Torn Between- Seduced by the Billionaires Page 8

  “There is something new in your life,” she began staring into the bottom of the tea cup as if reading the newspaper. “It’s big and a little overwhelming. There’s also something you’re not sure you want to do. It’s not the big thing, but it is connected in some way. You are hesitant and concerned about it.”

  “Wow, that’s…that’s so right!” Harold exclaimed, stunned by the accuracy of her comment. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to seem…”

  “You’re all right,” Maralee waved him off with a smile; she was used to people not believing in the spirit world until they saw it for themselves. “Diana, goddess of the hunt, would encourage you to do what it takes to achieve your goal. Keep your heart pure and centered on things that matter.”

  “I am so impressed with you, Miss Snow. Coming here today was exactly what I needed,” he said, her earnest answer making the rest of his day even harder. “Thank you so much.”

  “Oh, don’t be impressed. I gave myself to the goddess when I was in high school. We have had a long time to work together.”

  “High school? You must have grown up somewhere other than the east coast, because I can’t imagine any high school in my time encouraging the goddess as an activity. My school thought the Audio-Visual Club was radical,” Harold said, finally finding a way to get Maralee to open up.

  “No, I grew up right here in Grafton and went to Grafton High. Go Grizzlies!” Maralee smiled. “My parents were members of 8th Street Presbyterian Church where my dad was an elder. But, I always knew my spirit was going a different way.”

  “Are you close with your parents now?” Harold asked, knowing the answer. It hadn’t taken Eddie long to discover Jim Snow died several years ago, and Martha Snow was a permanent inpatient at Med-Mark Mental Health Care Pavilion (formerly and more commonly known as “Happy Day Asylum”).

  “No,” she answered flatly and distinctly. “Cami was my best friend then, and now. She’s really the only thing I cherish from the past.”

  “You don’t like your past?”

  “There’s no place in it for the now,” she answered, taking on the wise woman vocal tone she used during the reading. “The past doesn’t change or offer us new challenges or hope. It’s like the bible says—you don’t put new wine in old wineskins. New wine expands and the old wineskin isn’t able to expand with it, so it breaks. I like to keep my life and spirit expanding.”

  “Very wise.” Harold stood, following Maralee’s lead as she guided him to the door. “I, too, am in favor of getting rid of old wineskins. Speaking of something new, I’d like to invite you to a grand opening in two weeks.”

  “Opening? I love openings!” Maralee took the invitation Harold handed her like a child baited with candy. “What’s at the opening?”

  “New wine,” Harold laughed. “Literally. My partner Steve is opening a wine bar in Upper Grafton. It’s called The Wine Loft and will feature signature cocktails, wines, and a display of rare wines and bottles dating back through history.”

  “Very exciting.” Marelee bounded with energy. “I wouldn’t miss it!”

  Harold said his goodbyes and with a heavy heart got into his car. He watched as a group of women walked into Lighfeathers to begin their group and then hit the button on his GPS to take him someplace he really didn’t want to go—Maralee Snow’s house.

  “She’s a brick…HOUSE,” Cami’s phone sang as she and Tyler were discussing the virtues of breakfast out, or breakfast in bed. Cami checked out the screen and realizing it was odd for Maralee to call during her “Goddess and Me” group, decided to answer.

  “Cam, can you do me a huge favor?” Maralee whined into the phone. She knew her friend would come through, but it was always nice to make people feel needed.

  “What’s up?”

  “I boiled some eggs before I came in this morning and was letting them cool. I had an early reading and ran out the door before I remembered to put them in the fridge. You know how warm my house is. I don’t want the eggs to sit out all day.”

  “No problem. Tyler and I were just talking about going out for brunch,” Cami said, not wanting to let Maralee know they hadn’t gotten out of bed for breakfast yet, and at the same time making sure Tyler heard the ‘in or out’ discussion had been settled by fate.

  “I don’t want to do this,” Harold said as soon as Steve answered the phone. “It’s not right. Miss Snow is a bystander.”

  “You like her,” Steve countered.

  “I do. But that’s not the point. Even if she was a witch…a real witch…I wouldn’t think this is right.”

