Even Roses Have Thorns

By Sylvia A. Witmore

Lori Lowell is a spirited young lady trying to escape an unhappy love affair when she accepts a new position as assistant editor for Mr. Bradford Brasington, owner of Brasington Press, a publishing company in Southport, NC. She previously worked as a reporter in the small daily newspaper in her hometown of Laurinburg, but without much chance for advancement, she came to the coastonly to become involved in a new love affair with Mr. Brasingtons son, Brad, who also lives in this house, which is enshrouded by murder and mystery.

Loris own life is suddenly in danger; at first, they were just harmless pranks spurred by jealousy but then become much more destructive. Her possessions are searched, some of her things maliciously destroyed, and a harsh note appears on her mirror ordering her to Get Out. Then important business papers disappear from Mr. Brasingtons desk just after Lori finished typing them . . . and a new mystery manuscript under review for possible publishing also disappears under her watch.

Mr. Brasingtons sister, Vi Stewart, is killed; and Lori, who cannot swim, also ends up floundering in the pool. When she is trapped inside a burning building, she realizes that the murder will not rest until she has also been destroyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496967367

Sylvia A. Witmore

Sylvia majored in Journalism in college but quickly changed to Creative Writing. She tried for 30 years to reach a publisher but was unsuccessful until 2008 when WHEELS OF DANGER was published by Authorhouse. Since then she has had more books published and this novel with be #11. Sylvia worked in Home Health for 29 years and retired in 2006 to keep two grandchildren and to write full time. Sylvia and CL were married for 40 years before his death in 2009. They have three sons, Chuck, Chris and Kevin and three daughters (not in-law) and ten grandchildren. Donovan is the oldest; Claire is 12, Chaz is 11, Lance is 10, Sherry is 10, Emma is 7, Eli is 6, Liam is 5, Bella is 3 and Kellen was born on 12/10/14. Sylvia loves to travel and spend time with her family. She is an avid reader and loves all kinds of puzzles.

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© 2015 Sylvia A. Witmore. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  01/31/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6737-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6738-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6736-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015901658

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

This book is dedicated to my newest grandson,

Kellen Broder Witmore

Chapter One

The directions in Mr. Brasington’s letter were explicit and easy to follow. After carefully reading the letter, Lori Lowell purchased a second-hand car with her savings; it certainly wasn’t the grandest car in the world, but it was all hers without monthly payments.

She had lived in a small furnished apartment in New York. Even though she worked with a publishing firm there the work she was assigned had been tedious without much chance for advancement. Most of the exciting positions were being held in escrow for family members still attending college. She decided to leave as soon as she realized the man she had been dating over eight months had been lying to her all along. She calmly gave two weeks notice and although he tried for two weeks to reach her she did not answer her door or accept his phone calls. She returned to her home town to work on the local paper but became bored rather quickly.

The chance for a position in this small oasis on the eastern coast of North Carolina seemed the perfect answer to her prayers.

She still had a little money left so if things didn’t work out with Brasington Press, she’d have enough to tide her over until she could find something else appropriate. But, this particular job sounded marvelous so she found herself desperately wanting it; the advertisement sounded intriguing and almost mysterious so Lori was thrilled to be traveling on a strange road heading to a private mansion in the country. She was very interested in the upcoming challenge.

Now, nervously she glanced down at the mileage indicator and realized that she had traveled exactly 30 miles from the city limits of the last small town. She slowed down, looking for the right turn, which would take her out to the Brasington country estate.

Sure enough, there was the road just ahead; turning slowly to the right, she maneuvered the small car down the narrow paved road, then increased her speed, enjoying the sight of the lovely, stately homes scattered intermittently on the right with glimpses of the blue water and the smooth banks of the Cape Fear River visible behind them.

The letter instructed her to continue on this road; she didn’t think she would have any trouble eventually finding the right place. She drove past miles of green, rolling country hills with the familiar blue water visible everywhere. There were no more houses in evidence and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she’d missed the turn somewhere when an approaching convertible swerved over to her side of the road heading straight for her. She jerked the wheel over to the right, slamming on brakes; her tires squealed loudly as she came to a grueling stop on the shoulder of the road.

Thrown heavily against the steering column, she swiveled her head around just in time to see a blond girl, her long hair floating out behind her in the wind and her male companion disappear down the road. They hadn’t even slowed down, seeming not to care whether she had been injured or not.

