Deceptions
Deceptions
Dana Mansfield
© Copyright Dana Mansfield 2016
Published by Black Rose Writing
www.blackrosewriting.com
© 2016 by Dana Mansfield All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-726-4
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
Special Thanks - Frank & Sandy Baron, Betsy Boetger, Bob McLey, Beth Harms, Glenda DenHerder, Betsy Ingenthron, Jacy Bunz, Danna Burgess, Susan Rawlins, Jodie Larson, and Polly Meissner.
And always, a deep and honest thank you to
Deanna and Chris Daughtry.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1 – November 22, 2010
Chapter 2 – November 24, 2010
Chapter 3 – July 7, 1993
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
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Chapter 1 – November 22, 2010
William walked around the man slumped in the heavy wooden chair, his slow steps making little noise on the hay strewn floor. He didn’t know what the man’s discretions were; it didn’t matter to him. Only on the rare occasion did he ask for such information from those who employed him. If he thought it was necessary for the purchased job, then he would inquire. With this particular contract, however, the background information was irrelevant. All he knew was the man had done something very despicable and was going to pay the price. That price was a most definite ending. The Employer paid a sizable amount of money for that service and William was about to complete the transaction.
“Please don’t do this,” the man begged. Rivulets of moisture – a combination of tears and sweat – trickled down his beaten face and he spoke with a lisp due to two missing teeth. One tooth lay on his rotund belly while the other had flown into the rotten straw to serve as a potential warning for a future, unfortunate guest. William and his team were working in the secondary work room in the old hog barn out of logistics. The guest was a fat man and once the deed was done, it would be a pain to drag the hefty carcass from the basement of the bungalow for disposal.
William chuckled as he continued to orbit the sweaty man. The guest was a pig and his last hours were being spent in the former hog barn built by William’s grandfather over half a century earlier. The irony was beautiful.
“Please, just let me speak to whoever is behind this. Give me the chance to apologize. Please.”
“My services were not purchased to extract an apology,” William replied in a calm voice and stood before the naked man. It was day five and the man smelled worse than a pig. He’d lost control of his bladder and bowels several times out of fear. William was ready to end the guest’s suffering just so he could get away from the rotten odor. It was an unfortunate side effect of his career.
William’s cellphone rang, for the moment extending the obese man’s life. He pulled the phone from his belt and answered.
“Hello,” he said, his speech cordial. The voice on the other end spoke with much confidence, even a touch of anger. It was a potential new Employer William had been negotiating with for the past few weeks.
“The money is being transferred right now. It begins Thursday night. Take him then.”
“As you wish,” William replied and disconnected the call. With experienced and smooth movements, he stepped behind the fat man and pulled his hunting knife from its leather sheaf on his belt. He yanked the man’s head back by his greasy hair and in a quick motion, slit his neck from ear to ear. As the man whimpered to his sad end, William rinsed his knife in a bucket of water and then addressed his team who looked on with admiration. “Dispose of him. We have a new Employer now. An important Employer. We must prepare.”
Chapter 2 – November 24, 2010
Jack sat next to the bar’s stone fireplace in glum contemplation. The light in the cozy bar was dim and the amber flames flickered against his empty shot glasses lined up in a row. There were four of them already after starting slow with two whiskeys over ice in the hour and a half he’d been sitting in the soft leather club chair and Jack was eager for shot number five to arrive. Tension rose within him again and he rubbed his forehead over and over with the heel of his palm.
What have I done?
The aroma of Thanksgiving mingled with the scent of burning wood. Over the years, Jack enjoyed the comforting atmosphere of the lodge’s bar but at that moment, on the eve of his favorite secular holiday, the comfort he expected, needed, was missing. He was at a crossroads in his life and he was nervous and doubtful about his next steps. Nervous and doubtful. Those were two adjectives that were not usually used to describe him. That’s how out of sorts the situation left him.
What have I done?
The waitress brought him the next shot but he frowned at it instead of downing the acrid liquid. Jack should not have started drinking; he should have hopped into his Mustang and headed home. Even though he accomplished part of his goal of the weekend, the ultimate outcome wasn’t what he expected. It stunned him and instead of returning to his home in Voorhees as ordered, he stumbled into the bar to soothe his shot nerves.
What have I done?
His nerves for certain needed the calming effects of the spirits and he drank the amber liquid down in one gulp. It burned, just like the other shots, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Images of the last few hours flashed through his fuzzy mind and the familiar doubt that plagued him for months crept back in. Perhaps he should have let the doubt rule him instead of confronting the elephant. Jack thought, however, what he did was the right thing. Now, he was not so sure but the plan was in motion; there was no turning back. Jack hoped everyone involved would survive in one piece but one thing he learned was that trying to preserve expected appearances was very damaging to the soul.
