Page 4 of Jane's Story
I paused, then sat down at our kitchen table. "It's creepy that someone murdered their last photographer." But I really, really need the money, and I think a hotel with a lot of people should be safe, right?”
“I’d think so, and you said her ex was a suspect. I mean, the Grand Lakes is pretty upscale. Just stay out of trouble.”She brought over a couple of mugs of warm apple cider and sat next to me.
“It’s unnerving, isn't it?” Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t let vague feelings stop me. I needed the job.
Chapter 2
Orangeandyellowleavesblew past the car as Lizzy drove me to the Austen Heights station since an airplane ticket was out of my budget. She parked near the entrance. “Remember, whatever happens, you’re strong, brave, and so kind. Maybe you’ll meet the perfect guy as well.”
“You’re sweet, but dating is more complicated than that… kind of over it at the moment.” I hugged my sister. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Oh, dating’s not complicated...” Lizzy waved off my comment, but we both laughed before she finished speaking. “Okay, yes, it is. Watch out for thugs.”
“Thugs?” I laughed again. “Okay, I’m going now. Thank you for the ride. I’ll let fate take its course and try not to get mugged in the city.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Lizzy called before I closed the car door.
“Deal.”
It was Wednesday, and I wasn’t needed at the conference until Thursday. But leaving early gave me the chance to visit my Aunt Penny.
Before long before the train sped past farmlands, autumn foliage, and covered bridges until the towns turned into cities and the horizon took the shape of skyscrapers. The brilliant blue sky nourished my optimism. Somehow, things would work out. I clicked through my email and messages as the train rattled down the tracks, reading my messages from Armond Moreau at Haven Corporation. “...an unexpected immediate need for a photographer.”
I had to know what happened. So I searched…death, Haven Corporation, foul play… nothing.
I kept trying…photographer… Haven Corporation… tech convention… murder … New York City?
An article popped up with the image of a beautiful dark-haired young woman. "Two days ago, a car crash killed Margery Blake, a thirty-six-year-old woman and media specialist for Haven Corporation, when her car failed to slow on the freeway. Daughter of…”
I clicked off my phone and pulled my down jacket closer to my body. A pit formed in my stomach. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Not at the moment, anyway.
After several transfers, I stepped out onto the Grand Central platform in New York City.
Nothing compared to Austen Heights, where the stars were visible at night, we had fresh air, and saying hello to strangers didn’t scare them. But I loved the city… so alive, vibrant, and where the possibilities were endless. The two worlds felt like two versions of myself.
The effort involved in getting from the train platform to the outside sidewalk was comparable to some of my high-intensity workouts. Dodging rushing crowds of New Yorkers, searching for an exit, and carrying my heavy suitcase were not small feats.
I got to a curb, hailed a cab, and recited the familiar instructions to the driver. “Take Columbus Ave., then Lexington to Morningside Heights, please.”
“You know the best routes. Must be a local? But it looks like you’ve packed for a trip.” The cab driver opened the trunk for my single suitcase and bag.
“Just a frequent visitor,” I said. I’d spent several summers with Aunt Penny when I was in high school. Her kids were younger than I was, and she needed a nanny.So I fit the job.
In under twenty minutes, I stood in front of Aunt Penny’s gothic-designed apartment building. It had a traditional limestone facade and massive granite flower planters on the sidewalk.
Mr. Marcos, the doorman, had watched over the marble entry for as long as I could remember. As always, he’d combed his graying black hair back like an orchestra conductor, wore polished shoes, and had a waxed double mustache. I stepped inside as he held the door open for me. Even though it was only November, orchestral Christmas music played from an old-fashioned CD player in the corner.
“Well, it’s Miss Jane Bennet,” he made a theatrical bow. Just like he did when I was a little girl. It used to make me giggle and feel like a princess.
I offered a hearty handshake and soaked in the joy he radiated. “Mr. Marcos, it’s so good to see you. I’m here to visit my Aunt Penny.”
“Oh, I know, Miss Bennet. She’ll be happy to see you. Just sign in here.” Mr. Marcos’s wide smile indicated he had a joke ready for me. “Now, let me see. Can you tell me why teenagers only hang out in groups of seven or nine?”
“Hmm, I've no idea. Why?” I scribbled my name on the check-in form.
“They can’t even…” He imitated a teenage girl's voice, paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows, then belly laughed. “I got that from my granddaughter.”
I chuckled at the joke as I stepped into the elevator. “It's good.”
