By Her Rules

By Stephen Holmes

By Her Rules spins through people entangled in Scam, Shams, and Deceptions We Love. You won’t want to miss this contemporary suspense mystery. It’s filled with people you don’t want to like, but learn to love.
Will makes millions every year giving out awards and honors for a small entrance fee to one of his contests: Best Restuarant in LA, best amateur photographer, best amateur writer, Who's Big, best buffet in Vegas, and many more. Pay the fee and you're playing by his rules.
Women want Will for a trophy husband. Everyone wants some or all of his money. Someone poisons him and get what they want, or he dies. Who's doing it?
Melissa wants him too, but she's smarter than all the rest. Her rules are subtle and unique. I bet you would be will to play by Her Rules.
Read it and see what I mean.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Holmes
• Release date: Jun 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781311625403

Stephen Holmes

Hi, I'm Stephen A. Holmes a writer of fantasy and mystery novels with unusual approaches. Early in life I read hundreds of sci-fi and fantasy novels as my main contact with the world outside the remote ranch were I lived. I studied English literature and writing at UCLA where I decided that I wanted my books to be more delightfully entertaining. See if I've succeeded.In my plots,I explore our human potential and predicaments by presenting unusual people in love with life and the future we need to make reality. I know these generalities don't tell you much, so you just have to pick one of my novels and enjoy the ride.'Zook's Quest'reveals our wonderful future in California 400 years from now. No novel should be uncomplicated, life is too rich with details and diversions. Zook's Quest is a gentle journey of awakening for both Zook and the reader. Some say that it may well be one of the important books of our time

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE - GETTING HIS ATTENTION

William Goldblum did not get to enjoy his morning cup of full-bodied Vienna-roast coffee. Normally, he liked to sit out on his penthouse balcony and think about how to improve his direct-mail business as he gazed at the beauty of the Paris rooftop-skyline and the nearby Eiffel Tower, but someone chose this day to add a dash of fear to his otherwise nearly perfect life.

Even at fifty-four, Goldblum looked as though he regularly lifted free-weights. His dark-brown hair accented by graying sideburns and his expensive suit completed his cosmopolitan appearance.

Life is good, he thought as he settled on a chaise lounge and took the first sip of the velvety black brew. Paris is a wonderful city for a rich bachelor and the Louis XVI Suite atop the luxurious George Cinq Hotel is the perfect place to live, especially if the outrageous cost was nothing more than pocket change, as it was for Will.

Jean Claude, a butler who was at least a decade older than Will, carried a mail tray with one envelope on it as he walked through the living room and out the open French doors. Your mail, Sir, he said, and watched Will examined the outside of the envelope before leaving so the hotel guest could read in privacy.

At first glance, the white business envelope appeared to have Will’s name and address hand typed, but the postal imprint was for a bulk-mailer. Irritation surged through Goldblum. How has my current name and whereabouts made it onto someone’s mailing list? This is unacceptable. The hotel must have sold confidential information about its long-term residents, a breach of my privacy and personal safety.

Jean Claude, he called through the open French doors. Come here, please.

He waited impatiently as the butler walked through the large living room and out onto the balcony.

Yes, Sir? Jean Claude asked as he neared Will.

Please have the hotel manager come up immediately.

"Yes Sir, the butler said and walked to the kitchen to use the service phone.

The manager looked worried as he followed Jean Claude onto the balcony. He didn’t want problems for the hotel’s richest long-term guest and he couldn’t imagine what was wrong. All that the butler said was, ‘Mr. Goldblum seemed upset.’

Is there a problem, Mr. Goldblum? he asked when he saw the anger in Will’s eyes.

There is. Look at this envelope, Will answered, and handed the direct-mail envelope to the manager. Look at that address. It has my name and this suite typed on it. How has any marketer learned that I am residing here? Are you accustomed to revealing such information without my consent?

No, Sir. Of course not. I have no idea how this could have happened. Giving out that kind of information is strictly against our policy. I’ll investigate. What do you know about this, Jean Claude?

