Текст книги "Truth "

Chapter 28

With the wind in her hair, Claire’s thoughts disappeared into the ribbon of white sand and rolling waves. She watched as a few lone souls, in wetsuits, walked the shore carrying surfboards in search of the perfect wave. The table she shared with Harry at the Beach Break Cafe was covered by a blue umbrella. Under that same table, Claire’s sandaled feet rested upon a carpet of sand. Inhaling the salty surf she relished the perfect atmosphere for Sunday brunch and sipped her coffee.

Harry remained uncharacteristically quiet as Clair enjoyed the glowing vista. The glistening sun reflected off the waves creating silver caps rolling upon the turquoise blue ocean. Wistfully she remembered other sandy beaches. She loved the soft gritty sensation as she wiggled her sand covered toes under her chair.

After the waitress refilled their cups of coffee, Harry’s soft voice penetrated the sounds of the sea, “If this is too difficult for you, I can go to Patrick Chester’s house alone. I’ll just call and reschedule.”

Claire looked up. Despite his concerned expression, it was his long unruly blonde hair moving in the ocean breeze that made her smile. Only once had she seen it controlled, the night they’d met at the restaurant and he’d used gel. She remembered he’d also worn a jacket, a sexy look, but not as sexy as his jeans and well-fitting t-shirts.

“No, I can do this. Honestly, I haven’t allowed myself to think much about it. I guess I’m torn.” Harry lifted his brows, and Claire clarified, “I’m curious, but apprehensive. The police reports were upsetting. I’m not sure I want to hear more gory details.”

“That’s not why we’re going to see him.”

Claire listened.

“I asked a friend, who works at SiJo, to help me with research.”

Claire interrupted, “Harry, please don’t do that. I feel bad enough with all Amber’s done for me. She doesn’t need to be paying people to research my vendetta.”

“Well, Lee’s my friend; we went to academy together. After Simon made me head of SiJo security, I called him and offered him a job. There were openings and he was more than qualified. He’s got a wife and two kids. The increase in pay was too hard for him to turn down. Most of all, he’s been a tremendous asset to SiJo. Amber isn’t wasting money on him, no matter what he does.

Anyway, he’s always been a master at digging for information. So, I might have mentioned that there were some inconsistencies in the Samuel and Amanda Rawls case.”

Claire sat her coffee cup upon its saucer. “Because... you often bring up old homicide or suicide cases during lunch break?”

“I might have also mentioned you... and your ex... but I promise, Lee’s professional. I told him about the ballistics and the reported COD. He agreed, it seemed... well, fishy.”

“Is that supposed to explain why we’re going to Santa Monica?”

Harry remained silent as the waitress interrupted their conversation, delivering food. The smell of sand and salt disappeared into a cloud of decadent aromas. Claire noticed the attentiveness of the cute voluptuous blonde, of course, all directed toward Harry.

She watched as Harry returned the server’s adoration with restrained politeness. Momentarily Claire remembered being at restaurants with Tony. There were times when waitresses or hostesses blatantly flirted. However, as red hot sexy as People Magazine said he was, Anthony Rawlings was also intimidating. More often than not, Claire witnessed shy smiles and platitudes from servers, “Thank you, sir.” “If there is anything else I can do...”

Harry, on the other hand screamed sexy, with his tight V-neck, relaxed 7 For All Mankind jeans, and tussled blonde hair. She thought about his free coffee, after their article appeared in popular publications. Grinning into her quiche, Claire inadvertently shook her head.

Harry looked up from his eggs Benedict to see Claire’s actions, “What?”

She looked up with big bright emerald eyes, trying for her most innocent; I have no idea what you’re talking about look.

After a bite of his eggs, complete with Hollandaise sauce, Harry continued their conversation, “Well, Lee is thorough. He, on his own, decided to do a better investigation of the neighbor, Patrick Chester.”

Claire nodded, interested in Harry’s information, almost as much as her fresh fruit.

“It seems Chester was awarded a settlement in November of 1989.”

“That’s not long after Samuel and Amanda’s death. What kind of settlement?” She managed between bites of succulent pineapple.

Harry went on to explain the origin was fuzzy. At first glance it appeared as though Chester was a litigant in a class action suit. However, upon further investigation, the beneficiary seemed to be an independent international company, based in the Cayman Islands. The actual monies were siphoned through a law firm in Los Angles. Of course, this law firm refused to answer questions or divulge any information.”

“What kind of settlement are we talking – how much money?”

