Serendipity By Rocky

CHAPTER 9

Eleanor sat primly on the filthy wooden bench beside her daughter, staring straight ahead, trying to ignore the other occupants of the cell. A large peroxide blonde that slouched in the far corner gazed back at her in a bored fashion, periodically picking her teeth with one chipped red fingernail. At the other end of the cell a couple of skinny, stringy haired, girls of indeterminate age whispered together and collapsed into shrill giggles pointing at things that were evident only to them in their drug induced haze. Her hands reached up to her throat for the hundredth time searching for pearls that weren't there.

Sherri on the other hand, couldn't help but look around the room in fear. The tall hooker caught her red and swollen eyes and held them with an undisguised leer, followed by a wink and a blown kiss. Terrified she wrung her hands and cast her gaze quickly to the floor. She sniffled and brought one hand up to wipe away an errant tear on her cheek.

"Sherri-Louise, stop your blubbering this instant!" The Short red head commanded. "This is all a horrible misunderstanding. We will be out of here in no time at all. Now sit up and act like a lady." She smoothed the knees of her slacks and folded her hands in her lap. "I do hope that we're not late for church." She stated vacuously.

Sherri was in misery. Eleanor was in denial. And the tall Hooker was still in the corner snickering. Lock up was more entertaining on this Saturday night, than it had been in weeks.

Later in the night, a beefy Matron staggered up to the stretched wire door of the cell, reeling under the weight of a huge drunken woman. As the door swung open the drunk decided to take a swing at the female cop, who deftly ducked and used the woman's momentum to push her into the room. The gargantuan woman staggered three and a half steps before falling forward to land on her hands and knees at Eleanor's feet. The drunk looked up at the short woman on the bench through glazed and rheumy eyes, grinning with a smile that had no top front teeth. With a look of horror Eleanor shrank back, glaring at the drunken woman. The drunk's head rolled forward on her shoulders, she groaned and shuddered, puking a heated yellow stream onto a pair of beige three hundred-dollar Italian shoes. Blanching, Mrs. Stafford's eyes rolled back in her head, she then passed out cold into Sherri's lap.

The Hooker in the corner hooted and howled, doubling over with laughter.

Murray stood up from the wooden bench and walked up to the desk as the Matron led the Stafford women out. "Where do I sign?" He asked the rotund sergeant.

The round policeman handed him a sheaf of papers and pulled two bulky envelopes from under the counter. "The ladies will have to sign for these themselves." He said, placing a clipboard beside the papers, and left one hammy paw on top the envelopes.

Turning to the young Auburn woman, Murray held out his hand to greet her. "Miss Stafford, I'm Murray Hodgekiss; I work for your father. I'm here to help sort this matter out."

Sherri shook his hand left handed since the right was involved in propping up her mother. Her eyes seemed to apologize for her semi-catatonic mother. "Thank you Mr. Hodgekiss. Can we go home now?"

"Yes, I've posted your bail, so all you have to do is sign the release for the desk sergeant to get your possessions back."

Sherri steered her mother towards the desk. "Come on Mother, let's get your pearls back.

Eleanor brightened at the word 'pearls' and eagerly took the pen and signed her name. She tore open the envelope and pulled the glossy string from its depths. With the row of oyster gems clasped back around her neck where they belonged, her posture and attitude went from slumped and withdrawn to poised and self-righteous. "Mr. Hodgekiss could you bring around the car." She looked up at the wire-enclosed clock above the desk. "I don’t want to be late for church."

Murray could only stand and stare as the short red head marched passed him to the door. He turned to her daughter and sniffed at the strange sour odor that wafted up. "What is that 'smell'?" He wondered out loud.

"Don't ask." Sherri said quickly and hurried to catch up with her mother.

Amy's ass was cold. She burrowed into the blanket tugging at its edge trying to pull it over her exposed backside. Her bed partner had rolled over in her sleep taking most of the blanket with her. She tried to ignore it and snuggle up to the warm broad back of her lover but sleep wouldn't return. Finally she whispered, "Baby… come on… roll over. You're hogging the quilt." The brunette was dead to the world. Amy slid her fingers down to touch Rory's belly under her ribs tickling softly, and put her lips next to the sleeping woman's ear. "My ass is freezing. Roll over. …Please!"

