Morning

Alongside State Highway 32



“Damn,” Joy Donovan muttered angrily as she leaned under the hood of her rental car, a waft of smoke drifting up towards her face.

She reached down into the engine and began to wiggle a few fires. Although she had no idea exactly what she was doing – or exactly why she should be doing it – it always seemed like something they did in the movies. After all, simple auto repairs weren’t something they’d taught in the poshest European boarding schools.

After another stream of smoke billowed out of the engine, streaking her carefully made-up face, she realized that any attempt on her part to get the clunker moving would be futile. Damn that rental service for this hunk of junk and for suggesting that a scenic drive into town would be relaxing after her long flight.

Joy slammed the car hood down and reached into her purse for her cell phone. She was definitely going to give her editor hell for this fiasco.

“Oh, come on!” she screamed at the phone and its telltale absence of bars. “You can’t tell me that there’s no service out here!”

With an exasperated sigh, she stuffed the phone back into her purse and slumped back against the car. What in the world was she going to do now?

Just then, off in the distance, Joy heard the faint rumblings of an engine. Someone was coming! She lowered her Dolce sunglasses and looked down the nearly deserted highway in time to see a motorcycle speeding in her direction.

“Hey! Stop!” She ran into the middle of the road, waving her arms wildly in an attempt to flag down the rider. To her relief, the bike began to slow down as it approached her, eventually coming to a stop behind her broken-down car.

She watched in nervous anticipation as the rider climbed off his bike and took off his helmet. Thankfully, he didn’t look like some reject from the Hell’s Angles – he was 30ish, dark hair, dashing good looks – quite the hottie, she thought.



“Having a bit of trouble, I see,” he smiled, walking over to her.

“You could say that.”

“Any idea what’s wrong?” He moved to the front of the car and lifted the hood, allowing another stream of smoke to escape.

“Do I look like a mechanic?” Joy folded her arms tightly across her chest and glared at him in response to what she’d perceived as a stupid question.

The man could only look back at her and grin smugly. “Well, I could give you a ride into town.” He paused, carefully examining her stylish clothes, clearly from the top designers. “That is if you’re not too scared to ride on the back of my bike.”

“Not much scares me,” she stated matter-of-factly, drawing a chuckle out of her Good Samaritan.

“I’m Chaz, by the way.” He wiped his dirty hand on his jeans before extending it to her. “I suppose we should at least be on a first name basis if you’re going to be riding down the highway with your arms wrapped around me.”

“I’m Joy,” she nodded with a smile, receiving his hand with her own.

“Where are you headed, Joy?” Chaz walked back towards his bike to retrieve a spare helmet for her.

“Rosehill,” she replied, following him. “I’m going there on business.”

“Isn’t that funny,” he laughed as he climbed back onto his bike. “That’s exactly where I’m headed, too.”


Rosehill

Beaver Ridge Complex

The loud banging of hammers echoed throughout the room and the smell of saw dust filled the air as construction workers went about their daily routine. Over in a corner in a makeshift office that consisted of little more than two sheets of plywood stretched over four aluminum saw horses, Andy Marriott sat in front of his laptop computer, various technical diagrams, plans, and notations strewn about by his side. He leaned back into his chair and began to massage his temples in a valiant attempt to prevent the throbbing headache that he’d noticed was already beginning to build – even before his second pot of coffee.



“Andy, what’s going on?” John Prentiss asked as he hurried through the front doors of what was supposed to be the lobby, past the workers, and towards his business partner. “What’s so important that you called me and drug me down here? Don’t you know what’s going on with my family right now?”

“Look, John, I’m sorry. I know you’ve got other stuff to deal with right now, but this really couldn’t wait.” Andy rose from his chair and took a deep breath before handing a ledger to John to look at. “Where’s Suzanne?”

“She’s in the car with Tess – waiting on me.” John examined the ledger closely, running his finger down the page, checking every line. He turned to paperclipped page to see a billing statement from their architect and another from their contractor. “But…these can’t be right.” His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. “I went over those numbers myself. I talked with Paulson personally! We had an agreement!”

“Apparently, he’s forgotten all about it.” Andy anxiously began pacing around the room. “John, this isn’t good. If we don’t make the changes he’s requiring – if we can’t afford to make the changes and pay him his fee – he’s pulling out of the project. That’s the phone call I woke up to this morning.”

“He can’t do that! If he pulls out, how the hell are we going to find another designer and contractor this far into the project? How are we going to stay on budget?” John paused and ran his hands down his face, the full impact of the news starting to sink in. “Andy, if Paulson pulls out, we’re done. Do you understand that? We’ll lose everything!”

After a long silence, Andy carefully began to broach a topic that had long been on his mind, but hadn’t felt it had been his place to ask. “Does your wife know exactly how much money you’ve put into this?”

“No.” John’s voice echoed inside his own head, his brain running a mile a minute. “All I told her was that I was dipping into my trust fund to partner up with you on this project. Suzanne doesn’t have a clue that I funneled the entire trust – including what we set aside for the baby – into Beaver Ridge. If this thing goes under, I’m going to lose a lot more than every single dime I have to my name. She’s going to….”



“John?” His wife, Suzanne Prentiss, called from the doorway, their infant daughter Tess cradled in her arms. “Don’t you know what time it is? Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“Y-yes, dear, of course.” John’s eyes darted from her to Andy and back again. “We need to go meet your family.” He turned back to Andy and shot his a stern look, silently warning him to both not say a word to Suzanne and to fix the mess that had been created.

As John & Suzanne hurried out of the lobby, Andy reached for the coffee pot to pour the last remaining bit of the first pot into a cup. However, looking at the now burnt coffee with disgust, he realized that he was in dire need of a much stronger start to the day and reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a flask, and proceeded to fill his mug with whiskey instead.


The Sterling Home



Vanessa Sterling stood silently by her living room window and gazed out at the morning. Outside, children were playing; neighbors were walking their dogs – people simply going about their daily lives. She paused and leaned down to sniff one of the flowers in the bouquet that always kept sitting by the window. Today they were filled with red roses. They’d always been her favorite. Vanessa had to laugh since she, herself, had always much preferred yellow.

She let out a weary sigh. It had only been a few years since she’d lost her beloved Bruce after over 40 years of marriage – well, combined years, but she didn’t like to dwell on past mistakes – and now this.



“Aunt Van,” Betsy Harper spoke up as she entered the room from the kitchen, two cups in her hand, “I made coffee. I thought we all could use it this morning.”

“Thank you, dear,” Van smiled, taking the cup into her hands, before seeming to realize someone was missing. “Ben? Where’s Ben?”

“He went to the airport to pick up the girls,” Betsy explained. “Their flight from Switzerland should be landing any minute. And I talked to Lynn this morning; she’s going to meet us before the service. She wanted to stop by and see Alex at the hospital.”

“Of course,” Van muttered with a nod.

“Stacy and A.J. are already at the chapel. They went early to make sure everything was taken care of. None of us wants you to worry about a thing.”

But Van was worried. She walked back over to the window and set her cup down onto the table before smelling the roses again. She took in a long, deep breath and then exhaled slowly as Betsy came up behind her and took her into her arms.

Since childhood, they’d been polar opposites, each approaching life from opposite ends of the spectrum. Oh, sure, they’d had their battles through the years – some even quite nasty – but, in the end, they’d always been there for one another. And now….

Van’s sister, Meg Hart Marriott, had been murdered and today was the day of her funeral. The only source of strength that she’d been able to find during the last few days had been from her family and friends. She nodded slowly with that acknowledgement. Thank God for them, because if it weren’t for them, Vanessa surely didn’t know if she’d be able to survive this.