A Family Affair Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  A Family Affair

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  A Family Affair

  By Amber Gillet

  Copyright 2012 by Amber Gillet

  Cover Copyright Ginny Glass and Amber Gillet

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Family Affair

  The PMS Investigators, Book 1

  Amber Gillet

  -1-

  Accompanied by a steady and exceedingly annoying tapping on the outside of the bathroom door, my mother hollered loudly enough that my ninety year old grandmother would have been able to hear her.

  “Uncle Gordie has left at least a dozen messages for you since yesterday. I don’t know what is so urgent that he can’t even wait for you to call him back before leaving another.” She paused. “Paula? Paula? Are you even listening to me? Should I call Aunt DeDe and find out what’s going on? Paula?”

  My futile attempt to push the button lock located in the center of brass knob fast enough to keep her out wasn’t quite as successful as I’d hoped. Actually, I just barely had time to apply my body weight to the door and keep it from opening completely. She definitely hadn’t lost her quick draw abilities that she exercised regularly when I was a teenager.

  “Can you leave me alone? I am trying to get ready for work. And no, I don’t know what he wanted but I will call him before I leave. I promise, Alice.”

  I leaned back in to close the door and avoid an excruciating face to face conversation. This time I was extra careful to confirm that it was actually locked before I stepped away. She hated when I called her Alice, but the truth was it made me feel better, especially since I had recently moved back home. Being thirty-one and sleeping once again in the rosebud wallpapered bedroom of the house where I had spent more than the first half of my life was tough enough to stomach; having to call her Mom made the reality of my current living arrangements almost unbearable.

  Just a few weeks ago, I had a well paying job as an Account Executive for a national corporation, the kind of company where your boss may not remember your name on the elevator but doesn’t forget your face if you screw up miserably. I was leasing a fantastically over priced studio apartment in the heart of New Haven and spent the majority of my free time doing dirty things with my boyfriend Perry, whom I had met at work. At that point, I was pretty sure my life couldn’t get any better—now I am positive of it.

  Perry had started acting distant and wasn’t as readily available as he had been when we first started spending the majority of our free time together, which was usually naked. Shortly before we began dating, our company had established inter-office relationships as forbidden, so there were plenty of occasions where we pretended not to know each other. But when I mentioned his recent case of absenteeism on a more personal level to my closest friend-for-life, Mitexi, she convinced me that the best way to find out what was going on was to stalk him. “We’ll make it an adventure,” she promised. Are police usually involved in adventures? I wouldn’t think so, but by the end of our ‘adventure’, there was no shortage of blue uniforms and screaming sirens.

  In my heart I believed he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Whenever we were together, he stuck to me like frosting on a cake. So what if he wasn’t available as much as he had been when we first hooked up? After all, he was the Senior Vice President of Human Resources and realistically it made sense that he couldn’t spend all day in bed, no matter how much I begged. But as usual, Mitexi justified her zany scheme until I became convinced that any other logical approach to investigating my current predicament would never get me the real answers I was looking for. So we decided to start following him.

  We quickly discovered that he frequently came and went at one particular high rise; unfortunately it wasn’t the address he had told me he lived at. This revelation caused my bravery to diminish, but Mitexi reeled me back in by reminding me how naïve I had been since I met Perry. After all, I had never even questioned why we only met at my apartment, always ordered take out instead of going to a restaurant together or why he had never spent a full night with me.

  She insisted it was time to get to the bottom of his mysterious engagements, and then flapped her arms at me like a chicken, which she knew would call my bluff, and suddenly my determination to get answers was renewed. Oh did I mention that she was also about eight months pregnant with her first child? The woman is overflowing with hormones and sporting a Native American background that ran on adrenaline. But we’ll get to her story later.

  We concocted a plan and picked a day to stand across the street about the same time we had seen him enter the building on previous occasions. Luckily, Old Man Winter was on our side that day, the swirling snow cascading from the sky gave us perfect excuses to wear our hoods. As soon as Perry approached and disappeared into the massive front entrance, we quickly crossed the street and peaked in through the window furthest from the main lobby. Perry exchanged a few words with the front desk attendant, in a manner that led me to believe they were very familiar with each other. Then he approached the elevator and waited with a small group of people. When the massive brass doors opened, everyone shuffled on. A petite and well dressed woman moved her hand toward the floor buttons on the wall and called out over her shoulder to Perry, who stood opposite her. He responded and she pushed a final selection. I’m not sure if it was luck or misfortune, but I was able to see in the reflection of the mirror that lined the back wall from a gap between their bodies, that she had selected an illuminated button with a twenty three in the center just before the closing doors reconnected.

  Mitexi turned to me with fire in her eyes. “We need to move fast! You take the stairs and I’ll handle the rest.” She grabbed my wrist and before I could suck in my next breath we were inside the lobby.

  The attendant immediately recognized us as unfamiliar and stepped away from his post to address our intentions. “Are you ladies sure you’re in the correct building?” Our casual appearance was definitely a downgrade from the dashing bunch that preceded us.

