The Tarot Card Murders

By Lucy Stalma

A stint in jail for rape does not sit well with character Drake Buchannan. He is now out of jail and out for revenge against the woman who put him there. He forms an alliance with ex-con Brent Grover and those people close to Lauren Saunders now start dying. This novel captures the psyche of a psychopath bent on revenge, trying to control the world around him that is quickly spiraling out of his control. Undertones of mafia involvement add to the mix to make this book one you will be riveted to page by page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucy Stalma
• Release date: Nov 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311946041

Lucy Stalma

Lucy Stalma lives in a western Pennsylvania Amish community called New Wilmington with her husband of over 30 years and their Siberian cat Ivan. She is the mother of two adult children.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The scruffy-looking hoodlum seated at the back table at Andassi’s looked out of place in the posh eatery. He had been sent to do a job for a friend of Joey Antonelli’s. That was all the owner of the establishment needed to know to grant his admission to the place, in spite of his appearance.

The cell-phone in the paroled felon's leather jacket pocket rang. He quickly answered it. Yeah? That you, Drake? he whispered, nervously casing the patrons around him.

No, Brent. It’s Santa Claus. Of course, it’s me. Have they arrived yet? the caller asked, clearly agitated.

Glancing toward the entrance, Brent answered, No, not yet. But it shouldn’t be long. From the tape I boosted out of her office, I found out that she made a date with him for six-thirty. It’s almost that time now. This is where they usually eat, and it’s where I heard her tell him that she wanted to come tonight.

The man calling directed, Now, listen. I want you to watch everything Elliott and Lauren do tonight. I want to know every detail. In particular, I want to know how serious things are getting between them. You got that?

The informant nodded. No problem. I’ll just sit here and pretend to mind my own business. But I have to be careful she doesn’t see me. After all, I work for her...

The caller agreed. Yes. You do that. Be very careful. I am not paying you to screw this up. What I want to know right now is why they haven’t had a date for a couple of weeks. I want to know what they talk about when they are together. Can you arrange that?

Drake’s lackey chugged down a shot of bourbon before answering. No problem. I took it upon myself to find out where they would be sitting, and I taped a voice-activated microcassette player to the underside of the table, with duct tape. I'll pretend to lose a contact lens as an excuse to get under the table. They’d have to get down on their hands and knees and actually look for it, to find it. Not to worry.

Good boy, Brent, the man financing the hood’s activities complimented him. You stick with me, and you’ll go places. I have connections, you know...

Brent snickered. Oh, I know about your connections. Most of them are in the pen. But then, who am I to talk.

The voice that came back over the phone suddenly had a chilly edge to it. Yes, indeed. Who are you to talk? You know what it’s like to wear bright orange all day long, being told when to eat, sleep, take a leak, for years, now don’t you, Mister Grover?

When the ex-con heard this mocking put-down, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to refrain from making a sarcastic comeback. Instead, he shoved the filter of a cigarette into his mouth and clamped down hard on it with his lips. The butt trembled slightly in his mouth as he lit the end of it.

Finally, he found the calmness to respond. Yes, Mister Buchanan, I do believe that I can recall what being in lockup is like. I don’t need to be reminded.

Good, Drake answered. I’d hate to think that someday you may have to go back to that happy little hell-hole. He then horse-laughed, getting great enjoyment out of the control he wielded.

Brent cringed as he listened to the treatment he was receiving, that he felt powerless to escape. Look, Drake, he broke in, I have to go. They should be here any minute. I will let you know as soon as I can what goes down. Goodbye. Pushing the button on the cell-phone to disconnect the call, the ex-con slammed the phone onto the table.

"Yeah, you go ahead and be a prick. Your day is coming, mister," he grumbled to himself. Blowing a stream of white smoke across the table he sat at, Brent Grover slowly seethed in resentment. The way he was now being treated was just a pattern in his life, one he figured he should be used to by now. It seemed some things you never got used to, including not being treated with any respect.

His second shot of bourbon had just trickled down his throat in a slow burn, when Brent saw the couple enter the eatery. As usual, the woman looked stunning, dressed as though she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine, in a pale-chartreuse sheath accented simply by gold jewelry. The man, likewise, was dressed fashionably in a dark suit.

Angelo! It’s so nice to see you again! The woman’s voice lilted as she greeted the maitre d’. You remember my neighbor, Elliott? Re-introductions were made.