What have I done?
He closed his eyes again and another image fought its way through the building liquor fog. This one was older, from when the days were warm. Jack saw the unconfined chestnut hair glowing in the early morning sunlight and could still feel how soft it was as he ran his hand through it. His eyes had been opened and that moment, in the aftermath of the combustion, set him on this nervous and unsure path.
What have I done?
Chapter 3 – July 7, 1993
The young woman took several deep breaths and fanned herself with the lun
cheon program. The air was thick beneath the tent. Despite the drizzle outside, the temperature hovered in the mid-90s, sweltering for early July in Jersey. The drizzle made the already damp air wetter and she felt sweat tickle her back. Even though she dressed for the heat in a classy summer dress of tiny blue flowers scattered across a pale yellow background, she was miserable. It didn’t help she wore her thick, chestnut brown hair – which fell to the middle of her back – loose.
The luncheon was a big deal as the presidential scholarship and academic honor winners, past and present, were expected to hobnob with the Princeton benefactors and esteemed alumni. She sat at a round table with five other incoming freshmen. The young woman felt bad the heat was interrupting her focus and her mind kept wandering around the tent and those sitting at her table. She wasn’t interested in four of her fellow students, just one of them.
He was an ordinary looking young man with dark brown hair that was a touch long and wavy. It wasn’t longish in a stylish manner. Rather, it was on the long side more so from needing a trim. His eyes were dark brown and when he was polite and smiled at a bad joke from the speaker, laugh lines rimmed the outside of his eyes. She might not have noticed him if it wasn’t for the little girl sitting on his lap. The young woman doubted the little girl was his daughter but the little girl’s dark brown hair matched his, although her relaxed curls were split into two ponytails on either side of her head and she wore pink ribbons. Her eyes also matched the young man’s and the young woman decided they were related in some way. The girl couldn’t have been more than four or five and yet she showed incredible patience for a child her age as she sat as still as possible on the young man’s lap despite the oppressive heat and monotonous speaker. Her eyes were wide with wonder and a hint of fear as she looked around her. Every once in a while, she pulled at the young man’s dated tie and he would lean over, where she whispered something in his ear. In response, he whispered back to her.
The speaker droned on and the little girl’s patience began to crack, however, and she increased her tie tugging. Finally, the young man reached over to the bread basket and with a nonchalant movement, pulled out a roll. He broke it in half and gave it to the little girl.
“Thank you,” she squeaked in the tiniest little voice and nibbled on the baked good. The young man smiled down at her. It was the second time the young woman observed the smile. It was a nice smile; one the young woman would have noticed if it was directed towards her and the thought caused her to blush. His eyes crinkled again with a third smile and this time, she noticed he had dimples. He booped the little girl lightly on her nose and she giggled. The young woman couldn’t help but smile at this. It was so sweet.
The little girl finished her half of the roll and the young man touched the corner of his napkin to her mouth. He was tender with his touch. She tugged at his tie and again, whispered something. He reached over for his sweating water goblet and held it to the little girl’s mouth. She took several sips and again, squeaked her gratitude. The heat was taking a toll on the little girl and the young woman saw sweat on her brow. The man dipped the corner of his napkin into his water and wiped her little face. She leaned against his chest and closed her eyes.
The young woman wondered about the two. They wore threadbare clothes. The little girl’s pink sundress had a kitty appliqué on the bib and then near the bottom of the skirt was another appliqué but this one did not match the other one. Although also a kitty cat, the positioning of it was just enough off that it looked like a patch one might use to cover a hole. The little girl’s white sneakers were clean, yet not bright white, and the bottoms almost worn smooth. The young man had dressed for the occasion in a pair of khakis with frayed cuffs and the dress shirt he wore, which may have been snowy white at one point but now looked like old white, was too big for him. On his feet, he wore a pair of black All Stars that had seen better days. All the scholarship and academic honor winners wore nametags but the young woman couldn’t see his because the little girl’s head was in the way. She saw the little girl wore one though and her name was Millie.
With a pompous flourish, the speaker finished and everyone clapped out of relief that he was finally done. Little Millie did not wake up and the attendees were invited to go through the banquet line. The young woman felt bad for the young man. She could tell he was torn between getting food for him or letting the little girl sleep.
“Hi, my name’s Penny,” the young woman said. She was hesitant to speak to him yet held out her hand. “Would you like me to bring you back a plate of food?”