Luckily, the seat belt held her in place, and she only felt a tingling sensation everywhere the belt crisscrossed her body.

Switching off the ignition of the car, she leaned her forehead against the wheel breathing a thankful sign of relief. Certainly, she was unhurt, but her heart was beating so fast she could hardly catch her breath. Pulling a tissue out of her purse, she wiped the sticky perspiration off the palms of her hands.

After a few tense minutes, she regained her composure then switched on the ignition, pulling the car back onto the paved road, continuing her journey. But, after her close call, she was now more nervous than ever.

She had almost given up in despair when the narrow pavement came to a dead end; her way was blocked by a tremendous black wrought-iron fence all the way across the road, which was flanked by huge brick columns on each side. For the second time in the last few minutes, Lori was forced to stop her car, the front bumper almost touching the iron grillwork of the gate.

Not knowing what else to do, she got out of the car slowly and approached the small gatehouse on the left next to the giant bricked column, then looked through the small barred window.

Peeking in between the bars, she noticed the room was empty, except for a telephone, a radio and some paperback books scattered around on a shelf under the opposite window. The window was padlocked on the outside, and there was no way to open it without a key.

Swinging back around, she went to the front of her car and looked through the decorative scrollwork on the iron lattice designs across the front of the gate. She saw a curved paved road, flanked on each side by straight lines of tall, lumbering Bradford pear trees, their waving branches spreading majestically as they shaded the curved driveway.

Beyond the drive and on each side, as far as the eye could see, there were green, rolling hills with perfectly landscaped lawns flanked by the huge rose gardens behind but no sign of a house or anyone anywhere around so she turned back to look in through the barred window once again. This time, she saw a small printed sign she hadn’t noticed before. She could just make out the name of Bradford Brasington, Sr. printed at the bottom. She knew then that she must be at the right place.

Now, for the problem of getting inside that locked gate! There was no bell that she could see and when she shook the padlock on the window opening beneath her fingers, it didn’t budge.

Suddenly she heard the sound of a dog howling somewhere nearby which cut through the eerie silence surrounding her. The sudden noise startled her as she glanced wildly around in alarm. She didn’t like big dogs and that one sounded like a big, ferocious dog to her. She didn’t like the somber sound of the dog’s howl either; it seemed like a bad omen; she wondered briefly if perhaps she had made a mistake leaving familiar surroundings to accept work among total strangers. But, she shrugged her fanciful thoughts aside; everyone was a stranger until they became a friend!

If only Lori had known the destruction and havoc her arrival would soon cause, she might have just run the other way as fast as she could.

Then, the wailing of the dog stopped just as suddenly as it had begun, almost as if someone had hushed it. In spite of the warm April sun shining down on her back through her jacket, she shivered violently.

She leaned back weakly against the gatehouse and then she walked around to the front; for the first time she saw a small button on the brick wall just beyond the glass window. With her forefinger, she pressed the button then heard a buzzer sound inside the building just before the large gate parted in the middle to swing open.

The gate separating each side slid solidly back inside the brick columns, so she hurried back to her car and slowly drove past the gatehouse toward the circular drive.

Through the rear view mirror, she saw the gate slide back together, clanging shut with a loud, ringing sound.

The drive on down through the stately shady trees was quite impressive, but nothing could have prepared her for the awesome sight of the house when it finally loomed into view.

It was a traditional colonial mansion, tremendous in size, right out of the history books depicting the grand stately southern homes of the past with eight wide, white columns reaching from floor to the ceiling of a huge, sweeping veranda and porch.

Balconies were visible on both sides of the house. The entire structure was made of an old faded, Southern brick.

The drive circled on around the house toward the back, and she glimpsed a small octagon-shaped building in the center of a beautiful rose garden before she pulled her car up behind several others in front of a long garage also made of brick.

Running restless fingers through her hair, she pulled at the ends, flipping some curls up around her face. Then, she applied fresh lipstick before she returned the comb and small gold tube to her purse.

When she stepped out of the car, she automatically smoothed her navy pantsuit, adjusting the red striped scarf around her neck.

