IN HIS KEEPING: BANISHED

A fat lot of good bringing Meagan did her.  She stayed with Sylvie for five minutes and then disappeared with a very handsome, mid-thirtyish, blond guy who looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ.  Meagan was on the prowl tonight.  Her dress barely covered her naughty bits.  Her breasts, the ‘girls’ as she liked to call them, resembled dough on steroids, rising out of the low-cut neckline, all creamy pink, puffy, and delectable.  You could almost see men’s tongues hanging out when they looked at her.  They were practically drooling.  The dress, what there was of it, was a micro-mini made of black silk with an overskirt of sheer chiffon.  If she moved wrong you could see a bit of ass cheek.  But then that was Meagan.  Sylvie had to give her credit: the girl knew how to attract attention.  Men noticed her!

But Meagan wasn’t the only man magnet here tonight.  She had stiff competition.  Most of the dresses the women were wearing were designer haute couture, straight off the fashion runways of Paris, Milan, and New York.  Skin was in.  Many had deeply plunging necklines, some extending to the wearer’s belly button.  A few were so gaping that in addition to showing cleavage, the slightest movement revealed the wearer’s areolas, and sometimes their nipples.  Others were backless.  On a couple, the wearer’s butt crack was visible.  Why would anyone pay so much money for a dress that covered so little?  She wasn’t a man of course, but did they actually find butt cracks that appealing that they’d want to see them on display while eating a canapé?  Some dresses had sky-high slits causing the wearers to flash their panties with every step.  Those who’d gone commando and weren’t wearing underwear were exposing their hairless crotches.  Apparently Brazilian waxes were de rigueur among the moneyed classes.  There must be an unwritten rule of some kind that states if you’re going to show your pussy it has to be properly shorn.  Then there were the sheer, diaphanous gowns that were virtually transparent except for some strategically placed lace or sequins.  They left nothing to the imagination.  The ladies wearing them might as well have been naked.  For the most part, the women were either rock, reality, or movie stars themselves; or on the arm of a cadre of rappers, rockers, male box-office megastars, or sports-world superstars.  Aside from being outrageous exhibitionists, they all seemed to have one thing in common: they carried a lot of junk in the trunk.  Their butts were big in relation to their other body parts.  They all had strikingly beautiful faces, big boobs, tiny little narrow waists, and enormous asses.  Oh, and thick fleshy thighs.  Sylvie couldn’t take her eyes off them.  They put on quite a show!  Their asses jiggled with each step and every time they moved or leaned to one side there was a chance the sequins, beads, or lace would shift slightly and reveal even more of their anatomy.  After only a few minutes Sylvie found herself intimately acquainted with the ass cracks, cellulite, pimples, dimples, and moles of four Grammy winners, two Academy Award nominees, and three reality TV stars.  She felt like Dorothy in the Land of Oz.  This was definitely not Kansas!

As usual…Sylvie looked out of place.  The only women dressed more conservatively than she was were senior doyennes wearing chunky-heeled orthopedic shoes.  Sylvie thought her outfit would be perfect for the party until she saw what everyone else was wearing.  She’d seen it in Vogue.  It was a knee length, gold satin dirndl skirt, topped with a short sleeve, black lace top with scalloped edging at the sleeves and hem.  For dramatic effect there was a very long, black silk scarf wrapped once around her neck.  It was tied in a big, floppy bow with one streamer hanging down the front and the other down her back.  A large, red silk rose was affixed to the bow.  It was certainly stylish, but not elegant like what everyone else was wearing.  Men were in black tie formal attire and women were either in long gowns or short, high fashion, designer-inspired cocktail attire.  Whatever clothing they wore, they accessorized it with lots and lots of jewelry.  The more ostentatious, the better.  Their necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings were encrusted with precious jewels of every size and description.  She’d never seen so many diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires in her life.  It was as though they’d bought out every jewelry store in Manhattan.  Several of the necklaces were so heavy and ornate that they resembled the crown jewels, something royalty would wear.

Sylvie looked around at the crowd of people in dismay.  She hadn’t realized how dressy this event was going to be.  She should have done her research!  She was definitely underdressed.  But at least she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb like last time.

