Page 20 of Blood on the Rocks

Chapter 10

It was probablya good thing that no one walked in Seraphina’s office due to the fact the woman was huddled over her desk, completely asleep. The morning’s meeting with Detective Christopher Williams and the subsequent discussion with Katella left her feeling exhausted. She drank two more cups of coffee before heading into work that morning, determined to expand her hockey knowledge by reading and accumulating more information on her player’s stats. She wanted to figure out what happened to her grandfather but it wasn’t likely she would get any information from numbers and a description of different plays.

She managed to gain some headway, so she took a break during lunch. Again, the media was waiting out front of the Sea Side Ice Palace, so she grabbed an intern and sent him out to Olive Garden for some macaroni and cheese and some milk. As she waited, she pulled out a book she read for fun – the latest Meg Cabot – and tried to block out the many questions swimming through her mind about Papa, Thorpe, and even Alan. When the intern returned, he seemed hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” Seraphina asked, opening the styrofoam box.

“You might want to check out The Register’s website,” he said, scratching the back of his head. A nervous gesture, Seraphina realized. He turned around and headed outside before Seraphina could ask further questions, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Well, that was weird,” she murmured to herself, her mouth filled with cheesy pasta. But she decided to take the kid’s advice. Seraphina never thought she was intimidating. In fact, she had hoped that she came off as warm and approachable. She wanted her employees to come to her with problems or suggestions. On a more selfish note, Seraphina wanted her employees to actually take her seriously, but not to the point where they ran away from her.

Her mind halted.

There, on the front page of The Register’s website, was a video featuring Alan Brown, her uncle. The uncle that had been the police’s primary suspect up until they decided they had more evidence to get Brandon Thorpe.

“What the...”

Seraphina glanced around, and then chided herself for making sure she had privacy. The video was on the web; apparently, people knew about it even before she did. She would have to leave a message on Katella’s phone to check it out after her Katella’s one o’clock meeting. But first, she would have to figure out just what this video was about.

She didn’t know why she hesitated. She was afraid of what he would say. She clicked the play button and held her breath. Shouts from the press that hounded a well-dressed Alan – probably suspecting the media would want to speak to him, or maybe he called them himself – asked him multiple questions: did he do it; how did he feel to be a suspect in his father’s murder case; how did it feel knowing his niece inherited the team over him; how did he feel with Brandon Thorpe being a suspect? Granted, Alan waited until they quieted down. He always did like to make people wait, to make an impression that showcased him being more important than he really was.

“I am pleased that Detective Williams and the Newport Beach Police Department has ruled me out as a suspect,” Alan began in a clear, firm voice. “I understand that they were just doing their job so there are no hard feelings from me. I am hoping now the police can focus their attention on the person who actually committed this devastating tragedy. Brandon Thorpe is an amazing hockey player, essential to the Gulls’ success. If it is true that he, indeed, did kill my father, I hope he is punished by the fullest extent of the law. I want justice for my father, and for my family.”

Seraphina snorted. When did he ever care about her and her sister? Or even Ryan, for that matter?

“I am somewhat disappointed that Seraphina Hanson, my youngest niece, inherited the Newport Beach Seagulls. While she is brilliant, she is also young and naïve, and perhaps the best thing for everyone, including herself and for the team, would be to sell the team. As noted by the past few preseason games, it is easy to tell that she is not handling my father’s death well, especially by publicly supporting Brandon Thorpe. I’m not certain why she did that – though he is rather easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” The media chuckled at the insinuation and Seraphina couldn’t help but turn red. “But it’s just another action that shows her ignorance. In fact, I’m going to look into my grandfather’s mental health around the time he made this will. If Seraphina doesn’t step down as owner, I might have to challenge my father’s decision in court.”

This, of course, sent a flurry of questions directed at Alan, but he was finished speaking. He placed his note cards in the pocket of his jacket lapel and walked away, which was where the video stopped.

There were too many things to feel. Too many questions. Her eyes were bombarded with tears that so desperately wanted to fall, but a measure of defense refused to let them.

The first thought that crossed Seraphina’s mind was the fact that if Alan actually pursued challenging the will, he would get nothing. Didn’t he know that? Did it matter, though? Could he say he was doing something without really doing it? Perhaps he wanted to turn the public against her, not that that would be difficult. There was always some comment about how she was royally screwing this up.

Seraphina called Katella and left a voice message. “Hey, it’s me. There’s something you need to see. I’m sending you the link right now. Call me when you get this.”

A couple of tears managed to slip past their barricades, and she allowed herself a few, long moments to feel sorry for herself. In essence, Alan was right. Seraphina was in way over her head. She didn’t know what she was doing. Publicly defending Thorpe was the right thing to do – she knew that. But she also knew that people wouldn’t see it that way. Sure, the players on the team and the coaching staff would appreciate it, hopefully, but people on the outside were going to judge her. Perhaps if she was older, had more experienced, had thick skin, she could handle it. But honestly, she just graduated college, unsure of what she was going to do in her life when suddenly thrust into this management position she really didn’t want which. She knew she would make mistakes but she didn’t realize that every mistake would be publicly criticized, scrutinized, and then she would be crucified on a constant basis.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

She didn’t know what to do.

So she cried and cried, thankful that maybe her staff was too intimidated to come in and interrupt her, to ask her a question about something. She just wanted to be alone.

It wasn’t long before Katella called her younger sister and calmed her down. Seraphina didn’t feel comfortable enough to share her worries with anybody else except for Katella, and her sister was always there, rationally explaining that Seraphina could do this. Sometimes she would give her encouraging quotes, other times she would let her younger sister talk, mostly in circles. It always worked, though, and by the time Seraphina hung up, her confidence was pieced back together. Tattered and not fully formed, but much better compared right after Alan’s video.

Seraphina finished her pasta even though it was cold and then resumed her work. But now, it was harder to concentrate, and before Seraphina realized it, she was fast asleep.

No one would blame her. She’d been dealing with a lot.

Actually, scratch that – everyone would blame her. She couldn’t drink a cup of coffee without being criticized about the type of coffee she was drinking, how she was holding her cup, anything they could get her on.

How could these people hate her without even knowing her?

It was the vibration of her cell phone that woke her up. When she saw that it was Katella calling and seeing that it was just after five thirty on her computer screen, Seraphina shot up, threw away her trash from lunch, and dashed out of her office and down towards the rink. She slid in her seat a minute and eight seconds into the game, just in time to see Alec Schumacher and a Shark get into a fistfight.

“You have a knack for appearing at just the right minute, don’t you?” Katella murmured, her lips curled up into a smirk. Her forest green eyes sparkled as she took in the brawl, but Seraphina noticed a sheen of worry encasing that delighted sparkle as well. It was as though Katella couldn’t decide whether she was excited for the fight or upset because she knew someone would end up hurt.

“It’s not even two minutes into the first period,” Seraphina complained. “What happened?”

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