The Collage

By Rene Natan

How many times have we been trapped in a situation in which other people take control of our life? It often happens slowly, surreptitiously, and so smoothly that we hardly realize what’s going on—sometimes too late.

This is what happened to Allison Summer, a young, beautiful woman who married Inn Summer out of love. The man had portrayed himself as an ardent and attentive lover—only to create a cover for himself and find refuge from the law and the mob.

A few days after the wedding Allison is involved in a murder which temporarily escapes the attention of the police. Then Inn gets into an accident and becomes wheelchair-bound. On the insistence of her grandfather, Allison moves back to live on his wealthy farming property. Here she learns the ropes necessary to take over for the aging patriarch and renews the bond with her estranged father, Luke, who has spent most of his life in and out of psychiatric facilities. Allison aids the sick at the local medical center and puts a brave smile on her face for the sake of her loving grandfather. She’s chained by hardship, however, as Inn becomes more and more abusive, both emotionally and physically. When Marvin, the farm’s manager, starts getting close to her, she feels like opening up and tell him of all her troubles. Afraid that confiding in him might provoke wooing attempts, she rejects the idea. Meanwhile the police reopen an old murder investigation and discover a video that could send Allison to jail for the rest of her life. A nosy reporter makes Allison's life difficult; a mysterious fire destroys her home; a killer seemingly coming from nowhere knocks on her door, while an accusation of murder hangs over her head. Overwhelmed by guilt and disheartened by the loss of loved ones, for a while Allison suffers in soli¬tude, not knowing what to do.

But slowly and surely, Allison takes control of her destiny, and gets ready to overcome the many roadblocks ahead of her.

Readers’ comments and reviews can be found in http://www.vermeil.biz/TC-reviews.doc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rene Natan
• Release date: Aug 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9780968635278