Drawing her white shoulder bag over her arm she glanced down at her watch. Thankfully, even with the unplanned delays, she was on time! Perhaps, punctuality would be an important asset in applying for this position. She certainly hoped so, as she hurried around the walkway, her sharp heels making a hollow, tapping sound against the hard cement surface.

Stepping across the wide veranda, she pushed in the doorbell, noting with appreciation, the simple elegance of the large glass door with its beveled sides and fluted transom high above her head.

The glass was flawlessly polished and the dark interior of the house beyond the door served as a mirror, reflecting her image in the shining glass panels. She was pleased with her appearance; even after driving half the afternoon, she certainly looked her best. So, maybe that also would be a step in the right direction.

Although she had heard no one approach from the opposite side, the door opened silently and Lori found herself facing a beautiful, exquisite dark-headed girl, as petite and dainty as any Dresden doll.

She was dressed in a maid’s black uniform, with a white frilly apron tied around her tiny waist. Her black eyes sparkled brilliantly and her small, red mouth curved in a gorgeous smile as she bobbed her head, with its lacy white cap, almost sinking into a curtsy.

There was a gleam of clean, polished furniture with an overall scent of furniture wax, flowers and scented candles filling the hall.

Lori felt awkward and ill at ease as she towered over the small figure in front of her. Her voice was low and she spoke with a noticeable foreign accent.

Yes, mum?

Hello there. My name is Lori Lowell. I’m looking for Mr. Bradford Brasington, Sr. I have an appointment with him this afternoon at five.

Yes, mum. He’s in his office; he’s expecting you. Right this way, please.

As she followed her down a long wide hallway, she realized then why she had not been able to hear her actual approach to the front door. The floor was covered with an emerald green carpet so thick it would have absorbed and cushioned any sound.

She only had a moment to glimpse rows of impressive paintings lining the cream-colored walls, but her interested eyes took in every detail. She recognized a Sargent, a du Bois and the soft, muted tones of a Rembrandt landscape before the tiny maid stopped in front of a mahogany door at the end of the long hall.

She knocked briskly on the door and as they stood there, Lori felt stiff and awkward standing near this small figure. Her 5'9" height was a good head taller than the small five foot figure of the little maid.

Without waiting for an answer, she boldly pushed the door open.

Mr. Brasington!

Yes, Fifi. A deep voice called from inside the room. What is it?

Miss Lowell is here to see you, sir.

Fine; please show her in.

Fifi opened the door wider as she stepped back into the hall, allowing Lori to enter the room alone. She turned and smiled at her warmly, so Lori smiled back.

Thank you very much!

Oui!

She closed the door behind her and Lori found herself face to face with a very striking man sitting behind the desk across the room. He seemed small at first glance; there was a shaft of thick, very white hair falling down on his forehead. Bright blue eyes were visible behind the thick lens of his wire rimmed glasses but their twinkle made him appear very young.

Mr. Brasington? she asked hesitantly.

Yes, Miss Lowell, please have a seat right here while I just refresh my memory with your resume’. I’m glad to see that you’re quite experienced and punctual.

She nodded and accepted the seat in front of his desk, which he indicated. As she settled back against the comfortable leather chair, she looked at him once again, but his head was bent low over the typewritten pages and she couldn’t read his expression.

In a few minutes, she turned her head and studied the objects in the room with unabashed interest.

This was definitely a man’s room, but one which a woman would like and could fit into very well, even retaining her feminine individuality without ever detracting from the tasteful masculine furnishings.

Two sides of the room were completely filled with an assortment of colorful books of all shapes and sizes. Lori was an avid reader and longed to be able to study the titles of the massive volumes sometime later. Mahogany shelves reached from the gold carpeted floor to the high domed ceiling with its exposed dark beams.

One wall had a huge dark door in the center and was surrounded by draped windows; the other wall displayed a beautiful, painted mural, portraying a colorful flowing landscape of the ocean, almost so real it seemed to transport the observer right into the sunny, pebble-strewn beach beside the moving sea.

There was a long conference table a few feet away from the desk and this was surrounded by straight, high-backed leather chairs. The table top was laden with manila folders and several books, their new dust jackets giving off an odd assortment of bright colors and various designs. The smell of new books surrounded the room and Lori loved their familiar scent.

She saw two long sofas of a dark brown print pulled up around a short round coffee table, along with a comfortable rocker and several plush chairs.

