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A Seattle chef receives a mysterious inheritance. |
| [Introduction] The Fontaine Readers! You won't be disappointed with this complex Campfire. > A mystery/thriller designed by four authors blending their talents to make you quiver with anticipation wondering what will happen next! > Thank you for visiting!  . |
| Success had its drawbacks for Jillian Fontaine. Her back ached and a dull thumping pounded against her temples. A feeling of restlessness dominated her world of late. She took a deep breath and stood outside the dining room door looking at her patrons enjoying their dinners .She had hoped that the owner would offer her a partnership at some point but that hadn't happened, and no signs of it were forthcoming. Sure, she made decent money, but not enough to finance her own restaurant; prime real estate in Seattle had skyrocketed. "Night all, headin' home," she called to her staff. |
| As she stepped into the cool, August night, the bitter tang of freshly fallen rain hung in the air. A gentle breeze unsettled her long, blonde hair and she took her silver compact from her bag. She gasped at the sight of her smudged black eye makeup. "Geez, I can't go to Ethan's looking like this," she said to herself, and she headed back inside to the restroom where she could see better. On her way back out, a voice in her office caught her attention. There shouldn't be anyone in there this time of night. A chill met her ear as she pressed it against the wooden door. A man's voice. One she recognised. A shiver tickled her spine. "Don't worry, doll. We ain't going' steady no more. She just don't know it yet." A wheezy laugh, from smoking way too many cigarettes, confirmed Jillian's fears. Her boyfriend: Ethan. He had his back to the door when she pushed against it. The son-of-a-bitch isn't even trying to hide his cheating. In any other situation, the look of horror on his face would have been funny. "Shit. Sandra, I gotta split. I'll catch you later." "Sandra? As in your ex, Sandra?" A flush of crimson spread from Jillian's neck to her face. "Y—yeah, Sandra. I'm sorry, babe, but I can't keep away from her. You're still my main girl, though. You know that, right?" Her head shook, and her mouth fell open. A thousand thoughts pinged in her brain. How can this be happening? "Umm, I'm gonna have to pass on this one actually, Ethan. You cannot seriously think I want to share you with that bitch. It's because she's easy, isn't it? She does whatever you want. Well, I'm telling you: I am a lady. I do not put out whenever my boyfriend wants. Now, get out of here." The clock on the wall struck eleven as Ethan left the room. All Jillian's nerve endings bristled as his shoulder brushed against her. She fumbled in her bag for her cigarettes. She took one from her silver case and lit it with trembling hands. |
| You don't need the creep! Unwanted tears streamed from Jillian's jade-green eyes. She slumped against the open door, the door he, her whole world, had just walked out of. She drew in long breaths, trying to calm herself. After a few moments, she stood up straight, took a long drag from her cigarette, and strode over to the massive oak desk. She jammed the cigarette butt into the glass ashtray, watching the red-hot embers die away, like her future. Chin raised she exited the room. |
| Jillian rushed to her white 1960 Ford Falcon. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she backed out of the parking lot and sped off in the direction of home. The radio began blaring 'Are You Lonesome Tonight' by Elvis. "Perfect!" Jillian said, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. She quickly turned the dial until the strains of 'Ally Oop' came through the speaker. Oblivious of the music, her mind drifted to her mother. Will I become a disillusioned angry woman like her? she thought. She missed her mother, feeling the void since she had passed away. So many times she had broached the subject of her father and his family, only to be told that Victor Fontaine was a corrupt, unscrupulous, man that she wanted nothing to do with. Further questions only made her fragile mother distraught, so she finally quit asking. Nearing her apartment, Jillian thought about calling up her friend to see if she wanted to go out. I'm not going to let this drag me down. He's not worth it! |
| You're still my main girl, though. You know that, right? Those words would stick to her like the thick evening air. She slammed the apartment door, removed her coat, and tossed everything on a bright orange swivel chair. She walked over to the telephone table and stopped dead, tears on the rim of her eyes. The vase of red roses, delivered yesterday, sat on the kitchen counter, the card stuck out at an angle, his writing visible. To my Jilly Beans. Love you forever. Ethan Vase, card, and roses, ended upside-down in the sink. She had to phone Donna and get out of here. Her hands shook as she dialed the number. "Hi, Donna." "Jillian! I'm surprised to hear from you. I thought you were out with Ethan tonight." "No. Listen, I've got to talk to you about Ethan. Things have gone bad with him, and I just want to get out of here and forget. Can you meet me at The Peppermint Lounge in about an hour?" "That's a drag about Ethan. I want to know all about it. Meet you there!" Jillian hung up, and went to her bedroom closet to choose her best mini shift dress. |
| As she sat in front of her dressing table mirror, smoke from her cigarette stung her eyes. Leaning in close, she reapplied her thick, black eyeliner and pearly lipstick. It saddened her when she studied the new lines around her eyes that had definitely not been caused by laughter. As she reached for her Chanel No. 5, she took a deep breath and told herself she didn't need that punk anyway. Donna waited in front of the Korean Restaurant next to the Peppermint Lounge. She pulled Jillian into a hug and said, "Are you okay?" Her friend's kindness tugged at her heart, and she let go a sob. "He's been going with Sandra behind my back. For all I know, he never stopped seeing her." She stopped walking and took Donna's hands. "I just wanna get blitzed tonight. I don't wanna think about him, or us, right now. There's plenty of time for that in the morning." A horde of people milled around the entrance to the club and the sounds of Joey Dee & The Starliters wafted into the street. "C'mon, Donna," said Jillian, "Let's go do the twist." |
| They walked in through the front door of the club, their eyes momentarily blinded by the psychedelic flashing colors from the giant wheel on the ceiling and the multi-colored strobe and floodlights hitting the stage. The lights spun and flickered to the fast beat and a mob of dancers gyrated out on the dance floor. After the song ended, Joey Dee & The Starliters's exited, and soon the night's second band took the stage. Not recognizing the group, Jillian raised her voice over the cacophony of sounds and asked, "Who's the main band tonight?" Donna, always hip to the night scene, kept overworked Jillian up to date on the latest-greatest things. "Oh! You're gonna love them! They're called The Beach Boys, and they're surfin' the scene hard!" Donna said. Her jovial friend's big blue eyes twinkled, and she flashed Jillian a wide smile. "Come on! I see a corner table in the back." She grabbed Jillian by the elbow and towed her off. |
| "Jeepers, we're lucky to find a seat in here, it's so packed." Jillian wrinkled her brow and touched her forehead, "And loud!" Donna stood up. "What would you like to drink? It will take hours for the waiter to get here, I'll just go get them." "Thanks, you're brave. I'll have a Cloud Buster." "You sure are stuck on that vodka and sparkling champagne," Donna laughed. "I like it, if I get something else I might hate it." Donna hadn't returned with the drinks when a roar went up from the crowd. The Beach Boys entered the stage in their green and white striped shirts. Sounds of Surfin' Safari exploded and everyone started dancing The Pony, Mashed Potato, and other various gyrations. A disheveled Donna reappeared with a tray holding four drinks. "Here I am, nearly toppled them a few times." "Good thinking to get four. That's about all I can handle for the night." The song Good Vibrations started which brought on another avalanche of cheers. The girls sipped their drinks, enjoying the music. It was much too crowded tonight to try and dance. Likewise, serious conversation was impossible. After a few hours, Jillian said, "What do you say we split? I thought we'd have a ripping time tonight but to tell you the truth, my heart's not into it. I haven't eaten anything. Are you up for the Hasty Tasty on the Ave for breakfast? My treat, you paid for the drinks." "Sounds good to me. I'm ready to bug out too. They'll be shuting this place down soon enough anyway. We can catch The Beach Boys some other time, I think they'll be around for a while by the sounds of it." "Thanks, you're a dream. The band's a bomb but I've got an early day tomorrow. My sous-chef is new." "No problem, don't sweat it! I've had enough myself. We haven't talked yet, the Hasty Tasty will be quieter." A quick drive down the Ave and they were at the restaurant. "Umm, smells good in here. Now, tell me what happened with Ethan before the food comes." Jillian related the story to Donna. "And to think Donna, he even had a pet name for me, Jilly Beans. I never want to hear those words again." "I know you'll get past this in time. You're a much better person than him. I should know, you're always there for me." Jillian smiled at her friend. "It works both ways Donna, you're there for me too." Steaming plates of food were delivered and the girls devoured every bite. As they left the restaurant Donna called, "I'll catch you on the weekend, if you need anything call me!" "Will do, thanks Donna." |
| One eye opened at the sound of the loud ringing. Jillian turned in bed and fumbled to turn off the alarm clock, but the ringing blared in short intervals. She sat up and tilted her head. It's the phone! Jillian hung up the phone, horrified at the thought of sleeping in late and now the new sous-chef waited at the restaurant. She got dressed, pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail, and grabbed her purse to find her car keys. A loud knock at the door startled her. She opened the door to a delivery man holding a letter. "Miss Jillian Fontaine?" "Yes." "I have a registered letter for you. Please sign here." Annoyed and curious at the same time, she tossed the bulky envelope on the chair to open later. As she grabbed her purse, out of the corner of her eye, she read the return address of, Latham & Watkins Lawyers. |