Rory gave a little grunt and flopped over onto her back. Amy now had more of the blanket but she was also trapped under one out-flung arm. 'Oh great!' Amy thought as she wiggled out from under the constricting limb. She pillowed her head on a cozy shoulder and cuddled close to her lover's lanky frame. 'Ah that's better!' Sleep was almost pulling her under when a miniature lumberjack fired up a chain saw right above her head. '…SHIT!'

Leaning up on one elbow, Amy glared at the source of the noise. Rory's mouth hung wide open and every second breath was expelled with a snore that registered ten point six on the Richter scale. It had to be the pain medication. From her limited experience Amy knew that Rory rarely slept on her back, preferring to spoon, or sleep on her stomach with one arm holding the smaller woman close.

Several little experiments failed, like holding her lover's mouth shut by pushing with one finger on her chin, it simply fell back open like a ventriloquist's dummy. While Amy had fun for a few moments pretending that Rory was making lewd comments, she went back to the matter at hand. The tickling thing had only worked the once. Pinching Rory's nose only made her louder to the point that the windows seemed to rattle. Now the sleepy blonde was seriously considering shaking the larger woman awake.

…Then she hit on an idea that just might work.

The raucous noise halted mid-burr. Rory's eyes snapped open, WIDE open. Her mind had yet to catch up with her body, she thought perhaps she was still dreaming. No, this was no dream and she was most definitely awake. She lifted up the cover and looked down, two shining green eyes smiled back.

"Good Morning!" Said the lump under the covers. "Could you please roll over so I can go back to sleep?"

"Do you seriously think that I can go back to sleep after you've been doing that?"

"…Well, I figured that you would either let me go back to sleep or let me continue. Either way I was pretty sure that you wouldn't be mad about being woke up. Sort of a win - win situation. Don't you think?"

Rory couldn't fault the logic of that. She reached over and snagged Amy's pillow and tucked it with her own. Grinning and cupping her hands behind her head, she leaned back to enjoy being woken up in the very best possible way there ever was on a lazy Sunday morning.

The service had ended and the congregation stood to leave the church. Small groups stood about gossiping and exchanging pleasantries. Carson stopped to shake hands with the minister and then led his wife and daughter out to the car. He gave the appearance of an average family man, smiling and waving to friends and acquaintances as they passed through the church parking lot, instead of a man who raged with anger and shame at the thought of his wife and daughter spending the night in the county lock-up with the very lowest forms of humanity.

He hadn't said a word when the car arrived at the house. He simply stood and waited patiently while the two women got cleaned up and dressed for church. Now on the ride home his ire was slowly seeping up to the surface; showing up in little ways, hard glances, a tightly clenched jaw, and the throbbing vein at his temple. Carson Stafford was a ticking time bomb and the count was racing down to zero.

Anger smoldering, Carson pulled the sedan into the driveway and walked around the car to hold the doors open for his daughter and his wife. He only said one word as they entered the front room from the foyer. "Sit." His tone was sharp and hard like flint, and indicated that he would brook no argument of any sort. As Eleanor and Sherri perched themselves on the edge of the sofa, the quiet, graying and slightly balding man walked over to the bar and mixed a pitcher of Gimlets. He handed each of the women a drink and went back to fill one for himself. The epitome of dysfunctional family living: Cocktails before verbally abusing each other.

"El, what in Hades did you think you were doing?" The anger was now fully evident on Carson's face. His knuckles squeezed whitely on the etched crystal of the glass.

"I tried to explain to that rude man that the only reason that we were trying to go in the window of Chrissy's house is because there was something wrong with the lock and the key wouldn't turn." Eleanor explained and then paused to take a dainty sip from her drink. "The police wouldn't listen either… I tell you that it is all just a terrible mistake!"

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head Carson turned and glared at his daughter. "Sherri, I can not for the life of me, understand what you were doing there." He said, dismissing his wife's comment with a wave of the hand. "Your mother doing something like this is disturbing enough… But you should have much more sense than that. I am very disappointed with you!"

Sherri sat without speaking, contemplating the soft suede of her father's shoes. She had no words for how foolish it felt, as if the night in jail wasn't enough. Now under the cold scrutiny of her father's steely gaze she was a small child again. At one point in her life, she had been safely ignored in her older sister's shadow, expectations were low and she gloried in the freedom that had allowed. Now, since the upheaval of her sister's banishment, the crushing weight of her parent's expectations left her with little to no self-esteem. No excuse was going to pacify her father. She was tired, depressed and pissed at her sister for causing this whole mess, glancing up from the floor to Carson's face and then back down to the ice in her drink. "Sorry Daddy…" She spoke softly and hung her head and waiting for the world to end.