Rene Natan

I always wanted to be a storyteller. At recess time I would gather some of my schoolmates and entertain them with stories—some of my own, others just summaries of books I read. My life, however, took a different turn, and I ended up following a career in information technology (as Professor Irene Gargantini). This over, I reverted to my old passion: plotting intrigues and mysteries and creating romantic or passionate encounters. I took several e-courses on fiction writing and began jotting down my tales. So far I have written nine novels, several short stories and co-authored a novella. The genre varies from romantic suspense (Mountains of Dawn, The Collage, The Loves and Tribulations of Detective Stephen Carlton, The Woman in Black, The Red Manor) to thriller (The Jungfrau Watch, The Blackpox Threat, The Bricklayer, Fleeting Visions). See www.vermeil.biz As an author, my goal is threefold: having fun in writing, entertaining the readers and offering them an uplifting vision at life. Honors Second place, the 2015 Five Star Dragonfly Book Awards for The Woman in Black Silver Medal, the 2015 Global Ebook Awards for The Loves and Tribulations of Detective Stephen Carlton Honorable Mention, Second place, the 2015 Five Star Dragonfly Award for The Woman in Black, Honorable Mention, 2014 San Francisco Book Festival, for Fleeting Visions First place, 2012 Five Star Dragonfly Award for the Blackpox Threat Finalist in the 2011 National Indie Excellence Award for the Blackpox Threat Honorary Mention, 2012 San Francisco Book Competition for the Bricklayer ---------------------------------------- From the Social Media From the Press: http://newsblaze.com/story/20110320075530zzzz.nb/topstory.html http://www.centralvalleybusinesstimes.com/stories/001/?ID=18849 From the Frankie Boyer BLOG: http://frankieboyer.typepad.com/blog/2011/07/ frankie-boyers-guest-line-up-for-wednesday-7611.html From KEMW-FM radio station Dr. Jim Lee presents Rene Natan: Interview ----------------------------------------- Review of Mountains of Dawn Romancing the Tone: Review of Rene Natan’s Mountain of Dawns By Frank Mundo Mountain of Dawns opens with a bang, literally: an explosion which kills one young woman named Kathy Alcin and injures another named Tanya Caldwell. 22 year-old Tanya Caldwell is an artist, “a dreamer” and a student at the Mackenzie Academy for the Visual Arts in Vermeil, Ontario, 80 miles outside of Toronto. “...Quiet. Well-mannered. Neat,” Tanya’s “a bit strange...like all creative people”. Orphaned as a child, Tanya dreams of dusty roads and the fosters homes she has bounced in and out of throughout her childhood. With no family, no money, and with no apparent connections to the world other than her art, Tanya seems harmless and rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So, why in the world would anyone want to kill her? The explosion we learn, however, is not an accident, but a car bomb. A mob-style hit which seems to have been intended for Tanya, who had only loaned her car to her roommate for the day. Oddly enough, we learn that this isn’t the first (and won’t be the last) attempt on Tanya’s life as we follow her through the twists and turns of Rene Natan’s novel billed as a Romance/Thriller. Okay, I know what you’re thinking: Oh no, Romance novel, right? Those cheesy books at the grocery store with a glossy, embossed picture of a pastel, ruffle-bloused Fabio and his big tan man-boobs on the cover. That’s what I was thinking too when I was asked to review it. Thankfully, this is not one of those books (which, depressingly, by the way, are among the most sellable and most sought after manuscripts in all of genre fiction these days). Mountain of Dawns is far more thrilling than romantic in that sense. As Tanya flees to the Riviera (a safe haven for her art as well) she does have a romantic affair with a publisher named Kevin Matwin, and does meet up with an Italian Count with suspicious international connections and serious clout. But the “romantic” element, if anything, is linked more to a type of storytelling made famous by “sentimental” writers of the past, writers such as Harriet Beecher Stowe or the Bronte sisters, and not the modern, escapist bologna that titillated housewives hide under their mattresses. In fact, Tanya Caldwell resembles, as a character, the character Jane Eyre in many ways, from her orphaned childhood to her mysterious ancestry and surprising windfalls. The plot of Mountain of Dawns owes quite a bit to the plot of Charlotte Bronte’s famous feminist romance Jane Eyre as well. Those familiar with Bronte’s story know that I can’t say much more about the plot of Natan’s novel without spoiling the twists and surprising turn of events which link the innocent Tanya Caldwell to the financial motive of her corrupted and desperate would-be killers. Those unfamiliar with Jane Eyre (which I was forced to read in five different lit classes over the years) will just have to take my word for it. Natan’s style, however, does differ from Bronte’s in that it lacks the strong biased tone and the heavy-handed ultra-sentimentalism of the old-fashion Romance novels. At times her prose even seems a bit journalistic and somewhat detached, (void of that tone or bias so apparent in those early romantic works) despite her story’s extremely personal nature and clever plot twists -- a story which closes, as it opens, with another surprising bang. Personally, I think her book might’ve benefited from a first person point-of-view, with a biased Tanya Caldwell at the wheel. After all, there’s nothing wrong with a bias in fiction. Honestly, I prefer it. I’ve even come, in many instances, to expect it. It is what creates the tone of most fiction. But, then again, I’ve always had a bias toward the first person narrative. Mountain of Dawns is Rene Natan’s first novel published in 1999 by Juppiter99 (available both in eBook and paperback versions) at very reasonable prices. Her other novels include Cross of Sapphires and The Collage (reviewed by Adrienne Jones and available in The Swamp’s “Review Archives“). Natan is also the author of shorter works Killing on Mount Yula, A Pair of Wings for Christmas, and Operation: Woman in Black. She is currently at work on a new novel. ---------------------------------------- Review of The Blackpox Threat The Blackpox Threat A Rene Natan Novel An Old Line Publishing Book ISBN-13: 978-0-9845704-5-4 ISBN-10: 0-9845704-5-4 Website: www.oldlinepublishingllc.com It is my belief that not many readers of this review have dreamed of becoming a spy for their country. In reading The Blackpox Threat by Rene Natan, you will meet Tamara Smith of London, Ontario who was challenged to do this very thing. It wasn’t an easy decision as the nightmares of her early youth had finally begun to fade, and she was living a comfortable life. Her parents, political refugees from the USSR, had been murdered because of her father’s covert activities. Endangering her own life was the last thing on her mind when she accepted a job with the Modano Company—Ship Me Safely—as a public relations person. Her boss, Charles Modano, hired her to assist at his antique shop two days a week and also asked that she occasionally accompany him to social functions where many potential buyers of antiques were contacted. The Modano Company had an excellent reputation for shipping valuable items without incurring any damage. At thirty-two years of age, Tamara felt the need for financial security and to have a relaxed, stable life. She loved her job and life was good. However, her new job brought challenges that she could never have anticipated! Vassilli Petrovic and Brad Wilson asked her to become involved in a dangerous covert operation in which she would actually spy on the company where she was now enjoying employment. Vassilli had been a lifetime friend who helped her before and after her parents’ death and she owed him much. But she didn’t owe anything to Brad Wilson, who was ever so determined that she go along with their request. She had been singled out because of her position with the Modano Company whom they suspected of handling the shipment of some very dangerous cargo. But what was this cargo? Tamara learns that it is a deadly virus called “The Blackpox” and that it is on its way to Canada. And so this beautiful woman who hadn’t wanted to leave her comfort zone agrees to participate in this dangerous mission; the operation is called “Bullfrog.” Tamara is giving some special training as well as recording devices and other equipment to help her carry out this undertaking with as much safety as possible. It is, however, her father’s gun—a Smith and Wesson—registered in her name that gives her the most confidence. The characters in this novel are all believable, and their personalities developed skillfully by the author who employs natural sounding dialog to move the exciting plot forward at a fast pace. Along with the excitement and danger, there is a romantic interest that slowly develops between Tamara and a young man named Justin Devry. Although she is obviously attracted to him, she is not eager to get involved because of her connection with “Operation Bullfrog.” Personally, I wasn’t sure I trusted him or even those involved with her in the covert operation. As it turns out, there was a mole in their team—someone they