Connor hadn’t had any gowns delivered to the apartment for this event.  She’d assumed he wanted her to wear one of the ugly dresses he’d given her for the ‘Times‘ thing.  Thank God she hadn’t!  She would have looked like an utter fool wearing one of those hideous rags to a black tie affair.  Didn’t he realize formal attire was required?  Well, of course he did!  The party was being held in his honor.  And he was wearing a hot-looking, black Armani tuxedo.  He could have at least given her a heads up.  Warned her she needed to really dress up!  Sylvie had no experience with formal party attire.  A big do in her neck of the woods was the annual Wyoming County Grange dinner dance.  And they certainly didn’t dress like this!  They wore their Sunday-go-to-meeting church clothes.  How was she supposed to know what to wear or how to behave if no one told her?  Was she supposed to pick this shit up by osmosis?  So far she was proving to be wholly inept at fitting in with New York society.  This was her second time at bat and she’d managed to strike out both times.  It was almost like he wanted her to feel out of place, so uncomfortable she wouldn’t attend any more functions.  She wouldn’t put it past him.

Connor didn’t want her out and about in the city.  He wanted her locked away in her penthouse prison, where he could monitor her activities.  The only reason he was letting her come to these things was because Sylvie was going stir-crazy cooped up in the apartment all the time.  She’d forced his hand, threatening to go out on her own if he didn’t.  Connor didn’t want that, so he’d reluctantly agreed.  But he wasn’t happy about it.

There was a benefit for some art museum next weekend, but she wasn’t invited.  Supposedly, the guest list was extremely limited and they couldn’t swing an extra ticket for her.  Only the rich and powerful, with pockets deep enough to donate several hundred thousand or even a few million to the cause, were allowed to attend.  Connor would be bringing a guest, but it wouldn’t be her.  That pissed her off!

The week after that there was a big bucks benefit for a cancer research foundation Connor supported.  They raised tens of millions of dollars at the gala every year.  Sylvie was on the guest list for that one.  This time she’d check the web for pictures of last year’s benefit to be sure she was dressed appropriately.  Sylvie was tired of looking like the neighborhood bag lady, a poser who’d snuck in through the back door.  She wanted Connor to be proud of her.  She’d seen a couple of pretty, long, lingerie-style slip dresses on eBay that looked like they’d be formal enough.  There were several similarly styled dresses here tonight.  The ones on the web though were vintage and inexpensive.  Bidding was up to $79 on one and $127 on the other the last time she checked.  Sylvie had been up in the air about whether to buy them, but now she was certain.  Next party, she’d look like the reincarnation of Jean Harlow.  Only without the blond hair, gorgeous body, and boobs!

Speaking of blondes, Connor was with a flaxen-haired tart tonight.  Sylvie was sure she was a model of some sort, but didn’t recognize her.  She had a lovely, almost angelic, face, but except for her big boobs—probably implants— she looked seriously anorexic.  Like she hadn’t had a decent meal in months.  The girl appeared to be quite taken with Connor.  But then, why wouldn’t she be?  Ka-ching, ka-ching!  He was a billionaire after all!  Connor, on the other hand, seemed grouchy and preoccupied.  Every time Sylvie glanced his way, she found him staring at her with a frown on his face.  He glared when Drake came over, put his arm around her, and gave her bottom an unwelcome ‘hello’ pat.  He was equally upset when he saw Nathan and Sean greet her with a kiss to the lips.  And he looked royally pissed watching Alex pull her into a too-familiar hug with one hand slipping down her back to grope her butt.  What was it with these guys and their predilection for asses?  The only one he didn’t give a dirty look to was Victor.  Either Connor didn’t view him as a threat or rival for Sylvie’s affections or Victor was gay.  Her money was on the latter.  Out of all of them, she liked Victor best.  He was neither a braggart, nor obnoxious.  He was a gentleman.  Which begged the question —why the hell would he want to associate himself with these jerks?