Surprisingly the explosion that both of the women waited for never came. Carson simply walked back to the bar and poured the last of the liquid into his glass. "You will not embarrass me like this again." He spoke slowly in low tones, imprinting every syllable upon the static air. He downed his drink and brought the glass down on the brass tray on the bar with a bang. He then turned on his heel and left the room.

Mother and daughter sat there sat for long minutes as if waiting for dismissal. The sound of the car starting up in the drive broke the spell. Without a word, they retreated to opposite ends of the house to lick their wounds and get some much-needed sleep.

Murray sat in the hot seat. The verbal tirade had been going on for the past fifteen minutes and there was no end in sight. He let the angry words wash over him, realizing from the get go that his client was in a word, 'a prick'. He sat sifting out any real information that would have to be answered for after the yelling had stopped. Finally Stafford ran out of choice material and allowed the chewing-out to wind down to a slamming of the case file on the desk.

The P.I. leaned back in his chair and looked the angry man directly in the eye, daring him to continue. Finally steepling his fingers and tilting his head to signal arrogant pride, the investigator cleared his throat. "I'm sorry that your wife and daughter wound up in the can Mr. Stafford… BUT I had nothing to do with it. In fact they would have still been there if I hadn't pulled some strings -- so back off!" He rose from his chair and flipped open the file. "It's all in here. The subject wasn't even in town… You hired me to investigate Rochelle Winters and post surveillance on the house… Not baby-sit your wife!"

Carson glanced down at the papers that spilled from the file. On the top of the pile was a photo of his estranged daughter and her lover waiting in line at an airline gate. He picked it up and looked on the back. 'Friday- 11:25PM' was written there. Sitting back down and examining the picture, Carson's whole demeanor changed. "Interesting… " He appeared to be deep in thought, two fingers tapping at the side of his jaw. "Why wasn't I made aware of this sooner?"

"You've been difficult to get a hold of, otherwise I'd have contacted you about your wife as well."

"Yes, I see. I've been busy addressing other concerns." Carson looked slightly uncomfortable. "Um… Let me read your report and we'll proceed from there. I'll see that you get compensated for the unpleasant business with my wife and daughter." This was as close to an apology that the Investigator was going to get. "Keep digging, Mr. Hodgekiss, I need everything you can get on Mrs. Winters before this Wednesday."

When the man behind the desk didn't look back up, Murray let himself out of the office and didn't allow himself a sigh of relief until he emerged from the building. 'No more of these weird cases, just stick to insurance fraud and cheating husbands…' Murray's thoughts cartwheeled into each other. 'Hey, wait a minute.' Alarm bells started ringing in his head. "What an asshole!" He muttered to himself as the uncomfortable realization hit him like a brick.

"Let's sit here." The tall executive moved to a table by the window hobbling along on her crutches and sat being very careful not to jar her cast on the chromed steel support under the table.

Amy followed behind her and set the tray down on the table. She was equally careful not to accidentally kick her lover's broken foot. "Wonder if Mom and Sherri are still in jail?" She wondered out loud.

"I thought you said your father was going to bail them out."

Separating the contents between the two of them, Amy set the tray on the end of the table. "Well yes he will, that is if he's in town this weekend. He has to travel a great deal because of his job."

"So what exactly does your father do anyway?" Rory asked, peeling back the waxed paper on a muffin-egg sandwich.

Amy poked a straw into a paper cup of orange juice and handed it to the tall woman across the table. "He's a regional manager for State Unity Banks." The small blonde frowned she couldn't stop thinking of the unpleasant business back home. There would be plenty of time to worry about that in a couple of days. It would be better to simply immerse her soul in the budding relationship and the sheer joy of falling in love. But no, the little fears were always there, niggling at the back of her mind. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm trying to get my head around why your mother needed to break into your aunt's house. It sounds to me like your dad makes a pretty decent salary, and there's nothing of any real value in your aunt's house for her to take. Sorry, I can't help but wonder what in the world could be so important that she reduce herself to a B and E?"

Amy laughed, "Mom has always been a snoop and a gossip. It was probably driving her crazy, with the reading of the will coming up, that she has no idea what is in Aunt Christen's house." She stirred her coffee slowly, in her head she walked through the rooms of the house. "You know, other than a few of the antiques and some of the books there isn't really that much there. Uncle Paul and Aunt Christen spent all their money traveling. They'd teach for a few terms and then as soon as they had enough money saved, Bam! Off they went." A lump gathered in her throat. "I have the most wonderful Post Card collection."