“The first installment was only 20K.”

Claire had to ask, “The first?”

“Well, his bank account has received infusions every year. I want us to go to him with the pretense of justifying his story.”

Claire looked puzzled.

Harry explained, “You’re newly involved in the distribution of wealth. You’re just checking your beneficiaries, making sure they deserve your annual supplement.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying. So, if I’m supposed to be clueless, I’ve got this!”

“Follow my lead. I used to be very good at this kind of thing. Patrick Chester still lives in Santa Monica, but not on Mongolia Drive like twenty– five years ago.”

While heading east on highway 10 toward Santa Monica, Harry asked Claire if she wanted to drive by the bungalows owned by the Chesters and Rawls. She declined. What benefit would she gain from seeing the home where Samuel and Amanda Rawls died? She wasn’t a pathologist and what clues would be available twenty-five years later?

Exiting Highway 10 onto Lincoln Avenue, they wove around side streets on their way to Riviera Estates. It was a posh neighborhood with an amazing view of Riviera Country Club. Claire revisited their plan, “Did you actually speak with Mr. Chester?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s willing to talk to us?”

Harry turned toward Claire, “Yes. Well, kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

“He was hesitant until I told him you’re a Rawls. And you needed to talk to him.”

“I wasn’t a ...”

“Theoretically you were.” He interrupted, “Just let me do most of the talking”

Claire looked at him pensively.

“Do you think you can do this?”

Claire exhaled, “I guess.”

Harry squeezed her hand again, “It’ll be fine, I promise. And, if my gut is right, this could be enlightening.”

Claire laid her head back, closed her eyes, and fought the onset of a headache, “All right, are we almost there?”

“A few more minutes.”

Claire watched as the houses grew and the yards became expertly landscaped. Slowly Harry pulled the Mustang up to large iron gates and stopped at a guardhouse.

“May I help you, sir?” the uniformed man asked.

Harry removed his Ray-Bans and responded, “Yes, Harrison Baldwin here to see Patrick Chester.”

The man in the small building referenced an electronic tablet and nodded, “Yes, sir. 100023 Fairway Drive. You’ll just need to continue left, then right at the round-a-bout.”

Harry thanked the man and eased the car forward.

Claire leaned toward Harry, “This is a very nice neighborhood. What does Patrick Chester do?”

Harry hadn’t replaced his sunglasses. Claire saw the twinkle in his eye, as he answered, “He’s retired. But before that, he was in retail.”

“Retail? Like he owned some amazing chain or overpriced boutique.”

“He didn’t own anything. He was middle management at a mid-priced chain.”

They pulled onto a wide stone and slate drive. A sprawling, stone and stucco house created an “L”, with a four car garage perpendicular to the street. One bay of the garage was open. Harry put the car in park, in front of the open door, behind a sleek silver Audi S5.

Claire continued in a low whisper, “Then how did he end up with this house with that car?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Harry’s light blue eye disappeared momentarily as he winked in Claire’s direction. “I’m thinking it has to do with that mysterious settlement. Let’s give my theory a run?”

She smiled, “Okay, but if I forget my name is Rawls, elbow me in the side.”

“If you say so,” Harry teased as they both stepped from the Mustang and moved toward the front door.

Before Harry and Claire could reach the stoop of 100023 Fairway Drive, the wide front door opened. A balding gentleman wearing a black Burberry Brit Zip Hoodie, gray t-shirt, and sweat shorts, stepped outside. If he’d been wearing running shoes instead of flip-flops, he might look as if he was about to jog around the neighborhood. Harry and Claire stopped. The man hastily closed the large front door and rushed toward them.

As the distance narrowed between them, Harry spoke, “Mr. Chester?”

Glancing right and then left, the man answered, “Yes, yes. You must be Mr. Baldwin and Miss Rawls?”

Claire extended her hand, “My name is now Nichols.”

Patrick Chester took her hand and assessed the woman before him. “So are you Anton’s daughter or his cousin?”

Claire’s back straightened. She saw the smile sneak from the corner of Harry’s lips. Yes, she could chronologically be Tony’s daughter, but no one had ever said that to her before. While she fought with her answer, Harry spoke, “Mr. Patrick, Ms. Nichols has been given the responsibility of overseeing certain funds. She’s here today to confirm the need to maintain one of those funds.”

Patrick glanced back toward his house. “Let’s go around to the pool, my family’s in the house. They don’t know anything about my settlement. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Harry replied, “Of course. We’ll follow you.”