all trusted with their lives. Boris Youkenoff, a man knowledgeable in microbiology and organic chemistry, had worked in a natural, underground cave in Western Ukraine where there were the remains of an old lab that had been established by the Soviet Union for the development of biological weapons. When he meets Frank Milton, who has expertise in Biology, they become a deadly duo focused on coming up with a virus that would make them rich. Then there was Nekton who would go to any lengths to get hold of the virus. Just how many people were involved in this threat? Was there a vaccine? Could they be stopped by “Operation Bullfrog?” Tamara faced many hurdles in her short spying career that included murder, her own kidnapping, betrayal, and other breathtaking twists and turns. This is a mesmerizing novel, and individuals who purchase it will agree with me that it is a “must read.” I give The Blackpox Threat my highest recommendation. Bettie Corbin Tucker For Independent Professional Book Reviewers -------------------------------------- Review of The Red Manor The Red Manor Rene Natan PublishAmerica ISBN: 1-60672-325-1 344 pages In reading The Red Manor by Rene Natan, I found myself totally captivated by the storyline, the characters, and the creativity of the author. With a book of this caliber, we reviewers tend to say, “I just couldn’t put the book down once I started to read it.” Although a cliché, I can honestly say that this is how I felt as I eagerly progressed from chapter to chapter of The Red Manor, anticipating what would follow. Christopher Sandcroft, one of the main characters, is introduced in the first chapter as he agonizes over his decision to move his father Lucio from the Red Manor, a castle in Italy that had been in the family for 600 years. Chris was taking him to Harrisville, Canada to live with him in a magnificent house where he hoped this elderly man in a wheelchair would adjust and find some contentment. The son was very well off, having taken over a company his grandfather had started that built seismographs as well as some other equipment. Living with Christopher on his estate was Kathy, the housekeeper and her husband Gideon who was in charge of maintenance. Before long Chris hired Lillian Carrigan as a caregiver for his father who very slowly seemed to be adjusting to his new surroundings. Lucio liked the staff and the fact that a few paintings from the family collection had also made the trip to his new living quarters; however, in the back of his mind he often thought about the ancient curse that had been cast on his family, one that predicted the extinction of the Red Manor and its occupants. By going with Chris to live in Canada, he hoped to break the curse. When his other son Rick had lost his life at sea as a young child, his wife had left Lucio and taken Chris to Canada to live. Rick and Chris had been identical twins. As the storyline unfolds, readers are introduced to other characters—some friendly and trustworthy while others are sleazy and dishonest. The Howards, friends from England who had stayed at the Red Manor in the past, visit Lucio and his son in Canada. The visit opens a door that leads to danger and romance. The romance is between Vivian, the visiting couple’s daughter and Chris. A spark of an old romance is rekindled and quickly grows into a serious relationship. The danger involves a search for two missing cups of historical value that were once part of a collection of four that had been manufactured for a coronation. Lucio had given the two missing cups to his wife when she moved to Canada. When found, the publicity leads to much more than they had bargained for. Among the twists and turns, readers learn that Lillian Carrigan is raped by a man who looks very much like Chris but, of course, it wasn’t him. If you are thinking that his supposedly-deceased twin brother is the one who attacked Lillian, you would be wrong. DNA cleared Chris, and identical twins have the same DNA. But why did this man look so much like Chris and why did he rape Lillian? Also who later broke into the Sandcroft estate to steal what they believed to be the valuable cups? Chris returns to Italy to take care of a life-threatening situation. As all the pieces of this intriguing puzzle fall together, readers will feel satisfied when they read the final chapter. Although there is a funeral; there is going to be a wedding. This is an exceptionally well-written book by a very creative author who has researched her material and knows how to keep the eyes of readers riveted to the pages. The storyline reflects realism, the description is outstanding, and the dialog flows naturally. I give it my highest recommendation as a “must read.” Bettie Corbin Tucker For Independent Professional Book Reviewers ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Red Manor Reviewed by Reta Ross In the Red Manor Rene Natan has a total grasp of the lifestyles of the affluent as well as that of Romania gypsies. The juxtaposition and polarities are fascinating and the rip-off mentality of the fleece-artists knows no bounds. Lucio Sandcroft, Lord of the Red Manor, is burdened by an ancient family curse, the loss of his son, Rick, and the subsequent abandonment by his wife. To add insult to injury she took the remaining son, Rick’s twin, Chris Sandcroft when she absconded to Canada. Lucio’s wealth, although extensive, can’t compensate for his depression over the family curse and its predicted threats. Wheelchair bound he is almost at his wits end when his, now grown son, Chris, asks him to come to Canada and move in with him, he accepts, hoping to escape the curse. Chris is equally as wealthy as his dad, Lucio, thanks to his success in running his grandfather’s seismographs manufacturing company. Christopher’s estate is managed by Kathy and her husband, Gideon. Leaving no stone unturned in his efforts to ensure the old man is well cared for he hires Lillian Carrigan to tend to his every need. Lucio hoped the move to Canada would somehow dispel the ancient curse which foretells the annihilation of the Red Manor and its occupants. Even if the curse was overturned by this maneuver there was still the pain of losing his other son, Rick, who was washed overboard at sea as a young child. The sons were identical twins. Other characters—thicken the plot, the Howards from England who once, while in Italy, stayed at the Red Manor. Their daughter, Vivian, accompanies them to Canada and she and Chris fall in love. The Howards are keen on tracking down some valuable heirlooms, a couple of coronation cups, Lucio had given to his wife. Discovery of the cups generates publicity which brings undesirables out of the woodwork. The sub-plot focuses on a couple of Gypsies who exploit, use and abuse all and sundry in order to feather their nests. The cast of characters under their thumbs makes for an interesting mix. Lillian Carrigan gets raped by a man who looks like Chris but it is not him. Twins share the same DNA and tests prove the rapist was not Chris or his supposedly-deceased twin brother. So readers are left to ponder over the resemblance, the rape and the break and entry. The story unfolds in an intriguing and fascinating way. It is loaded with plot twists and surprises. Rene Natan is usually one for happy endings but often it seems like this won’t be one of those time. The theme of twins’strong bond woven throughout and the angst over the missing twin is crafty and clever and keeps everyone on their toes. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Review of Fleeting Visions 5.0 out of 5 stars Got me pinned in the book for hours February 18, 2014 By Earl Reylan Sarsuelo Amazon Verified Purchase All puzzles are getting solved in a very sophisticated manner. Detective Stevenson, a remarkable law enforcer tied up his career to a case he's been handling for several months only to end up doing it all over again after a missed operation. I do not want to be spoiling the readers, but I might say some details that you will find interesting in the book. I got seriously pinned down in to reading the early chapters of the book. Every character has its unique issues and personalities, yet all of them are delivered well to the public. Each plot/scene of one's character is simultaneously telling us his personality and life and his role in the entire story. I consider that as an asset in making books like this very intriguing. Jocelyn, is an example of a highly intimidating character but boosting with charm and is seriously attractive. Det. Stevenson even got his first regrets being single(spoiler alert!) after a scene with Jocelyn. One thing I really love most about these kinds of stories is that the continuity and the interconnection of scenes and events are puzzling enough to be interesting but not reaching to a point where readers dont get any idea over it - they dont get BLANK. Rene Natan wrote this book with ease and the concept is somewhat very clear in her mind. I was envisioning everything as I read. That's why I skipped a meal in reading this(not a good example but a good thing). I am commending the author Rene Natan for a well written, highly thought of, careful selection of characters, and intensifying book. A very good read. I recommend this to lovers of Thriller stories. -------------------------------------------------