| When she arrived at the restaurant, the sous-chef had already prepped a whole load of vegetables and started peeling shrimps. Jillian smiled as she glanced around the kitchen to find harmony throughout. After saying good morning, she went through to her office to dump her purse. The sight of her yellow, plastic telephone that she had enjoyed picking out made her nauseous. It crossed her mind last night probably wasn't the first time Ethan had used it to betray her. He always waited for her in the office until she finished up. She shook herself down, dispersing all thoughts of her failed relationship. Once she got to work in the kitchen, she could almost convince herself all would be okay. The sous-chef, John, had sparkly brown eyes and olive skin. His personality shone, as well. Usually, the men who came to work for her had issues with working under a female chef. Not John, though. He relaxed into his role with ease and charmed Jillian until her shift ended. Ethan excelled at foot rubs. Jillian would miss that. She spent the whole day on her feet, with barely a twenty minute break for lunch, which meant her feet always ached by the time she climbed into her Ford Falcon. Her heart sank when she drove home alone and opened her front door to an empty house. Flicking the light switch, she collapsed onto her chair and kicked off her shoes. But something was wrong. She leapt up to see what she had sat on and saw the envelope she signed for before she left. She flicked her eyes over the return address again. Latham & Watkins Lawyers, New York. Well, that's odd. I don't know anyone in New York. Her heart fluttered as she prised the envelope open. |
| Setting her beloved mother's pearl-handled letter opener back on the side table, Jillian curled her legs beneath her and pulled a piece of paper from the envelope. Her eyes scanned the top, noting the lawyer's firm and address and then her name. What she read next caused her heart to jump, and she dug her long nails into the letter: Please accept our heartfelt condolences on the passing of your father, Victor Emile Fontaine— The letter fluttered from her fingers and floated down to the carpet. Jillian drew in a ragged breath and cupped her face in her hands. She shook her head, confused that she felt so much pain. I didn't even know you. Why should I care? Memories of being at school and other kids speaking about their dads brought back unwanted pain. Tears tumbled down her cheeks. After she'd cried herself out, she retrieved the fallen letter. Skipping through a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo, she reached the end where it asked her to telephone the law office to discuss her inheritance. Inheritance? "Well, you were never there for me, Daddy, but now that you're gone you want to buy my love, my respect!" Jillian crumpled the letter into a ball, squeezing it until her hand hurt. She went and poured herself a large shot of vodka, slamming it down in one gulp. Her hand trembled as she set the glass on the kitchen counter and made her way back to the living room. She flopped down on the couch, the liquor working it's way through her tired muscles. I guess it couldn't hurt to call. Her weary eyes began to close. |
| With a start, Jillian awoke, still on the couch. Glancing at her watch, dawn was almost here. Shrugging, she closed her eyes and once more fell into a deep sleep. When the alarm went off, she sat there for a few moments waiting for her senses to awaken. Better get moving, restaurant is waiting. It was a foggy morning, sleepy Seattle always took her time letting in the morning sun. As she drove along, her mind pre-planned work. Suddenly she remembered the letter. Darn, I've forgotten it. Oh well, what's another day? As she pulled up in front of the restaurant she saw John at the door. With a big smile, he turned and waited for her. She felt a flutter. What a handsome guy he was! They worked in unison all morning not needing conversation, each knowing what had to be done. Once the necessary prep work had been completed, Jillian suggested they stop for a coffee break. “Whew, all ready for another busy day. Don't know what I would do without you.” “You make it easy for me. I'm pleased there was an opening at this restaurant. You look tired today, aren't you feeling well?” With a little laugh, Jillian replied. “Fell asleep on the couch, I think I slept pretty well but there's a lot on my mind right now.” “With the restaurant?” “Yes and no, that's another subject altogether. I received a letter yesterday, a rather surprising one. It seems I've come into an inheritance from my father. I never knew him and have mixed feelings. My mother hated him with a passion. She indicated that he was a bad person. When I questioned her, she clammed up. I always felt like I deserved to know more about my other side of the family. At times, I resented her for not telling me. It made me feel incomplete. Does that make sense to you?” “Absolutely! Do you have family on your mother's side?” “Not any more. My mother was an only child like me. I loved my grandma and grandpa, they lived here in Seattle. He died when I was twelve and grandma died just a few years before mother. I had hoped to find more information in her things but unfortunately nothing turned up.” “I'm from a large family, I can't imagine how you must feel. If you've received an inheritance, it will be a gateway for you to find out more information. Maybe you will finally have your answers.” “I hope so. I'm not working tomorrow so I'll call the lawyer then.” “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. If you need time off, I think you've trained me well enough to go solo.” “Thank you John, I just might have to make a trip to New York.” “Maybe Ethan will go with you so you don't have to travel alone.” “That's over, John. They say everything comes in threes. Mother dies, Ethan and I break up, and now the inheritance. It's almost too much.” “It's a lot to handle but you're a strong woman. I have faith in you.” “Thanks for listening to me. I guess the lunch crowd will be here soon, we'd better get a move on.” The long day finally ended and once more Jillian was back in her Ford Falcon heading home. Traffic moved slowly as usual giving her time to think. Next morning Jillian paced the kitchen and living room until she built up the courage to pick up the phone and call the lawyer. “Latham and Watkins, may I help you?” “Yes, this is Jillian Fontaine. I received a certified letter from Mr. Benjamin Watkins. I wonder if I could have a word with him?” “I apologize, Ms. Fontaine. Mr. Watkins is momentarily on another call. If you give me your number, I will have him call you right back.” Jillian poured herself a cup of coffee and stood by the window watching the heavy morning traffic, her mind a million miles away. Part of her anxiously waited for the phone call but another part of her wished it would never come. She was so lost in thought when the phone rang that her body jerked as if she had been shot. “Hello, this is Jillian.” “Ms. Fontaine, this is Benjamin Watkins from Latham and Watkins. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. I was hoping you would call, we have a lot to discuss.” “Yes, it shocked me to receive your letter. I never knew my father. Was I his only heir?” “You were Victor's only child. I'm aware that you were estranged from your Father, we talked of it often. I must tell you that it was not something Victor wanted. He made an agreement with your mother when they divorced, I'm not at liberty to divulge the details. He was a complex person and accomplished a lot of things in his life but I believe not knowing you was his one regret.” Jillian began shaking, “I see, what happens next?” “Have you ever been to New York City? I think it would be better if you could come here, that way we can take a drive up to the Catskills and look at the hotel. Victor's home is just outside of the city. If you could come for a week or more that would be best. Of course, there is a lot of paperwork to complete, some which can be done through the mail prior to your arrival. When you can, give me a jingle and my secretary will make arrangements for the flight, transportation and lodging.” Jillian, feeling dizzy, slowly sunk onto a chair. “Umm, yes sir, I will figure out a work schedule and give you a call back. Did I hear you correctly? Did you say a hotel?" "Yes, Madam. I'm afraid it has been abandoned for some years now but it's still quite impressive and certainly worth rennovating or selling. That would be your decision now." "Forgive me Mr. Watkins, I am overwhelmed at the moment." “As well you should be, as well you should. You're a very wealthy woman, Ms. Fontaine. Good day to you, I will await your call.” "Yes, thank you, I'll talk to you soon." |
| Jillian slid into the back of the yellow taxi as the driver loaded her luggage. Before arriving at the airport, she had to make a quick stop at the restaurant to give John final instructions. Cars lined the road and the taxi stopped dead. Lunch hour traffic always meant a nightmare to get anywhere fast. She pulled out her silver compact and checked her hair, adjusting the bright pink, paisley scarf wrapped around her head at the crown and tied in a knot at the side with the ends hanging down the length of her hair. She pulled up the open v-neck on the mini dress which matched the scarf and wiped a smudge off her white boots. Even though the details about Victor Fontaine's will scared her, the thought of going on a trip to New York made her smile. Traffic started to move and she anticipated meeting Donna at the restaurant. Jillian appreciated the friendship of Donna at this confusing time and was happy she asked her to accompany her. Once the business at the restaurant finished, they would leave for the airport to catch a 4PM flight. Jillian told the taxi driver to wait and slammed the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Donna walking to the front entrance of the restaurant. Jillian waved fast, her long sleeves blowing in the wind. Donna ran and hugged Jillian. "Oh, look at you, girl! You look fab. Love the scarf." They parted, and Jillian gave her the once over while holding her hand. "Nevermind about me. Cool bell-bottoms . . . love the black and white stripes and the white peasant blouse is perfect." They both walked to the front entrance only to find John standing there, smiling. Jillian's stomach fluttered and heat rose to her cheeks. Donna went to the bar for a drink as Jillian finished the last minute instructions to John. Signing the last of the paperwork, she handed them to John and their hands brushed together. John smiled. "I hope everything goes well in New York with the inheritance, and remember, I'm just a phone call away. I'll be thinking of you." Jillian smiled. "I'll be back before you know it." She glanced around to find Donna only to be interrupted by a familiar voice. "Jilly Beans. How ya' doing? Going to New York about an inheritance, eh?" "Ethan! How dare you eavesdrop. What are you doing here?" He grabbed a package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. "Hey, a guy has to eat, ya know?" Jillian watched as he slid the long stick out of the cobalt blue box and put it in between his lips. She could never stand the smell of that French brand -- it had the light scent of a cigar. "Get out. I'm in a hurry!" He stepped closer. "What's the rush doll-face? I wanted to come by because I miss you. You're looking so beautiful." Jillian almost melted when she met his hazel eyes. He reached out to her, but she took a big step and slapped his cheek. John stood behind her and crossed his arms, glaring at Ethan. He rubbed his cheek, ran his fingers through his short black hair, and grabbed her hand hard. smoke blowing in her face as he talked. New York." Jillian shook as she watched his tall frame walk out the front door. "I think he gets that it's over, Jillian. Good for you. You better get going or the taxi driver is going to fall asleep." Jillian wiped a small tear from her eye and laughed. |