Why, nothing, the old servant answered. Except, of course, I brought the mail up from the front desk as is my duty. Perhaps the letter is from a friend in business who has a postage permit. Have you looked inside, Mr. Goldblum?

No. You might be right. I’ll check. Will took the letter opener from the mail tray and slid it along under the envelope’s flap to break the seal. Inside were two separately folded multi-page documents. One was computer printed on plain twenty-pound copy paper and the other appeared to be hand written in French on an attorney’s yellow pad pages. They didn’t look personal. Apparently, a solicitation.

Find out where this came from, Will said to the manager. If there are more breaches of my privacy, I’ll move.

I’ll do my best, the manager said and scurried for the private elevator.

Anything else? Jean Claude asked.

Yes. I don’t read French. Please get a translator up here immediately.

Yes, Sir. If I may say so, the hotel has an excellent young translator who the concierge normally wouldn’t allow to come upstairs, even to a gentleman’s suite. She’s the best in Paris. With your permission, I’ll make certain that she does the work for you. None of the other translators are as competent as she is.

Please, make it so, Will said, already turning his attention to the typed white pages.

The first document purported to be a personal letter written in English on a mechanical typewriter, front and back on five sheets. Will thought it odd that a solicitation letter originating in France was written in English. Perhaps the sender purchased a mailing list of American businessmen living abroad. But, Will knew, this kind of letter isn’t normally sent to business people. To desperate housewives, teachers, shop clerks, people in financial trouble, New Agers, and people who know their astrological signs? Yes. To intelligent humans? No.

Each vowel and consonant was printed unevenly as if typed on an old non-electric Olivetti where the imprint of the letters differs depending on the strength of the typist’s finger depressing that particular typewriter key which caused the metal prongs to impact the paper with differing forces.

Strangely, the sender hadn’t bothered with an important detail. A sheet of paper typed on a hand-powered typewriter has indentations from each key-strike being stopped by the platen. Will should be able to feel bumps on the pages, especially on a two-sided typed piece of paper, but these pages were smoothly printed. There are machines and paper stock that would duplicate the effect of hand typing if the sender had wanted to perfect the hoax that the correspondence was original and personal. Will guessed the sender lost some customers because of this error.

The second document, at first glance, gave the appearance of being handwritten in French, front and back, on five sheets of yellow pad paper, complete with the rough top edges where the sheets were supposedly removed from the pad by tearing along a perforation line. To Will, the problem with these pages was that the writing was actually in flawless, computer-printed italic script.

Will thought, most mail marketers don’t cut corners unless they are just getting started or can’t afford the few pennies more that perfection costs. It didn’t even occur to him that unsolicited bulk mail might contain anything but some scam or con. Anyone who expects something of value in shot mail is simply a foolish person.

Will was about to take another sip of his coffee until he looked inside the empty cup. Jean Claude efficiently appeared on the balcony, as though he’d been watching, and handed Will a fresh full cup. Goldblum took a sip and, for the first time, turned his attention to the actual written words.

As soon as Jean Claude saw Will engrossed in reading the letter, he took the elevator down to the second floor where the hotel’s translator staff worked. The translator he’d sent for was taking too long to arrive and Jean Claude wanted her to hurry before Mr. Goldblum became impatient. He knocked on the young woman’s office door. It’s Jean Claude, he said.

Inside, Melissa Ledouix was hurrying through the final stages of changing her dress and putting the last touches on her makeup. She pulled up her pantyhose and fastened on the straps of her high heels before answering.

I’m almost ready, she said through the door.

He’s waiting.

I know, I know. But, I have to look my best, don’t I? She grabbed her steno pad and pen from her desk and quickly opened the door.

Hurry, was all Jean Claude said.

Melissa was in the process of closing her office door behind her when she remembered her secret weapon. She dashed back to her desk to retrieve the spray bottle of pheromones and lightly doused the clear, apparently odorless liquid, over her short, elegantly styled black hair and the front of her hand-tailored business suit. Okay, she thought, I’ve done everything I know how to make him notice me.