Oh, of course. Your table is ready. This way, please. If I recall correctly, you like Black Russians? the restaurant owner's son inquired.

The woman nodded. Yes, that’s right. We’ll take two of those, right, Elliott? she ordered, before her date could voice his choice of beverage. Shrugging, the man acquiesced. He knew by now that she just had a tendency to want to run the show. I suppose that will be fine, Elliott gave in.

The couple settled down at their table, poring over the menus together. The Scaloppini looks good, she suggested, knowing it was one of his favorites. Shaking his head, he objected, I’ll be up all night with heartburn. I think I’ll go for the Alfredo, instead. His stomach had been burning like an erupting volcano lately. Stress, no doubt.

Have you been back to your doctor lately? Lauren urged, suddenly concerned about his health. This had been going on for weeks, now. Sighing, Elliott conceded, It has been pretty bad. Anyway, my ulcer is alive and well. Doctor Chantell gave me some medication for it. It may take a while to take effect. I probably shouldn’t be drinking, but you only live once.

His date reached her hand across the table and clasped his. Her expression was full of sincere concern. I worry about you, Elliott. You work too hard. And sometimes I don’t think you take care of yourself the way you should, she fretted. Clearing his throat, the man objected, I am fine. It’s nothing that a pill can’t take care of. You worry too much.

His girlfriend tossed her hair back off her shoulder and scoffed. You need someone to worry about you. I’ll say it again. You work too hard. You put in too many hours at the office. It seems to me, that you need a woman in your life to look out for you...

Elliott chuckled. Oh, I have plenty of those. Maybe that’s why I have this hole in my gut, to begin with. My track record with women is phenomenal, he gibed, thinking of all the disastrous relationships he had been involved in.

Cocking her head slightly to one side as she considered his admission, Lauren asked, Is that why you haven’t called me very often for a date, even though we live in the same building? Is that why you haven’t asked me out for weeks--because you have so many names in your little black book, and only so much time? Am I just another of those names in your book?

Put on the spot, Elliott was not sure how to answer. He did not want to tell her the truth--that he had previously gotten the impression that she was not impressed with him. She was the first woman he had dated who had been so resistant, for so long, to his charms. She was not easily seduced. His ego would not let him admit this to her.

He cast his gaze downward as he answered, stammering, R-really, Lauren. I have just been busy. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to be with you. You know how it is, when you are up to your ears in work. It’s like that Johnston deal you’ve been tied up with. There don’t seem to be enough hours in the day...

She coolly appraised her date from across the table, before answering. Well, if you say so, she said dubiously. At any rate, I am glad you called me. I’ve missed you.

Elliott glanced up at her, a look of surprise on his face. You mean that? Then why didn’t you call me? I would have been over in a heartbeat!

Lauren reached across the table and picked at the petals of a rose bud in a vase between them. Chuckling softly, she explained, averting her eyes as she spoke. I was always taught that a woman does not call a man. My mother always told me that it wasn’t proper. She was rather old-fashioned, in that sense.

Relief came over Elliott. Oh. I see. Here, I thought you just weren’t too crazy about me. Well, I think I can relax now. Let’s order dinner now, shall we?

He motioned to Angelo, who hurried back to their table with their drinks. I am so sorry it took me so long to get back to you, the waiter apologized.

The male patron waved a dismissive hand at him. Think nothing of it, he said. Just bring me the Linguini Alfredo and a salad, heavy on the Italian dressing. And bring my lady friend here whatever she wants. Angelo scribbled quickly on his order pad. Ah, if I recall, your lady friend likes Ossobucco, and a small garden salad, no onions, with French dressing, correct? Lauren smiled as the waiter pronounced the name of her favorite Italian dish. You remembered! I am so surprised. Not many restaurants serve it, you know. I searched many before I found it here, let me tell you.

The maitre d’ beamed in return. We pride ourselves here at Andassi’s for giving the customer a wide range of selection, you know. I am glad that you are pleased. I shall return shortly with your orders, he promised, quickly making an exit.

After the waiter had left, Lauren’s date reached across the table and took her hand in his. I am so glad you decided to make time for me tonight. I have to admit, I missed you, also. It has been a lonely two weeks without you.

It was Lauren’s turn to be surprised. Oh? I had assumed that I was just another one in your large harem, she joked. The blond ran an index finger up the sleeve of his jacket, demurely flirting with him, carefully avoiding looking into his eyes as she did so.

