from her.
Tripp sauntered away. Daphine had to flee again. Anytime she was away from her shop meant lost business.
They stood at the bottom of Esmerelda's stairs saying their goodbyes. Sara had one last offer she needed to make before leaving. She waited for the proper moment, and then asked, “Esmerelda, would you consider moving back to Talbot House?”
Esmerelda looked stunned. She glanced at Huxley, and back again. “No,” she said shaking her head and sounding definite. “My life is not at that house anymore.”
“I thought you might like to get away from all these stairs,” Sara said, half joking.
Huxley remained quiet. He always seemed content watching people's interactions.
“That house has no stairs?” Esmerelda asked, cocking her head and looking at her sideways.
“You could have the downstairs bedroom and bath. Have the run of the house, more space.”
Esmerelda stared at her another moment, and then shook her head again. “No, my life is here. This was our dream, Orson's and mine.” She pointed out across her property. “See those two newer cabins back in the corner behind Tripp's cottage?”