The Rules of the Red - 2014 Watty Award Winner |✓|

Chapter Three - Part One

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CHAPTER THREE

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“Well, you certainly look nice this morning, Naomi.”

Mrs. Trentley was there to greet me as I descended the staircase into the foyer the next morning. I was dressed in a pair of white skinny jeans, with russet-colored, platform heels, and a matching silk tank top. And a brown, tightly fitting, but loosely buttoned sweater of similar material completed the ensemble, along with a pair of large, yellow diamonds for earrings.

“Thanks.” I said, patting my hair with a small, self-conscious smile. That morning I had taken the extra time to braid my hair into a perfect, flawless fishtail – which is a lot more tedious to achieve than you’d think.

“I made plans with Adelle Newport. We’re supposed to go to lunch today and then have drinks. Do you know her?”

“She comes from a rich family, though not as wealthy or as distinguished as Ethan Raines’. But her father does serve on the Leadership, so I suppose that also counts for something.”

“Are my grandparents close to her family?” I asked, thinking of how Charles had asked Adelle to be his spy.

“They used to be.” Mrs. Trentley replied matter-of-factly, and she began to lead me to the dining hall for breakfast. “Adelle’s mother – Carolyn – was up and down the halls of this house for years before Paris had to move. I would expect they’re still close, though I haven’t seen much of either of them since Jack died, which is odd really…

“And why’s that?”

“Because your mother is very social, and usually has her nose stuck in every scandal and every affair in this town – and Carolyn along with her. Which is why it isn’t like her to be this withdrawn. In fact, I heard that she won’t attend Pack meetings anymore, and that she doesn’t even bother with the town social functions either.  And she stays in a suite at the Maison, but I haven’t seen her in town since the funeral.

“Mrs. Trentley, are you sure that my mother’s the one with the appetite for gossip? Or could you be mixing that up with someone else?”

I said this with a fair amount of jollity, but she chose to pointedly ignore both the humor and the questions.

“Well anyway, Mrs. Trentley, Paris’ husband is dead. Wouldn’t that be enough of an explanation for her behavior?”

“Say what you will, but I will never forget the look on Paris’ face when her mother died. At the funeral she looked stricken, devastated. But she didn’t look that way at Jack’s service, I can tell you that much.”

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After another insanely delicious breakfast, there was also the arrival of Mr. Talbot to look forward to. So I retired to the living room after my meal, to flip idly through hundreds of random television channels until his arrival. But he didn’t keep me waiting long. In fact, he arrived promptly at noon, as he’d promised he would. And he was looking his usual important and mysterious self, dressed in a dark suit and with his briefcase in tow. We exchanged our hellos, and then I watched Mr. Talbot set his briefcase on the coffee table. He opened it, and then passed me a manila folder.