She surveyed the room: Jameson wasn’t here tonight.  This was a different crowd than the last event she’d attended in Connor’s honor.  These people were on a whole other planet.  They were the crème de la crème of society: corporate movers and shakers, CEOs, CFOs, bank presidents, corporate raiders, politicians, the power elite of the country.  And celebrities, lots and lots of celebrities.  She was rubbing elbows with movie stars, Oscar-winning actors and actresses, Broadway show-people, TV stars and new anchors, bestselling authors, and musicians of every persuasion.  It was a Who’s Who of the most influential people in America today.  She’d pulled out her cell phone hoping to get a few pics of the beautiful people.  But every time she slipped it out of her bag, one of the security people circling the periphery of the room would narrow his eyes and shake his head and she’d put it away.  To reinforce the message, a rather intimidating man with bulging muscles and carrying a walkie talkie stood guard over her and her cell phone to make sure she complied.  The rich and famous, however, didn’t have any such restrictions.  They were snapping pictures and selfies of each other left and right.  If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought they were the paparazzi.

You had to be really loaded to attend this party.  Tables cost $25,000 each.  The money was all going to a good cause: a children’s anti-hunger, anti-poverty fund that Connor had lent both his name and considerable financial support to.  He was being honored as their man of the year and all the swells had come out to congratulate him.

She and Meagan had been seated at a table with six other people.  From the conversation, which centered on mergers and acquisitions, she suspected that they were investment bankers or something.  They didn’t acknowledge or speak to her or Meagan, chatting only among themselves.  After Meagan disappeared, Sylvie sat there like a lump, looking bored and uncomfortable as she guarded her cousin’s chair and waited for her return.  Sylvie remained at the table until her bladder demanded she seek out a ladies room.  When she returned, the seats had been confiscated by two older men she hadn’t seen before.  Sylvie stood next to the table for nearly five minutes, patiently waiting for them to return the chairs, but they didn’t.  They ignored her.  Evidently, having money doesn’t necessarily mean you have manners…or class for that matter.  Figuring they weren’t leaving anytime soon, Sylvie decided to find a wall to prop up…her new mission in life!

There were a ton of people at the event: at least 800 were crammed into the dining room, with another 200 spilling into the bar area.  Food was being served at carving stations and buffet tables situated around the room.  A 10 piece orchestra was set up on a platform at one end of the hall, playing easy listening music, mostly love songs and ballads.  The dance floor in front of them was small and crowded.

Sylvie had been proud of Connor when he stood before the group to accept his award.  His speech was short, sweet, and to the point.  The epitome of modesty, he said little about himself, his accomplishments, or his philanthropy; focusing instead on the beneficial work of the charity and encouraging attendees to open their hearts and wallets to make a difference in the lives of underprivileged children.

She watched the guests mingling and dancing.  It was apparent from her recent forays into the world of wealth and privilege that they were an insular group.  They reminded her of residents of a small town.  They all seemed to know each other by name.  Attended the same functions.  Were suspicious of strangers and outsiders.  And, from the snippets of conversation she’d overheard, they loved gossiping about one another too.  Except for the money and fancy clothes, she could have picked them up and dropped them in Wyoming and they would have fit in just fine.  That’s assuming they liked dairy cows and didn’t mind getting manure on their shoes.

From the heated discussions and disagreements going on around her, Sylvie hazarded a guess that a goodly percentage of the corporate types in attendance were right-wing, conservative Republicans living in exclusive, wealthy, white enclaves.  The celebrities and arty types were the exact opposite when it came to their politics.  They were mostly left-leaning, liberal Democrats.  But they appeared to be just as elitist as their Republican brethren…residing in gated communities and high-rise fortresses far removed from the humdrum lives of everyday people.  Neither group had much in common with the individuals served by the charity they were here to support.

Every once in a while, one of ‘the six,’ Connor’s old school cronies, would stop by on his way to the bar or the men’s room.  Other than that they’d been ignoring her.  They had more important things to do: like hooking up with female companions for the evening.  The women they were cozying up to were all sexy and in their 20s.  She guessed the guys were taking a break from the bimbos tonight.  Branching out!  It was about time.  Even Victor was looking to score.  He was deep in conversation with a very attractive man, one who seemed totally taken with him.  What was not to like?  Victor was the spitting image of the actor who portrayed Henry VIII’s best friend in the Tudors and later played Superman.  Saying he was handsome didn’t do him justice.  He was damn close to perfection.  Eye candy!