| Donna linked arms with Jillian, and they headed out to the taxi. At the airport, they checked in and went to the bar. "These are on me," said Jillian, as she ordered two glasses of champagne. "Here's to the back of Ethan and finding out about my father. Cheers!" After clinking glasses, they both drank quickly. Donna hiccupped as she wAiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The flight left at exactly 4 p.m. The first time it had ever been punctual, at least that's what the woman who sat next to Jillian said. As she spoke, her chins wobbled and a trail of spittle flew onto Jillian's shoulder. The hours rolled past, and by the time their plane touched down in Idlewild, darkness had settled across the city. With their suitcases in tow, they stepped out into the cool night air and hailed a taxi. "The Elysee on 134th and Madison," said Jillian. Although she lived in Seattle—a large city—New York City was something else. She'd heard it referred to as "the city that never sleeps," and that was no exaggeration. Revellers poured out onto endless streets from endless clubs. Neon signs hung over the sidewalks and even from within the taxi, there was an undercurrent of excitement in the air. It hummed and buzzed, making her hairs stand on end. When they reached their hotel, Donna grabbed Jillian's arm. "Oh my God, Jillian. This place is way cool. Are you sure you only wanna stay one week?" Jillian pulled her lips into a tight smile. The turmoil of the previous few days, coupled with the long flight, had taken its toll. Her head throbbed and her neck and shoulders had pins and needles. "Yes, it looks fine. But, please, can we just check in and find our rooms for now? I'm wiped." Seeing her friend's face fall, she added, "We can explore tomorrow, okay?" "Promise?" "Yeah, promise." "Okay then." The hotel lobby had a polished gold-colour floor. Scarlet wallpaper covered the walls, and the reception desk had a dark mahogany finish. When Jillian turned to her friend, she couldn't help but laugh. Her big, blue eyes were wider than they had ever been and her jaw pressed tightly against her chest. "Geez, Jillian. Your old man must have had some serious scratch if your lawyer is paying for this place." The only response she had was a nod of her head. It couldn't be real. When she lay her head on her pillow that night, the only thought, above the myriad of other thoughts, that mattered was: Why didn't Mom let me see Dad? In her dreams that night, a black and white man held out his hand to her. He must have been over six foot, with dark hair and a thin moustache. Every time she tried to grab hold of him, he disappeared into nothing. Over and over, she dreamed the same thing. When her alarm clock sounded, she tried to hold onto the image, but like in her dream, he vanished. Could he have been my father? Did I ever see his photo? |
| Jillian awoke to the phone ringing and sat up, pushing back the light downy coverlet and sheet. She blinked a few times, then reached for the phone on the oak side table. She chuckled as she lifted the receiver. Who has a mint green phone to match their curtains and bedspread? "Hello." "Ms. Fontaine?" "Yes, that's me." "This is your wake up call. We hope you have a good day, and let us know if there's anything else you need," A pleasant female voice said. "Thank you. Everything's wonderful." After hanging up, Jillian threw her long legs over the side of the bed, stood, and stretched. She walked across the super-plushy carpet, her bare feet sinking into its velvety-softness. She stood for a few moments watching the hub-bub of people and traffic out on Madison Avenue. "Well, I better get showered and then go say good morning to Donna." And then off to the lawyer I go. She pushed her blond hair back from her face and gathered her small travel bag, making her way to the over-sized, fit-for-a- queen bathroom. Knock! Knock! Knock! It's me, Donna." "Hang on a sec', Jillian." Donna's voice croaked, like she'd swallowed a spoonful of gravel. A moment later, Donna opened the door. By the look on her friend's face, Jillian knew instantly that she'd gone out last night. "Did you have a good time?" Donna grinned, and her cheeks blushed as she flopped back down on the bed. "It was an absolute gas, Jilly! We should seriously consider moving here!" "Well, I am glad you had a good time, and you can tell me all the details later. Maybe you should stay here and rest. I can manage the boring lawyer stuff on my own. "Are you sure? I did come to support you. I can be ready in a flash." "No. You stay and catch some more sleep, cuz we're going out tonight, too!" Jillian smiled and waved goodbye as she shut her friend's door. She took the elevator down to the lobby and exited through the rotating glass doors. "I guess there's no need to hail a cab. If my directions are right, the lawyer's office is down just a few blocks. She set off at a brisk pace, enjoying the crispness of the early morning air. As she neared her destination, a yellow cab sped by, and, for a brief second, she thought she saw Ethan's face staring out from the back window. No way. It was just someone who looked like him. Really, Jillian, you've got to stop fixating on that creep,It's over. It's truly over! |
| As soon as Ethan knew that Jillian had left Seattle, he high-tailed it over to the restaurant. Beverly, one of the waitresses, had a crush on him. She also had loose lips. There was nothing he wouldn't do to find out where Jillian was staying in New York. He chuckled when he saw that she was working. The maitre d' noticed him standing there. “Good evening, Ethan, will you be joining us for dinner?” “Yes, I'd like to be seated in Beverly's section. She's always such a great waitress.” “Not a problem, follow me.” With a smile, Beverly appeared, her vibrant red hair piled high on top of her head. “Ethan, so good to see you, don't tell me you're dining alone this evening.” “Yes, I am. That is unless a beautiful lady like yourself would care to join me.” “Oh go on with you Ethan, you know I can't. What would you like to drink?” “Nothing right now, thank you. I'll just have water with dinner. The restaurant is bustling tonight, how is John doing without Jillian?” “He's doing a great job, Jillian trained him well.” “I suppose she calls and checks on him during the day?” “I'm not sure. She did call to let us know she arrived OK and was staying at The Elysee in New York. John says it's a very exclusive hotel. I'm surprised she hasn't called you yet.” “Oh, I've been out on a work assignment and haven't been near the phone. I suspect she'll give me a jingle tonight.” “Well then, let me take your order. She leaned forward, her ample cleavage in Ethan's line of site. If you need some company tonight, I could meet you at the bar for a couple of drinks.” “I'd like nothing better, Beverly, but I'm going out of town later this evening and won't be back for a few days. Maybe we can connect when I return.” Trying to supress a grin, he thought, I still have it, there's nothing women won't do for me. That was easier than pulling teeth. In the early hours of the morning, Ethan's plane touched down in New York City. “Where is there an economical hotel?” he asked the taxi driver. “The Hotel Albert in Greenwich Village isn't bad,” the cabbie replied. “It used to be an upscale hotel featuring a French restaurant, now it's the hangout of musicians and hippies.” “That'll do,” Ethan replied. They pulled up in front of a large building. The front had a striped awning and a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower in front. “Wait here for me until I find out if there's a room.” The hotel seemed outdated but the room was clean, and comfort wasn't on Ethan's mind. He'd get a good night's sleep and think about how to approach Jillian in the morning. Ethan skipped breakfast. He went downstairs to see the receptionist, noticing the faded carpeting and stained wallpaper. “Do you happen to have a phone directory, I don't have one in my room.” “I apologize sir, someone must have taken it. We go through a lot of phone books in a year. Here you go, you can keep it in your room if you like.” “Thank you!” He went into the lounge and bought a cup of coffee to take upstairs. He flicked ashes from his smoldering cigarette as he looked up the phone number for Hotel Elysee. “Good Morning, Hotel Elysee, how may I direct you?” “Please connect me with Jillian Fontaine's room.” “I'm sorry sir, Ms. Fontaine is not in this morning, she asked me to forward her calls. One moment please.” Ethan heard a series of click, click, clicks. “Hello.” “Who is this? I was looking for Jillian and was transferred.“ "This is Donna. Is that you Ethan?” “Donna, what are you doing in New York? Where is Jillian?” “Jillian had an appointment this morning. What do you want with her?” 