Melissa’s Nana had carefully coached her throughout her childhood, ever since she came to live with her grandmother at five years old. ‘There are defining-moments in every woman’s life. Times when what you choose to do will change your entire future. You must stay alert to recognize when such a turning point is upon you. You must take advantage of such rare opportunities.’

Melissa recognized this as one of those moments, perhaps the most important one left to her. She was in her late twenties and, all too soon, her youthful good looks would begin to fade.

As an employee at the Hotel George the Fifth, she heard the staff talking about a William Goldblum who was living for months in the ridiculously expensive Louis XVI penthouse suite. They said he tipped extravagantly. They said he was very rich, elegant, and available.

Because Melissa was young, single, and in need of a very wealthy husband, the employee gossip compelled her to make an effort to see Goldblum for herself. She liked what she saw. Not only was he everything she’d heard, he was charming. Being middle aged made him more readily available to a woman like her and more likely to enter into a stable relationship with a much younger woman.

She wanted Goldblum to notice her, but he showed no interest in female employees, no matter how attractive they might be. His free time seemed filled with trophy hunters willing to be one night stands. She was close to giving up trying to catch Goldblum’s eye, until Jean Claude called her to come to the penthouse to do a translation.

Melissa recognized that she was on the brink of one of those life-defining moments that her Nana had so carefully prepared her for. She knew that the pheromones would make William Goldblum find her compellingly attractive, she just had to make certain that he also came to admire her as a person.

Melissa followed Jean Claude to the servant’s elevator, her heart welling with hope and determination.

Still sitting on his balcony, Will had just decided he could forego the translation of the French script document because the typed document said it was a word-for-word translation of what was written in French. If that was true, he shouldn’t waste any more time with a competitor’s solicitation to sell psychic information.

Actually, he thought as he finished the last sip of his coffee, the body copy is the work of a master. I’d like to hire that writer. Will rose from the chaise lounge and momentarily admired the Eiffel Tower partially seen above the adjacent buildings.

Jean Claude, he called out as he took the letter into his office. When his butler did not appear, he wondered why the translator hadn’t arrived and, where was Jean Claude?

Moments later, he heard the service elevator in the kitchen. He was walking through the living room to see who was arriving when Jean Claude came out of the kitchen followed by a tall, strikingly attractive, young woman.

The butler introduced Will to the blue-eyed, raven-haired beauty. Without being obvious, they appraised each other. Both were experts at quickly evaluating people.

As they shook hands, Will decided to go ahead with the translation just to be able to admire one of The Creator’s works of art for a brief time. It would be good to be in the presence of such a woman as she worked. She was like a painting by a master, perhaps to be added to his collection of one-night stands.

Will thanked Jean Claude and gave him a hundred Euro tip to leave. He asked the young lady to do her work on the front room glass business table. As she sat, he admired her hips and exposed legs, her slim torso and her erect posture. She had a very desirable body, the kind that distracts any man from paying attention to his business.

Will stared at Melissa as she began reading the first yellow pad page. Not wanting to make him look away, Melissa kept her eyes on her work and inwardly smiled. Of course, she wanted him to take a good look. An image of a lion circling a lamb in a cage came to her mind. Would he take the bait or remain a wild creature? Like a true hunter she maintained a detached curiosity as to the outcome, even though her emotions and hopes were keyed to his finding her delectable.

When Will caught himself almost drooling like a schoolboy, he took a deep breath and turned his eyes to look out at the sunny blue sky filled with gently drifting cumulus clouds that carried no hint of rain. But, even though his gaze was elsewhere, his thoughts hadn’t left the young woman.

Why did he find her so interesting? It was like some sort of animal instinct and he thought of himself as being too old for such foolishness, but evidently not. Will wondered if the young woman was annoyed by his rude staring. He sensed that she knew and was somewhat pleased. Was she just another trophy hunter in a rich man’s suite?