He briefly reached for Claire’s hand and squeezed. She chose not to reciprocate, deciding instead to press her lips together and exhale. If he’d known her better, he would’ve understood the displeasure screaming from her eyes. Instead he goaded, “How’s Daddy?”

She leaned closer, “So far, I’m not enlightened!”

They followed Patrick Chester through a large wooden gate situated within the tall stone wall. Entering the rear yard, Claire’s step stuttered at the majesty. A kidney shaped swimming pool surrounded by lavish furniture served as the feature of the lower level. It was a three tiered yard. A few steps up, the next level contained an outdoor living room, complete with fireplace, sofa, chairs, and encased technology center. Currently country music lofted from the speakers. Claire looked even higher and saw an orange grove on the upper level.

“Your yard is beautiful Mr. Chester.” Claire said as she sat at an umbrella covered table near the shallow end of the pool.

“Thank you, Ms. Nichols. I don’t mean to be impolite, but let’s get this over with. This is very unusual and quite frankly, makes me uncomfortable.”

Claire went on, “I was in the area and decided today would be as good as any. Thank you for seeing us.”

Patrick nodded.

Harry went on, “We’re here to confirm you’re the true recipient of the ongoing settlement.”

“Is this some kind of joke? I’ve kept my end of this bargain.” He turned toward Claire, “Your family better keep theirs.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “Let’s not get hasty. We just have a few questions.” She looked toward Harry.

Harry asked, “Are you certain your original testimony involving the presence of Samuel’s sister has been contained.”

Patrick looked skeptically toward them, and finally answered, “I think I need to see some identification. How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

Claire reached for her purse and grabbed her wallet. Before she could open it, Harry took it from her hand and spoke, “Mr. Chester, how do we know you deserve to see identification?”

“You contacted me.”

“True, but give me something. How do I know you’re the Patrick Chester who Ms. Nichols needs to contact?”

“What do you want?”

“Tell us exactly why you deserve your annual settlement.”

With sarcasm dripping from his voice, Patrick answered, “I don’t remember.”

Harry pushed, “What don’t you remember?”

 “You see, that’s the problem. If I remember – your mom,” he looked toward Claire, “or your aunt – well, there’s no statute of limitations on murder in California.”

Claire remained silent while Harry opened her wallet and handed Patrick her American Express credit card with Claire R. Nichols embossed on the front. Patrick took the card, read it, and handed it back to Harry. Claire watched as each man’s eyes glared back and forth.

She reached for her credit card placed it back in her wallet. Breaking the silence Claire said, “Thank you, Mr. Chester, I’ll relay your information, but I can’t make you any promises regarding future installments.”

His glare turned toward Claire. “I think you can, and you will. Tell Anton my memory’s not so bad for an old man.”

She sat taller, “I will.”

Harry interjected, “Do you really want to threaten the man who’s provided you with all of this?”

Patrick sat back against the chair. “I agreed to meet with you because I wanted to see you.” He tipped his head toward Claire. “I haven’t been able to find or contact Anton in twenty-five years. I wanted confirmation he still exists.”

Harry replied, “Your yearly payments weren’t enough?”

“No trace of their origin. Glad to know he’s still kick’n. He was a good kid.”

Claire asked, “So what message do you want me to give that good kid?”

Patrick stood and the others followed. “Tell him to contact me only through the suits in L.A.. I don’t want any more surprise visits.”

Claire nodded and Harry extended his hand as he spoke, “Good bye, Mr. Chester. I believe Ms. Nichols has enough information.”

Going the direction they came, Claire and Harry silently made their way back to the blue Mustang. It wasn’t until they were outside the iron gated community that Claire finally spoke. “Why did you show him a credit card?”

“I didn’t want him to know your address.”

His words added to the unease she’d been feeling at the end of their interview. “Oh, thanks, I didn’t think of that.”

Making their way back to I-5 North, they settled in for the almost six hour drive. Claire inclined her seat, listened to the music from the speakers, and absorbed the sun’s rays.

Her mind wandered from Patrick Chester to Tony. Claire still didn’t know who this mystery woman was, but now they’d confirmed she exists, or existed. Who would Tony be willing to protect with annual payments? He never mentioned another woman. Actually he said he never wanted to be with anyone else. But could she believe anything he ever said? Maybe the woman really was his aunt. However she never heard of any family members. Even the Vanity Fair article said he had no other relatives. Could that woman be the one who sent Claire the box? Why would she willingly upset the man who’d financed her freedom from prison for murder? Or did she or someone else have another motive for sending Claire that information? Maybe the person wanted the box to affect Claire differently? It seemed the new information did nothing but create more questions.