Speaking of the bimbos, where were they hiding tonight?  Sylvie’s eyes scanned the room.  She didn’t see them anywhere.  Maybe they’d been left off the guest list.  To say she didn’t like them was an understatement.  Loathed them was more like it.  They were self-absorbed, vain, and bitchy.  Also brainless, vacuous, and downright annoying.  They weren’t friends or even frenemies for that matter.  But in a room full of strangers, a familiar face, even one of theirs, would have been welcome.  Any port in a storm!

Sylvie looked down at her feet, wishing she could take off the heels she was wearing.  She’d bought them over the web.  They were cute, strappy, black sandals with a two inch heel.  But they were killing her.  They pinched her toes and were rubbing against the sides of her feet and the back of her heels.  She felt like a dwarf compared to the other women in the room.  They were either wearing five inch stilettos or platforms with even higher heels.  They might be in style, but they looked excruciatingly painful.  Blistered, red foot flesh protruded from peep-toes.  Swelled over and around straps.  The skin rubbed raw.  Toes squeezed and crunched together, forced into unnatural positions, ballerina-like, making the wearer teeter perilously when she walked.  The women wearing them looked ungainly.  It was a wonder they didn’t break their fool necks!  Why would any sane person pay $1000 or more to break an ankle, get a bunion, a hammertoe, or at the very least a painful blister.  Sylvie could never be a fashionista.  She preferred comfort to style.

A waiter was passing by with a tray of champagne flutes.  Sylvie reached out to grab one, but a large hand intercepted her.  She turned to see Connor looking at her reproachfully.

‘How many is that for you?’

‘This will be my third’ she told him, taking one off the tray with her other hand.  ‘Thank you,’ she said.  The waiter looked at her a bit startled, not used to being acknowledged. He smiled, nodded his head, and disappeared into the crowd.

‘And your last!’ he told her firmly.  ‘Have you at least eaten something?’

‘I had two shrimp shots, a lamb chop lollipop, a crab puff, a cucumber slice topped with  lobster salad, and the tenderloin with brie on baguette toast.’

‘Those are hors d’oeuvres.  Didn’t you have any dinner yet?’ he asked in concern.

‘I’m full,’ she assured him.  ‘I had plenty.’

‘No.  You didn’t.’ he admonished her.  ‘You have to eat!  At this rate you’re going to waste away to nothing,’ he lectured.  ‘Take a sip and put it down, so we can dance,’ he ordered.

‘I thought we were supposed to keep our distance from one another?’

‘You’re my employee.  It would look weird if I didn’t acknowledge and dance with you at least once.  Especially since you’re standing over here by yourself looking like a forlorn wallflower, a lost little waif.’

‘What about your date?’

‘Don’t worry about her.  She’s busy chatting up some movie producer.  She wants a role in his next movie.’

‘She’s an actress?  I thought she was a model.’

‘She’s a model now, but she aspires to be an actress.’  He grabbed the glass from her hand and set it down on a nearby table.

‘Hey wait, I didn’t even take a drink of that yet,’ she protested, trying to take the glass back.

‘I’ll get you another later.  They’re going to play our song.’

‘Our song?’ she asked, certain she must have heard him wrong.  ‘We have a song?’ she asked incredulously.  That was a shocker!  Why didn’t she know about this?

‘Yes we have song.  ‘Baby I’m Amazed by You!’  Don’t you remember?  We danced to it at your Dad’s wedding.’

Sylvie lit up like a Christmas tree.  Of course she remembered it.  What she had a hard time believing was that he remembered it.  Connor, it seemed, was not only romantic, but sentimental as well.  Who was this man and what had he done with her asshole boyfriend? Connor tried to maintain an unemotional, businesslike demeanor when it came to their relationship.  Talking about agreements and rules as though they’d entered into a contractual agreement instead of a red hot affair.  He tried to give the impression that he was detached and aloof when it came to Sylvie, that he didn’t want to get emotionally involved.  Our song?  That sounded pretty involved to her!  Maybe he just played at being a cold fish, and in reality was a warm cuddly teddy bear.  Then again…maybe not!