His gaze followed her perfectly manicured, polished fingertips as they gently stroked the sleeve of his jacket. He impulsively reached over and snatched her hand off his jacket, bringing it to his mouth, kissing her fingers. His voice was husky as he warned her, You should not tease me like that in a public place. I could lose control very easily, when you do something like that. Lauren’s light laughter filtered back to him. Oh, but you love it. Admit it. You love it when I make you squirm, she chaffed, her lips formed into a slight, mocking grin.

His mouth gaped open in shocked surprise to hear her brazen confession, flirting in such an open manner. To astonish him further, his date kicked off her high heel and ran her toes up the bottom of his pant leg, above the top of his sock, slowly dragging her toes down his leg to his ankle. Her eyes met his as she grinned mischievously at him. What were you saying about teasing? she bantered, obviously amused at his reaction. Elliott, my dear, you have yet to see me start to tease you.

Scanning the room nervously, her date pleaded, Lauren, honey. There are a lot of people here. Don’t do this to me. After all, I have to get up and walk out of here. And I can’t leave this table with the obvious physical problem you are creating for me!

The blond chortled. Oh, I suppose you’re right. But let this be a lesson to you. Don’t make me sit by the phone waiting for you to call me for two weeks. I don’t get mad. I get even.

He felt her foot move away from his leg then, and he groaned in relief. Thank you. I would have hated to have to explain this, he pointed to his lap, to a whole restaurant full of people. You are ruthless, sweetheart.

Her laughter traveled from across the table to him. All is fair in love and war, as my mother always used to tell me. I do what I have to, to make my point, Elliott. Always remember that, she asserted.

Elliott guffawed. Lauren, Lauren. What am I going to do with you? No, never mind. Don’t answer that. As he was making this comment, Angelo had returned with their meals, setting them down in front of each of them. I hope you will find everything to your liking. Please call me if there is anything you need, he offered, before hurrying away again.

Attacking his mound of pasta with the intensity of a starving savage, Elliott shoveled a large mouthful in, chewing with obvious delight. Around a mouthful of linguini, he mumbled, This is great. Here, try some. Twirling the long strands of steaming pasta onto his fork, he leaned across the table and offered some of his dish to his companion.

She took a small bite and chewed slowly as she appraised it. Not bad. Here, try some of mine. She cut some of the food on her plate into a small bite and extended it across the table to him. Elliott took a bite, then quickly picked up his drink and washed down the food with it, waving his hand in front of his face. Call the fire department. Boy, is that hot. But, it’s not bad, he critiqued her food.

Across the room, Brent Grover smoked his cigarette in bored nonchalance. Oh, how cute, he muttered. They’re feeding each other. Drake is going to love this. He kept his eyes trained on the table across the room where the couple was seated, to make sure he missed nothing.

Well, Lauren, I hope you aren’t going to hold it against me, that I haven’t seen you for two weeks, her date said, wiping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin as he spoke.

The woman swallowed the food in her mouth before answering. Oh, I think you can make it up to me, if you try hard enough, she sniggered. So, what is it at work that has you so tied up? The two launched into a discussion of business matters, talking about colleagues they dealt with regularly.

...And this Johnston guy, I swear, he tries to bed anything in a skirt! Lauren complained. He gives me the creeps. I make sure I am never in the room alone with him.

I should hope not! Elliott rejoined. You never know what is likely to happen, being alone with someone like that! The prospect of another man making moves on Lauren had him flagrantly irritated. Lauren shook her head slightly and chuckled. I don’t really think you have anything to be worried about. The man is old enough to be my father. I have no interest in him at all.

Across the table from her, Elliott pulled his body erect in a display of indignation. Well, he pronounced slowly, Just because you are not interested in him, does not mean he is not interested in you. The sudden jealousy that Elliott felt was badly-concealed. He looked down at his plate quickly, busying himself with pushing his pasta around his plate with his fork. His appetite abandoned him. Looking across the table at Lauren, Elliott decided that all he wanted was to go home and be alone. Are you about done eating? I have some work I have to do at home tonight... he lied.

Lauren’s mouth fell open a bit as she listened to his obvious deception. Oh. I see, she said. I suppose I could hurry it up. I wouldn’t want to keep you from anything important.

A heavy silence fell between them. Each felt suddenly uncomfortable and not sure how to go about rectifying their spat.