“That would be great,” he replied and shook her hand. His handshake was firm. “My name is Jack and this is my little sestra, Millie.” His voice did not convey he was a local boy but he had a slight accent she couldn’t quite place. There was a touch of American regionalism to it, though not Jersey, but also a clip to it that reminded her of Mr. Dragunov, her Honors World History teacher at Cherry Hill East. And then there was the word she did not understand.
“Sestra?” Penny slowly repeated.
“Oy, I am sorry,” he said and she saw embarrassment cross his face. “It means sister in Russian.”
“Russian? Wow,” she replied, impressed. “Are you from there?”
“Yes. We have been in America for six years living in Atlanta but we have moved here now. Millie does not know much Russian but I am trying to teach her,” explained Jack. “And I am still polishing my English.”
“I noticed you haven’t used a contraction,” she pointed out.
“Yes, that is something I am working on. To be honest, I just do not understand them. I find it easier to not use them.”
“Then don’t. Use what’s easier for you,” she said with a smile and touched the odd cat appliqué on Millie’s dress. “She’s a cutie pie. Anyway, food…”
“Pitaniye,” Jack said. “Food, in Russian.”
“Pitaniye,” Penny said, repeating the new word. “Is there anything in particular you want me to get for you or her?”
“No, we are pretty easy. We will eat anything,” he said with a smile. “Well, we are Jewish so no pork or shellfish. And no meat and dairy mixed together if possible.” He frowned. “I guess maybe we are not so easy.”
“Why don’t you let me hold Millie and you can go get food and then when you come back, I’ll go.”
“Are you sure? I do not mean to be a pain.”
“You’re not being a pain,” insisted Penny. “You go.”
“Okay,” he said and with much care, transferred Millie to Penny’s lap. The little girl opened her eyes.
“What’s happening?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“I am just going to go get us lunch,” he said and smoothed a few damp curls off her forehead. “I want you to meet Penny. She is going to hold you while I go through the line. Is that okay?” Millie sat up and looked at Penny with a very serious face.
“It’s okay, big brat[1]. She’s pretty. She’s a Pretty Penny.”
* * *
Chapter 4
I sat on a wooden stool at the tiny breakfast bar in the small suite the children and I would share for the long holiday weekend. My gaze meandered over my charges as they occupied themselves after a tiring day playing in the crisp air and fluffy snow. There were seven of them ranging in age from just past four to almost twenty-two. Millie, whose birthday was about six weeks away, was technically an adult but I’d been taking care of her for so long it was hard for me to consider her a grown up. It was a fault of mine and also of her two older brothers.
Six of the kids were content while one of them – Natalya – was very, very angry. She sat on the floor near the window seat with a scowl on her face and her fingers flying over the keyboard of her cellphone. On occasion, our eyes would meet and the difficult fourteen-year-old would flip me the bird. It was unacceptable behavior but it was one of the tamer things she’d done all day. My face still stung from the multiple snowballs she hit me with “on accident.” I felt the bird wasn’t wor
th the war that would rage if I addressed it at that moment. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I even had the energy to address it. It had been a long and tiring day for everyone and a long and tiring week for me. It had also been a long and tiring five months.
Despite my fatigue, I was successful at planning the impromptu weekend at McEntaffer’s Family Lodge. The suite was the smallest offered at the establishment and I was lucky it was even available when I called to make reservations just two days earlier. Whenever we vacationed at the place, I always requested one of the expanded suites on the fourth floor of the gorgeous turn of the century getaway in the Poconos but with the holiday weekend and last minute plan to spend Thanksgiving at the place, we had to make do with what we had. Jack and Crystal – my employers – lucked out as their usual private cabin was available but for the children and me, we were left with the tiny suite. As it was the last suite due for revamping and at first not available, I talked Mr. McEntaffer, who had a soft spot for the Petrov family, into letting me have it. The kids, other than Natalya, didn’t care it needed updating since most of their time would be spent out in the snow or in the inside pool and game area.
It was wall to wall children, suitcases, snow clothes, backpacks, and other miscellany items belonging to the seven Petrov kids, six of Jack and Crystal’s children and Millie, Jack’s sister. Some of the older kids tried to be neat about their things but they were kids after all and thus a bundle of chaos, orphaned socks, books, handheld electronic devices, and girly hair accessories. I once figured I spent a small percentage of my day as the Petrov nanny, and Jack’s personal assistant, teaching the kids to clean up after themselves. Sometimes they were good about it but other times, like that day before Thanksgiving that was spent skiing and playing in the snow, they weren’t the best. I didn’t care; I enjoyed seeing the kids having so much fun with their parents. Way too many months had passed since both Crystal and Jack were around together to enjoy family time. It was a rarity and the kids took advantage of it. I wanted the kids to be happy and that was the most important thing.