Then, her attention was drawn back to Mr. Brasington, who had finished with the resume’ and was now busily lighting a long, thin cigar, filling the room with a high smelling aroma which overpowered the odor of the new books and furniture polish.

He looked at her kindly.

My first one and only one today; this is the only one I am allowed to light…I just chew on the others. Have you ever worked for a publishing corporation before, Miss Lowell? Or may I call you Lori?

Oh, no; please call me Lori. It’s much more informal. To answer your first question, yes, I worked at the Cypress Press in New York but mostly they gave me proofreading tasks before the manuscripts were sent over to the editing department. I had creative writing courses in college along with my Journalism courses. I’d rather read than do anything else in my spare time. I’m an avid reader of murder and mystery novels. When I left NY four months ago, I did accept a temporary position in a newspaper office. I was more of a copyright editor for our small town paper published Tuesdays through Saturdays.

I see by your resume’ that your typing and shorthand skills are more than adequate. Are you also familiar with the use of a Dictaphone and a computer?

Yes; I enjoy using a Dictaphone, especially when shorthand is not that much of a necessity, and if you noticed, I did my resume’ on my own laptop computer.

He supplied further. Naturally, I’d rather use the Dictaphone for direct dictation, but shorthand will be required, especially during conferences and various consultations with the writers themselves. What about your degree?

Shaking her head slowly, she answered him honestly. A major in Creative Writing with my minor in English; during high school, I had a couple of very good secretarial positions so I’ve been able to retain my typing speed, even on the computer.

Do you have anyone special back in your home town of Laurinburg?

No, sir but I do have family members there; my mother, father and a married brother all live there.

I see where you went to school at American University in Washington, D.C. before settling in New York. Do you have any desire to go back to a big city?

No. I wouldn’t be satisfied living there again. Once was enough.

He picked up his highly scented cigar and puffed on it ceremoniously, sending out a long, thin curl of blue smoke floating in the room between them as he searched her face.

As a young single woman, don’t you think you’d like to live in a larger city somewhere with more social activities than we offer here in Brunswick County?

No.

Why would you not want to go back, Lori? You could make a good salary in a larger city.

Big cities are too busy and commercial for my tastes; you can lose yourself there. I didn’t like the people, the way they interacted with each other or the constant rush. But after a few months of living back home now I’m quite used to small town life. The reason I want to get away from Laurinburg is because the position I had at the local paper was only temporary which I realized from the start. I would be totally bored living back at home if I did not have interesting work to fulfill me. As nice as everyone is in Laurinburg, nothing exciting ever happens there; I was raised there and love my home town but I’d really like to do something else now. Your position sounded ideal to me. I think it will be interesting to work here but the drive here was nothing like the hustle and bustle of New York and Washington, D.C. When my boyfriend and I broke up, I decided to return home for a little while…but there I was facing the same boring thing day after day so I just felt that I couldn’t continue to work in such a non-challenging atmosphere. I need something exciting to do, or at least a little bit more creative or challenging.

Do you think you’ll be satisfied here when a job in Washington, D.C. or even New York City could offer lots of creative, exciting jobs in publishing?

Mr. Brasington, I’ll be honest with you. As I said before, I have ties here in North Carolina. My parents are not getting any younger. Those three years in New York and my college years in Washington, D.C. were enough for me. I spent a lot of time at home between semesters and I was glad to be able to assist my mother when my father had a heart attack. But now he is much better so I have a chance to get away again. Besides, my brother and his family are now settled in close to our parents so I’m not needed there as much as I was in the past. Your ad intrigued me; it sounded different and interesting, just exactly the type of position I felt I’d enjoy. I mailed you my resume’, received your answer so here I am!

I see! He lowered his white head as he carefully studied the papers in front of him.

Can you start right away?

Yes; I left my job last Wednesday then had some wonderful down time with my family before I packed my car and drove here. I wanted to be ready to accept the position just in case you decided to hire me. I certainly hope it wasn’t wasted effort on my part.

Much to her surprise, Mr. Brasington removed his cigar then threw back his head, laughing uproariously and the booming sound reverberated around the room.

You’re a very enterprising young lady, aren’t you?

Yes, sir, it doesn’t pay to let the grass grow under your feet!