'That is between myself and Jillian, when will she return?” “I don't know, I suggest you leave her alone. She doesn't want anything more to do with you.” “You're wrong Donna, she still loves me. Tell her I will call again.” “I'm not relaying any message from you. I told you to leave her alone, she's been hurt enough.” “You'd better tell her I called Donna. Stay out of our business. If you don't, you'll be sorry.” “Sorry? Are you threatening me Ethan?” “Take it however you wish, but stay out of it, I'm warning you!” He slammed the phone down. Damn, that meddling bitch was in town too. She's never liked me. I'll deal with her later. He decided the only way he would get through to Jillian would be to wait in the hotel until she returned. He hailed a cab and headed for The Elysee. Unknown to either of them, Ethan's cab passed by Jillian on the street as she headed to her appointment with the lawyer. Ethan would have a long wait in the Elysee lobby. Jillian saw the Latham & Watkins sign and stepped inside the spacious waiting room. The décor impressed her, it was elegant and inviting. She introduced herself to the receptionist. Stephanie came around the desk and shook Jillian's hand. “It's so good to meet you, Ms. Fontaine, are your accomodations adequate?” “Yes, they're more than adequate, quite luxurious. It was so kind of your firm to arrange everything.” “Your Father was a client of ours for many years, we were happy to do it. Have a seat, I will tell Mr. Watkins you've arrived.” It was a matter of minutes and Jillian looked up to see a rather rotund gentleman with a bald head and glasses waddling down the hallway. He reached the chair where Jillian sat and extended his hand. Breathing heavily he said, “Ms. Fontaine, welcome. I have waited many years to meet you.” Jillian took his hand and slowly rose from the chair where she towered over him. “It's nice to meet you too, thank you for everything.” “It was nothing, nothing at all. We have a great deal to talk about. A great deal indeed. Follow me please.” The office emanated richness, with leather furniture and a large mahogany desk. Bookcases full of law books covered the walls. Floor to ceiling windows were adorned with heavy drapes that were pinned back to allow a breathtaking site of the city. “Have a seat Jillian. I hope you don't mind if I call you by your first name?” “Of course not.” “Good, you can call me Ben.” He smiled at her. “I see a little of Victor in you, I think your eyes. Yes, it's your eyes. He was a handsome man. I don't quite know where to begin, so I guess we'll start at the beginning. I knew your Father for many years, since we were both young men. Victor came from humble beginnings but left this world a multi millionaire. Now, so are you my dear. I handled your parents marriage documents. Sadly, I also handled their divorce. The marriage lasted less than three years. Your Mother did not have the stomach for some of your Father's business dealings, I can't say as I blame her. We are a respectable law firm. We took care of Victor's legal documents, his home, the hotel, and his various savings accounts. We never were involved in how Victor earned his money. I must tell you that Victor made the majority of his money bootlegging.” Jillian, stunned at the thought of being a multi millionaire, said in a quivering voice, “Bootlegging? That was illegal, I shouldn't be taking illegal money.” “Now, now, dear. The money and property you are inheriting is not illegal. Oh no, not illegal at all! The investments we made for him were completely within the law; there is no reason for you not to accept it. Victor was a wonderful friend but had questionable business connections. Our firm preferred not to know what they were.” “I've taken the liberty to bring a couple of boxes from his home containing some photos and personal items. If you like, we can deliver them to your hotel room. In the next few days I would like you to accompany me to Victor's home and the hotel. If you've never been to the Catskills, you are in for a treat, it's a beautiful, isolated area. Victor's home is outside of the city. It's a lovely home. Oh yes, lovely indeed! If you extend your time in New York you might consider staying there. It is very well maintained weekly by a housekeeper. I understand your friend came with you, she is certainly welcome to come along with us. After all, it is your property now. Let me say that I would be honored to continue as your lawyer in the future, but I do understand if you have one of your own. I understand completely." “Well then, I think I've talked enough, I'm sure you have questions for me. Let's move forward to the boring paperwork, shall we? I'd love to take you to lunch. Today, after lunch I think you need some time to explore New York City with your friend. I have some Broadway tickets for you. We'll meet again tomorrow afternoon for our road trip, say around 1:00, if that works for you." |
| Black slingback heels flung across the plush carpet and Jillian flopped on the bed. Details of what the lawyer said about her father sat heavy in her mind. My father was into bootlegging? She rubbed her temples and picked up the phone to call Donna. No answer. Where did she go now? Jillian dialed the front desk. "Yes. Hello. I'm trying to get a hold of Donna Muller in room 306, but there's no answer. Have you seen her?" "We saw Miss Muller leave about an hour ago. Perhaps she went for lunch." Jillian checked her watch. 4:30 "Yes, that's probably where she is. Thank you." She changed from her dress into comfy blue bell bottoms and a white-embroidered peasant blouse. Using a silk white scarf, she tied her hair up in a big pony-tail. In the living room, she sat on the couch and looked at the latest fashion magazine. A loud knock at the door made her jump. It's about time Donna showed up. Jillian started to open the door. "Where have you been-- " Her jaw dropped. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were my friend." A tall older man with slicked down red hair, thick rimmed black glasses, and a tweed suit, stared at her with a blank look. "Hello, mam. Are you Jillian Fontaine?" "Yes, I am. Oh, are you from the lawyers office with the boxes?" "No, mam. I'm detective Steve Quinn. Real sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could talk with you for a minute." Jillian stepped back and opened the door wider. "Sure. What's all this about, Detective Quinn?" They both sat on the couch. "I just want to confirm that you know a Donna Muller." "Yes. We just arrived yesterday from Seattle to settle a business matter of mine, and I was just wondering where she was. Is she okay?" "Well, mam. We found her two blocks from here in an alley, and she has suffered a fatal blow to the head. I'm so sorry." Jillian started to sob. |
| "I d-dont understand," said Jillian through her sobs. "That's not possible. We only arrived yesterday. I saw her last night. She's still sleeping. She likes to sleep all morning. She—" "Miss Fontaine, I'm sorry. There is no mistake. Your friend’s body has been found in an alley a couple of blocks from here." The room swooshed in a swirl of bright colours, and Jillian placed her hand on the side of the couch to steady herself. "Donna, oh poor Donna. How did you say she died? Who did it?" "We're conducting interviews in the area. There are numerous . . . ladies that know the vicinity well. One of them must have seen something. As for what happened: blunt force trauma. Somebody hit her on the head from behind. She wouldn't have known anything about it." "She didn't suffer. That's something. But I don't understand who would want to hurt her. She's the sweetest person. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but are you saying she was killed in a red light area?" She lowered her voice as she spoke the words, as though the sound of them may contaminate the air. "I need a drink." The pink mini refrigerator hummed as she opened the door and retrieved two tiny bottles of vodka. "Drink?" she asked the detective. "No, thank you, mam. Not while I'm on the job." As he shook his head, a stray red hair fell across his eyes. He wrestled with it and ended up tucking it behind his ear. "I can see this has come as a shock to you. But I have to ask: Do you know who killed Donna Muller?" "No." Jillian shook her head and frowned. "Of course not." “Okay. There is one other thing I have to ask of you.” He stared at his feet and shuffled in his seat. “We need you to identify the body, I’m afraid.” Covering her mouth, she gasped. “No, I can’t. You must know it’s her or you wouldn’t be here. You don’t need me to see her.” “I’m afraid I do, Miss Fontaine. We have to get a formal identification. I’ll make arrangements for my people to collect you in a couple of hours. I’m so sorry for your loss.” His hand felt clammy as he placed it over Jillian’s. “For now, I’ll leave you to digest everything. Good day, Miss Fontaine.” The moment he was out of the room, Jillian ripped the top off the first bottle of vodka and drank it in one. It burned her throat, quashing the nausea that had settled there. Who would do this? Poor, poor Donna. With her head in her hands, her sobs racked her body. Too many thoughts rushed her mind, not just about Donna, but her father and the hotel, too. Then, there was Ethan. Two- timing, slime- ball Ethan. It was all too much. She opened the second bottle of vodka and swallowed the liquid straight down. As she stood to get another bottle, she caught sight of herself in the art deco mirror hanging on the wall. Her eyes—jade-green—stared back at her as though she were a stranger. Peering closer, she thought how her eyes never made sense to her. Her mother's were dark brown, like liquid chocolate. She always wanted her mother's eyes, as though it would have given them a greater connection. But now, Mr Watkins had told her she had her father's eyes and she felt proud. Despite the stories of bootlegging. It wasn't such a terrible crime, surely? He simply provided a service that today would be perfectly legal. The knock on her door made her jump. What if it's the killer? "Wh-who's there?" she called through the door. "Jillian, it's Ben. Ben Watkins." Letting out the breath she'd been holding, she opened the door. "Ben, hi. I’m not due to meet you yet am I?” “No. Not at all. I’m just stopping by with the box of your father’s belongings and the theater tickets for your friend and you.” As he handed her the tickets, she stumbled backwards onto the couch and let out a wail. “Oh, my dear, whatever’s the matter? I don’t have to leave Victor’s things with you. I can take them away. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He sat and placed a wrinkled hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.” “It’s not you.” Jillian sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s my friend, Donna. She was murdered this morning while I was with you. She . . . she’s dead.” The old lawyer’s eyes widened. “What? Where? What happened?” “Ummm, she was hit on the back of the head, I think. A couple of blocks away. Detective Quinn came to ask me questions.” “Oh, my dear. That’s terrible. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” After a pause, Jillian said, “Actually, there is one thing.” “Anything. You name it.” The lawyer’s eyes glistened and he nodded his head. “I have to go identify her body this afternoon. I’ve never seen a dead body. Do you think you could come with me?” Ben swallowed and pulled away from his client. “The mortuary? You want me to accompany you to the mortuary?” He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. When he spoke, he nodded his head slowly. “Okay. I can do that. But I have an idea. Let’s go get a drink from the bar downstairs before we leave. I don’t like to see dead bodies when I’m completely sober.” “Great. Let me just retouch my makeup. I have panda eyes right now. I need to look presentable.” |