Book preview

Prologue

Allison tried to shake off the fog that muffled her mind. Shaking her head was a mistake. Her skull pounded with a throbbing pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the pain to subside. That’s when the musty smell of old floorboards invaded her nose and seemed to reach deep into her stomach.

Ian grabbed her shoulder. Oh, no. You’re not passing out on me. He pulled her to her feet, holding her at arm’s length.

The feel of his hands cupping her elbows was enough to lift the fog, as tears of humiliation and grief stung her eyes. All she wanted was to get out of the house, away from herself, and the terrible ache tearing her up inside.

Ian’s hand tightened on her wrist. He moved towards the den, dragging her with him.

I don’t know why you pretended to…to love me. But it’s all been a big mistake. All we can do now is forget about it all and go our separate ways. Her voice trailed off to a sob.

He didn’t say anything, just kept pulling her along. She didn’t want to go into the den—not ever again. Allison dug in her heels, throwing her weight back to stop him. Why are you doing this? Ian, let go.

Just a big mistake, huh? He glared at her, his face tight with anger. We should just forget about it, right?

Allison stumbled over an end table and crashed into the wall. The tears she’d been holding back blurred her vision. She was cold to the marrow, her head hurt and her whole body felt sore, as if her heartache was a physical pain. Ian’s face swam in and out of focus as she blinked back her tears. What do you want from me, Ian? Why won’t you let me go?

He made no reply. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of her nightgown and steered her towards the fireplace. There’s your mistake, he said. Now tell me you can walk away from it.