Angelo soon appeared to check on them, saving them from an uncomfortable episode. Can I bring you dessert? he asked, his usual wide smile displayed on his elongated, rugged face.

Elliott made a show of wiping his mouth with the napkin, and said, No, Angelo. That will not be necessary. Just bring me the check. The waiter left the bill on the table and hurried away. Lauren deliberately looked across the room away from Elliott. Brent saw her looking in his direction and hurriedly jerked a menu up in front of his face, hiding behind it.

We better go now, Elliott, the woman across from him stated in a flat monotone. We each have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.

Tossing his napkin on the table, Elliott stood and helped his date out of her chair. His arm encircled her waist as she stood up. Neither of them said anything as he dug into his pants pocket for some money, and tossed the currency on to the table to cover the bill and Angelo’s tip.

They walked out of the restaurant together to the parking lot across the street, silent and brooding. Elliott helped Lauren into the passenger side of his new luxury coupe. Just before closing the door, he leaned over and into the car, pulling her face close to his.

Honey, let’s not argue, please, he pleaded, searching her eyes with his. Before she could object, he kissed her. He could feel her lips tighten, fighting the advance he made. Hastily, he backed off and closed her car door.

As he slid behind the wheel of the car, Elliott said, Look, I’m sorry. Whatever I did to make you so upset, I’m sorry. He leaned forward and placed his head on the steering wheel, frustrated that the whole evening seemed to be taking a nosedive.

The subsequent ride home was quiet, awkward. Lauren kept her eyes on the passing landmarks that flitted past her window; Elliott stared straight ahead as he kept his attention tuned to the road.

Behind them, a mini van trailed a few car-lengths behind. Brent Grover was its occupant, keeping close tabs on their activities. Elliott was soon pulling his car into the parking garage. Across the street from the garage, Brent parked the van and turned off the engine, and then shut off the lights. He grabbed for his binoculars on the seat next to him, tracking their movements.

Brent watched as Elliott turned off the engine of the expensive coupe and sat quietly next to Lauren. Before she could object, he leaned over and pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately, his body pressed against hers.

For a moment, she resisted again, then, little by little, her body relaxed and melted into his, her excitement equal to his. He broke the kiss first.

I didn’t think you would stay mad at me forever, he breathed into her ear, kissing the side of her neck, running his hand up her side, reaching around her back, aiming to find her bra strap.

Lauren immediately realized his intent and sprang up in her seat, putting a stop to his aggression. Elliott! she sputtered, This is hardly the place to be doing this, in the parking garage, of all places! We do have neighbors, you know!

Craning his neck to make a quick inspection of the premises, her boyfriend noted, It looks pretty deserted to me. I don’t think we’ll get caught. Let’s live dangerously, he leered at her, now sounding like a teenager taking his date to a drive-in movie.

Oh, I don’t believe you! We are too old for necking in the garage! Elliott, be serious! she scolded.

So, let’s go up to my place and neck. Or, we could go even further than that, he suggested lewdly, cocking his eyebrow at her.

The blond playfully swatted at his shoulder. Elliott Baker, I am not that easy, I will have you know. I don’t take up those kinds of offers from men who don’t have time for me. Sorry, she informed him.

So, I’ll make time for you every night, if you want. Just say you’ll stay with me tonight, he cajoled, hoping to coax her into submission.

Shaking her head forcefully, his neighbor maintained, I don’t operate that way. You can’t put me away like a toy, and then take me out to play with, whenever the mood strikes you. I want more out of a relationship.

He sat next to her pouting, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Groaning, he replied, Oh, no. Now she wants a relationship. The next thing I know, she’ll want a ring! She’ll want to get married and have a baby! There has to be a better way to get you to agree to make love to me, without promising you the whole ball of wax, right off the bat. Scratching at his head in a show of irritation, he argued, Come on, Lauren. Do you really need the whole white picket fence package deal? Is this for real?

Grabbing her purse, the blond was now in a state of agitation. Listen, you know my terms. You can pay someone for what you have in mind! she spat out, a venomous glare on her face.

Exhaling heavily, her date shot back, Now how do you know what I have in mind, down the road? You’re too busy being hard-to-get! He got out of the car and slammed the door. Stomping over to her side of the car, he yanked her door open.

Well, come on, then. I’ll see you to your apartment, he snapped, extending his hand to her, to help her out.

