Page 200 of Broken Bonds
“Try to sleep, baby. We’re still two hours out.”
I’m about to complain when he gently shakes me, but I open my eyes to find it’s daylight, maybe a little past dawn, and we’ve come to a stop.
Groggy, I sit up, blinking as I look around. “Where are we?”
“First stop,” he says.
Turns out it’s an urban stronghold. Tall concrete walls surround the large house. It looks new, like Art Deco, Mid-Century Modern, and Frank Lloyd Wright had an orgy and drunk-dared each other to design a house.
Which is to say it’s quirky, but has an unspeakable kind of charm. I stand there, mesmerized.
Probably because I’m groggy and need some fucking coffee.
And I have to pee, and I don’t think the home’s homeowner wants me to water their bushes.
Morning Caldwell walks out to greet us, and everything snaps into clear focus. Of course this is his house. It fits him perfectly.
He hugs Todd and hesitates to get his okay from Todd before hugging me. I like the guy, and that he’s considerate.
“Let’s get you inside, Mal,” he says. “I’ll show you to the powder room.”
“Thank you!”
Ten minutes later, we’re all sitting at his gigantic raw-edged wooden dining room table that looks like maybe it’s a slab from a redwood tree or something, because it’s alllll one piece and it’s huge. There are thirteen of us, including Morning, with room for still more because of the way we’re spread out.
And there’s coffee and breakfast fixings. Forgetting my manners, I start grabbing food because I’m ravenous. It’s only as I realize no one else is loading up their plates that I pause and look at Todd, who has one eyebrow cocked at me, then I look at Morning.
Morning sits with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together. He’s also wearing what I would call a playful smile. “It’s okay, Mal. I’m certain you’re starving.”
“Thank you. I am.”
“Please, eat. The rest of us need to talk for a moment.”
“Thanks.”
The plan is to get Mom. Morning’s had her under surveillance for weeks. Today is her regular day to get her hair done.
“I could’ve told you that,” I say. “Every Monday, without fail.”
“Well, what’s interesting is that she never has security with her,” Morning says. “She drives herself to and from her appointments. And there’s never security at the house unless Sterling is there. Plus, your father never comes home early on Mondays.”
I snort. “He’s probably fucking his secretary.”
I meant it as a joke, but Morning isn’t laughing.
He nods. “That’s exactly what he’s doing. There is a reason we’re doing this today, Mal…”
And ten minutes later, my appetite’s fled while everyone else is eating.
They suspect my father is grooming his secretary to take over as the next Mrs. Randolph Sterling. The questions at the presser were to purposely gauge Mom’s level of grief.
To see if she looked like she was standing tall with my father, or ready to fall to the side.
I watched the tape, remember? It’s the second answer.
“We have a vehicle and uniform for Todd,” Morning says. “He’ll leave a cell phone on her car and then wait, following her home after.”
I do not like this idea. “What if my father’s got someone watching her?”