A young man lay sprawled on the rug, one arm thrown up as if to protect himself. His face was dappled with blood; part of his skull was crushed. Bits of scalp clung to the cast-iron poker next to his head.

You were drunk, Ian said.

Allison shook her head, numb with shock. Her eyes were glued to the poker. She’d bought it at an antique shop a couple of days after the wedding, only to find out that the fireplace wasn’t working.

Drunk, and choked with rage.

No. Allison staggered back, shaking her head. No!

Yes. You killed him, Allison.

Chapter 1

Les Capucines, near Belleville, Ontario, October1998

Allison didn’t know what to expect. Would he recognize her? Was he as beautiful as when she’d left him? She quickened her steps down the steep incline, following the narrow trail that led to the barn. The trail wound around a stand of birches to lose itself in the darkness of a grove of pines. As the trees thinned out near the bottom of the hill, the old barn drifted into sight. She ran toward it, her heart throbbing. When she was in front of it, however, she stopped cold. Timbers and siding of any color and shape had been used to repair the roof and walls.

This wasn’t the barn she remembered.

She took a few tentative steps around it, then decided to walk inside. Old memories began to flash back. She was fourteen when the roof of the stable collapsed under a heavy snowfall, injuring her beloved colt Morello. She could still see him sprawled on the floor, his left ear split in two, his forelegs, both broken, folded under his trembling body, his eyes imploring.

Attracted by a loud neigh Allison moved toward the end of the stable. Morello was in the last stall, a big horse now, a star-shaped blaze glistening in the middle of his forehead. Only a thin, long scar parted his hair across the ear, a remnant of the old wound.

Allison stroked the horse’s neck. On impulse she rubbed her nose against his nose, but Morello retreated immediately. He panted in snorts and his ears twitched. You don’t remember, do you? You forgot me, eh? Her mind wandered back to that fateful dawn, when she frantically searched for her brother’s old sled. Morello was tiny then—barely one month old. She’d lifted him onto the sled and tucked a blanket around him. Then she’d tied the frayed rope around her wrist, and set off through the snow-covered fields. The vet’s lab was seven miles away. She didn’t dare to stop. If she halted she might not have the strength to get going again. So she plodded on, mile after slow mile, never stopping until she reached the vet. When she finally arrived, she was unable to speak. She could only point to her precious bundle.

Allison smiled at her memories.

Do you like horses? A male voice echoed in the almost empty stable.

Yes. But I found only one. Allison turned around.

A tall man in jeans and a leather jacket leaned his back against the wall. He was studying her with undisguised interest. Allison wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He pushed off the wall and sauntered over, taking off his cowboy hat. They used to have horses, but they’ve all been replaced by Jeeps. Not as pretty, but a heck of a lot more functional. He petted the horse’s ears and was rewarded by a grateful whinny. Morello is the only one left. He offered her a big hand. Marvin Garland.

Pleased to meet you. Allison Summer.

I’m in charge of Les Capucines.

Oh, that was news to her. I thought Les Capucines was the name of Mr. Saint-Clair’s residence.

It’s also the name of the Farming Consortium Mr. Saint-Clair had founded and built over the years. Farmers associated with the consortium share equipment and up-to-date information.

Ah, I got it. Allison looked up at the ceiling, and then down at the rotted floor. This place isn’t in very good shape, is it?

It should be torn down. But for some reason, Mr. Saint-Clair is attached to this old horse. As long as the horse lives, the stable stays. So what brings you here? You look very much like a city girl.

For a moment Allison thought of telling him who she was. But the man seemed so sure of himself, so much in control—maybe she should tease him a little.

What kind of employer does he make?

Mr. Saint-Clair? Marvin shot her a curious look. He brought me in four years back to modernize his operation. He was a friend of my father’s, and I’ve been running things for him after his heart attack. He’s a good man. He flipped his hat inside out. Why? Are you looking for a job?

Already got one. I’ll be helping out at the infirmary.

So you’re the new nurse they’ve been talking about for weeks. He grinned. Now isn’t that a coincidence. I need immediate medical attention. He pressed one hand against his chest, and his hazel eyes clouded over in mock pain. It’s my heart. It has been pounding from the moment I saw you. I can’t stop it. It might be dangerous.

Hmm. It’s a common disease. It affects men, mostly. She grinned. The good news is, it’s not catching. Her gaze moved up and down Marvin’s body. You look healthy and strong. I think you’ll recover. She began walking back to the large entrance.

Wait, wait. Marvin trailed her. Since you’re new here, I should show you around.

She kept walking. What, in your condition? You shouldn’t strain yourself.

Come on, just an easy spin in my comfortable Grand Cherokee. You can’t imagine how big this place is. It extends all the way up to the Indian reserve, twenty miles to the north.

As she reached the door, Allison turned to face Marvin. Thank you for the offer, Marvin. I’ll take a rain check.