  “The bad news for you is your boss, our benefactor, Eddie Dunning thinks it’s right. So get your ass in there, find her weak spot, and get out before someone catches you. We have one chance to make The Wine Loft work. We need Eddie’s money and your salary to get this right.”

  “I know, I know,” Harold said walking down the street from where he parked his car. Steve and Harold didn’t live quite this far up the mountain, but he spent enough time at Eddie’s mansion he knew how to fit in. “I have the key you marked for me. Thank Tristan for taking the risk and figuring out which it was.”

  “I’m not thanking Tristan for that, the little shit. He owes me for two bottles of Maker’s Mark he gave to his boyfriend over the weekend. He’s lucky I don’t fire his ass.”

  “Well, thank you for looking out for me.” Harold laughed. Steve’s bars in DC and Bethesda were all small, gay bars or mid-sized gay-bars-for-straights who want to say they go to a gay bar because the music is so good. The Wine Loft was the first high class venture for both of them and promised to move Steve out of the realm of his endless parade of mercenary bartenders and sex-worker barbacks. Without Eddie as a backer, The Wine Loft didn’t stand a chance.

  Harold slipped up to Maralee’s door and knocked loudly. No answer. Just to be safe he went around to the back to see the extensive acreage, pool, and “sextopia” Eddie described from the moon greeting. Not one thing out of place. He looked to make sure no one was paying close attention, said a prayer, and slipped the key in the lock. It fit, turned, and opened the door to the private world of Maralee Snow.

  The house was just as he imagined it—collected chaos. Scarves and leggings thrown over the arms of furniture, an open romance book draped over the arm of the chair, eggs on the stove, a single, empty wine glass on the coffee table, all signs of a woman who lived alone and hadn’t expected anyone to come snooping around. Harold scanned the walls. They were the same as the walls at Lightfeathers, paintings of fairies, goddesses, gnome statues, star charts, and all kinds of interesting art, but no personal pictures, no family, no friends.

  Harold put on some nitrile gloves and flipped through the mail on an entryway table. Bills, spirituality magazines, Coven newsletters, and response cards for the next Moon Greeting. He noticed Eddie’s reply in the affirmative. A quick look through drawers and cabinets didn’t yield any photograph albums or treasure chests. There was a basket marked “Mom” under an end-table. It turned out to be nothing but bills from Med-Mark for her continued care. Taking out the small camera Eddie had provided, he took pictures of the latest bill.

  Carefully stepping into her bedroom, he laughed when he saw her pajamas strewn across he unmade bed as if an invisible woman was taking a nap. Another wine glass sat on the nightstand with the sole picture she had in her house. He looked at it for a moment and took a picture of it as well.

  Four blonde-haired girls were standing beside a swing set squinting into the sun. The tallest with the grim facial expression of an eighty year old on a fourteen year old face was Jennifer Snow, now Jennifer Howell. She lived in Canada and seemed to have abandoned her country, her family, and her name long ago. Next down was twelve year old Katelyn Snow, a pleasing smile for the camera and the look of fear in her eyes. She would die twelve years after this picture was taken, killed by her boyfriend at the age of twenty-four. Dawn was next, only a year younger than Katelyn, she was sitting on the ground throwin
g leaves, a smile of defiance stretched across her face. She also would be gone too soon. Dead of a drug overdose at twenty-six. Maralee, the youngest Snow girl and a tender 9 years old, stood at the end of the line oblivious to the camera, staring up into the sky. Harold rubbed his finger across Maralee in the picture.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the little girl. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. And I’m sorry for whatever will.”

  Harold resumed his search, opening her bedside table drawer to discover a collection of “battery operated boyfriends” and a handful of AA energizers. He eyed a handmade ceramic unicorn painted as only a teen could on a corner shelf. Looking at the bottom he noticed the initials C.H. scrawled into the plaster. Underneath this birthday gift from Cami sat an old, leather, five year diary with a tiny lock, long since broken. He began to flip through it, taking pictures along the way. It chronicled a very spirit-centered, tear-filled adolescence. He winced more than once taking pictures of the entries.