Seeing the young writer start to mist up, Rory covered the small hand with her own. "I'm sorry honey, I didn't mean to make you hurt again."

"No,… No. It's okay. It's a good hurt. I just realized that even though they're gone the love is still there. It's kinda' nice in a sad way, all the good times are still there waiting to be remembered."

They sat there in silence for several long moments holding hands over the table. Amy lost herself in a few fond memories and Rory lost herself in the warmth she felt simply watching and loving the woman across the table.

A particular wonderful memory rose to the surface of Amy's reverie. She had been helping clean out the attic and she had found a trunk full of old clothes. She and Aunt Christen had laughed at all the old fashions, trying them on and modeling them for each other. The show her aunt put on, strutting around in the attic in one of Uncle Paul's old polyester disco suits had made her laugh so hard, that she'd almost peed her pants. There was something else about that day? What was it?

"What's in here?" Amy asked as she pulled the ancient steamer out from a corner. She had so much fun with the last trunk she was hoping it had more of the same.

Christen tugged a dust rag out of her hip pocket and lovingly swept the enamel surface clean. "Not today sweetie… This is Grammy's trunk, we're not going to open this one."

They had pushed the heavy box back into the corner and Aunt Christen had never spoke of it again. The strangest thing about that afternoon was that the older woman had gone quiet after that and they had opened and sorted every other container in the storage space.

A stunned look of revelation swept over Amy's face. "Grammy's Trunk!" The small woman jumped up from the table and did a little 'Happy Dance' right in the aisle of the restaurant, much to the delight of her companion.

Rory giggled at the exuberant display. "Your Grandmother was an elephant?" She teased. "Or was Jerry VanDyke your Uncle?"

"Who?"

"You know… the show… 'My Mother the car' …Jerry VanDyke…" Rory sighed. "Forget it, I've dated myself that's all." She shook herself in order to lose the 'age thing' that had crept up on her. "So what's so special about this trunk that it has you so excited?"

Amy was vibrating with excitement. "It's got to be the thing that Mom is after."

"Why, what's in it?" Rory asked puzzled.

Grinning widely Amy responded. "That's just it… I don't know. I don't think anyone else does either."

"Except for maybe your Mother." Rory wadded up the sandwich wrapper and set it with the rest of the empty containers on the tray.

"Either way. If she knows, it's something she wants enough to break into the house." Grabbing the tray Amy walked over to the bin and emptied it and set it on the rack above. She sat back down and grasped both of her lover's hands in her own. "…And If she doesn't know what's in Grammy's trunk, her snoopy nature would drive her insane to find out what is." Green eyes sparkled, the small woman's impish inclination written all over her face.

When they had stopped at the office to drop off the insurance forms from the hospital, neither one of them wanted to discuss the items they had found in Rory's desk drawer. Instead they focused on packing and catching the next flight back to solve the mystery of Grammy's trunk.

"Tell me again," George asked, "We are doing this, why?"

Murray clasped George's hand in his own. It felt right, like there hadn't been a twenty-year gap in their relationship. "I have a bad feeling about this jerk. Call it a hunch. He's got something sleazy on the side and I intend to find out what before he drags me down with him."

The now ex-security guard look out the window of his car down to the parking lot of State Unity Bank. "Sleazy How? I mean why do you want me to tail this guy?"

"Aside from the fact that he's a total 'phobe, I always have to wait for him to call me. He disappears at the drop of a hat and I want to know where." He rubbed his thumb over George's knuckles. "This is nice, I'm glad you threw me into that bush."

George smiled warmly. "I'm glad I pulled you out."

"Here he comes… He's never met you so just keep him in sight and let me know where he goes." They watched as Carson unlocked his car and got in. Reluctantly they parted and George waited until Murray got out of the car before he pulled away from the curb after the dark sedan.

Sticking his hands deep in his pockets Murray turned and walked in the opposite direction, feeling better about himself than he had in days. In the past week of watching the York house he had fostered a slight affection for the Stafford girl and her tall lover and his dislike for her father had grown by leaps and bounds. 'Something reeks and it's not in Denmark… It's right here.' He thought and hurried down the street to his car.

(c) 1999 S. Day

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