Page 2 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“You’re not getting any younger, Mr. Wes,” she reminded me. “Another year and you’ll be forty and with no husband or children…”
“Where would I put a husband or child in this house?” I asked just as my phone rang. “You know how I dislike dirt and chaos, and husbands and children are known for both.” I slid my phone from my pocket, saw the call was one I did not recognize, and shuttled it into the trash bin. “You’d think this was an election year, given how many calls I’ve gotten from this one number. Someone is desperate to sell me an extended warranty of some sort.”
“If we picked up a few of the statues…”
I glanced down to see that she was still making her pitch for whatever it was she thought I required. A man, a kid, and a dog. Could you just imagine what the wood floors would look like with a dog running around? And then there were the crayons children were so fond of…
“Everything is as I like it.” I gave her shoulder a soft pat. “Now, I need to shower, eat, and get into town. Please wipe out the fridge for new food. Oh, and if you would, can you make sure the towels you place in Percy’s room are dried with the vanilla dryer beads?”
“I can do that,” she replied.
“Thank you. You have the list for Monday’s shopping?” She nodded. “Excellent. Off I go to wash my manly self.” I gave her a smile and got one in return. Up the stairs I went, stopping long enough to inspect the crystal sconces on the wall for dust. Nary a mote to be seen. Up I went, whistling a tune as yet another spam call arrived and was summarily dismissed. Nothing was going to sour my day of meticulous preparation for a night of good soup, fine wine, and some fair to middling sex.
***
“I’m glad I brought a jumper,” Percy said while picking over the charcuterie board I’d put together for this evening. The flamesof the gas pit were cavorting nicely as he plucked a small cube of blueberry vanilla goat milk cheese. “We’re having the warmest spring in twenty years in New York. And Mummy informs me the temps back home have been quite high as well, but the forecast is for rain, which she says is badly needed. The ground is getting a bit packed, and she worries over the hedgehogs not being able to dig for worms.”
“Your mother can always buy worms for the hedgehogs,” I commented and took a sip of bourbon.
“Gods no, let’s not start that nonsense,” he said with a cringe. “Oh, this cheese is not to my liking.” He leaned up to peruse the other meats and cheeses as I admired his profile in the firelight. He was a handsome enough man. Nordic features, which I seemed to find appealing. Blond hair, thinning a bit but fashionably cut, light blue eyes, slim, and happily set in his ways. “The last time we had a dry spell, she went on a tear with her little hand spade and dug holes in her garden that I had to hire a gardener to fill in and resod. Cost me a bloody fortune.”
I chuckled softly. “But the hedgehogs were fed,” I commented and got a dry little huff.
“I told her the next time she thought about attacking her garden I’d feed the damn hedge pigs my boot. Biff! A solid punt right over the garden fence.” He lifted a wedge of cheese to inspect it. I snickered at his dry humor. “This smells pungent,” he said with a sniff after smearing some soft white cheese onto a thin wheat cracker.
“Try not to indulge in too much of the brie. It’s quite garlicy, and you know I dislike the smell of it on anyone’s breath.”
“You’ll be behind me so your delicate nose won’t have to smell it.” He popped it into his mouth and reached for more. My phone buzzed with another incoming call, which I ignored. “Do you ever plan to answer that person?”
“No, it’s spam.” I let my gaze dart skyward. “They’ve been trying to reach me all day.”
“Perhaps it’s someone who isn’t aware of your Sanctimonious Saturday law.”
I shot him a dark look. Smug ass. Damn pretty smug ass. Young and sassy. I did enjoy that about him, but I’d not cop to it.
“It’s not sanctimonious at all to take one day for yourself.”
My phone vibrated across the tiny table situated between our two chairs. It clinked delicately against the base of Percy’s wine goblet.
“It wouldn’t be if you weren’t so pretentious about it.” He lunged for my phone as I opened my mouth to sling a verbal arrow at him. Damn cheeky fool thought he could parry with me. I’d made people cry big ugly tears in court with only a few well-placed words.
“Put that down!”
“If you reply, they’ll stop pestering you. Watch. This is how I handle them,” he stated with a smirk before tapping the accept call button.
“You twit. If you pick up, they’ll put you on a list that shows you answered, and then you get plagued with ten times more garbage.” The man was infuriating at times. Perhaps I’d pretend I’d gotten a headache and send him to the guest room without the dicking that he didn’t deserve.
“Hello,” he said, his Birmingham accent rich and slightly nasally. Had he always sounded so stuffy? “Before you begin your sales pitch, let me just say this number is to be taken off your call lists for the man whose phone this number belongs to is an attorney with a great love of making people weep on the stand.” I rolled my eyes. That was not true. I had no great love of reducing lying and cheating spouses to blubbering twats in court. It was part of the job. No more and no less. “Furthermore—oh, no, this is not he. Hold a moment.”
I huffed when he stalled. “Give me the damn phone,” I snapped, flinging my free hand out, palm up, as he went pale. Paler than usual. He did have that highly touted English rose complexion.
“Wes, it’s someone from the St. Louis Medical Examiner’s Office.” He looked stricken. “I think something bad may have happened to your estranged sister.” Percy knew the bare bones of life with Aida. I’d not gone into detail, obviously, but one night after a few too many bourbons, I mentioned a sister whom I no longer spoke to.
The aggravation at my sometime gentleman caller floated off into the dark night. Hand shaking, I reached for my cell, a feeling of dread falling over my shoulders. A shroud of horrid yet certain knowledge that this was the call my parents had lived in fear of. Thankfully, they’d not have to deal with burying their child. That was a burden no parent should ever have to shoulder. The phone felt icy cold when it touched my palm.
“Hello?” I coughed out as the flames in the pit bobbed and sputtered in a danse macabre as my night, and my life, spiraled out of control with the utterance of nine simple words.
Chapter Two