  Without missing a beat Mitexi immediately hunched over, let out a screeching howl and grabbed her mid section. “I think my water broke! The pains are so awful! Is there a restroom I can use?”

  Even I was temporarily stunned.

  Charles, who was identified by a shiny nametag which was smartly fastened to the lapel of his crisp suit, suddenly looked pale. His shaky hand pointed to a carved wooden door that was hidden behind a massive fern on the south side of the room. “Oh ma’am, can I help you? Should I call someone?”

  Mitexi’s next gasp was so intense that I genuinely began to worry she might not be lying. Was I going to have to deliver her baby and ambush my boyfriend all in the same day? The fear of a possible impending birth catapulted me toward the entrance to the back stairs but the slam of the fire escape door drew me back to the reality of why I was in this building in the f
irst place. And then I recalled that the woman had pressed floor twenty three. Twenty three! Really? I took a quick inventory of the flights, only ten stairs a piece. Adrenalin pumped through my veins as I shot toward my destination.

  Looking back on it now, I’m not sure what I thought I would do when I reached his floor. But one thing I am positive of is that never, ever did I expect to step out of the stairwell to see a tall, slender and well dressed woman smiling at him as he reached out to embrace her. Trying to conceal myself behind a woefully inadequate fake plant, I frantically looked to each of their hands, searching for wedding rings. Frenzied thoughts muddled my ability to call upon any shred of common sense that I might have been able to summon at that moment.

  Unfortunately, as I lunged forward in attempt to gracefully gouge his eyes out, the glare from his wife’s three-carat diamond reflected perfectly off of his platinum band, the one he conveniently never wore at my apartment or at work, and I am pretty sure that it burned a small hole in my retina because my right eye still hurts today. Then again, that lingering pain might be from afterward, when that very angry policeman slammed my face against the hallway table and put cuffs on me for trespassing and attempted assault after Perry’s extremely pissed off wife called 911. On the other hand, it’s really hard to recall all of the specifics. Looking back, I barely even remember the mug shots.

  Charles attempted to reassure many of the concerned and very wealthy residents of the typically discreet building that my arrest was an isolated incident and that their valuables and well being were safe (in that order), while Mitexi was able to maneuver outside of the lobby and hail a cab. She instructed the driver to follow the cruiser I was in so she could bail me out. Luckily, the booking process gave me ample time to figure out how I was going to present this predicament to my parents before they saw me on the evening news.

  Upon reflection, the most valuable lesson I learned was that if you confront your married boyfriend in front of his significant other, especially when he is associated to your livelihood, and he contacts your boss with a report that you had stalked him due to a sick obsession, it can lead to an unfortunate outcome called unemployment. Sure, I could have argued that we both agreed to a relationship; but considering that I was in his apartment and clearly a little batty at the time of the arrest, well, that didn’t exactly help my credibility. I had officially become the poster child for anti-fraternization policies.

  My parents were pretty irate about me smearing our good family name so I continued to live in my apartment until my savings account was drained and my checking account was well overdrawn before asking if I could move back into my mother’s house located in the suburbs, again. She finally agreed, but made a point to remind me that since I was now a hardened criminal, at least in her opinion, a set list of rules would be drawn up and require my sign off so that she could assure the neighbors she had the situation under control. I contemplated telling her that I was sure they didn’t care but decided that was an argument left for a better time. I didn’t need to add the title of homeless to my current crumbling status.

  * * *

  After I finished my morning ritual, I entered the kitchen, no longer able to evade my mother only to find a plate of pancakes with a smiley face made from chocolate chips across the top and rolled my eyes.

  “Stop groaning and eat.” Alice didn’t mess around in the morning. If the Surgeon General said breakfast was the most important meal, then you ate it, no matter what kind of landscape it happened to be decorated with. After stuffing as many bites as possible into my mouth, I reached for my coat and purse.

  “Don’t forget your ridiculous hat! Will you look for another job this weekend? You are too pretty to do that job. Really, Paula, can you promise me? Honest to God, I can’t believe we paid all of that money for college to have you writing parking tickets.”

  After being arrested, my professional reputation bottomed out. No respectable company within city limits wanted me handling their clients. In fact, I was lucky to even secure the above minimum wage position I currently held as a meter maid. As part of my probation, I had been assigned to assist with kitchen duties at a local old folk’s home, where it turns out a stoner former classmate, Mark, was the janitor. I have to admit, I was slightly embarrassed that he recognized me first considering the consistent buzz he had, but when he explained how his mother had raved over the injustice of my case I began to feel at ease knowing that someone was on my side.

  It took a few minutes of digging up his last name from the memory bank in my brain when I realized why his mother would even care. Ms. Martin had been previously married to the current mayor, only to return home one day and find a strapping young man in his early twenties along with her husband dressed in women’s clothes, presenting a position that was difficult to mimic even while playing Twister.