Connor led her out onto the floor just as the song began to play.  He held her firmly in his arms as they began to step and sway to the music.  Sylvie’s hand rested gently on his broad shoulder.  She wanted to lay her head against his chest, but didn’t dare.  ‘Keep your distance,’ she reminded herself.  They weren’t supposed to look like a couple.  Connor pulled her close and Sylvie stiffened.  She could feel his erection.  He had a frigging hard-on?  In a room with hundreds of people?  Where he was the center of attention and every one was looking at him?  Any other time she’d be thrilled.  But here?  Now?  Not a good idea!  What was he thinking?  What indeed?

‘Recite the alphabet backwards,’ she advised, dancing on her tippy toes to whisper the words in his ear.  ‘That’ll get your mind on something else.’  She tried to pull away, but his hand pressed into her back, forcing her body into his.

‘I don’t want to think about anything else but you right now.  And what I’m going to do to you tonight when I get you alone.’

‘Oh!’  She blushed while pondering all the delightful things they might do in the dark.

People paused to watch the man of the hour, Connor, whirl the young woman, around the dance floor.  Who was she?  You could see the curiosity in their eyes.  Was she someone famous?  A model?  A starlet perhaps?  They didn’t recognize her.  Still, she must be someone special.  Why else would Connor Hudson be dancing with her?

Sylvie couldn’t look at them.  She hoped they hadn’t noticed Connor’s condition.  Their presence was an intrusion into something very intimate.  Sylvie closed her eyes, shutting them out.

‘I wanna spend the rest of my life with you by my side, forever and ever,‘ he sang along with the song, his thumb gently stroking her back unobtrusively.  ‘Every little thing that you do.  Baby, I’m amazed by you.  Every little thing that you do.  I’m so in love with you.‘

Sylvie felt lightheaded.  The phrase kept repeating in her head: ‘I’m so in love with you!‘  He said it!  Connor finally said it!  The words she’d waited so long to hear.  She wanted to believe he really meant it.  That he did love her.

But it was only a song.  As soon as the music ended,  Connor brusquely told her to behave, warning her that she was to have only one more glass of champagne…or else.  He didn’t elaborate on the meaning of ‘or else.’  Then he abandoned her.  Literally!  Walking off the dance floor, leaving her standing there looking shocked.

Sylvie was crushed.  What a prick!

Her eyes followed him as he approached his date, snaked his arm around her tiny, wasp-like waist and gave her a big smooch on the cheek followed by a public pat on the ass.  The girl giggled and slipped her arm around his waist, then tilted her head to rest it on his upper arm coquettishly.  Sylvie was seething.  She stalked off the dance floor, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing tray.  She took up her position against the wall again and was about to throw down the first, when Sean sidled up to her.  As if things weren’t bad enough already!

‘Fickle isn’t he?’ he observed, smirking as he watched Connor hug the woman and kiss her full on the lips to the amusement of the people gathered around them.

‘One could say that,’ she responded dryly.

‘Can’t blame the man.  She’s a Victoria’s Secret model.  Got a body that won’t quit!  Bet you’d give your right arm to look like that?’

‘Oh!  Well, that explains it then.  She looks like a Barbie doll…what man could resist her?’  She scowled at Sean and continued.  ‘And for your information…I like my right arm just where it is.’  Why was it that every time she was around the bastard, he managed to make her feel like a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe?  ‘I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.’

‘With that face and that body I should say so.’

‘Actually, Connor told me it’s her intellect that first attracted him.’  Her tone was snippy.

‘Yeah right!’  His eyes searched the room and met those of a pretty blond who could have been Connor’s date’s twin.  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, quickly walking away from her.

‘Nice talkin’ to ya,’ she called after him, hoping he knew it was anything but.

The evening dragged on.  Sylvie didn’t speak to anyone and no one spoke to her.  She was shy.  Sometimes paralyzingly so.  Had been all her life.  She didn’t know how to mingle or make small talk.  She wasn’t the type of person who could just walk up to a perfect stranger, introduce herself, and start talking to them.  It wasn’t in her nature.  She’d blush and stammer, sweating buckets as she tried to get the words out.  Besides, she was sure no one here would be interested in anything Sylvie Jenkins from Wyoming, NY had to say anyway.

