Two Guys Detective Agency (10 page)
to their own devices to the point of neglect, and other times he would appear and shower them with
expensive, impractical gifts. During his long absences they were forced to pool their babysitting money for
groceries, then Nelson would return with Italian leather jackets for both of them or a giant TV for the living
room, and once — a pony for Octavia.
Of course, Nelson rarely thought past lunch, so little details like where the horse would be stabled and
fed, had escaped him. The pony had subsequently been taken away. Octavia had been despondent.
“Have you talked to our old man lately?” Octavia asked.
Apparently, they’d been remembering the same story. “I called him last month on his birthday. We
talked for a while.”
“What on earth about?”
“The kids mostly...but he always asks about you.”
“Please don’t tell him anything about my life.”
“It’s not as if I know a lot of details to share,” Linda pointed out. “I usually just tell him that you’re
well.”
“For how much longer will he be locked up?”
“Eight months, I think.”
“Good God, what a wasted life. The Guy family legacy.”
Words of protest sprang to Linda’s tongue, but she couldn’t in good conscience argue, not when she
was questioning her own choices. They rode in silence for a few minutes, each of them marinating in their
own melancholy. At least when they were young, they were optimistic their adult lives would be better than
their childhood. Now...
“What are you going to do?” Octavia asked.
“About what?”
“About everything. How will you and the kids survive? Did Sullivan have life insurance?”
“We’ll manage,” Linda said evasively. “The children will receive social security until they’re out of high
school.”
“That can’t be much.”
“I’ll get a job.”
“Doing what?”
Linda frowned. “I have skills.”
“Did you ever finish your degree?”
She’d always intended to. “No.”
“Jarrod said something this morning about you winning prizes?”
“Oh. I enter contests, just for fun, and sometimes I win little things.”
“Like a pallet of Kleenex?”
“Yes.” She sighed, thinking of how many boxes she’d already depleted.
“You could’ve been anything you wanted to be,” Octavia said, her voice full of disapproval.
Linda bristled. “I am what I want to be — I’m a mother, and wife — ” She broke off, remembering
with a start that she was no longer a wife. She wiped her hand over her mouth, determined to keep the tears
at bay. “My children keep me busy.”
“Being busy is not the same as being fulfilled.”
“Oh? And are you fulfilled, Octavia?”
Octavia’s mouth tightened. “I’m...recognized.”
“As Richard Habersham’s wife,” Linda added quietly. “
You
could’ve been anything you wanted to be.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Your entire body says so.”
Octavia turned to stare at the passing landscape. Linda bit down on the inside of her cheek, regretting
her remarks. But her sister’s comments had landed too close to their mark — a few days ago she’d been
lamenting that she wasn’t feeling fulfilled...and look where it had gotten her.
God, what a mess. She gripped the steering wheel. If not for Jarrod and Maggie, she’d be tempted to
drop off Octavia, and keep driving until the van ran out of gas...and just start over.
As if he sensed the tension in the vehicle, Max woofed to break the silence, then began to bay.
“What’s his problem?” Octavia asked, putting her fingers in her ears.
“He probably needs to be walked,” she said, reaching out to quiet Max with a pat. “How much further?”
“About twenty miles or so.”
They were entering the outskirts of Louisville, a rambling river city steeped in history and tradition,
much like Lexington. Louisville was world renowned for the Kentucky Derby and as the hub of the horse
industry, but insiders knew the heart of the business was in Lexington and Versailles, where limestone-fed
bluegrass made for strong equine bones, and the yearling sales drew international buyers.
Linda had always perceived Louisville to be the older sister to Lexington...and a bit of a bully.
Not unlike the Guy family dynamic.
“He’s kind of an old dog for the kids, don’t you think?” Octavia observed with a frown.
“Max is a retired police bloodhound. He helped solve lots of missing persons cases. Bloodhounds’ sense
of smell is so sensitive, they can distinguish human skin cells that are shed and passed out of a car’s
exhaust.”
Octavia seemed unimpressed, fanning her hand in the air. “You’d think he could smell his own bad
breath.”
Linda laughed. “Max is too old to track long distances now, but he’s a good watch dog, very protective
of the kids.”
“Protective is good,” her sister murmured almost absent-mindedly.
Linda suspected she was thinking they could’ve used some protection when they were children. After
their mother had left, they’d really only had each other, and Octavia had borne the brunt of the
responsibility for herself and her younger sister. Linda’s heart softened...no wonder her sister was so tough
— she’d always had to be.
“Turn here,” Octavia said, gesturing.
As they entered an upscale residential area, her sister became more antsy, fidgeting and sitting on the
edge of her seat. Her head pivoted, and Linda realized she was looking for Richard or his car. With every
turn they made, the houses got bigger and more impressive. At length, they turned into a gatehouse. When
they stopped, a guard came out and Linda buzzed down the window.
“It’s me — Mrs. Habersham,” Octavia said, waving from the passenger seat.
The guard nodded in recognition, but his face looked tense. “Welcome home, ma’am.” He glanced at
the aged minivan with skepticism and looked as if he were about to add something else, then he opened a
gate and waved them through.
“What do you drive?” Linda asked as she wove her way through the affluent neighborhood, following
Octavia’s directions.
“A Jag convertible.”
Of course she did, Linda thought with a stab of envy. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it could
certainly lubricate the sad times.
“It’s the gray house on the right,” Octavia said, pointing.
And what a house it was. Linda pulled into the driveway slowly and gaped. It was a compound, the
brick mansion and grounds easily as large as a commercial building, and perfectly manicured. She pulled
up and parked in front of the four-car garage.
