“Okay, sounds good. I’ll follow up with you next week with any thoughts I have, and then we’ll regroup and plan a visit when you get back. Have a great time.”
“Thank you, Riley, I’ll try.”
A week had gone by and Riley tried to honor Jameson’s request, but “going out and getting fresh air” as he’d suggested wasn’t specific enough for her. She didn’t know what to do with herself. After college, where she’d met her best friend, she started working immediately and hadn’t had much of a social life. The people in New York she knew the best were the shop owners around her block. Not much of a joiner, Riley had a hard time making friends, and if it weren’t for being placed together as roommates freshman year, she and Colette never would have become friends either. As luck would have it though, they hit it off and stayed close, even with the distance between them geographically.
Riley was bored and with two more weeks without her work buddy, she knew she had to find something productive to do with her time, so she checked out her latest requests for freelance work and decided to pick up a couple of small jobs to occupy her time. Graduating at the top of her class with excellent communication skills, she’d managed to work freelance writing almost immediately and had developed a loyal and robust client base. She may have been an introvert in her personal life, but professionally, Riley was dynamic and had the skills and work ethic to have her own business at a young age.
Now thirty, she had her pick of jobs. She had all but taken the last year off to work on Jameson’s project, but she wasn’t hurting for incoming requests. As she perused the list, she found two easy blog posts that needed to be written, and emailed the clients to let them know she’d take the work on and would have it done within a few days. Grinning, she started to feel useful again, a sensation that kept her from wallowing in boredom or self-pity, whichever crept in first.
Able to complete the jobs relatively quickly, she took on a few more to help the time pass. Only a few times did she think she should find something to do outside her apartment, but the moments passed quickly enough that she didn’t give them a second thought, and continued to hole herself up inside.
By the end of the second week, Riley hadn’t left her apartment once. Finally, she decided she needed to stretch her legs and go for a walk. Spring was almost over and the heat of the city would soon be too much to bear, so she grabbed her crossbody bag, put
some shoes on, and headed for the elevator. Her building was located near Columbus Circle, and the area had plenty of places to walk as well as several nearby shops and restaurants. She couldn’t remember when she ate last—a pitfall of making your own hours—and when she thought about it, a rumble in her stomach reminded her it had been a while and she should find some nourishment. Preferably in the form of Chinese food, she thought.
After filling her belly and walking off the egg rolls and lo mein, she ventured back to her apartment. Since it was only mid-afternoon on a Friday, it seemed like the perfect time for a nap. But when Riley arrived home, there was a large towering man who looked to be in his mid to late fifties standing in front of her door. Panic set in and Riley wasn’t sure whether to go back down to the lobby or confront the man. While she stood, frozen, trying to figure out why he was there, he spoke up.
“Ms. Maxwell?” he asked.
“Who’s asking?” she snarled back, trying to sound tough.
“My name is Bernard Dubois.” He studied her from afar as she waited for him to continue. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced, but I am in the employ of Mr. Jameson Prescott. He… uh… sent me.”
“What do you mean, he sent you?” she snapped at him.
Bernard held up a large manilla envelope she hadn’t noticed and held it out. “I’ve been instructed to deliver this to you.”
Relaxing a bit, noticing this Bernard character was seemingly harmless, she approached and took the envelope. “What is this?” she asked as she took it gently from his hand.
“It’s a letter from Mr. Prescott’s attorney.”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?” Her confusion grew and her heart began to race.
“No, ma’am. There are instructions inside. I must be going now.” He nodded and quickly walked past her toward the elevator.
Spinning around, she yelled out, “Wait! Is Mr. Prescott okay?”
Bernard bowed his head and sighed. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Maxwell. But everything you need to know is in that envelope. Best of luck to you.”
With that, he disappeared, leaving her in the hallway with the unopened envelope, which simply said: “Riley Maxwell” scrawled in thick, black marker.
3
Donovan
As he listened to the dog’s breathing, Donovan could hear the faintest sound of a wheeze coming from Bradley’s lungs. A pooch known for his allergy issues, he was having a flare-up, and his owner, Mrs. Beverly Alderidge, had brought him in to get him checked out.
“Sounds like his hay fever isn’t quite over yet, Mrs. Alderidge,” he said as he plucked the stethoscope from his ears and wrapped it around his neck.
“Oh, Doctor, does he need the doggie prednisone again?” she asked.
In her late forties, Beverly Alderidge was the poster model for her peers. With fresh botox and an expensive dye job, she almost passed for mid-thirties and she certainly didn’t behave like the trophy wife of a tycoon. But, she was. After twelve years of marriage, Beverly spent the better part of the summers in Port Henry without her husband, who seemed to work through it instead of enjoying the spoils. This didn’t stop her from throwing lavish parties all season, and it definitely didn’t stop her from trying to bed the veterinarian every chance she got. Beverly brought Bradley, a six-year-old Irish Setter in every three weeks with some sort of allergy. Likely some hypochondria brought on by her own incessant allergies.
Trying not to stare at her enormous cleavage popping out the top of her skin-tight tank top, Donovan said, “Yes, he’ll need some prednisone, but you should have some left from the last time you were here, right?” He prescribed some not two weeks earlier, so there should be plenty left.
“Oh yes, I can use that?” she asked, obviously squeezing her tits together as she leaned over the table between them. Now, he couldn’t help but grin, she was laying it on so thick.
“You can. Just follow the same directions as before. If you don’t remember them, they’re on the label.”