She didn’t see Connor or the others for the rest of the evening.  Meagan made a brief appearance at the very end of the party, telling Sylvie how sorry she was for having been scarce all evening.  She didn’t look sorry!  She was grinning from ear to ear.  She’d hooked up with a very rich, very hot, investment banker and had decided to go home with him so they could get better acquainted.  Sylvie knew how that went!  Meagan intended to fuck him, suck him, and milk him dry.  Meagan was not the least bit subtle about her sexual appetites.  She sent out vibes that said in big bold letters—I’m available!  Take me home and fuck me…hard!  This guy was so not her type—Meagan liked bad boy bikers and heavily tattooed rocker wannabes, not boring, number-crunching financiers.  Sylvie gave it a week…if that.  Meagan blew her off with an air kiss and a ‘Buh-bye,’ saying she’d call Sylvie during the week.  Then she was gone.

The limo was waiting outside the front door for her.  She was relieved to finally get out of there.  It hadn’t been a fun evening.  It wasn’t just the boredom.  Aside from the sore feet and aching back, she also felt embarrassed.  There were only so many times you could scan a room with a phony ‘hopeful’ smile on your face pretending to be waiting for a friend who hadn’t shown up yet, before you came off looking like a friendless loser.  It was humiliating.  But that wasn’t the reason she wanted to hurry home.  Connor said he would see her after the party.  She was horny.  She couldn’t wait to crawl into bed with him.  She hadn’t seen him since the ‘bestseller’ party two weeks ago.  Her insides were doing a happy dance.  Especially her clit which was twitching and throbbing in anticipation.  They were going to make love: mad, passionate, monkey love.  At least she thought they were.  She was miffed at him for leaving her on the dance floor and kissing that dumb-ass model, but it was all for the greater good.  At least that’s what she kept telling herself.  It made the story that they’d broken up that much more believable.  Still, she wished he would temper his enthusiasm.  The kiss he gave that woman was anything but innocent.  He looked like he was enjoying it and that Sylvie couldn’t abide.  She couldn’t believe how jealous she’d become.  She trusted Connor…she just didn’t trust the scheming gold-digging wenches who threw themselves at him.  She wanted to believe Connor couldn’t be tempted; but in the end…he was only human.  Given the right circumstances anything could happen.  That uncertainty made Sylvie wary and resentful, disgruntled and distrusting.  She hadn’t thought herself capable of such negative emotions, but apparently she was.  Maybe that’s what happened to women when they fell in love.  They became crazy, jealous bitches!

She suspected it was the sex that played havoc with her psyche.  The earth-shaking, mind-blowing orgasms, the heat that pulsated through her veins whenever he was near.  She thought about it every waking hour and dreamed of it at night.  The thought of not being with Connor anymore left her feeling empty and afraid.  She needed him to function now and that scared the bejeezus out of her.  She kept telling herself to stop obsessing over him and just go out and buy herself a good 10 speed vibrator or a bright blue, silicone, electric dildo.

Rationally, she understood why he was acting like he was interested in other women.  He was trying to protect her.  But at the same time, emotionally, she found his actions hurtful.

Sylvie had been living on her own since college.  She’d had plans and dreams once.  None of which included a dominant rich guy ordering her around: telling her what to do, where to go, and how to behave.  Then Connor came on the scene and totally upended her existence.  Now her life revolved around him.  What bothered her most was that she had to reinvent herself to please him, while he hadn’t changed one iota for her.  Their relationship was grossly one-sided.  Everything had to be on his terms.  Connor didn’t want long term entanglements, so marriage and children were out of the question.  It didn’t matter what Sylvie wanted, at least not to him.  With Connor, it was either his way or the highway.  Sylvie had to get with the program or else.  So far, she’d accepted the situation.  But did she really want to spend the foreseeable future living on the occasional crumb of his attention?  Hoping and praying he’d spare a moment of his precious time to drop by for an hour or so every couple of weeks and fuck her senseless?  Then leave without a word, like he did last time?