  “Dear Diary. Dad has another woman. I’m sure of it. He told Mom to shut up when she asked why he was late, and he didn’t eat any dinner. That’s what he did the last time. Mom is sad. I wish Dad just loved her.”

  “Dear Diary. Cami noticed the cuts and bruises on my legs again. I told her I was cleaning out the rose bushes, but I don’t think she believed me. She didn’t say anything though. I have to do better.”

  “Dear Diary. Today Cami called Dustin Riley “Dustin Dipshit.” It made me laugh so hard I snorted. Soooo embarrassing! I hope he didn’t hear it. I think he’s cute.”

  “Dear Diary. Jenny left. She said she was going to college cause she has a scholarship and it is far away. She said when she is done there she will come back and get me. She said she would bring me a prince, but I told her to bring a magic wolf. Dad can’t kill a magic wolf. I hope she comes back soon.”

  “Dear Diary. It was a bad night. Dad was beating Mom again over the lady we saw in the car today with him. They were yelling, but then he started with her. Katie came into my room, but Dawn said she was gonna help Mom. He beat Dawn bad. I haven’t seen her, but Katie said Dad told her Dawn didn’t have to go to church tomorrow so she must be messed up. Mom is going to church so she must be okay.”

  “Dear Diary. I finally have proof old Snaggletooth Smith hates me. Cami and me cheated on our test and put the exact same answers. She got a 94 and I got a 78.”

  “Dear Diary, I am so sad. Dawn went away again. Mom says the last time she cut herself Happy Day helped her, so she has to go back now. I miss her when she’s gone. Katie says it’s good cause they can’t hit you there. I hope Dawn is okay and not cutting her arms anymore.”

  “Dear Diary. Oh my goddess! Dustin Riley asked me to the homecoming bonfire!!!!! I can’t wait. This is the sign I was praying for, goddess. Thank you! I’m glad you hear me in church even though they don’t allow you. That night, with the big fire, I will give myself to you, body and soul.”

  “Dear Diary. I called the number Mom had for Jenny and they said she graduated last year. I don’t think she’s ever coming back.”

  “Dear Diary. I don’t know what to do. Dad slapped Mom really hard and she fell in the kitchen. She’s still there. I’m all alone here. Katie is living with Roger, Dawn ran off and it’s just me. I want to help her, but I don’t want to get hit again. I wish Cami was here. She’d know what to do. Can the goddess help me?”

  “Dear Diary. I guess this is my last entry because I’m going to leave soon. I gave myself to Diana and she helped me find a way. Cami is almost done with secretary school and when she has a job, we are moving in together as roommates. I don’t know what will happen, but I am going to follow Diana and trust her. Goodbye Diary. Thanks for helping me.”

  Harold rubbed his eyes and gently put the diary away. He looked at a Romanesque statue of Diana Maralee had on the top shelf. He didn’t know what he believed about the spirit world, but he knew something had allowed that battered girl to recover enough to become healthy, wealthy, and happy. Whatever Diana had to do with that, he thanked her.

  Set back by the maudlin moment, Harold went into the bathroom adjoined in the bedroom, took off his gloves and splashed some water on his face. He gently lifted the toilet lid and was just starting to relieve himself when the front door opened with a bang!

  “Oh Jesus, Mar ran out of here so fast she didn’t even lock the damn door!” Cami’s voice boomed as she entered the house. Panicked, Harold bolted from the bathroom realizing there was nowhere to go. He quickly and quietly opened the closet door, fell to the floor and crouched down as far into the corner as he could get. Maralee’s shoes lined the bottom, and he knew he deserved every uncomfortable poke her stilettos were delivering to his ass. He put his hand over his mouth to hide the breathing sounds and waited as beads of sweat rolled down his face.

  How could this happen? his mind began reeling. Then he remembered Eddie copied the keys from Cami’s ring while she was in San Francisco. Of course Cami would be able to get in! Harold began to shake, promising Diana, God, Jesus, Allah, and any other deity he could think of that he would never invade someone’s home again if he could just get out of this mess undiscovered. He also realized he was still hanging out of his pants, but was too afraid of the sound of the zipper to pull them back up. He shook his head. Not only is Cami going to think he’s a home-invader, he’s also a pervert.