| Later that afternoon, Jillian ran down the brightly-lit hall of the mortuary, clutching her stomach. She bashed open the front door and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. A warm breeze billowed back her long hair as she walked to the curb, bent over, and wretched several times. A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder, and she looked up at the lawyer's pale face. "I nearly did the same," he said, shuffling his expensive patent leather shoes across the concrete. "It was so awful, Ben. It really struck home that my friend is dead. I'll never see her again!" Jillian tumbled into the older man's chest and sobbed. "Such a tragedy. I am so sorry you have to go through this, Jillian," he said, patting her back. "Come on, I think we could do with one more drink." After they finished their drinks, Ben brought her back to her hotel. Jillian fumbled with her key to her room, her hands still shaking. Once inside, she dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes, making straight for the mini bar. Vodka in tow, she sipped from the tiny bottle. She dropped down onto the couch, and something poked her in her side. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled the two Broadway tickets out. She stared at them. Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. Oh, Donna! Sudden anger welled up, and she tore the tickets into tiny fragments, letting them fall around her. You'll pay for this, you bastard! Whoever you are! "You won't get away with this!" Taking off her jacket, she set the empty bottle down on the coffee table and laid back. Within minutes she dreamed. A shadowy figure chased her and Donna down a never ending, dark alley. |
| The next day turned out to be one of hellos and goodbyes. Jillian, nervously smoking one cigarette after another, finally summoned up the courage to call Donna's sister and give her the sad news. "I don't know what I'll do without her," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'll never have such a good friend again." Ben had graciously offered to have his staff come by and gather Donna's things, pack them up, and ship them home. "I just couldn't bear to do it, I can't look at them now. I'm not ready to say goodbye." "It'll take time, my dear. Focus on the good times you had together, the memories; you still have those. Don't spend too much time alone, keeping busy will help you. You are more than welcome to spend the day and evening at my home. It's only the wife and I, there is plenty of room." "Thank you Ben, you've done enough already. I think I'll go through the boxes you sent over. Say hello to the family I never knew. I'll be ready to take the trip tomorrow." "Whatever you wish my dear, whatever you wish. I'll send a car over for you around 10 AM. Stephanie will book a couple of rooms near the Catskills. We can spend tomorrow night there, my wife will come along, she so loves the area. The beauty of the mountains might bring you some peace." "I'll be ready, thank you Ben. I'm anxious to meet your wife." It was several hours later and Jillian sat like a statue on the couch, boxes by her side. Her mind was empty, she willed it so. To think, would bring hysteria, and she would not allow that to happen. The phone rang and she jumped, coffee on the side table flying across the room. She let it ring, and yet again, not wanting to answer. Finally she picked it up. In a wooden voice she said, "Hello." "Jillian, is that you? You sound strange." "Ethan, why are you calling?" "I miss you, I screwed up and hurt you, I'm so sorry! My life is empty without you Jillian. I don't want to lose you." "You don't have me, Ethan. I can't talk to you now, I need time, a long time. Goodbye Ethan." Gently she hung the phone back on the cradle and sat there watching it, as if it would leap up on its own into her hand. She felt no emotion from his call, she had none to give. Slowly, she reached down and removed the cover from the first box. She pulled out a photo album and sat it on her lap, running her hand over the leather cover several times before she opened it. It was a family, a happy one, standing outside of a modest house. The picture was labeled; it was her grandparents and their three children, Robert, Victor, and Betty. To think, she had an aunt and uncle; or did at one time. They had touched this book, her father had touched it! She closed the book and held it to her chest for a long time, then laid it aside and picked out another one. Book after book of family growing up; her father changing from a young boy to a handsome man. He was tall and dark, just like in her dream. Then the wedding album. Her mother looked so happy, not the fragile nervous woman she had known. Oh! There she was, just a baby, her father holding her. He held me, he actually held me. She carried the album to the bed and lay down with it until her eyes closed and she fell into a light sleep. Waking, it took her a few moments to recover her senses. Her stomach rumbled. Gosh, I'm hungry. She called room service and ordered soup and a pot of coffee. It would be a long night, she planned on sorting through the box piece by piece. A life emerged in those two boxes. It seemed that Victor had left his modest past behind him, seeking wealth and luxury. There were pictures of him with women in various nightclubs.I guess they called them speakeasy’s back then, she thought. Every one was dressed elegantly, it appeared there was a lot of money to go around. She saw him with a beautiful young lady; a jeweled headband across her forehead and a flapper dress with fringes. Oh how she wished they had color pictures back then. She had seen this woman before on a stage holding a microphone. Could she be a singer? And then a surprising faded, yellow letter................ April 16, 1921 Victor, I need you to arrange a shipment of goods to Hayward, Wisconsin. We have obtained several lodges up there for storage. Have someone drive the truck to our warehouse in Chicago. When they get there, call Mike and he will let you in. The goods will be covered with tires so we can avoid suspicion. Tell no one except the driver. I know you will be discreet as usual. Mike will give the driver an envelope to return to you. I think it will be enough to purchase that hotel you've been wanting. Don't let me down. Al My goodness, could this be the Al we've all heard about? For the first time since Donna's death she gave a little chuckle. Now you're getting carried away, there are a million Al's in the world. Al Capone, the gangster, really JIllian, you're losing it.Tired of looking at the papers, she lay on the couch. Her mind took her back to the 1920's and she tried to envision what life would have been like back then, in her father's time......She dreamed of a noisy room with beautifully garbed women and men dressed in tuxedos, smoking cigars. Her father, tall and handsome seemed to be the center of attention as he charmed with his dazzling smile. |
| Jillian rushed to get ready before the car arrived at 10 AM and had thirty minutes to spare. She stayed up way too long the night before reading what was in those boxes. On her bed sat a red-covered diary with a gold lock on the right-hand side. She decided to read it on the long drive to her hotel but she had to get it opened first. Clothes were tossed into the suitcase and she snapped it closed on each side. She scrambled to the mirror to fix her hair and knew it would take at least ten minutes out of her time. One of these days she was going to chop it all off and look like Twiggy. She smoothed down her bangs and teased her hair at the crown, adding a white headband between the bangs and the puffy hair. The phone rang and she prayed it wasn't the lobby staff informing her the car had arrived. "Hello?" "Hi, Miss Fontaine. It's Detective Quinn." "Yes. What can I do for you, Detective?" "I was wondering if I could stop by briefly to ask you more questions about Donna?" "I'm sorry but that won't be possible. I'm leaving for a few days in about 15 minutes. Can't you just ask me now before I leave?" "Well, I can, I guess, but there was something I wanted to show you, too." "If it's important, you can always meet me at my hotel up near the Catskills. I can call you once I get there to let you know the hotel and room number. Is there something you want to ask me right now?" "Can you give me more details about what Donna did when you both arrived and what you both did that night?" "It's short-lived, Detective. We arrived and I was tired so I went to bed. The next morning, I came to find out that Donna went out on her own to a bar, and I told her to get more sleep while I went to visit a lawyer down the street. When I got back, Donna was not in her room." "So she was out the night before? Okay, that makes sense." Jillian lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a circle of smoke. "What does that mean? Have you found out who did this?" "Not exactly. But I'm thinking that maybe she met someone at the bar. I mean we're not sure, but we've had a couple of 'the ladies' step forward who thought they saw her with somebody but the alley was dark. We also found a unique looking cigarette butt near the scene and also in an ashtray at the hotel. So, we're looking for a smoker. You smoke don't you Miss Fontaine?" "Yes, I smoke ... what the hell are you implying? You really think I would kill my own friend for God's sake? Look, I've had just about enough of this. I've got to get going." "That's why I wanted to see you because I wanted to show you the cigarette butt. I'm not accusing you of anything, but we do have to follow every lead. Listen, I'm sorry for bothering you, but please phone me with your room information. I think it's important that we meet in person." "Fine! I'll talk to you later." She slammed the phone down and lit another cigarette as her hand shook. She grabbed the diary and with a nail file started to twist it into the small lock. After several tries, it unlocked. She placed it carefully into her purse and the phone rang. The car had arrived. Once settled in the backseat, she found the diary and opened the worn red cover. Inside on the front page was her father's name and the year 1925. The name Lana appeared in the bottom right of the page with a drawn heart. Jillian wondered who Lana might be and flipped through the pages not really reading anything. Her eyes widened when she realized Ben would know who Lana might be and looked forward in talking to him further. The rays of sun hit her face as she peered out the car window, and beautiful scenery flew by her eyes. She started reading what her father had written all those years ago and felt closer to him already. "Mam? We're here." Jillian jumped and dropped the diary. She had fallen into a deep sleep. "Thank you. What a beautiful hotel." She picked up the diary and placed it in her purse. While the driver got her luggage, Ben met her as she entered the lobby. "So nice to see you Jillian. I hope the drive was pleasant." "It was a beautiful drive and the scenery was so calming." "Listen, my wife is upstairs getting settled and is tired from the long drive. How about you and I grab a bite and get caught up? I've got a table for us at the restaurant right here at the hotel." "I would love that! I want to tell you something about my father. I found a diary of his in those boxes and I would like to discuss it with you." They ordered a glass of white wine and jumped right into the topic of the diary. Jillian sipped her wine and smiled at Ben. "Did you know a woman named Lana?" Ben's eyes widened and he placed his wine down on the white linen tablecloth. "Yes. I knew of her. Your father knew her well. Why?" "I see. It's just that he wrote her name on the inside cover and I'm wondering who she'd been to him. He drew a heart beside her name. From what I've read so far, it seems like such an interesting era. My father described so many people and outlined a few things he had going on business wise. But, Lana and the details of what his restaurant looked like are fascinating and I want to know more. Can you help me with this?" Ben picked up his glass of wine and drew in a huge sip. "Yes. I've seen this diary and also your father and I had many discussions about his business matters and otherwise. Let me tell you a story of how things were back then." Jillian smiled and gazed at Ben, waiting to hear more about her father and Lana. |