“Wow,” was all she could say.
“Okay, well, thanks for the ride,” Octavia said, leaning forward for a quick hug.
So she wasn’t even going to invite her inside. That stung, but Linda herself had been eager to deliver
Octavia back to her world so she could return to her own.
“You’re welcome,” Linda said. “Do you mind if I walk Max before I leave?”
Octavia hesitated. “Okay...just keep him out of the flowers.”
“Don’t worry,” Linda said, holding up a plastic bag. “I’ll clean up after him.”
Octavia wrinkled her nose. “Goodbye, Linda....call me sometime.”
Sometime — not when or if she needed her, but sometime. And it was clear Octavia didn’t intend to
call her.
“Sure,” Linda said.
Octavia climbed out of the van and marched toward the front door of the colossal house, then walked
inside without looking back.
“Come on, Max,” Linda said, waving him out of the van. She looked back to the closed front door,
fighting unexpected tears. “Do your business so we can get out of here.”
OCTAVIA CLOSED THE door behind her, and puffed her cheeks out in an exhale. She knew it was
rude not to ask Linda to come inside, but she wanted to be alone to sort things out...and to confront Richard
if he was home.
“Richard?”
Her voice echoed in the soaring two-story entryway. Gleaming black marble flooring was the perfect
foil for the sweeping white double staircase that led to the respective wings of the house. A dazzling three-
tiered chandelier that hung over the shared landing winked a welcome. She inhaled the scent of freesia that
she’d selected as her signature home fragrance and savored the silence for a few seconds — no boisterous
neighbors, kids, or dogs.
But no husband either?
“Richard?”
she shouted in a decibel that would pierce even his closed office door on the second floor.
No answer.
If the coward were there, his Mercedes would be in the garage. She marched through the vast dining
room with the table that seated twenty-two, the massive kitchen with commercial grade appliances, and the
mud room (which had never seen a speck of mud), to the door leading to the garage and flung it open.
It took a few seconds for her to register the fact that Richard’s car was not in its usual parking spot...and
neither was her Jag convertible.
Nor the backup BMW.
Panic nipped at her. What was going on?
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Carla standing there in her gray uniform dress, with a
fearful look on her pretty face. “Mrs. Habersham — ” She stopped and looked Octavia up and down,
clearly surprised by the way she was dressed.
Octavia gritted her teeth. “
What
, Carla?”
“Some men came...they had these papers to take the cars.” She held up a handful of neon-colored
forms. “I couldn’t stop them.”
Her head swam. “Has my husband called?”
“No.” But Carla wasn’t making eye contact.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Carla looked up. “Some things are gone.”
“What kinds of things?”
“The silver.”
“The silver?”
“And the framed drawing in the library.”
“The Picasso?”
“And some of Mr. Habersham’s clothing.”
Swallowing hard, Octavia pushed past Carla and hurried upstairs to their bedroom. She threw open the
door to Richard’s walk-in closet and noted that more clothes were missing than were required for a
weekend in Lexington. A check of his jewelry case confirmed her worst suspicions: His most cherished
watches and cufflinks were gone. It seemed he’d planned an extended trip — without her.
She raced to Richard’s office. His laptop was gone, no surprise. She opened drawers in his desk to find
them virtually empty — where were their personal financial records? On the fax machine was the summary
report Frank had promised to send. Every line item sent her heart sliding lower. Not only were their
accounts empty, but their debt was gut-clenching, their mortgage payments — and everything else —
months overdue.
How could Richard have kept this from her?
She glanced around the room blindly, and in the back of her mind, registered something was out of
place. She scanned the room again and her gaze settled on the bookshelf behind Richard’s desk. Not out of
place — something was gone: the twenty thousand dollar Chihuly glass bowl she’d given him for his
birthday.
She leaned into his massive mahogany desk to keep from falling down...and spotted the letter Carla had
described from the sheriff’s office, the one that had been taped to the front door.
Octavia picked up the envelope, ran her finger under the flap, and pulled out the folded sheet of paper.
Writ of Eviction
. They had fourteen days to remove their personal belongings from the foreclosed property.
Foreclosed
.
It wasn’t possible. Not her big, gorgeous home, her trophy of success. The words on the page blurred.
There were ways to stop foreclosure...weren’t there? She’d only half-listened to the news as the foreclosure
epidemic had rolled over the country — it hadn’t pertained to her.
She picked up the cordless phone from Richard’s desk and hit the speed dial button for his direct line at
his office. The phone rang two, three times, then Richard’s voice came over the line.
A recording. “This is Richard Habersham. I’ve stepped away from my desk — ”
She cursed and threw the phone across the room. It hit a wall and exploded before crashing to the floor.
On the eviction notice she wrote with a black felt-tip marker “Fix this, Frank!!!!” and faxed it to the
accountant’s office. She stood still for several minutes and tried to breathe, tried to calm her sprinting heart.
Bright spots flashed behind her eyes. This could not be happening.
The fax machine kicked on and she saw a response was coming from Frank’s office. She heaved a sigh
of relief — Frank would know what to do. She waited as the hand-written message scrolled out of the
machine.
I can’t make any promises. And there is the matter of my outstanding bill. Have you been able to
reach Richard?
She crunched the piece of paper in her hands.
The rumble of a loud vehicle arriving outside brought her head around. She hurried to the window and
looked down on the front yard. A large delivery truck from a local big box electronics store had backed up
in the driveway. Surely Richard hadn’t ordered yet another piece of equipment for his prized home theater.