  “She has a beautiful layout back there,” Tyler called, looking out the window as Cami found Maralee’s eggs and put them in the fridge. Harold died another thousand times imaging Tyler seeing him crouched at the bottom of a woman’s closet embarrassed and unzipped. But he knew Tyler was a decent guy and would probably just extend a hand and help him up, looking the other way as Harold zipped and left. It was Cami who might beat him to death.

  “She’s done a wonderful job back there,” Cami answered. “When we have more time, and I’m not starving, I’ll show you her sound system and other items of interest. But for now, as hot as you are, I’m really interested in brunch.”

  Harold smiled listening to the flirting and felt an immediate rush of relief realizing they weren’t planning to stay for the afternoon. He leaned back against the wall and found the courage to redo his pants, which turned out not to be as loud as a landing 747 like he expected. Then he heard the worst sentence of his life.

  “Looks like she left her bedroom light on. Let me go take care of that and we can go,” Cami said, thundering down the hall.

  Harold’s heart was beating so loudly he could actually hear it saying, “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

  Turning the corner, Cami walked into the room shaking her head at the unmade bed when she noticed the bathroom light was on as well. Harold watched her sensible sandals go right beside the closet door. He winced as he heard her loud sigh in the bathroom.

  “Oh geez, Mar!” Cami said aloud. “Bed thrown around, toilet seat up, lights on, eggs left out. Guess I can see why you were running late. Well, whoever you had in bed last night, he could at least learn to flush!”

  Cami flushed the toilet and put the seat down with a bang. The sound was a spike through Harold’s fragile psyche. She washed her hands, turned off the lights and exited. Harold heard the door lock and the car take off and still waited a small eternity before trying to crawl out from behind the closet. Shifting his weight to his knees to accommodate the numb buzzing in both his feet, Harold lost balance and leaned to one side, jamming his knee into a small, cardboard box lodged in the corner.

  “Ow!” He said out loud, hoping Cami was the only visitor Maralee was expecting for the afternoon. Pulling the box out of from under his leg, he lifted it to the light filtering through the slats in the door. “Bingo.”

  The box contained a fixed blade, broadhead hunting arrow tip, also known as a kill blade. Harold remembered what Eddie told him when he gave him the key. Jim Snow had been killed on a hunting trip in Covington Woods when Maralee was nineteen. His death was listed as suspiciou
s, but the Grafton police did the bare minimum required of an investigation and stuck the file in a cold case box. Eddie surmised that action was probably related to the large number of prior domestic violence reports and the number of prostitution stings the former elder of 8th Street Presbyterian Church had encouraged them to bury as well. The entry wounds in the chest were recorded as sharp, triangular, and pointed. A search for a hunting arrow was carried out, but one was never found. Grafton’s finest concluded the neither the small nineteen year old girl or her withdrawn, battered mother had the arm strength to use the kind of bow required to pierce the chest of the large man.

  Harold and Eddie both knew better than that. Strong are the arms of a wounded soul. Harold took the arrow to a dresser, placed the blood stained tip on the counter and took several pictures with the date stamp set on the camera, every shutter click stabbing his heart more sharply than the tip ever could.

  Cami lounged on the couch, happy to have some time alone after spending most of the day flirting with her boss. She liked the light, airy feel she had with him and despised her mind’s attempts to insert visions or lusts for Eddie’s rough and vigorous touch on top of their time together. As she told her best friend, “Time with Tyler is passionately, comfortably, beautifully, dull. Time with Eddie is…well…there is no time when I’m with Eddie.”

  It was no accident she was thinking about Eddie as she was looking at her iPad preparing for the next week’s work. A Wednesday meeting with Eddie Dunning to go over their plans for a joint proposal to a pharmacy conference considering the technology corridor as a venue glared up at her from the screen. It meant she would once again sit in that small room with Tyler, Eddie, and Harold while all the water under the bridge went rushing under the conference table. Never had calling in sick been such a temptation.