Instead of getting out of the car, Lauren sat very still looking at him, an expression of curiosity on her face. So, what exactly do you mean, by down the road? Does that mean things could get serious with us? I’ve seen how you go through women, one after another... she argued.

Pulling her to her feet with a hard tug, her date slammed the car door and grabbed her instantaneously, swiftly pinning her to the side of the car with his body. His arms were around her before she could object; he held her head tightly between the palms of his hands, kissing her deeply. The sensation melded their two bodies together with each passing second they shared joined together. When he was done, he released her. His voice was gruff as he asked, Does that answer your question?

CHAPTER TWO

Ribbons of sunlight streamed through the slats of the vertical, louver blinds of Lauren Saunders’ fifth floor condominium the next morning. The brightness awakened her, before the alarm clock next to her could sound.

The sultry blond kicked at the thick comforter that cocooned her in the bed. She awoke from her slumber, and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Her arms stretched out wide in imitation of a cat awakening from a nap; her mouth made a wide moue. After her eyes adjusted to the light, the young woman tossed aside her covers and threw her legs over the side of the bed, wriggling her toes in the deep, ivory-hued, pile carpet underfoot.

A smile graced her features as she remembered that today she would be finalizing the Johnston deal. Months had been spent working on it, and it was finally ready to go through. There would be much to celebrate tonight.

I-ris, she called out to her attendant, who had been with her for much of her life, first as her nanny, now as her housekeeper and confidant. Immediately, a short, stout, graying woman in her sixties waddled into the room, drying her hands on a towel. Yes, Miss Lauren? she asked uncertainly.

Iris. I have things to do today. No time to waste. Please lay out my clothes and have breakfast going by the time I am out of the shower, she instructed with authority.

Her housekeeper nodded submissively, rushing to the walk-in closet on the far side of the room to retrieve an outfit. I’ll have them ready by the time you are out of the shower, Iris promised.

Lauren scuffed her way across the room, pulling a thick, burgundy, terry cloth robe close to her slim, lithe body as she walked. At the door of the adjoining bathroom, she stopped and turned to the older woman. And Iris, today I want the eggs over easy, not running all over my plate. Can you can manage that?

A brief nod was her reply. Miss Saunders stepped into the private bath. Soon the room was filled with billowing steam from the shower. Iris heard Lauren’s clear, alto singing voice from the other room as she laid out a navy suit from the closet. Quickly, she made the king-size bed and carefully plumped the plush pillows and neck rolls that decorated the bed when it was not in use, placing each pillow carefully in its customary position.

The door of the private bath swung open wide, giving forth a wave of moist steam as Lauren entered the bedroom. Her aquamarine blue eyes were icy as she glanced over at the bed. Perched in the middle of it, raking at the comforter with its claws was her Persian kitten, Suki. A shriek escaped the pet’s owner as she stormed, I-ris! What is this cat doing on my bed! Come and get it now!

The housekeeper quickly rushed in, spewing apologies as she scooped the furry, protesting animal from its resting spot. The cat made loud mews of protest when Iris picked it up and dumped it outside the bedroom, closing the door after it soundly. I am so sorry. She must have snuck in when I opened the door. It won’t happen again, she guaranteed.

Well, I certainly hope not. She would have shredded that spread if she’d had time, and it cost a fortune, Lauren sniffed at her. With a dismissive shrug, she continued, Look, I have to be at the office soon. Please straighten that bed out and help me get dressed.

Quick to appease, Iris smoothed the rumpled comforter with painstaking care, then nervously checked out the rest of the room to determine if anything else was out of place. It was second nature for her to be on guard, waiting for criticism. The young woman had inherited her late mother’s trait of being a tireless perfectionist. The senior Lady Saunders had been a relentless fussbudget, until her death a year ago of lung cancer. Iris had been constantly alert to demands from Lady Eleanor to do this, do that. The deceased woman had been quick to point out any improprieties she found in Iris’ work. "Fortunately for both of you, I am a forgiving soul, with a thick skin for criticism and a genuine fondness for both of you, in spite of your dominating, demanding ways," the housekeeper thought to herself.

Iris’s knurled fingers slowly yanked on the zipper of the younger woman’s linen dress, guiding it up the back to the neckline, and fumbled with the clasp on Lauren’s necklace, when she helped her dress.

Your arthritis seems much worse this week, Lauren commented, concern evident on her face.