| The old lawyer closed his eyes and became lost in his memories. "Every time I travelled the long, winding drive to the Fontaine, my insides tingled with anticipation. Something always happened there. Always." He chuckled and rubbed the back of his hand absentmindedly. "Nine times out of ten, it was good. The other times, well, we were young. We didn't concern ourselves with those times. I remember the way the drive swept round to the left, only revealing the hotel at the last minute. It was quite a sight. Yes, quite a sight. Back in the days of your father's diary, there were three fountains out front. They never stopped spraying water. You know, it was impossible to get past them without feeling it trickling down your neck." He stopped speaking and stayed perfectly still. Jillian touched his arm, "Go on, Ben. Please. I want to hear more." The older man jumped back to life and continued. "Five stone steps. That's how many you had to climb to gain entry to Heaven or Hell or whatever you wanted it to be. You could hardly move inside the hotel back then. Women in flapper dresses, adorned with shimmering jewels, and scarlet lipstick on their faces. Ahh. I met my wife at one of Victor's parties, you know. I saw her across the ballroom, and I fell in love. Not in the way that everyone was in love with everyone in those days; but truly, actually in love. Her blonde hair was cut short and she had one of those jewelled bands in her hair. Her whole body sparkled, and my heart skipped a beat." As if on cue, an older lady whose silver hair still had the remnants of its former blonde appeared at their table. "My ears are burning," she said with a smile, as she squeezed Ben's shoulder. "Sylvia, I thought you were sleeping." "It turns out, I wasn't that tired. And besides, I wanted to meet Victor's daughter." She held out her hand to Jillian. "I'm Sylvia. It's good to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you." As she spoke, her blue eyes sparkled and Jillian understood Ben's attraction from across the room. "So what has Ben told you? Nothing that really matters, I imagine. Men never notice the important things, do they?" Jillian shook her head, not wanting to offend Ben, but finding herself pulled along by his wife. "I, ugh, I really wanted to know more about my father and the hotel. What kind of a person was he? Am I like him?" "You have his eyes. I have never seen that colour green on anyone else. His cheekbones, as well. But you've seen that in the photographs. What you mean is are you like him in character? I can't answer that right away. But, let me tell you about the Fontaine, and you can make up your own mind. When Victor first opened, in the mid-twenties, it was more of a nightclub than a hotel. Yes, people stayed there, but usually crashed out on the floor, or the steps, or the piano. They rarely used beds. That was far too mundane for the Fontaine's clientele. The ballroom, where Ben and I met, was the scene of the most drama. The black and white photos you have don't even come close to showing off the opulence your father brushed over everything. Two vast wooden doors, with a gold Fleur-de-Lis pattern opened into the ballroom where dreams came true. A black and white chequerboard floor gave the illusion of space, and the high ceilings added to that. Once inside the ballroom, there was a staircase to the left. A golden balustrade twisted its way up the staircase to an upper gallery. Oh, Jillian, when you stood on the upper level, you felt you could touch the sky. Of course, Victor always had a band playing. That's where he met Lana, the si—" "Okay, Sylvia. Thank you. I'm sure Jillian just wants to see for herself." Ben gripped his wife's wrist. "Lana?" said Jillian, not taking her eyes off Sylvia. "You mentioned Lana." "Did I? Oh. Maybe I am tired, after all. I don't know what I'm saying when I'm overtired." "My father mentioned Lana in his diary. He drew a heart next to her name. I will find out about her, whether you tell me or not." The old lady studied Jillian, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe there is some of your father in you. Okay, she's right, Ben. It's better coming from us." "All right," said Ben, throwing his hands up in the air. "All right. Lana was the singer, the beautiful singer, in the house band your father hired in the mid 1920s. She caught Victor's eye the first time he saw her and, well, Victor being Victor, he had to have her. Victor always got what he wanted, you know." The flicker of a smile crossed Ben's face. "Lana had long, dark brown hair, with eyes to match. When she sang, it sent shivers down your spine. There was something so innocent, yet troubled about her. It fascinated Victor, and he fell in love. The couple quickly became an item, but then . . . " "What? Then, what?" Jillian felt a chill take hold of her stomach. "Then she died." |
| Jillian leaned forward, placing her hand on the older man's arm. "Please. I want to know, Ben. I want to know everything." Ben covered his mouth with a tanned wrinkled hand and gave a little cough. "Well, as I said your father always got what he wanted, and God help anyone who denied him." "Wow! One minute I am thinking I could have maybe loved him and then I find out more, and I'm not so sure I would have even liked him, let alone loved him." "Yes, child, you're father had that affect on all of us, but when you were with him you just seemed to forget his short comings. He had such charisma, like a magnet pulling on you," Sylvia said, smoothing down a stray silver curl. "At first, they were the perfect couple, always smiling and gazing into each other's eyes. And when they danced alone on the dance floor, a hush fell over the entire room. It had been like watching two gliding gods fallen from Olympus," Ben said. "But how did she die, Ben?" "I'm getting there, Jillian. Have patience with an old man. It's been a long time since I let these memories back in." "I'm sorry, Ben. Do go on." |
| “Forgive me, but what say you if we retire to the lobby before we continue? It's quieter there and easier on my backside, if you know what I mean. These old bones need a softer cushion.” With a twinkle in his eye, he held out his arms for the women. “Tonight I'm to be envied, a beautiful woman on each arm.” “I must say, Ben, the food here is wonderful, I'm so full I couldn't eat another bite.” “Yes, The Pines has always been one of the best places to eat in the Borscht Belt. Believe me, Sylvia and I have tried them all, haven't we dear?” “I think so, at one time we were always on the go. Jillian, Ben tells me that you're a chef in Seattle.” “Yes, a French Chef. I run a restaurant but don't own it, I would like to open one some day.” “When you do, Ben and I will be your first customers. Do you have a young man waiting for you back home?” “Not anymore. We broke up last week. I”m free as a breeze right now.” “You've had a time of it then. Ben told me about your friend's death.” “Yes, best friend I've ever had, I'm going to miss her. She was full of love and life.” Ben stopped walking as they had reached the lobby. He swooped his arm in the direction of the seats. “We've arrived, let's pick a seat by the windows, they have the most spectacular view in the hotel.” Jillian walked to the window and looked out. The valley stretched far below them and she could see the glimmer of a winding stream that disappeared into a grove of trees. The hills enveloped the hotel in every shade of green, brown, and red as far as the eye could wander. She exclaimed, “Oh you weren't kidding, I can see for miles in every direction. Incredible!” Sylvia smiled at Ben, “I see what you mean, Ben, she's a charmer, just like him.” Jillian turned, “Like my father?” “Yes, dear, like your father. He had this way about him that was irrestible.” Jillian took a seat across from the couple. “What more can you tell me? Continue your story.” Ben pursed his lips in a comical pout. “Oh my, where was I?” He cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared out the window. “Lana, you want to know what happened to her. It's funny, but that night has stuck in my memory ever since, coming back to haunt me at the most inopportune times. I've never been able to erase it. No never.” He patted the back of Sylvia's hand and smiled. It was the saddest smile Jillian had ever seen. “Remember dear, we pulled up in front of the Fontaine. The windows were open. It was a windy, balmy night. The kind of night when everyone falls in love; if only briefly. I noticed the curtains blowing in the breeze when we arrived. Music was wafting through the air. Lana was crooning, Love Me or Leave Me.” As if he were alone, he softly sang, Love me, or leave me, or let me be lonely. You won't believe me but I love you only.” His voice trailed off...... “Such a beautiful girl, so talented. Little did we know it was the last time we would ever hear her sing. That night, her voice and body were stilled forever. “ Jillian watched as Sylvia rubbed Ben's fingers. She barely breathed, not wanting to break the silence that hung in the room. Sylvia finally spoke. “Ben and I found a seat in the crowded ballroom, not far from that glorious staircase, just as Lana finished the final strains of her song. She looked beautiful standing there. I'm sure every man in the room had his eyes on her. I glanced at Victor seated at his usual table in front of the stage, he was transfixed. She wore a sleevless form fitting lace gown with fringes from knee to ankle, the outfit was adorned with a matching headband.” “We eagerly awaited the next song, but something seemed wrong. Lana appeared to be in a heated discussion with the drummer. She turned suddenly and left the stage. The sax player walked up to the mike and announced a short intermission. I noticed Victor grab for her arm as she breezed past his table. She yanked her arm away and quickly ran up the grand staircase. Even from a distance I could see the fire in Victor's eyes, he wasn't accustomed to being rebuked. I saw him finish his drink in one gulp and signal the waiter for another.” Ben, seeming to come out of his reverie said, “It was a shame, a crying shame.” The suspense was too much for Jillian. “What happened, Ben, what happened next?” The room was noisy; glasses clinking, people laughing. Sylvia and I were deciding what we would do the following day. How can I remember that? The entire evening seems to be imprinted