***

Ian Summer rolled his wheelchair toward the fireplace, attracted by its pink granite mantel. He fingered the stones to feel their texture. Moving to Les Capucines had been an excellent idea. The studio was spacious, with beautifully framed pictures and photographs covering one entire wall. Two floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a credenza, all in solid oak, gave the room an imposing aspect. The sun, filtered through four stained-glass windows, created myriad colorful patterns on the dark, wooden floor.

Wheeling his way between an old desk and the leather chairs, he stopped in front of the portraits: there was Luke Saint-Clair with his pony; Luke with a sketching pad and crayons; Luke on a sailboat.

Admiring my good looks? I was young then. Luke Saint-Clair closed the door behind him. Five-six, slim and almost bald, Luke was in his mid-fifties. What’s so urgent you wanted to see me at this early hour? He slumped into the leather sofa.

Don’t move! Ian raised the digital camera he carried around his neck. Say ‘cheese’. He snapped Luke’s picture. There, that’s for my journal. To remember this special day. He moved over to the couch. Now that I’ve seen the place, I’d like to start making plans.

But you and Allison just got here! Luke’s eyes expressed even more anxiety than his words.

It’s never too early to make plans for the good life. And I intend to have a real good life.

Luke didn’t comment right away, staring through the glass door at the back of the studio. Allison, riding Morello, was on her way to the lakeshore. He sighed, giving Ian a worried look. What’s left to plan? I thought this was what you wanted. A nice place to stay. Being taken care of.

For one thing, I need cash. Maybe you can talk to your father. It’s clear he’s very happy Allison came here to stay. This could be the perfect moment.

You can forget about that. He won’t give me a penny—it’s a miracle he lets me stay here at all.

I’ll have to get it from Allison, then. She’s my wife.

Ian! Please don’t. She’s my daughter, the only child I have left. I don’t want her under pressure.

Don’t get sentimental now. You didn’t care about her or… An expression of guilt and pain flickered across Luke’s face. Not wise to remind him of that particular agreement, Ian thought. He wheeled closer, and reached for his friend’s hand. Remember all the dreams we had? Traveling, lying on the beach… he said, searching Luke’s face.

Luke waved off his words. True. But that was then.

Ian fretted. He tried to read Luke’s expression. Was it possible that his friend knew what he’d done? Maybe it was better not to press the issue. He’d have to tread carefully, at least for the moment.

***

A gigantic walnut tree towered over the shrubbery off the kitchen patio. Its fruit, still green, began to drop to the ground. A squirrel dashed out of the bushes to grab two walnuts. It swiftly hid them in its mouth and carried them away to stock up its winter supply.

Allison stood in front of the glass door, lost in the peace and harmony of the view. Glimpses of her childhood came to her as scenes of a remote, lost world: the rides with Morello, the walks with her brother on the lakeshores, the calls of the loons, the frantic planting of hundreds of nasturtiums to cover the front yard…

She jerked as a hand stroked her shoulder.

You didn’t hear me walking in, eh?

She turned. No. Good morning, grandpa. Breakfast is ready. Just for the two of us.

It’s so wonderful to have you around, Allison, Justin Bernard Saint-Clair said as he sat at the table.

Allison filled his cup with tea, dropped a slice of fresh lemon into it and briskly kissed him on his thin, white hair. She sat beside him. I didn’t remember this old kitchen being so big. This table, for instance, could easily sit eight people.

Your grandmother loved cooking. She liked to have people around, too. We often had our guests sitting here in the kitchen. This table was made to order for her. Bright ceramic top. You can cut on it. It doesn’t damage easy. Justin sipped his tea slowly. So, what else surprised you? After your mother took you away you came here only once.

The size of the farm as it grew to be. More cattle. More fields cultivated as cash crops. Allison grabbed a slice of bread from the toaster and coated it with a thin layer of grape jelly. You bought so much new land. The property is huge now.

He nodded. There’s a lot of people depending on this farm. When I’m gone, they’ll be your responsibility. He pressed her hand. Don’t look so worried. You’ll do just fine. And I’m not dead yet. But I can tell you, having you back here takes a weight off my chest.

Allison looked directly into his eyes. They were bright, alert. If only she could confide in him… But he had his own cross to bear. His adopted child, her father, had wasted his life on drugs and bad company. She wasn’t going to add to his worries—Luke Saint-Clair had done enough damage for both of them. On top of that, her grandfather had a heart condition. She should never forget that.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Justin looked up from his cup. Your mother… She never forgave me, did she?

Oh, grandpa. That’s not true.

But the old man would not be deceived. He sighed. She was right, you know, to take you away. I should have kicked Luke out long before I did, long before she left. It’s just— He shook his head. I felt so sorry for him. When I looked at Luke, I still remembered the way I found him. Sitting on the house doorsteps in his pajamas, all hungry and bruised. A small, scared boy who didn’t talk for weeks.