Claire closed her eyes under the sunglasses and fought the ache threatening her temples.

As she was about to drift away when she heard Harry say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exposed you to that creep.”

She shrugged, “I’ve met a creep or two before. No harm no foul. I’m just not sure what we gained.”

“We now know for sure there was a woman. Someone Patrick believes is Samuel’s sister. I’d put money on the fact, she killed Samuel and Amanda.”

Claire added, “And Tony is willing to pay yearly to keep that knowledge hidden.”

“Who’s the woman?”

“That seems to be the million dollar question!” She said as she watched the beautiful scenery.

Compromise – better bend than break.

–Scottish Proverb

Chapter 29

Leaning against the countertop in the kitchen of their new condominium, Sophia traced the edge of the cool granite, as her mind wheeled in disbelief. She tried desperately to make sense of the voicemail she heard for the second time. Mr. George, from the Civic Center Art Studio in Palo Alto, received a call from a buyer, representing an anonymous customer. This mysterious person wanted to purchase three of Sophia’s pieces, the entire collection Mr. George commissioned from her Provincetown studio. During their earlier discussions, she agreed to three of her older works, after painstakingly debating the pieces on her website. The paintings were still in Massachusetts and had only been on Mr. George’s website for twenty-four hours. Now they were sold.

Mr. George wanted Sophia’s entire portfolio, yesterday. Apparently the buyer was enthralled. Yes, Sophia couldn’t believe it. That was the word Mr. George used – enthralled with her art. The mysterious buyer may even be interested in additional works. Mr. George wanted to know how soon Sophia could fly to Provincetown and ship her entire studio to Palo Alto. He promised to make it worth the expense.

Although Sophia and Derek had recently reached an understanding, well, more than an understanding – a coming together of monumental proportions. She wasn’t picking up and flying east without discussing it with him. Looking at her calendar she realized the only conflict, if she suddenly flew to P-town, would be some fundraiser dinner they were supposed to attend. Some top executive wanted Derek to attend this dinner as a representative of Shedis-tics. Apparently, this was an annual big deal.

Sophia wondered if she could possibly do both. Considering the probability, she realized she would either need to tell Mr. George to wait, or tell Derek she couldn’t do the dinner. The timing was just too unfortunate for both. Packing the art work would take days, possibly a week. The event was in five days. This was one of those compromises they’d discussed. The concept was much easier in the figurative sense.

Like a child, she crossed her fingers, unconsciously bit her lower lip, and dialed the phone.

Danni’s voice on Derek’s private line no longer surprised Sophia. Sophia even shamefully felt a twinge of superiority with Derek’s recent confession. He swore total ignorance regarding Danni’s hidden agenda. Perhaps part of Sophia even felt a bit sorry for the pretty young blonde. No, given the circumstances, she didn’t.

“Hello, Danni, it’s Sophia.”

“Yes, Mrs. Burke, Derek is in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

Sophia noticed, despite many attempts to change Danni’s salutation, she was still addressed as Mrs. Burke and Mr. Burke was still Derek. “Yes, please let him know I need to speak to him as soon as possible. As a matter of fact, I’ll be going out later and can come by his office this afternoon.”

“Yes, well, his schedule is quite full. Perhaps, I can have him call when he’s available.”

A week ago that would have stopped Sophia, but not today. As soon as she hung up with Danni, Sophia would text Derek’s cellphone. When Sophia explained her insecurities during their reconnection, Derek promised only he would answer his text messages.

Sophia smiled into the phone and replied, “You can let him know I’ll be in the area from one to three. Please call me with the best time to stop by.”

“Yes, Mrs. Burke.”

“Bye, Danni.”

She hung-up and sent the text. Seconds later her telephone buzzed. She swiped the screen, I ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR YOU! CAN’T WAIT. GOT A WEB CONFERENCE AT 11. BE DONE BY 12:30, ANY TIME AFTER AND I’M ALL YOURS. – NOT TRUE, ALWAYS YOURS! LOVE YA BABY.

She grinned. Technology was wonderful! She wouldn’t let Danni, or anyone else, make her feel insecure about her husband. After swallowing the final drops of Jasmine Tea, she stowed her tea cup in the dishwasher, wiped down the breakfast bar, and began contemplating the extent of art in the Provincetown studio. Her mind spun with displayed and stored artwork. Suddenly the ring of her telephone brought Sophia’s thoughts back to Santa Clara. Looking to the illuminated screen she saw: Derek’s office.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Burke. This is Danni.”