Her companion sighed. Yes, I admit, it is, yet I know that my doctor can’t do much for me, she acknowledged. The housekeeper winced before she put on a brave face to mask her pain. Iris then held out the matching blazer that went with Miss Saunders’ dress, offering to help her put it on. As Lauren tugged her arms into its sleeves, she rambled on to Iris over the details she had planned for the day. The two made small-talk as they left the bedroom and drifted into the spacious living room.

It was decorated in contemporary shades of burgundy, black, and grey. Expansive bookcases crammed with best-sellers towered from the floor to the ceiling on either side of an elaborate fireplace topped by a black, marble mantle. Plush, overstuffed, chintz furniture in jet-black was arranged in a semi-circle, in front of the fireplace. Plump, gray and burgundy toss-pillows in a floral design rested on the couch.

Lauren drifted across the fluffy, gray carpeting over to the French doors leading to the balcony overlooking the beach and the Atlantic Ocean. I’m going to get some air before breakfast, she told Iris. I’ll be with you in a minute.

The lady of the house stood quietly and reveled in the view, sighing happily. The sound of waves crashing and the clean smell of salt air reminded her of why she had moved here in the first place. It had a calming effect on her, so unlike the smog and noise of Los Angeles. Her mother’s recent death, and LA, seemed so distant now.

At her feet, Suki softly meowed, rubbing herself gently against Lauren’s leg. In spite of herself, Lauren giggled, before picking up the kitten. Oh, you little ball of fur. I should have named you Trouble; you certainly get into enough of it. She rubbed her face gently against the cat’s soft, white fur. Mother would have never let me have you, you know. Consider yourself lucky, she confided to the animal.

In the distance, a sailboat drifted lazily across the horizon on water that shone like sparkling diamonds in the early morning sunlight. Lauren made a mental note to call the marina and check into chartering a boat for a weekend getaway. It’s been too many years since I have had a chance to go sailing, she called out to her housekeeper. It seems that now that the deal I’ve slaved over is about done, I can finally have a chance to relax, she called to Iris inside.

A flock of seagulls flew in formation over the beach, in search of tourists eager to feed them a scrap of bread or such. Their screeching punctuated the morning stillness. Lauren’s mind returned to her agenda for the day.

She hurried into the apartment, and deposited her kitten on the floor in the kitchen, next to its food dish. Iris was already a step ahead of her; the cat’s dish was full of fresh food and water.

The kitchen table was now set for breakfast; the housekeeper was busy buttering an English muffin. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea, Iris agreed. Maybe you could get some of your friends to go with you. Maybe you could even get Elliott to go with you. I trust you had a nice date last night?

Lauren did not answer, but simply smiled knowingly. She would tell Iris how things were faring with her neighbor when the timing was right.

Would you like some orange juice this morning? the housekeeper asked Lauren, realizing that she was not going to get any information on the status of Lauren’s on-again, off-again courtship with her neighbor.

With a wave of the hand, the blond replied, Whatever, as she spread out the morning newspaper in front of her. Oh, my goodness, would you look at this. Another murder in Harbor Point, Lauren exclaimed. Her eyes quickly scanned the article for details of the murder.

Iris set the heavy stoneware dish she held laden with eggs, toast, and sausage to the side of Lauren, so as to not disturb her while she read. Was it the same thing - a rape and strangulation? she asked.

Lauren nodded as she continued to read. Her hand trembled as Iris smoothed back a tress of stray hair from her face. It might not be a bad idea to have Jasper drive you to the office today, instead of driving yourself. I can call him and have him bring the car around, if you wish, Iris suggested.

Jasper was the older, Jamaican man hired years ago by Lauren’s family as a chauffeur and gardener. His present duties were mainly as a handyman, now that Lauren had moved from the family’s LA estate to this smaller condominium. At the mention of his name, the elderly gent shuffled into the kitchen. Did I hear someone speak of the devil? he teased, reaching over to hug Iris. Upon his entrance, Lauren’s face lit up.

Good morning, Jasper. Where’s my hug? She extended her arms in welcome. The old man slowly made his way around the table to her and obliged her wish.

He examined the news article over her shoulder and made clucking noises. Devil sure got a hold of that man, if you know what I mean, killing all those pretty, young things. You want to be extra careful these days, Miss Lauren, he cautioned.