A quick smile appeared on Allison’s face. I know. She put her hand on top of his, stopping his tremors.

And then, when I think of you and Vern—I feel so grateful to him. He gave me two wonderful grandchildren.

Grandpa would never fail to make her feel good about herself. By the way, I didn’t expect to find my father here.

The social worker in charge of Luke’s rehabilitation called me up. He asked me if Luke could stay at Les Capucines for the time being. He’s in a recovery program. He’s making great progress, the counselor told me. So I said yes. He slowly finished his tea.

He looks tired, very much aged.

Well, with the lifestyle he had, my child, he’s lucky to be alive. Justin’s voice was sharp now. By the way, I found your husband on edge. Any particular reason?

The urge to open her heart became overwhelming. But Allison saw an old man, in poor health, who needed comfort, not more worries. In spite of the doctors’ opinion, Ian seems to believe he won’t recuperate the use of his legs.

I see. Justin rose. More tea? As Allison nodded, he moved with unsuspected vigor around the kitchen counter. He put on the kettle and asked over his shoulder, How is your own life, Allison? Hard, I bet, with the move and Ian in a wheelchair.

Allison could hardly refrain from crying. She waited until she trusted her voice enough to speak. Things, at the moment, aren’t that easy, she replied. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine.

***

Marvin drove over to his sister’s house and pulled the Grand Cherokee into the driveway. He’d have supper with Susan and then head off for a weekend of freedom.

Susan knew his vehicle by sound. Before he had time to turn off the engine, she appeared in the doorway, one hand resting on her cane, the other on the doorframe.

Hey, little brother!

Marvin gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and they walked in together.

Beer? Susan asked.

Sure. Marvin sat in the family room, in the chair reserved for him. Everything in Susan’s house had a precise place and function. He’d had the place custom-built to fit her needs. The small, one-story house had a wrap-around porch with a secure railing, so she could move about in total safety. Susan was nearly blind—the result of diabetes she’d suffered since childhood.

She headed to the kitchen and returned with a cold beer. Susan maneuvered among the different pieces of furniture with a confidence that defied her impairment, and sat in her own chair, close to Marvin’s. Anything new? she asked.

Not much. Oh, yes. A new arrival at Les Capucines. A young nurse.

Good-looking?

Er…well, yes, I guess. He tried to hide his embarrassment, even though she couldn’t see him. Susan, fifteen years his senior, knew him well. Too well for comfort.

She sat back. All right, time for a full report. She waved her hands at him, eager, eloquent: she wanted to see through his words.

Not too tall. Big eyes. Short hair, looks soft.

Susan sat upright. Does she look like Charlene?

Marvin didn’t reply immediately. Maybe a little. The eyes. Like Charlene’s, they’re light grey.

Susan just smiled. A quiet girl?

Not exactly. More like composed. She acts kind of cool and distant. But her eyes are very much alive. There’s fire burning inside.

Susan whistled between her teeth. Uh-oh.

Don’t uh-oh me. If I wanted fire I could have had it long ago.

Oh, sure. At the ripe old age of thirty-eight you’re finished with life. You’ve got your job, you’ve got your loving sister, you don’t need anything else.

She kept her voice light, but he could see her mouth tremble. That’s right, he said. He scooted over and took her hands. That’s damn right. But as he kissed the top of her head, he wondered. And he knew she was wondering too. Was another Charlene coming to destroy their peace?

***

Malcolm Clark, head of ‘Invicta,’ a private agency created a decade ago for the active protection of citizens against crime, nodded at the prim, straight-backed woman seated in front of him, and sent her one of his award-winning smiles. He didn’t like to antagonize potential customers, but Pamela Borodin wasn’t making things easy. She’d been rambling on and on in her high, whining voice for over an hour now. The meeting had been an exercise in patience and understanding, and it didn’t look like she was going to be done any time soon.

She ignored his smile and continued her tirade, lambasting the incompetence of police, prosecutors, and the justice system in general. Malcolm made sympathetic noises. To pass the time, he counted and recounted the pictures that covered the walls of his office. Twenty-four of them, each portraying a Stanley Cup winning team.

He had to find a way to stop her. So he rose, neared the side of his desk and stood there, imposing. He hoped that his six feet ten and two hundred and fifty pounds would have a calming effect.

Like magic, Pamela stopped talking.

Malcolm looked down on her. Mrs. Borodin—

Ms. Borodin, she corrected him instantly.

Ms. Borodin, as I told you before, there’s nothing I can do. Your brother died—

Was murdered, she interjected.

…almost a year ago. There was enough evidence to call his death a suicide.