I’ll bet guys fall all over themselves trying to get her, he nearly said aloud after turning his head to stare at her again. He noted her cool confidence and complete concentration as she went about writing the translation. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, not that he tried. If she’d been a man, he would have marked her as a possible employee, but he had more personal thoughts as his mind drifted into other possibilities. Will’s obvious attraction was just the reaction Melissa wanted for their first meeting.

In the middle of her work, she smiled as she turned to look at Will. You have an admirer, she told him so he could hear her voice. She wanted him to think of something other than being inside her.

Explain when you’re finished, please, he said. He did not want to engage her in conversation until the translation was done and there was time for him to make his move.

Without hesitation, the alluring young woman turned back to her work. It took her over fifteen minutes to finish. She knew that she had to play the situation just right. She could not be overtly seductive in a business setting. That would make him think she was lower class, so she decided to be simply charming when they again spoke.

Well? he asked after Melissa was done and put her pen down.

She smiled and said, At first impression, there seem to be messages from two different people. One is an admirer or a former business associate. The other, an astrologer or psychic. But I think it’s possible that the shorter inserted message is a salutation and the longer one contains instructions you are meant to follow. You will have to decide that for yourself.

She stared at him frankly, waiting for his reply. Will hid his surprise that there was a hidden message in the French text, that the typed message was not the same.

Would you mind, he said, keeping yourself available to work on this later this evening if I need to consult with you? I’ll pay you in advance so you won’t be out any money if I don’t require your services.

Melissa congratulated herself. The lion had taken the bait.

It would be my pleasure, Monsieur, she assured him as she stood. She walked over and handed him the translation, as if she hadn’t caught the undertone, as if working evenings with a rich older hotel guest was an entirely common event in her life, as if she didn’t realize that he intended to know her more thoroughly.

Here is my mobile number, she said handing him a personal business card.

Will put it in his coat’s side pocket without reading what was on it. He kept glancing at her face as he took his wallet out of his suit coat’s breast pocket and put a thousand Euros into a business envelope. He was trying to figure her out. She was obviously much more than an ordinary hotel employee. Why is she a mere translator? he wondered.

Will handed her the envelope thinking how pleasant it might be to get to know her better.

No check, no bill, no taxes, she thought as she put the money into her handbag. Thank you, she said and shook his hand in parting. He held on for just a moment longer than would have been correct. He was still staring at her when she looked back out of the elevator as the doors began to close.

That went well, Melissa decided as she walked down the hall to her office.

CHAPTER TWO - EMOTIONAL RESPONSES

Will carried the typed pages and the translation into his suite’s office where he placed them so that he could compare them side by side. The story told by Maurice Dulong was virtually identical in both the typed and translated versions, except for some dates and a short message that was only in the French version.

You don’t think about me. We were to be partners long ago but you were just playing with me. You got my hopes up but we ended badly. It may have been my fault, but you broke my heart. I understand that your psychological makeup forces you to be callous, but you are a deep disappointment to me.

Now, I really do need money from you in compensation and because you need to pay the piper for everyone you’ve hurt. Follow the directions in the white pages and order The Seven Parchments. Your luck will run out if you fail to do this little thing for me. Send ten dollars in cash.

I know you may run because of this note, so include an address where I can send the parchments. Don’t try to hide from me. No matter how many identities you assume or places you settle, I will find you wherever you are.

Someone who knows my current name and address pretended I was on a mailing list, Will thought. Whoever it is knows I’m in the direct-mail business and that I would probably look at a competitor’s work. He or she understands enough about me and my life to know that something like this note would normally make me change my name and move. That person has too much information about me. This probably means danger.

I should move and change to a new identity. Drop all the people who know William Goldblum. That’s regrettable, but I can’t take the chance that who I am and what I really do would become public knowledge. Time for a change. Perhaps Costa Rica. It’s primitive. Government services are unreliable and the natives can’t be trusted. That thought made him chuckle. He was the last person to impugn an entire culture’s integrity.