Iris nodded in quick agreement. I was just suggesting to Lauren that maybe you should drive her to the office today. Both the housekeeper and maintenance man looked at their boss, expecting a response. In an effort not to let on how much the news had upset her, Lauren made a show of smoothing out the paper and turning the page to another article.

Her words were measured as she replied, I really don’t think that will be necessary, you two, although I am grateful for the concern. These murders occurred at night. I think I will be safe in broad daylight.

Jasper’s eyes met Iris’s over the top of Lauren’s head as they stood next to where she was seated. After all these years, they could about read each others' thoughts, and at the moment they were both thinking how stubborn she could be sometimes...exactly like her mother before her. Even when Lady Eleanor was in her terminal stages of cancer, she was never without her continuous, lit, unfiltered coffin nails, as she liked to call them, enveloping herself in a haze of smoky nicotine. Even during her last days, she could not be dissuaded from puffing away, in spite of her labored breathing.

Presently, Lauren had finished the morning paper and was eating breakfast with great relish. Iris, honey, you really outdid yourself. These eggs were perfect. Thank you so much.

She blew a kiss in the direction of the older woman, who beamed beautifully. Oh, it was nothing, she gushed. Praise was to be prized around here, since it did not come from Lauren unless it was well-deserved. Iris cleared the table when Lauren laid her napkin on her plate, signaling that she was finished.

Before departing for the office, one last check was made through the newspaper by Lauren, this time to consult her horoscope. This was a morning ritual she had picked up as a teenager. Her finger swept over the column to the paragraph labeled LEO. "Let’s see. It says ‘Use caution in all personal dealings, especially those involving strangers,’ she quoted. That doesn’t tell me much. Oh, well."

Satisfied now that her morning routine was complete, Lauren grabbed her brown, leather briefcase off the chair next to her, and checked inside it quickly to ascertain that she had not forgotten her cellular phone.

I should be home by six, she reminded Iris. On the way to the door, she walked past Jasper, pausing to pat his back lightly, reassuringly. Listen, I will be just fine. You worry too much. Take the rest of today off and go hit some golf balls. I’m ordering you! she insisted. The old man grinned, showing her his mouth full of shining, white dentures. You want to be careful what you order me to do. I may just listen to you someday, he joshed.

His boss smiled, and patted his cheek lovingly. Her briefcase swung next to her side, while she made her way to the front door, mind already concentrating on the work she had planned for the morning.

Lauren stepped into the elevator from the hallway carpeted in a rich hunter-green tone, and glanced impatiently at the trim, gold watch on her wrist. If she hurried, she’d have time for a cup of coffee in private. In the meantime, her secretary could check on the figures she’d requested to be on her desk by nine o’clock.

The early morning air was already humid, with a faint, floral aroma to it when Lauren stepped out into the courtyard of her condo and made her way to the garage. Tall Cannas framed by Hibiscus flanked the walkway, shaded by tall palms. Red Bougainvillea trailed down from pedestal planters to either side of the entrance doors. Because she was preoccupied as she headed toward her English import parked in the garage, she did not notice a beaten, black, early model coupe parked across the street. It looked conspicuously out of place in this neighborhood. The car’s occupant was intently tracking her movements.

The man in the car puffed nervously on a cigarette as he watched her move toward her car. Next to him, on the seat, was a pair of binoculars. The man spying on Lauren grabbed them and watched intently as she fished around in her purse for her keys.

At that moment, Lauren’s date from the previous evening, Elliott Baker, was also on his way to work. Elliott was an investment banker who had never married. Intelligent, extroverted, tall, dark-haired, and tanned, he could have just about any woman he wanted. His brilliant, white smile made female hearts flutter, everywhere he went. He was what Iris considered the perfect catch for Lauren. Whenever Iris would make match-making noises to Lauren regarding Elliott, Lauren would simply smile and say nothing. "It’s obvious that Elliott is attracted to me, but I am not going to let him think he can have me without some type of promise of commitment on his part. I am not going to be like most of the other women he knows who simply throw themselves at him," she told herself.

He noticed her presence and waved. Calling out to her, he got her attention. Lauren! Beautiful day, isn’t it? Upon hearing his voice, she stopped rooting through her purse.

Simply gorgeous, she agreed. After getting a response from her, Elliott started across the lawn to where she stood.

The man in the jalopy across the street watching this gritted his teeth as he nervously checked his watch. "Come on, come on. Quit the gabbing and get in the damn car. Of all days for you to stop and bat your eyelashes at