Scarlett Promise (The Scarletts Page 2

  "Mmmm," Raybourne murmured, "not a very safe profession you decided to join. I could be anybody."

  Lisa nodded. "That's true. I was just thinking the same thing."

  "What's your real name? Surely it is not Chubs?"

  Lisa inhaled. "No, it's not."

  "What is it?" he asked his voice raspy.

  She paused. Should she say Jackie, use her friend's name? She blurted out the truth before she changed her mind. "Lisa."

  "Lisa," he repeated her name and then grimaced. "I like the name, Lisa. Short, sweet and not hampered by anything at the front or the back. Just Lisa."

  His phone rang at the same time and he pulled it out of his pocket slowly, almost as if he were in pain. His hands were shaking.

  "Hello." His voice was raspy. He started absently rubbing his chest with his other hand.

  Lisa watched him keenly. He was not well. The AC had not kicked in yet but he was sweating more than normal.

  "Yes, yes," he said after listening to the person on the phone. "I said I'd pull some strings for you, Francine, and I did. The committee meets in three months. The bids were submitted or should I say your bid was submitted. The others conveniently disappeared except one, Frank Holland. It would look odd with just your bid so I pushed him in there for appearance’s sake. Don't you worry, I am a man of my word. Anything for the beautiful and fabulous Francine Mills."

  He shifted on the sofa and then murmured, "Yes, I received the money. The rest of the competition is squashed. Isn't it great to have me in your back pocket?"

  He gasped and leaned forward on the settee.

  "Lisa, get me some water." He was choking. His voice was low, almost breathless, like he was struggling to breathe.

  For a minute Lisa had no idea if he was talking to her or the lady on the phone.

  Lisa jumped up when she realized that he had dropped the phone on the settee beside him and looked at her and mouthed, Water.

  She could hear the person on the other line screeching, "Lisa, who is Lisa?"

  "A friend," Raybourne gurgled. "A special friend."

  Lisa hurried in the direction of what looked like the kitchen. It was a basic place with white cupboards, a large stove and an empty fridge. She opened it and then slammed it shut and then headed to the glass-front cabinet for a drinking glass and snatched one.

  The cabinet was filled with cobwebs. She washed it out quickly and then filled it with water; it sloshed at the sides of the glass. When she entered the living room the glass slipped from her nervous fingers and bounced on the carpet. She didn't even feel the moisture from the water as it hit her legs.

  Raybourne was sprawled out beside the settee.

  A panicked scream escaped her throat and she crept toward him on shaky legs.

  What should she do?

  Was he dead? He seemed so still.

  How did you know if somebody was dead or not?

  "Ray...er...Raybourne," she whispered his name tentatively.

  "What's going on?" She heard a tinny voice from the phone. "Lisa, pick up the phone!"

  Lisa looked for the phone; it must have skittered under the settee when Raybourne fell. She found it and wiped it off before putting it to her ear.

  "Hello," her voice trembled.

  "Hello," the brisk voice replied. "What happened to Ray?"

  "I don't know; he said I should get him water and now he is on the floor."

  "Wake him up." The lady barked as if the man had just slipped into a casual nap.

  Lisa prodded Ray with her hand and he didn't shift. "He is not moving."

  "Check his pulse." The lady's voice became eerily calm; Lisa closed her eyes to stem the rising panic in her head. What if he was dead?

  "I don't know how to check his pulse." She cleared her throat.

  "Lift his arm and place two of your fingers on the inside of his wrist." The lady snapped the instructions impatiently. "Do it now."

  Lisa lifted up Ray's limp wrist and then used each of her fingers to feel for a pulse. She was getting nothing. She backed away from him and leaned up on the settee opposite. "He isn't moving. I am going to get out of here."

  She stood up shakily and was about to hang up the phone.

  "No, you don't," the lady on the phone growled. "You are going to wait until I send my security team over there. Do not say a word to anybody until they get there."

  She hung up the phone and Lisa looked at it with trepidation. She didn't know who this lady was but she was not sticking around with the dead body of a minister of government to explain anything to anybody.

  She could imagine what they would say: Prostitute Kills Minister Raybourne Cross.

  They wouldn't care that she had not actually prostituted herself or that she was extremely sorry she even attempted to be a prostitute. They would just see the stark facts; she was in his house half naked, he was dead and she was the only one here with him.

  What was she thinking? What had possessed her to get in a stranger’s car and to come to his house and to sleep with him for money?