As he thought about Costa Rica, a vague feeling nagged in the back of his mind as if the letter contained something important that he’d glossed over. He shuffled through the typed pages waiting for something to catch his eye.

There it was! It was the date the letter said things were to change for him: May 27th. That date had no particular importance to him personally, but it was William Goldblum’s birthday of record. Only someone very close or very clever would know that.

Will felt an adrenalin rush of fear as the implications of the choice of that date hit him. The letter gives me just days to respond and get the information I need by return mail in order to save myself from something very bad happening. The letter is a threat, probably a blackmail scheme. They want some of my money. They don’t know how dangerous a game they’ve just started.

‘Do unto others before they can do unto you.’ Will remembered his father advising. Time for action.

He turned on his laptop, checked shipping departure schedules, and booked first class passage under Goldblum’s name on a liner going from Le Havre to New York. He then instructed Jean Claude to pack all his clothes and personal effects and have them waiting at the dock before three p.m.

Don’t put name tags on my luggage, Will said. I’m flying to the ship and will be waiting when the bags arrive.

When Jean Claude finished the packing and Will was again alone, he shredded every piece of paper in the suite and personally carried the wastebaskets to the trash chute. He dumped the contents to flutter, as confetti, randomly down the shaft’s many floors to the dumpsters below.

Since he had time before his helicopter ride, he read the typed pages more carefully.

Dear William,

What if a deeply spiritual man, a proven miracle worker, wanted to help YOU! Would you, could you accept the gift of his help?

Well, he exists!! And he does want to help you!

I am a psychic and information just comes to me about people, often complete strangers. I write down the person’s name and whatever thoughts I have about them. I have extensive records, somewhat untidily kept.

Maurice Dulong, the man I spoke of, was with me this morning as I was looking for something in my notes. Suddenly, as if in a trance, his eyes fixed on a file containing your name, then he said to me:

‘Monique, I must contact this William Goldblum. I have information, a message he must hear. If he will let me help, I can save him from disaster and reverse any misfortunes which this poor soul will soon experience.’

Taken aback, I answered him, ‘No problem, Maurice, but tell me what you would tell him.’

He said, ‘From this coming May 27, a dramatic change is going to take place in Goldblum’s life. This fellow has wanted this change but not the disastrous events which will surround it if nothing is done to help him. These events can be life threatening and prevent the change he desires so fervently. I can help him to entirely avoid the negative outcome which is otherwise likely three days after that very specific date. This man needs my assistance.’

Who is this Maurice Dulong you probably want to know?

He has extraordinary psychic powers. On several occasions, he has helped me overcome other people’s very difficult problems and even my own. I have significant psychic abilities but Maurice Dulong’s gifts are far greater than mine. He gives his help freely. He is a phenomenal man.

And this marvelous man wants to speak directly to you!

Maurice told me that it was so important that he speak with you that he would write you a letter and asked me to send it to you. He wrote the letter in French, of course, and I have translated it for you into English. (I’ve included the personal letter he actually wrote in French, which you can keep):

‘Dear Mr. Goldblum,

As Monique will have said, my name is Maurice Dulong and I want to be your friend. I am 54 years old, and the father of 4 children. I am renowned in the world of spirituality.

My powers arose as a result of my first journey to India. Perhaps you have already heard of me or read my story in the two books I wrote. What I want to do for you now, I have done many times for famous people and even royalty.

Obviously, our paths were destined to cross and you can help me with my Karma by accepting the help I want to give you.

I know that you bear an emotional burden but soon you will be suffering physically also. Particularly at the present time, you have really had enough of the lonely life that you are leading.

I was like you. I have been through numerous ordeals - often cruel. Like you, I have even come out of a deep depression during which I considered ending my life.

Fifteen years ago, when my life was an internal disaster, everything changed. Now I have love, health, luck, friends and material well-being, more than I could ever have imagined.

And the same is going to happen to you starting next May 27.

I want you to have the miraculous changes which can be yours. If I promise you that I can help turn you into the person you dream of being, and change the things that you want to change in your life, would you be ready to listen to me?

