by Arlene Kay
For someone like me, who had scraped by paying tuition at a public university with scholarships, loans, and GI benefits, Carleton was an enigma. I was a product of the foster care system. Through luck, hard work, and sheer stubbornness, I had beaten the odds in more ways than one. Despite having a rough start, I felt gratitude at my lot in life. Things could have gone worse—much worse.
“Are you listening to me, Perri?” Babette fished her keys from her purse and nudged me toward the door. “I’ll have Ethel make a few calls. Let’s plan to meet up tomorrow morning. My house about nine a.m. Okay?”
I hated to disappoint her but there was no alternative. “Tomorrow doesn’t work for me,” I said. “Not the morning anyhow. Got a meeting with a potential client.”
Babette’s eyes brightened. “What’s up? Something lucrative, I hope.”
“Could be. A vendor saw some of my belts on Facebook and he’s interested. Thinks he could sell a slew of them to the right buyer.” I crossed my fingers. “Wish me luck.”
She threw her arms around me. “No one can beat you, darlin.’ Every time I walk my Clara, people rave about her collar and lead. Stop on over after you finish. We’ll have our pow-wow then and toast your success. By the way, give me some more of your cards. I’m fresh out.”
Babette was both my biggest booster and biggest challenge. She meant well even when her antics consumed every molecule of air in the room. Three years ago we had bonded instantly at a charity event for retired military canines. I admired the zeal of this socialite with a conscience. She was fascinated by my army career and begged for scraps of information. None of my anecdotes were particularly memorable, although after three years in the military I had learned a thing or two about human nature and the use of firearms. Babette had never wielded a weapon more potent than a pen or a credit card. To her my life was as exotic as the plot of her favorite thriller. Our friendship had blossomed built on shared values and love for all living creatures, but our circumstances were very different.
“By the way, Perri, I got great news today. You’ll die when you hear it. You will not believe it. Guess.” Babette steered me to the parking lot where her shiny Mercedes nestled alongside my battered Suburban.
I paused, waiting for the bombshell she was dying to share. “You know I’m a terrible guesser. Come on. Put me out of my misery.”
She shifted from one foot to the other like a gleeful imp. “We did it! Finally got the attention of the mainstream media.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Wing called me about it yesterday. That man is just amazing!” Every sentient being in greater Washington DC knew the name Wing Pruett. You couldn’t escape him if you tried. The airways were saturated with sound bites and the handsome mug of the investigative journalist. Oversaturated in my opinion. Naturally I was prejudiced, since Pruett just happened to be my private passion and main squeeze. His name evoked both lust and fear in many of the nation’s trendsetters since he had news sources all over the globe. I was solidly with the lust brigade when it came to Pruett.
“He’s covering this protest? I thought he only handled political corruption cases or mob hits. Stuff like that. Things that would get him his next Pulitzer. We’re pretty small potatoes to a famous reporter.” I kept a smile on my face but inwardly I fumed. Why hadn’t Pruett mentioned this to me?
Babette’s grin showcased a fetching set of dimples. “I saw him at that benefit for Hamilton Arms last week and I buttonholed him.” She fluttered her lashes. “You know how persuasive I can be.”
I did know and frankly I didn’t care. A recent profile of Pruett in the Washingtonian had described him as the city’s most eligible bachelor, a darling of the J School set and per the writer, a man whose social calendar was jam-packed. In my book, he deserved those accolades and more. We kept our relationship on the low burner, but the flame burned brightly just the same.
After animal welfare, Babette’s next passion was finding a suitable mate for me. She had wed enough times for both of us, although to be fair three of her four spouses had succumbed to old age, with a smile on their faces as she always joked. Until she found Carleton, she’d had the foresight or dumb luck to choose extremely wealthy men who doted on her, showered her with cash, and made her rich.
Dating, especially dating a babe-magnet like Pruett, had been the last thing on my agenda until we connected two years ago. My expectations were low since I assumed that he would never be interested in a rather ordinary soul like me. I was above all a realist who adjusted my expectations to attainable goals. That philosophy didn’t entail pining for the affections of a society darling like Pruett. I was self-sufficient and determined to stay that way. No ticking biological clock or marriage anxieties engulfed me. I was content with my lot in life. Very sensible until I fell hard for him and his adorable daughter, Ella. Now I buried my misgivings and focused on enjoying every minute I spent with them.
“It’s time, Perri.” Babette patted my arm. “And a few highlights and some makeup would do wonders for you. After all, it’s been four years since you lost Pip. I loved him too, but life goes on. Time you stopped dodging Pruett and settled down. Competition is fierce out there, you know.”
I turned sideways, ambushed by a sudden mist of tears. Babette meant well but she had no concept of what I had shared with my fiancé or the gaping chasm his death had created in my life. Philip Hahn, “Pip,” had been the love of my life, a shy veterinarian with a million-dollar grin and a big heart. Melanoma, a cruel and stealthy killer, had taken him from me so fast that at times it still didn’t register. What a rebuke to the champion athlete and avid outdoorsman who had shared my life and still consumed my thoughts. Pruett and Ella helped to salve that wound, but it still ached at times.
“Oh honey, I’m sorry.” Babette seemed close to tears herself. “I never learned to keep my big trap shut. Forgive me?”
I gave her a quick hug and clutched the door handle of my truck. “It’s okay. I’ll call you after my meeting.”
She sped off in her sporty red car oblivious to oncoming traffic or impending disaster. I shook my head, never dreaming what our future would hold.
Meet the Author
Arlene Kay spent twenty years as a Senior Federal Executive where she was known as a most unconventional public servant. Her time with the federal government, from Texas to Washington, DC, allowed her to observe both human and corporate foibles and rejoice in unintentional humor. These locations and the many people she encountered are celebrated in her mystery novels. She is also the author of the Boston Uncommons Mystery series as well as Intrusion and Die Laughing. She is a member of International Thriller Writers. Visit her on the web at arlenekay.com.