in my memory. We saw Victor make his way to the foot of the staircase. People were pointing to the upper ballustrade where Lana was clearly in an argument with a young man. Suddenly her arm swung back and she slapped the man in the face, then turned as if to walk away. The man reached for her, or pushed her, no one knows. I will never forget the horror of watching her fall down that staircase. She landed at the bottom in a twisted heap, nearly at Victor's feet. There was eerie silence in the room except for the screaming of Victor yelling, no, no, Lana, my God, oh my God. He fell to his knees and cradled her head in his hands but she was gone, her brown eyes staring into nothingness.” “After that, neither Victor or the Fontaine were the same. Sylvia and I never went back No, we never did. People say that the fire had gone out of Victor, that when he was there, his time was spent at the bar. He lost interest in the Fontaine and through the years paid little attention to the management. Finally we convinced him to make a decision; either sell it or close it. The place was hemorrhaging money like it grew on trees. Food was below par, entertainment likewise. Why he didn't sell it I never could figure out; it was subject that he avoided talking about. Tomorrow will be the first time I have seen the place since that night.” “How terrible,” Jillian remarked. “What happened to the man, who was he?” Ben pulled off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and bent over, his head in his hands. “He disappeared. Everyone had their concentration focused on Lana and he slipped out unnoticed. Victor spent a good sum of money on private detectives trying to find him but nothing turned up. It's been a mystery ever since. The relationship between Lana and your father might be considered strange at best. Both of them wanted to be together, but also wanted their independence. Who's to say what involvement she had with other men. Sadly, you could say the same for Victor. The times we were in had changed. Men and women craved freedom and excitement. It was a prelude of the Great Depression that was to come. Fortunately, we diversified Victor's assets and he escaped the depression virtually unscathed. And now, my dear Jillian, I have some clients I need to call. You should check out some of the activities at the hotel, I think they have scheduled hikes if that kind of thing interests you. Let's say we meet for dinner around 6:00 and then an early evening? We want to be bright and cheery for our revealing of the Fontaine tomorrow." "Gee golly, I forgot I was supposed to call the detective and let him know where I was staying. He has some information for me that he says he has to present in person." "About your friend's death?" "Yes, hopefully they've found out who might have done it." Sylvia patted Jillian on the back, "I hope so dear, I truly do." ” |
| The next morning, Jillian phoned Detective Quinn and asked him to meet her at the Hotel Fontaine later in the day. She now sat in the lobby waiting for Ben and read her father’s diary. She drank in every word on those pages and thought about the conversation with Ben and his wife the previous night. The details about Lana’s death hit her hard and she was deep in thought, staring at her father’s scribble. She hoped he had nothing to do with that poor woman's death. The entry was short and to the point: “Al took care of a problem for me.” She glanced up from the page, the words sunk in deep. Staring out at nothing of importance, Jillian noticed a woman with long red hair and a silk scarf tied around her head. She walked at a quick pace by Jillian and down the hallway past the elevators. She closed the diary, placed it in her purse, and stood to follow the woman. I swear that woman looks like Sandra . . . it’s the same shade of red hair and she’s the right height, but it couldn’t be. Why would she be – here?” Jillian walked over to the side of the elevator and looked down the hallway. The woman stopped, turned around, slid her big sunglasses on, and entered the stairway leading to the hotel parking lot. Jillian edged over a little more and was about to follow the woman further when a hand grabbed her shoulder. “Ready to go? The car is out front.” Jillian jumped and turned to see Ben smiling. “My goodness, girl, are you okay?” “I’m so sorry, Ben. I thought I recognized someone.” |
| The car journey seemed to last forever. Ben's driver took the scenic route. Jillian couldn't stop thinking of the red-haired woman she saw at The Pines. It can't be Sandra, her common sense told her. Why would she be in New York? When the car turned off the main road, onto a rough, single vehicle track with pine and oak trees either side, Ben squeezed Jillian's hand and said, "Are you ready?" She returned her thoughts to the present and looked out of the car windows at the avenue of trees that greeted her. When the lane swept to the left, she got her first sight of the Fontaine. Her mouth dropped open, and she raised her hand to cover it. "Oh, Ben, it's beautiful. I'm ready." "That's not the first time I've heard those words. Your father fell in love with it at first sight." The old man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Jillian's face burned. She hated how she continually said or did things that likened her to Victor. Part of her felt proud, but then she always learned some other detail that horrified her. She needed to see inside the hotel. She needed a feel for the kind of place her father owned. As the car came to a halt in front of the faded stone building, she gasped. Stepping onto the gravel, she clutched her stomach. The hotel loomed over them, making her feel tiny and insignificant. Three storeys high and at least five rooms to either side of the main doors, she had no idea it would feel so imposing. Three stone fountains, with lions carved into their main bodies, ran dry. Touching her finger to the base, it was clear to Jillian they hadn't run in years. Splotches of lichen gave them a yellow tinge, and Jillian's heart sank. The thought of entering such an unloved place, and knowing it was down to her to refurbish or demolish, left her hollow inside. Once through the main doors, the smell of must and damp filled her nostrils. Not only had her father closed the hotel, but also, it appeared he had destroyed it. Fragments of porcelain, that had once been fancy vases and ornaments, littered the floor. Remnants of a wooden desk stood in the right hand corner. As she took a closer look, she could see that woodworm had eaten the majority of the oak. "Do you want to see the ballroom?" Jillian had forgotten about Ben. In her mind, she pictured the lobby as it had been in the 1920s. It must have been magical. "Yes," she said, with a slow nod of her head. "I'd like that." The doors to the ballroom were just as Ben and Sylvia had described. Tall, wooden doors, with the faint outline of a Fleur de Lis in gold. Jillian closed her eyes, and music played in her head as Ben thrust the doors open. She heard the sultry tones of a woman who sang with diamonds in her voice. It intoxicated her. But the dilapidated sight that met her inside the ballroom almost brought her to her knees. The windows on the far side were all broken. Shards of glass fell at their feet. Everything looked as though it had been brushed with green. Plants grew through the windows. The chequerboard floor that she had been so eager to see was broken up and the white squares had turned a dirty brown. Glancing to her right, heart fluttered at the sight of the chairs and tables which still had their gold tablecloths. In her mind, they were occupied with men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses. Cigarettes in stylish, black holders left the scent of smoke lingering in the air. The place she didn't want to see was the staircase. She closed her eyes as she turned to face it. On the count of three, she took a look. The tumbledown balustrade didn't look safe enough to hold onto. The once-red carpet covering the stairs was barely visible underneath the dirt and moss that grew there. Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't explain the feeling of connection, the feeling of responsibility she had for the hotel. When she turned to speak to Ben, he had disappeared. |
| Jillian spun away from the sickening site. Her hand pressed tight to her chest as if to keep her heart from jumping out. She fled back through the massive doors, crushing bits of debris beneath her heels, crushing bits of her father's past. Finally, she made it back to the lobby and sunk down into a threadbare arm chair, its brocade pattern of red and gold barely visible. "Ben? Where are you, Ben?" Her throat constricted, and the past days calamities caught up with her. She hung her head and wept. A floorboard creaked, and Jillian sucked in one last sob. She stood and swiped at her wet cheeks. "Ben?" she asked but only silence answered. A louder and closer crunch met her ears, and she turned toward the sound. "Jilly Beans? Is that you, my love?" Ethan asked as he sauntered across the lobby toward her. He smoothed back his hair and gave her a beaming smile. "Eth...Ethan! What are you doing here?" Jillian made for the front door, but Ethan snatched her elbow, drawing her in close. "I miss you, love. Why else would I be here?" "Let go of me! Stop calling me that! I am not your love! We're through, Ethan. Now get out of my way! Ben! Ben!" Panic rose in Jillian's throat. Where is Ben? Did you do something to him, Ethan? I swear, if you did something to that nice old man, I'll... "Relax, Jilly Beans. The old fart's just having himself a little nap-si-poo." |
| In that instant, Jillian realized she gazed into the eyes of a crazed man. Almost paralyzed with fear, she once again sank down into the faded old chair. In the calmest voice she could muster she repeated, “Ethan, can we find Ben, I'd like for you to meet him?” He nodded, a crooked smile on his face. “Actually we met in the hallway. He said he had to check on something and would catch up with you in the lobby, I thought I would wait here with you.” Jillan clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “Ethan, how did you know I was coming here?” “Oh that! I had a little chat with Stephanie, Ben's secretary in New York. I explained to her that you were my finance and she told me that you were staying at The Pines and were scheduled to see The Fontaine today. It wasn't hard to find out directions from the locals, they seem to know a lot of history about the place. Seems your father's reputation as a mobster is well known.” Heat rushed to her head, Jillian shot out of the chair. “How dare you follow me here! What do you want from me?” “I want you, poopsie, I always have.” He reached for her but she quickly turned and ran toward the ballroom. With both hands she pushed open the tall doors and ran into the room, looking both ways for an escape. She hesitated briefly at the grand staircase, her foot landed on the first step when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Not so fast, sweetie, we still have a lot to talk about.” She turned and spat at him. “You're a vile, evil, man. I don't know how I could have loved you. Funny thing, Ethan, I thought I saw Sandra at The Pines, are you still seeing her?” A clatter was heard and Sandra appeared from the kitchen. |