“Yes?”

“It seems that a meeting has been rescheduled, Derek is available after 12:30 this afternoon.”

Sophia’s smug expression couldn’t be contained. “Thank you, Danni. I look forward to seeing you and Derek then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The line disconnected.

Glancing at the clock, Sophia realized she had three hours before she needed to be in Derek’s office. She decided to go to Palo Alto and talk to Mr. George in person. Maybe he called the wrong person. After all, who would buy three pieces of art without seeing them in person?

The Civic Center in Palo Alto was in the heart of a cafe haven. Easing her car into an available space, she contemplated stopping at one of the many shops she passed. As in Santa Clara, parts of the city gave Sophia the wonderful small town feel.

The fog that so often encased the Silicon Valley was gone, dissipated into the shining blue sky. The buildings, trees, and mountains all glowed with the spring sun. As Sophia walked along the crowded sidewalk, inhaling the fragrant aromas emanating from the coffee shops and cafes and listening to the murmurs of pedestrians, she found herself bemused by the recent turn of events. This new life wasn’t as bad as she’d made it out to be. Derek did want her here.

The revelation or epiphany came in the knowledge that he wanted her – not some perfect wife. That support strengthened her, rejuvenating her confidence as she approached Mr. George.

Entering the small studio, she noticed the contrast in noise. The sounds from the busy street silenced as the glass doors closed to faint music, impeded only by a soft chime indicating a prospective customer. Sophia took in the white walls, indirect lighting, and lovely pieces of displayed art on canvas as well as three-dimensional pieces on podiums. At the beck and call of the protective bell, Mr. George appeared from the depths of the back rooms.

Since their initial meeting, they’d only spoken on the phone. Sophia wanted more information before she shipped her entire collection to this man.

“Oh, Mrs. Burke!” Mr. George exclaimed with perhaps too much glee.

“Mr. George, please call me Sophia.”

“Yes, Sophia. I’m so glad you came in today.” His bright smile threatened to rupture his ruddy cheeks as he positively swelled with excitement. “Did you receive my voice mail?”

So it was meant for me, she thought as she answered, “Yes, that’s why I’m here. Can we discuss this transition?”

“Most certainly, I agree it’s unusual. But I want you to know, I’ve verified the funds, although I’m unable to confirm the identity of the buyer. It’s real. Someone offered 2.3 million for all three works.”

Sophia’s bravado dissolved. She struggled for air. Her lungs collapsed, and her legs wobbled. “I’m sorry; did you just say 2.3 million?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention the amount on the message? Yes, initially the buyer asked me the price. I told him I’d need to discuss it with the artist. He didn’t want to haggle, so he offered what he believed would be the top bid.” Mr. George’s grin enlarged even more, showing his too white, too perfect teeth, and the pink gums above. “I think he succeeded. However, I still told him I’d need to discuss it with you. Of course, the studio collects fifteen percent. The rest is yours.”

Before her legs gave out entirely, Sophia found an empty chair. Her mind subconsciously computed the math, while her lips fought diligently to speak, “Mr. George, I’m going to talk to my husband, soon. I’ll be getting those works for you as soon as I can.” One million nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars! “I just don’t know about my entire collection. I don’t want to close my Provincetown studio.”

The two of them discussed the possibilities and opportunities. They decided upon a sampling of her works on display in Palo Alto, with the entire collection available online. If this buyer or another wanted one of the works still in Provincetown and were willing to pay appropriately, Sophia would return to Massachusetts.

An hour later, Sophia entered Derek’s office. As her long gauze skirt brushed the tops of her feet and her high heeled sandals clicked the marble floor of his private reception area, Sophia chose to ignore Danni’s looks and innuendos. Her mood was too high to worry about the immaculately dressed PA or the plush surroundings. She casually walked past the pretty blonde without speaking and stepped into Derek’s regal office. Brazenly, she wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed his parted lips. Before she could introduce her tongue teasingly into his willing mouth, Sophia realized Danni followed her into Derek’s office.

They both turned to see her standing in the doorway. Before Derek had the chance to recover from his wife’s licentious greeting, Sophia took the liberty of dismissing his assistant, “That’ll be all, Danni. Please close the door on your way out.”