  It was as if a light bulb had suddenly switched on in her head. She wasn't like this. This was crazy!

  She dragged up herself from the floor. To flee was her only recourse. She had not killed him. She had nothing to hide.

  Only the guilty flee, a voice in her head whispered as she headed for the front door.

  I don't care, she said fiercely to the voice.

  The front door had an alarm panel beside it. The panel was blinking ominously. If she opened the door now she would probably trip it and create a stir in the neighborhood. She walked to the back of the house in a panic. There were bars on the doors and they were padlocked.

  The windows had bars on them too. There was no escape unless she dug them off and she didnt have the tools or the strength for that.

  Lisa inhaled and caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. She looked scared and like a garish caricature of herself, almost clownish with the heavy makeup and the long and high platinum wig.

  She looked nothing like herself. Maybe she could wait for the lady's security guys to arrive and then she could slip out when they came in.

  Nobody would recognize this frightful creature in the mirror as her. Even her body looked a tad bit slimmer in the tight gold spandex shorts and the bright pink bandeau blouse that Jasmine had set her up with. Her figure, which she had always thought was way too big, looked normal in the hall mirror.

  She sank down in one of the dining room table chairs and watched the door. She tried not to think.

  If God could get her out of this situation she would go far, far away from here where no one knew her. She would go to church. She would go to school. She would make money in an honest and upstanding way.

  She heard the door being opened and she sat up straighter, fresh panic seeping into her head.

  ****

  Nate Cross had one thought in mind as he disarmed the alarm to the house: bed. He would close his eyes and will himself not to think for the next forty-eight hours at least. Fortunately, his father hardly used the house, so he would not be disturbed.

  He pushed the door and realized two things at once. The lights and the AC were on. He sighed. His father was here and he would have to contend with him tonight. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  He hadn't seen his old man in two years. He tensed himself up to face him, pushing the door further.

  His eyes collided with a creature in a gaudy costume; she was standing and looking at him fearfully, her eyes so heavily coated with mascara he couldn't see them clearly.

  His mother had told him that his father carried his whores to this house. He hadn't believed her. Now he did.

  He closed the door and leaned on it.

  "Who are you and where is Ray?" he asked the question with as much energy as he could muster. He should have stopped somewhere in Kingston to have some shut-eye. As it was, he was so tired he was seeing double.

  "I, er..." She wrung her hands dra
matically. "He is over there."

  She pointed to the settee.

  It took Nate a split second to realize that if his father was awake and in good health the scenario would not be so bizarre. His father would be greeting him at the door in his typical loud, blustery way.

  He headed for the settee, a faint tremor in the region of his heart. Why would she be over here and Ray be by the settee not saying a word?

  Ray was not on the settee; he was slumped at the base of it.

  He stooped down and touched him. He did not shift.

  Was he...?

  He couldn't formulate the word dead. Not in relation to Ray; he would live forever. He was a tough old man with the stamina of a horse. Ray was immortal. An immortal tyrant that he loved to hate. Dead. No way.

  He looked across at the woman but she had yanked the door opened, tripping the alarm. The warning beep-beep sound jarred him from his stupor.

  "Wait! Don't leave; what happened here?"

  "I didn't do anything; he just collapsed about ten minutes ago. He asked me to get him some water, clutched his heart and then fell down there. I think he's dead."

  She hurried through the door.

  He had to get up from the floor to deactivate the alarm. He felt dizzy standing up: lack of food and sleep, jet lag and maybe mild shock.

  He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He headed to the door and watched as the woman, a prostitute obviously, his father's entertainment for the evening, flew down the driveway, her blonde wig flapping behind her.

  He could hear the tremor in his voice as he spoke to the emergency services. When he finished the conversation he sat beside Ray and stared at him, willing him to move, but he didn't and by the time the ambulance came by and the paramedics hoisted him on a gurney and pronounced him dead it dawned on him that it was really real.

  He called his mother. His stepfather answered.

  "You reached Jamaica, son?" his stepfather asked, his Trini accent thicker than usual and heavy with sleep.

  His stepfather, Jefferey, was his true father figure. His mother had married him when he was just five and he had always been a better father to him than Ray was.

  "Yes, er, I found Ray dead."

  "Say what?" Jeff asked incredulously.

  "Yes." Nate sighed rubbing his hands over his face. "Tell Mom."

  He heard a mumbling in the background and then his mother's sleepy voice came on the line.