Mr. Clark, listen to me. I drove all the way from Montreal. I came to the Invicta because of its prestigious name. I was told it’s an organization established to help citizens. She stopped and inhaled quickly, to gain strength for what she was going to say. My brother Albert was killed and his body thrown into a river. I know who has done it. I collected a lot of evidence. She tapped on the folder lying in her lap. If nobody at the Invicta wants to help, I’ll take justice in my own hands.

That was probably the only thing the woman could say to sway him to take the case. The woman was upset enough to do something foolish, cold enough to plan it carefully, and smart enough to get away with it. A deadly combination.

As if interpreting his thoughts, Ms. Borodin moved ahead full force. I can pay your agency to expose my brother’s assassin or I can pay a killer to eliminate him. She gave Malcolm Clark a cold, determined look.

Statements of this sort, muttered Malcolm, could cause you big trouble, Ms. Borodin. Are you aware of that?

You told me on the phone, that our conversation would be confidential. She looked like a cat ready to catch its prey.

Malcolm sighed. Well, not really…not if it includes specific plans to commit criminal actions. It wasn’t easy to scare this customer away. He had to gain time. He moved back behind his desk and slumped into his swivel chair. Let’s see what you’ve got. He stretched his arm to promptly receive a thick, black folder. He leafed through the pages. Why don’t I see what I can do, and get back to you in a week? Ten days, tops. How does that sound? He got up, hoping the meeting would come to an end.

Ms. Borodin rose too. She extended her hand. Take two weeks, she said.

Malcolm Clark forced a smile as he escorted her to the door. The woman knew how to be generous in victory.

Chapter 2

Built on a rise, Justin Bernard Saint-Clair’s residence, known as Les Capucines, was a slick two-story construction with beige-and-purple brick walls. It had been remodeled to accommodate two families, Justin Bernard’s in the old wing, and that of his adopted son, Luke, in the new wing. An addition at the back housed a first-aid center and a small apartment for a live-in nurse. That annex was going to be Allison’s new living quarters. For the last couple of days she’d worked hard to make it look like home.

Standing on a chair, she balanced on her tiptoes to smooth the pleated curtains. Nice, aren’t they? Antique pink. She looked down at her grandfather’s long-time housekeeper.

Julia was holding on to the chair’s back to steady it. She shook her head, a frown creasing her normally good-natured face. I still don’t understand why you’re staying here. You’re the lady of the house. It just doesn’t seem right.

Allison stepped down and tilted her head back to admire her handiwork. Beautiful. I’ve always loved the look of satin curtains. Then she met the elderly housekeeper’s worried eyes. It’s all right Julia. Really, it is. It gives my husband more space.

There’s plenty of space for the two of you, Julia muttered.

She was right, of course. But to her surprise, Ian had agreed she move into the annex. If she weren’t driving around the estate to make home-care visits she’d be spending much of her time there anyway. Wouldn’t it be more practical for her to use the apartment? He agreed that, yes, it would.

And what about your grandfather? He’ll miss you, Julia said.

Allison chuckled. No need to worry about that. Grandpa gets up early too, so we can have breakfast together. Most of the time I’ll be back for supper. And I’ll join him at the main office every other day—he intends to show me the ropes, and you know him.

Julia laughed despite herself. He’s a sweet man. But when he has something in mind, he doesn’t give up that easy.

So…have you seen Ian today? She kept her voice neutral.

He’s been in the studio since this morning. Busy reading. Art and photography books, I believe. He was surprised to find so many.

Allison smiled wistfully. My brother spent all his pocket money on those kinds of books. She rearranged the pottery on the window ledge. Look over there! She pointed outside, at a rabbit running toward the woods. And another one! Both cottontails. Wonderful. I love nature. This’s going to be my very own little den. She turned toward Julia. Go, Julia, and don’t worry. Thank you for your help.

See you, Mrs. Summer.

Allison, Julia. I’m little Alli, remember? You helped me making clothes for my doll.

In spite of her heavy figure, Julia moved quickly to hug her. Then, quietly, she left, followed by Allison’s silent blessing.

She wandered around her small living quarters—kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and a small sitting area. Everything looked neat and cheerful. And the little fish tank she’d ordered would soon add a touch of color and life. Pleased with herself, she grabbed the bag with the carrots she had ready for Morello. Time to take him for a ride.

***

Malcolm Clark was back from his daily workout. He’d never had any problem keeping his weight down, but since he’d founded the Invicta, the social gatherings had taken their toll. Being the big chief meant taking each potential client out for dinner—at least once. And good food was always a temptation. He should work on a case, in person, top to bottom, and stay away from headquarters. Maybe Paul Brennon, his right-hand man, could temporarily replace him as the agency’s director.

From the basement where the fitness room was located, he walked upstairs and entered his office. He glanced around. He had every reason to be proud of what he’d accomplished. The Invicta had been very successful in offering citizens active protection against crime and in carrying out discreet investigations. Located in