It was playing havoc with her self-esteem!  Here he was dating these gorgeous women then surreptitiously stopping by for a quickie with her.  She told herself to be patient, that once the killer was caught their lives would return to normal.  But would it?  The parties had been a wakeup call.  A realization that except for sex and work, they had absolutely nothing in common.  Connor was used to having a beautiful woman on his arm.  Such was the prerogative of billionaires…handsome or otherwise.  But Sylvie wasn’t that girl.  He’d eventually come to realize that.  The way Connor talked, they were still in a relationship.  But some relationship this was!  A fleeting fuck now and then; no dinners, no movies, no quiet evenings at home.  They’d hump an hour or two, then go their separate ways.

The worst of it was he was seeing other women!  Okay, so he wasn’t doing it behind her back.  Hell no…he was doing it right in front of her!  Connor was openly kissing and hugging other women, rubbing their backs and patting their backsides.  And when he finished manhandling them, he’d stop by and do the same to her.  How sick was that?  Was she really okay with this?  No, not at all!  She had to do something about the situation, and sooner rather than later.

The first step in getting things back to normal was finding the killer and making sure he spent the rest of his life in a cage.  But that was no easy task!  There were police investigators, private detectives, and some of the best criminalists and profilers in the country diligently working round the clock on the case, trying to ferret out the identity of the murderer; but so far they’d come up with nothing.  How could she hope to do any better?

Sylvie had been reading and rereading everything she could about the murders and the fire.  She’d made up a list of possible suspects who might have had a grudge against Connor.  The internet was filled with articles about people pissed off by his business practices; but that all happened after his parents’ and Marisol’s deaths.

She looked into Abe Frommer, the man Connor’s father had fought to retain control of Hudson Publishing.  And his sons Justin and Jason who were classmates of Connor’s.  She’d researched Byron and Elizabeth Hudson, trying to find out if there was anyone who might hate them enough to kill them and then transfer that hate-filled fixation to their only child.  By all accounts they were wonderful people, beloved by all who knew them.  She’d called Mrs. Cosgrove at the Saranac house to pump her for information, but it had gotten her nowhere.  Estelle kept referring to the fire as a terrible tragedy.  She was obviously unaware that the fire had been set on purpose, that it was arson.  Sylvie decided it wasn’t her place to tell her otherwise.  According to Estelle Cosgrove, all the household staff loved Connor’s parents as did the employees of the publishing company and anyone else they’d ever come in contact with.  From everything she said, Connor’s parents were generous, kind, and caring.  They didn’t sound like people someone would kill; unless it was the result of a botched robbery, home invasion, or burglary gone wrong.  Still, they’d suffered a horrible death.  Someone must have wanted them dead.  But why?  It had to be personal.  Whoever did it wanted them or their loved ones to suffer.   She looked into Aunt Lettie’s background too, but found nothing helpful.

Sylvie went back through archived newspapers searching for any mention of a member of the Hudson family being involved in an accident.  One where someone was killed or seriously injured.  She was certain the murders were revenge for something that happened in the past, but she could find no evidence of that.

She’d just begun investigating Connor’s former high school classmates, but hadn’t gotten very far.  The class roster turned out to be a list of the richest, most prominent people in the city.  It was going to take a while to wade through all the information on each of them.

She couldn’t help thinking there was something she was missing.  If Ernestine Shaw, a reporter from a little Podunk weekly paper was able to track down the killer, so could Sylvie.  Shaw got killed for her trouble.  Sylvie wasn’t planning to make the same mistake.  Whatever she managed to learn about the case, she would immediately share with the police.

Sylvie felt guilty every time she thought about the reporter.  She kept thinking if only…  If only she’d let her talk to Connor that day.  If only he’d been told the identity of the bodies in the park.  The suspicious circumstances surrounding the fire that killed his parents.  The connection to the deaths of Marisol and Tara.  He’d have intervened: alerting police; calling city, state, and federal officials; demanding that they talk to the reporter and investigate the matter immediately.  Maybe that would have forestalled her murder.  But there was no way of knowing.

Once the murderer was dealt with and the threat hanging over their heads was gone, Sylvie could figure out where, if anywhere, her relationship with Connor was headed,   But for right now…she was going to live in the moment and that moment was with Connor.