Don’t answer yes, yet.

To build your new life, filled with money, love and luck, you need to be willing to set aside all doubts and skepticism. Doubt and skepticism are mental parasites and few people have the willpower required to overcome their destructive effects, even for just a few minutes, as I am asking you to do.

You could stop reading now and throw this letter away. But you know that would be a mistake. If you stop, you will be throwing away a fabulous future filled with loving relationships and wonderful circumstances beyond your present imagination.

Are you still reading? Excellent! CONGRATULATIONS! You have just overcome two great obstacles, doubt and fear. Because you are still reading, you have confirmed that I am not mistaken about your wonderful future.

Please listen carefully. Bad luck is not fate or wrong choices, it is erroneous thinking habits.

At my lowest point, when I couldn’t take any more, I decided to give everything up and try to find spiritual enlightenment. I had nothing to lose; it was either change or end it all. With my meager savings, I bought a plane ticket for India.

Why India? Because I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

In New Delhi, a man dressed in orange came up to me, as I was wandering through the streets, and started a conversation. Soon, we were sitting on the ground in a little park. He could see that I was at the end of my rope. He proposed something to me that was to change my entire life.

‘As you can see, I am a monk,’ he said. ‘Almost two decades ago now, in exchange for the powers that were given to me, I vowed to help my neighbors. When I saw you, I felt your heavy heart. Your life unfolded before my eyes, both your present and past lives. You have survived a true human drama. This is not your fault. The problems started long ago.’

I liked this monk immediately. He spoke so calmly and seemed so sure of himself. I read goodwill in his eyes and I felt peaceful and perfectly safe in his presence.

As we talked, I was amazed at the specific facts that he knew about my life. All he said about me was very accurate. When he revealed the causes of all my problems, I instantly understood why things always went so badly for me.

Then he gave me the hope that I needed:

‘As of this moment everything can change for you and for those you love. That is up to you. You are free to accept my help or not. If you let me help you, you will be helping me to keep my vow to help my fellow man. First, I suggest that you accompany me in my work for one full month.’

The old man asked nothing more of me. He did not want any money or any other commitment of any sort from me. After telling me how to contact him, he walked away, leaving me to ponder my decision.

I was deeply moved! Within a few moments, I found myself rushing to catch up to him. I had been powerfully affected by our conversation. I was ready to follow him to the ends of the world. After all, I had nothing to lose.

I shared this man’s life for 30 full days. I learned that this Swami was no ordinary being.

He devoted himself entirely to helping the people who came every day to the little house where he lived.

All who sought him out had one thing in common, they were tormented by bad luck, illness and, often, poverty. They came because he was known as a saint who was capable of performing miracles.

One day, a woman came running towards us as we sat quietly outside his tiny home. Her son had fallen from a tall structure he was helping build and was close to dying. She said the doctors had given up on him and only a miracle could save his life.

The monk turned within to meditate. Eyes shut, he did not move for at least an hour. When he came out of this deep inner state, he said to the woman: ‘Stay with your son. He will not die. In 10 days he will be on his feet.’ Later, she came to tell the monk that it had happened just as he’d said. She thanked him profusely.

So many people came for the Swami’s help. He never hesitated to help them all whether it was illness, poverty, emotional distress, whatever. My teacher devoted every day to helping those who sought his assistance.

When I asked him how he came to be able to perform such miracles, he said that such power is within each of us and that all we needed to do was connect to the right source for everything to change as if by magic.

He explained that all our sufferings arises out of our past karma. ‘All our actions come back to us sooner or later. We need to pay off our karmic debts in order to rise out of suffering.’

In this man’s presence, I was filled with peace, and experienced the first joyous days of my life. I was a different man.

One evening, I asked him how I could change my life, have more luck, love and money. He said, ‘Continue to devote significant amounts of your time to helping others pay off their karmic debts and all will go well for you. Be without doubt.’

Then he spoke words that sent shivers down my