Danni looked questionably at Derek, who smiled uncontrollably, barely able to take his eyes away from the spirit filled woman who’d just fallen into his lap. Finally, he glanced toward his PA and confirmed Sophia’s wishes, “Yes, Danni, and please hold my calls.”

Danni’s incredulous expression as she backed out of the office and closed the door added to Sophia’s euphoria.

“My, my, Mrs. Burke,” Derek managed between kisses, “To what do I owe this lascivious reception?”

She explained the unbelievable procurement of three of her oil paintings. Derek stared, open mouthed, when she disclosed the bid. Eventually, he found his voice, “Wow, Baby! I love your work, but I’m shocked at that amount of money.”

Sophia pouted, more in jest than reality, “What? Don’t you think they’re worth it?”

He immediately pulled her against his chest and spun her around in his large leather chair. Sophia curled her legs into his lap and threw her head back, allowing her long hair to fan out and fall over his shoulder as his office became a blur. Leaning his mouth to her exposed neck he breathily whispered, “I think they’re worth ten times that! But, if you’re willing to part with them for a measly 2.3 million, I guess that’s your prerogative.” His lips connected her warm sensitive neck, immediately instigating purrs from the depth of her throat.

When his lips slowed, Sophia pulled away and made eye contact. Looking suddenly serious, she went on, “There is a problem. The buyer wants them yesterday. I need to fly to Provincetown and ship them back here. Mr. George also wants me to ship some other works to put on display and photograph the rest of my collection. It’ll take me days to get them all packaged for mailing.”

“That dinner for Shedis-tics is Friday. Will you be back by then?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think so.” She looked passively into his soft brown eyes, “If you want me to wait, I can ask Mr. George to contact the buyer, have him contact the mystery person, and see if it can wait.” Sophia watched through seductive lashes as Derek’s expression changed before her eyes. She saw pride, disappointment, indecision, and resolution.

Eventually his light brown eyes glimmered as his cheeks rose in conjunction with the tips of his lips. “You know, when Shedis-tics asked me come out here early, they promised me some time off. How about, I travel with you? If we work together, we can package your art much faster. We might even make it back for this big dinner thing. I’m not sure why, but they really want me there.”

Sophia stared at her husband in disbelief, “You’d really be willing to go with me?”

“Sure,” he kissed her lips, “we can consider it a romantic get-a-way.” Then with a predatory grin he added, “And maybe we can use one of those private jets they promised in my interview?”

“You know, Mr. Burke, I’ve always wanted to belong to an exclusive club.”

“Really, Mrs. Burke, what club would that be?”

“I believe it’s called The Mile High Club.”

Derek closed his eyes and shook his head at the woman who’d swept him off his feet three years ago. Regaining his focus he replied, “I’ll be sure to find the criteria regarding entry into that exclusive club. I’ve heard initiation can be strenuous. Perhaps you’re not up to the challenge?”

“Mr. Burke, you check out the specifications, and I’ll concentrate on my aptitude.”

He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep his grin concealed, “Aptitude isn’t an issue, Mrs. Burke. I believe the component in question is altitude.”

Sophia buried her lips into the crook of his neck. “You provide the altitude, I’ll provide the aptitude.”

“We can do a test run at sea level, just to be sure.”

Sophia amusingly shook her head. This was a battle of wits she didn’t want to win.

“Perhaps, when I get home?” Derek didn’t wait for an answer from his wife as he picked up the phone, his voice no longer playful, “Danni, make the necessary arrangements. My wife and I need a Shedis-tics jet to fly to Provincetown, Massachusetts, leaving tomorrow and returning Thursday.” Sophia listened to his side of the conversation.

“That can be rescheduled.” “That, I can do from anywhere.” “Do you have any other concerns?” Sophia heard the agitation in his voice. She wondered if Danni recognized it too. Derek continued, “That is fine. Let me know the final arrangements.” “Thanks, Danni.” He hung-up. Smirking ear-to-ear he proposed, “The next order of business it to research the requirements for that club.”

Sophia squeezed his neck, “Thank you! We can work day and night to get back for that dinner.”

Derek caressed her waist as his eyes muted ever so slightly, “I think I know a better way to spend our nights.”

Sophia giggled, “Really? We can debate the pros and cons of each proposal.”

“No. I think I’m evoking the helpful husband card; you’ll have to agree to my proposal – no debating allowed.”

She didn’t argue. “I see your point. However, I’ll need at least an abstract of your ideas presented tonight at home.” Her eyes twinkled as she stood and smoothed her skirt.