One Deadly Sister (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #1) (2 page)

“Imagine that.”

“I’ve got a big problem Sandy.”

“If you’ve no friends to call when you’re in trouble, you have an even bigger problem. Everyone needs someone they can phone
at 4 a.m.”

“You’re right. This call isn’t going too well is it?”

“Raymond, where were you when I was in trouble?”

“Are you talking about juvie hall? Good grief, that was ten years ago, more. Can’t you get past that?”

“Yes, I should get over it but I haven’t. I’ll work on it. You sit there in jail and I’ll work on it.”

Silence.

Was she gone? “Sandy, you still there?”

“Are you convicted yet?”

“I was afraid you’d hung up.”

“The longest conversation with my brother in my entire life, and I should hang up?” Her voice had softened somewhat. “Do I wear glasses?”

“What?”

“Do I wear glasses, yes or no?”

“Glasses? Yes, ah no, I don’t think so.”

“I rest my case. You’d walk right past me on the street. Somehow, I have it in my mind that there are things you should just know about your sister. That’s a stretch for you isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry Sandy, but there are years between us. It’s not like we were joined at the hip.”

“But I thought we were at least friends. Don’t you get it? We were
born
friends. You just don’t want to connect with me.”

“When I get this behind me, I’m going to make it up to you. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you? How about I just forget you?”

He said nothing.

“I know you’re in a deep hole down there, and I don’t mean to minimize it.” The irony of him being the one now in trouble didn’t escape her. Maybe she was being too harsh. Nevertheless, it was unfair of him to ask. “I can’t leave, Raymond. I’ve worked hard for this job. I’m not going to screw it up.”

“You’re right, don’t screw up your job. Somehow I thought—.”

Then sounding upbeat, she said quickly, “Hey Raymond, hope things turn out all right for you down there. Bye now, I’m gone.”

“Wait! I know I’ve been a lousy brother and don’t deserve your help, but there’s no one else.”

“I’ll phone you at Christmas,” she said.

The line went dead.

Ray sat on his bunk and tossed the silent phone from hand to hand. He was tempted to smash it against the wall. What was wrong with him, he wondered, how dare he ask her for anything? So she’s out of it. Couldn’t blame her.

Was there someone else he could call, someone he hadn’t screwed up with his indifference? Certainly, no one down here, probably no one up in Philadelphia either. Sounded pathetic when he thought about it. He didn’t think of himself as friendless. He was well liked by his co-workers and wasn’t unsociable. It was just that he enjoyed his solitude and didn’t spend much time thinking about friends. Friends just appeared in his life from time to time. They happened, he didn’t seek them out.

He stared at the other bunk in the cell. The bulk of a smelly old man in rumpled clothes was lying there dead drunk on his back snoring, with his head hard against the wall. “Looks like we both could use a friend. I don’t know anyone else in your damn town,” Ray said aloud surprising himself. The man didn’t stir.

The jail cell felt airless and hot, yet Ray started shivering. He looked down again at the worthless phone. He was drowning. The phone in his hand was like a lifeline with no one holding the other end.

R
ay Reid had moved down to Florida from Philadelphia to start a new job in Park Beach, a small oceanside town, three weeks earlier. Moved to get away from the scene of his divorce, start new. His ex-wife had once told him she was attracted to him because he had a great job and a nice house. When they split, she accused him of being one of those nice guys who would never make a success of anything.

Nothing much to move down with him. She took everything, even kept his dog. He did manage to rescue some of his history books and string quartet CDs from the curbside trash in front of the house he had paid for.

His new employer, a Florida securities broker, E.J. Bradford & Co., needed a back-office manager. That was Ray’s specialty: running all the numbers and seeing that the firm handled the buys and sells properly.

The job had started well and his associates liked him. Nothing very threatening about Ray, an everyday forty year old, never quite made it to six feet, with short brown hair already thin at the temples. His face was “okay”—at least that’s how a girlfriend in college once described it. Another girl told him his black-rimmed glasses were unquestionably a date-loser. He’d always worn that kind, they fit fine and weren’t expensive.

Each day after the market closed an attractive young stockbroker at the firm, Meg Emerson, would stride to the back office, still charged with energy and chat with him to calm down after her hectic day. Meg was a sales whiz, the number one producer in the office. All the sales reports crossed Ray’s desk, so he knew she grossed twice as much as her boss. She could afford to dress in a fabulous manner, yet he noticed she favored a conservative look and wore her blond hair short and straight. She pushed the upper limit on the height-weight charts, although she didn’t seem concerned.

Ray was ten years older. He thought she had a wonderful mind. She wasn’t afraid to discuss serious subjects like art and antiques. There were several younger, better-looking guys around the office, yet for some reason Ray was the person she wanted to talk with. She never missed a day.

It was Meg who invited him to the party that started it all. She just gave the party...he couldn’t blame her for his meeting Loraine there.

When the party day arrived, Ray was still settling into his new apartment. He needed to paint the place and shop for a lamp, a screwdriver and a can opener. He had little interest in going to a gathering of strangers and doing his wallflower routine while planning a polite escape. Not his idea of fun. Nevertheless, he did go. Meg had been so insistent.

Meg gave him a warm greeting at her door, including an unexpected kiss on the cheek. A look around the room convinced him he had made a dreadful mistake. He had the awful feeling that he should be around at the back door making a delivery. This wasn’t his crowd at all. The room glittered with classy people laughing and clinking glasses. She had suggested jacket, no tie. Her guests, however, seemed dressy to him. Meg wore a black linen cocktail dress with a breathless plunging V-neck.