| Sandra untied the silk scarf from under her chin, waltzed over to Ethan, and twirled his dark hair between her fingers. "Hey, Hun. I see you found her. Have you told her the plan we have for the money, yet?" "No. Not yet, my love." Jillian stared at both of them, tears at the edge of her eyes. Without a thought, she pushed Ethan right into Sandra with all the strength she could muster. Both of them stumbled back and Ethan caught Sandra before she fell to the floor. Jillian ran up the ballroom stairs, taking two steps at a time. Ethan followed. She reached the top and was about to run for one of the rooms when Ethan grabbed her arm hard and tugged her into his arms. "Isn't this romantic, Jilly. You're so beautiful when you're angry. Say, are those bedrooms down --" She pushed his chest hard. "You're a pig. Get away from me!" He pulled her hand and shoved her into the wall. "There's nowhere to run, so just stop and listen to my plan." Ethan stepped back and reached into the front pocket of his shirt. "But first, I need a cigarette." He pulled out a small blue box and flipped opened the top. "What's going on here?" The voice of Detective Quinn startled everyone. |
| "Detective, it's good to see you." Jillian smiled at Quinn whose ruddy cheeks made him look as though he'd run a mile to get there. "What? Detective?" Ethan's face contorted as he looked from Quinn, to Jillian. "What's going on?" He took a step backwards, lit his cigarette, and tossed the match to the floor. Smoke filled the air between them, and Jillian coughed. When Quinn spoke, his voice had an underlying tone of urgency. "I need you to come down here, son. We need to have a chat about Donna." Finding the strength to push past Ethan, Jillian stood at the top of the stairs. "Donna? What does Ethan have to do with Donna? I don't understand." As he pulled a small bag from his pocket, Quinn nodded toward Ethan and said, "His cigarettes. I couldn't help but notice his packet: Gitanes. A rare, distinct French brand. I've never met anyone else who smokes them. Except for Donna's killer. He dropped these butts at the scene where we found her." Jillian's heart thudded through her chest. Her eyes blurred, and when she spoke her voice sounded tiny. "Ethan killed Donna?" She turned to face him, but he had already started to run in the opposite direction. The next couple of minutes passed in a blur of slow motion. She reached out to grab his hand and yanked with a strength she didn't know she had. She watched as he hit each step on his fall to the bottom of the stairs. A wail flooded the air, and Jillian had to check it didn't come from her. But it didn't. Sandra crouched over her lover, stroking his head. "Baby, oh my poor baby." Glaring at Jillian, she added, "You'll pay for this." Her voice hissed and slithered up the staircase. "It's okay. I'm fine." Ethan sat and dusted himself off. Quinn stepped in and said, "That's good. Then we can talk. Tell me. Why did you kill Donna?" Ethan tipped his head back and laughed. "You don't even know that I did. You've got nothing on me." "We have the cigarettes. Oh, and an eye witness. They place you and Sandra at the murder scene at the exact time Donna was killed. We have you, and you are going to hang for it." It took Ethan a minute to reply. When he did, he took Sandra's hand and pulled her close. He whispered in her ear, and she shook her head, saying, "No." Her eyes had grown wide and Jillian thought she looked like a wild animal. "I asked you why you did it?" Quinn pulled his lips into a tight line. "She saw me in the lobby at The Elysee, didn't she! She put two and two together and got twenty-seven. Accused me of all kinds of things. She intended to blow the lid off my plans, and I couldn't have that." A further commotion behind the detective took everyone's attention and two officers in uniform entered the room. Quinn rolled his eyes and said, "About time. I only asked you to have a quick look over the place. Come here and help me arrest this weasel." Returning to Ethan he slammed handcuffs on his wrists and said, "Ethan Fletcher, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Donna Muller and for conspiracy to murder Jillian Fontaine." At the same moment, Ethan shouted, "Now, Sandra, now!" Jillian's legs wobbled, and she sat on the top step. Nausea nudged at her throat, and she clutched her stomach. Shaking her head, the only word she could find was no, and so she repeated it over and over. Quinn handed Ethan to the two officers, and said, "Take him away and radio for back up. We need a separate car for his girlfriend." He looked to where Sandra had been standing, but the space was empty. "Dang, where is she?" He ran toward to the main doors and came face to face with an old lawyer, sporting a dazed expression, holding Sandra's right arm. "I think I found what you're looking for," said Ben. As he handed her to Quinn, he caught sight of Jillian at the top of the stairs, crying. He rushed to her side and cradled her shoulders. "Oh, child. This must be such a shock for you." His warm body settled her tears a little. "How could he do it, Ben?" She looked into his eyes and recoiled. "Oh my God, Ben. You're bleeding! Your head, oh my God!" Screams tumbled from her mouth. "We have to get you to a hospital." Ben smiled. "I'm fine. Honestly. It looks worse than it is." "D-did Ethan do this?" She already knew the answer. "It would appear he didn't like the thought of me saving you from him." When Quinn reappeared, he assured them Ethan and Sandra were safely on their way to jail. Jillian dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and said to Ben, "I'd like to leave now, please." After a fretful night's sleep, Jillian headed for breakfast early the next morning. There was nothing like having your ex plot to kill you to make you reevaluate things. Mostly, though, she thought about Donna. Poor, innocent Donna. Her dearest friend who had died because she wanted to save Jillian. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, she took a deep breath and headed downstairs to breakfast. Ben and Sylvia were already sitting at a table by the window. Sylvia waved to Jillian and beckoned her over. "How are you this morning? Did you get much sleep?" The old woman's brow knotted with worry, and she covered Jillian's hand with hers. "I'm okay, thanks. I didn't sleep much, but I think I have a few things straight in my mind now. I need to speak to you, Ben, about my plans." "Of course, dear. Let's enjoy our breakfast first, though. I find it always better to talk business on a full stomach." He smiled and Jillian wanted to hug him and thank him for everything he had done for her. Once they were finished eating, Sylvia made her excuses and left. "So, you know what you wish to do with your inheritance, is that right?" said Ben. "I have an idea, yes. I keep thinking about that poor singer you told me about. What was her name?" "Lana Morgan." Ben sat up straight. "Why?" "She lost her life in that place, and we both nearly lost our lives there. Goodness only knows what other terrible things have happened there. Many of them at my father's command, I dare say. It's terrible. I couldn't live with my conscience if I reopened the hotel. It wouldn't be right." Ben nodded. "So you want to sell it? I thought maybe you would—" "No. I don't. I want to knock it down. Erase every trace of my father and his activities. In its place, I want to build a retreat. Somewhere people go to relax and be pampered. Somewhere people go to regain control of their bruised souls. I would like to call it 'The Lana Morgan Resort.' I hope this will make the locals happy, as well. What do you think?" "I think you are a much better person than your father. This is a wonderful thing to do. But what about the rest of your inheritance, your father's house and his money?" "Oh, I have a plan for that, too. But there's someone else I need to discuss it with before I tell you, someone back home. Which brings me to my next point. I would like to fly back to Seattle today. I need to see Donna's family." As Ben pulled Jillian into an embrace, he kissed the top of her head in the same way she had always fantasised her father would do. "I will make arrangements, my dear." *************************************** The restaurant hummed with life when Jillian stepped back inside her second home. John stood at the stove, frying onions and mushrooms. The scent wafted towards her, and her stomach rumbled. She smiled as she regarded the well-defined outline of John's back. "Hey," she said. As he spun around, the frying pan crashed to the floor. He jumped back, to avoid it hitting his feet. "Hey," he replied. It felt so natural, being back in the restaurant. It didn't matter how much money she had, she would always be a chef. As she sat down to chat with John about her plans, excitement mixed with the overwhelming sadness and disappointment her trip had brought. "John, you're the best sous-chef I've ever worked with. We gel together, don't we?" "We sure do. It's good of you to say." His smile touched his ears on either side, and a trickle of warmth spread through Jillian's stomach. "Well, here it is: I have a proposition. I inherited, well, a lot of money from my father, and I have plans for it. John, I'm going to open my own restaurant here in Seattle, and I would like you to be my partner. Before you say anything, I know this is huge. But if there's anything my trip taught me, it's that life is short. We have to go for what we want. You don't have to answer straight away. I haven't found anywhere yet. But I would love you to come on board with me." She stood to return to the kitchen, but John took her hand and said, "I've missed you, Jillian. Really missed you." Pulling her close, he leaned in and kissed her. His lips felt soft and warm, and she melted into his embrace. As she pulled back and looked into his twinkling eyes, she smiled, in spite of everything else she had been through in the last few days. Returning the smile, John said "You know what? Count me in. Let's do it." As they hugged, Jillian felt completely safe. She would get through this. Okay, so her father had been some big time gangster in New York and her mother not much more than a flake, but Jillian had ambition. There was no doubt in her mind that she and John would be successful in both their personal and professional lives. Warm, fuzzy happiness settled in Jillian's stomach for the first time in months. Her resolve had been tested, and she came through it with a renewed sense of confidence. No more slogging hard for a promotion she would never get. No more dating creeps like Ethan. Her life was going to change. Her life was going to be good. |
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