Well, I admire your assured optimism, Lori, and if you want this job, you can certainly have it. First, let me explain a little of what will be required of you and if you’re still interested, then we’ll discuss your salary.

That sounds fair enough to me.

Lori drew a sigh of relief, sitting back in the chair as she allowed herself the undeniable luxury of total relaxation for the first time since she’d entered the room. She listened entranced while Mr. Brasington spoke casually of the various duties that would be expected of her.

Lori, you will be required to answer all of my telephone calls. I want you to screen the visitors and set up my appointments, keeping newspaper reporters and obnoxious writers out of my hair.

Surprise must have shown on her face because he quickly amended his statement.

Not that I dislike writers, Lori. Not at all! Quite the contrary. Without them, a publishing firm could not exist. But writers are dedicated to their cause, with a lot of idiosyncrasies all of their own.

Lots of people are eccentric, not only writers, she remarked softly.

I’ll be the first to admit that, but you have to admit writers are a rare breed. However, after a few days, you’ll know immediately if I wish to see someone or not. You will be expected to read manuscripts and help with the editing of the ones we accept and assist with the rewriting, whenever necessary. Do you have any questions?

None at all, she replied frankly.

Good. You’ll have to type and file all of my correspondence and help keep up with all of my paraphernalia. I can be quite absent-minded at times. We’ll work almost every Saturday morning, but you’ll have the rest of the weekend free and you can take off every Wednesday afternoon. After several months, you’ll accumulate vacation time and sick leave should you need it and at the end of one year, I’ll give you two weeks paid vacation and sick leave as you need it. Are you still interested?

Oh, yes. I certainly am.

Fine then, I will expect you to live right here on the premises, Lori. You’ll have a large bedroom with a sitting room and your own private bath upstairs. You will take your meals in here with me during office hours if we’re busy and in the dining room with the family at all other times. You’ll have complete access to this house, the swimming pool outside, the tennis courts and our private wharf down the hill. There is even access to some motor boats and my large motor craft could also be at your disposal should you so desire to explore the river during your free hours. Do you have any questions?

No, sir, she replied breathlessly. Mr. Brasington, it just sounds too good to be true. I don’t know what to say.

I’m delighted that you think it sounds exciting, but I want to warn you that there is plenty of hard work here. I intend to keep you busy and I can unequivocally guarantee you will have no opportunity to become bored. I hope you feel free to discuss anything at all, anytime with me. I’d like to be your friend as well as your employer.

He wrote down a figure on a small card then passed it over to her.

Will this salary be acceptable?

Is this my monthly salary, sir?

No, you will be paid weekly.

She swallowed quickly.

It’s more than enough, sir. With living arrangements like you’ve offered, I didn’t expect it to be this high.

You’ll earn every penny of it, I assure you.

At that moment the telephone on his desk began to ring loudly. He nodded easily to her and smiled around the tip of his brown cigar.

Lori, you can begin your duties right now by answering that phone.

Without hesitation, she picked up the telephone immediately, stopping the jangling sound,

This is Mr. Brasington’s office. May I help you?

If he’s there, let me speak to him. A rough, masculine voice replied rudely.

Certainly, sir! May say who is calling?

No, you may not! he retorted sharply. Let me talk to him right away.

Lori covered the phone with her hand and looked over at Mr. Brasington helplessly. He shook his head slowly, puffing nonchalantly on his cigar.

I’m sorry, sir. But, this man insists on speaking with you and he refuses to tell me his name.

That’s all right, Lori. I recognize his voice and I will talk to him. That’s the way I want you to answer my phone. I will always want to know who is on the other end and in the future if he continues to be this rude, just inform him or anyone else that I require you to give me their name before I answer the phone.

Yes, sir, I will.

As he took the phone out of her hands, he turned in his chair and for the first time, Lori realized that he was sitting in a wheelchair.

Not wanting to stare and because she sensed the call was private, she moved away from her chair and walked over to the conference table, picking up one of the books in its shiny, glossy cover.

But, even with her attention diverted, she could still hear Mr. Brasington’s end of the conversation.

I thought I told you not to contact me again like this? What do you want this time? Do not threaten me! I’ll not stand for it. Don’t you dare call me here again?

There was a rush of words on the other end of the line, but it was impossible to distinguish them from across the room. Then, Mr. Brasington spoke again.

"I’ll get in touch with you when I have