Ray came dressed in the same jacket he wore to work every day and a lightweight turtleneck. He felt about as stylish as a dishtowel. If somehow he could ever get out of there, he’d never leave home again.

Her beachfront condominium on the barrier island was impressive. The building sat on the narrow island between the ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway. Consequently, she had an expensive view from either end of her condo.

“Realtors call it a front-to-front,” Meg explained. “Instead of just a wall on the rear side away from the ocean, there’s a second balcony overlooking the waterway.”

The layout amazed him. Some of her guests were on the ocean side balcony, almost the size of Ray’s entire apartment, looking down at the beach and out to the Atlantic. A more normal-sized balcony was at the opposite end of the expansive living room. From there, guests had a view of the waterway, a cove dotted with undulating boats on moorings and on across to the lights of the city on the western horizon.

She had decorated her home in subtle shades of high-level income. Although Ray was aware she had some money, he never suspected the engaging young woman who stopped at his desk every day enjoyed that manner of lifestyle.

Meg wanted everyone to meet him and after graciously zigging and zagging the crowd for his wine, she introduced him around to get him started. He saw no other co-workers present, not even her boss; all these prosperous people must be clients or friends.

The cordial group welcomed him to Florida and made the polite newcomer-fuss. Not so bad, in fact the evening turned out well. Or so he thought at the time.

Two white wines later, after he had met a dozen mostly interesting people and forgotten their names, he noticed a woman with long red hair talking with a group out on that huge ocean-view balcony. Her back was toward him. The ocean breeze seriously teased the hem of her short green dress and that caught his attention. The somewhat tall woman in her somewhat short dress showing great legs was pleasing.

When she turned, he saw she was older than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t certain just what gave him that impression. Her features seemed a little sharp; still he liked her face. There was a bangle on one wrist otherwise he saw no jewelry. Her body needed no adornments, she stood erect and her shape was trim. Whatever her age, she was confidently attractive.

His eyes wandered around the room but kept going back to the redhead, green dress and legs. He stood with his wine glass trying to appear casual and watched her mingle. She seemed to drift nearer to where he stood. Minutes later, she was much closer and held her gaze on him.

Him?

She came over and introduced herself, Loraine Dellin. He fumbled a few words expecting her to ask why he had been staring, but she started right in with party talk.

She made drawn out comments about what was good and what was a shame. She frequently reached over and touched his arm to emphasize a point he usually didn’t get. All very polite and clever. Easy going, he just smiled and nodded, grateful for her casual rambling that kept the conversation running without his input. Silence would mean death.

The wine tasted good, he felt comfortable and was now enjoying the party. She stood quite close to him and with heels was eye to eye. Quite enjoyable having this attractive woman standing right there with those pale green eyes focused on him. Her face showed deep lines around the eyes but that didn’t seem important. He was careful about looking down; she couldn’t have known just how loose fitting her neckline was. There seemed to be quite a bit unconstrained down there.

She wanted to know about him. “So, you’re down here alone, no wife, no kids, no attachments?”

“Just a sister up in Philadelphia, we don’t keep in touch much.”

She asked how he knew Meg.

“We work at the same firm,” he explained. “Nothing exciting for my part. My office is buried in the back.” He tried to sound smooth, but his mouth was dry and not working well.

She nodded approval. “I have an account with her firm. She’s British, you know.”

“Born in Boston, I thought.”

After a few minutes, she stepped back. So, that’s it, he guessed, now comes the polite “nice chatting with you” part. Well, it had been nice. Coming to the party had been worthwhile after all. He certainly had received more than his share of her attention. He assumed she was parting to resume mingling, however she just reaching to the table for a canapé. She didn’t seem to notice her breast brushed hard against his arm.

Events moved fast from then on.

Abruptly, she whispered something about leaving the party. He thought she meant later and alone. She meant right then and with him. He went over and thanked Meg for the invitation. She apologized for not getting free to talk with him and suggested he stick around. They could talk after the party. Loraine was already waiting by the door so he supposed he’d better go. Meg appeared troubled.

As soon as they got outside, Loraine grabbed his arm and started to walk fast. “Let’s go.”

“You want a ride home?” he asked.

“Anything to drink at your place?”

“My place? Uh, wine?” He should explain his new apartment was barely furnished.

“What kind?”

“Not sure...it’s white.”

“How cute, it’s white. Christ. Is it at least fresh? Never mind. Your place will do. Where’s your car?”

“That’s mine over there, the green one.” He pointed.

“You’ve got to be joking. We’ll take mine.”

She started off and he hurried after her. Understanding women wasn’t one of his strong points.

At the end of that night with Loraine, there was no doorstep affection, no exchange of phone numbers and no promise to meet again. He gave her an awkward little grin meaning such casual sex was unusual for him. She, no doubt, had already figured that one out.

And that was it.

That’s what he thought.

She phoned a week later on Saturday morning. He was making instant coffee, and his biggest problem was whether he could get by that day without shaving. Regrettably, he answered the phone.

She wanted to meet him at the Inn Towner motel. Sounding frantic and insistent, she hung up without explaining. At that point, he didn’t think she was actually nutty, only a bit off and he could live with that. Normal women weren’t within the range of his experience anyway.

Why the call? Wasn’t their night together supposed to be just a party thing? Of course, one-night stands happen all the time—well, not to him. Perhaps he’d been better in bed than he thought. Deciding on a Saturday morning rendezvous with a woman wasn’t difficult even if it meant changing out of his sweats and sneakers. He didn’t want the relationship to go anywhere, even so would he like a second go around? Sure. Counting the months before the divorce and the time after the divorce, he had a lot to make up for. And there was available and willing Loraine perhaps phoning for an encore. Whether a woman desires only a one-night stand had always confused him.