  To spare her children the embarrassment of living through a full blown scandal, they divorced amicably, leaving her with a substantial settlement and an arsenal of ammunition to use against him if she chose. Unfortunately, even though the news stations hadn’t reported the story, the gossipy neighborhood mothers knew no limit to keeping it discreet. When Mark told Ms. Martin that we had talked, she immediately phoned her ex-husband and insisted that he place me in an entry level position for the city, no questions asked. And since meter maids are municipal employees, it didn’t pose any issues even with my newly acquired criminal record. I was now the hottest but lowest paid uniform in town. Ms. Martin will be getting a Christmas card from me every year until one of us dies; I love that woman’s approach.

  “Yes Alice, I promise to look for another job.” I made a beeline for the backdoor as she called out to me over my shoulder.

  “Call Uncle Gordie!”

  -2-

  My cell phone vibrated, reminding me that it was finally time for my 1:15 p.m. break. The morning snow had switched over into a light mist and froze all over my coat, which really fueled my enthusiasm for the day. After paying the street vendor $1.50, I wrapped my hands around the oversized coffee cup he handed to me, letting the warmth radiate through my fingerless gloves.

  Backing into a sheltered store front, I balanced my coffee on the window ledge and dialed the number Uncle Gordie had left for me on one of his frantic messages.

  “Thank you for calling Whitney’s Steak and Sushi. Can I take your reservation?” a polite voice buzzed through the receiver.

  “Uncle Gordie… I mean Gordon Whitney please?”

  “May I ask whose calling?”

  “His niece, Paula. I’m returning his call.”

  “One moment please.”

  I was surprised to hear the distinct beat of a Dave Matthews song playing back to me. In the past, Uncle Gordie had tortured customers on hold with Neil Sedaka or Tony Bennett, two of his absolute favorites. The change was refreshing and I actually found myself tapping away while sipping my coffee, dreaming of the nights when I would go clubbing with friends from the office—before the onset of my legal woes.

  Suddenly, the music stopped. “Paula!”

  “Hey, yeah. What’s going on? Alice, I mean Mom, said you left a few messages for me.” I had corrected myself but fully expected a lecture on respect anyway.

  “Oh, yes, well, sorry to be so persistent but I was hoping we could have a face to face talk. I’d like to discuss a business proposition with you.” He kept talking, the lecture on respect never materializing. “Are you working? Can you come by the restaurant later this afternoon?”

  “I guess so. Which one will you be at?”

  “Lafayette Street. I’ll tell Mara, the hostess, that I’ll be expecting you. How about four?”

  “Okay. Can I have a hint of what kind of business you’re proposing?”

  “Now’s not a good time. I’ll see you this afternoon, Sugar Plum.” He disconnected.

  “Sugar Plum?” I repeated the pet name to myself. He hadn’t called me that since I was finally old enough to reach the refrigerator handle and fetch h
im beers. Considering I was well beyond that age and height requirement, his sappy schmoozing certainly did nothing for me; in fact I was completely grossed out by it.

  Uncle Gordie was my father’s step-brother. He was also married to my mom’s sister, DeDe. They met at my parents wedding and made it official a short six months later. My parents were now divorced, but personally I couldn’t foresee Gordie and DeDe parting ways anytime soon. They might not be the happiest couple, but they had their reasons to stick it out. They were filthy rich and Aunt DeDe loved every aspect of the lifestyle and attention Uncle Gordie bestowed upon her; at least until recently.

  According to my mother, DeDe had been complaining that he hadn’t been showing her as much attention lately and that their sex life had all but vanished. I stopped Alice right there and begged for her to keep all of those secrets to herself. But she continued on about how DeDe was probably over reacting because she had just turned fifty last month and it was normal for a woman’s self confidence to drop at the mere mention of that disgusting number. I’m not sure what other vivid and horrifying details she extended to me because I pressed the right side of my head against a couch pillow and stuffed the afghan into my open ear, pretending to watch TV while she continued on until finally she knelt in front of me and yelled, “Paula, have you heard a word I said?”

  -3-

  With the sun disappearing into the horizon and the cold darkness of the night beginning to surround me, I stepped inside the cozy foyer of Whitney’s and was greeted by Mara, the hostess I had spoken to on the phone earlier.

  “You must be Paula?”

  “Yes, I am supposed to meet my…”

  “Gordon, yes, I know. He told me he was expecting you and that you would probably be wearing a…” she cleared her throat and looked me up and down, “uniform.”

  To keep myself from retorting that her tiny waist was already much larger than her personality would ever be, I excused myself and took a seat at the bar. I wanted to order a beer, but I only had two linty nickels to my name. Furthermore, even if I had any money, there was a good chance my preference would be to stay and get absolutely plastered. Missing dinner would throw Alice into a fit because, you know, the last meal of the day ran a close second to breakfast, according to the Surgeon General. And we all know how my mother feels about the Surgeon General’s recommendations on diet responsibility.