  "I hope Ray confessed his sins and was living a clean life," his mother murmured when she came on the phone. Not an ounce of remorse for Ray in her tones.

  "I don't think so," Nate muttered. "I found a very questionable looking lady here with him. "

  "Ah," his mom yawned. "He liked young, plump women from Back Street. He called them his special friends…A degenerate to the end."

  "Mom, have some respect for the dead," Nate protested, feeling icky to even think about his father that way. But that girl was here and he couldn't deny what he saw. Why else would she be here?

  "I had no respect for Ray when he was alive," Jennifer said sharply, "and I am not about to start now. I am sorry for your loss, honey. He was your biological father so I won't say another word. What are you going to do now?"

  "Sleep as soon as everyone leaves." He slurred his words. "I hardly got much on the last leg of my flight. I'll call you in the morning and tell you about Africa."

  Chapter Three

  Lisa had no idea where she was going. She headed up the road, her breath coming in tortured spurts. So this was what rock bottom felt like. Rock bottom was running through the streets at night after a failed bid at being a prostitute.

  With nowhere to go and nobody to care about you.

  She dragged off the platform heels, which were pinching her little toes, and leaned on a light post and rubbed the toes that were most affected. She needed to get her breath back and assess the damage so far.

  It had just been forty-five minutes of her life and that forty-five minutes was enough. This life was not for her. She would rather starve.

  But what was her next move? She inhaled shakily. What had Miss June said, God looked out for orphans? Would he look out for her?

  She straightened up and wiggled her toes. "God, what's next? Help me."

  She waited for something to happen. Anything. But the only thing she realized was that the night was getting chilly again after the sweat cooled on her body and there was a dog to the left of her behind the gates of one of the big houses on the block. His low growls had turned into a steady bark, rising in crescendo as she ignored him. He was now throwing himself against the gate in a frenzy. Any minute now, his owners would get suspicious and look outside.

  They would be able to clearly see her under the streetlight and come to the conclusion that she was polluting their highbrow neighborhood with her commonness. She heaved herself from the light post.

  She needed to find her way back to where she came from. Find Jackie and then at least beg to sleep on the floor tonight.

  Tomorrow she could work out something that didn't involve prostitution. Her belly growled and she rubbed her arms. She heard about people fasting for weeks. She wouldn't die. She needed to lose some weight anyway.

  She stumbled up the street, envisioning herself slim and fit. That had always been her dream. She had gained the nickname Chubs from Miss Vera when she moved in with her and the name had not quite left her.

  She hated it, had always hated it. Had hated her broad hips and oversized breasts. If she could just magically wake up one morning with a different, skinny body with no breasts and no hips, straight as a boy and with less pillowy lips, she would be glad.

  She'd also be glad if she woke up and the last couple of minutes hadn't happened. Wipe her slate clean.

  Thank God for her wig and clothes and disguise. That guy that had come into the house—she didn't know who he was but she hoped that he hadn't looked at her close enough.

  He had looked a little shellshocked to see her, almost as shocked as she had been to see him.

  And that shock was not only because he had entered the house unexpectedly just when she had been contemplating letting the alarm go off and to hell with the consequences.

  He was really goodlooking. Like a Lance Gross kind of goodlooking: dark skin, dark eyes. His eyes were tired looking and bloodshot, but still striking.

  She could fantasize about him for days to come. Tall, he could easily be about six feet, thin but not too thin, no excess fat. He looked athletic and he had that backpack over his shoulders. Maybe he was a student, maybe he was Raybourne Cross' son. They had a little resemblance around the mouth area.

  Whatever.

  She wouldn't meet him again but it was nice to know she could still appreciate male beauty. At least he would occupy her mind until she reached Back Road.

  From there she could retrace her steps to Jackie's place.

  She reached a junction in the road and debated whether to turn left right when a car screeched up, just stopping near her leg.

  The window wound down slowly.

  "Lisa?" The guy in the driver’s seat asked her. The vehicle had the logo of a security company at the side.

  Lisa blinked. "Yes..."

  "Miss Mills sent us for you. You weren't at the house," the driver said accusingly.

  "Miss Mills?" Lisa squeaked. "The lady I talked to on the phone?"

  "Yes." The guy in the passenger side got out. He had on a name tag which read "Ike". He was dressed all in black, and he had a gun at his side. He opened the back door and indicated with his head.

  "Miss Mills is currently in Kingston. We'll take you there."

  "I don't want to go." Lisa backed away from him and the opened car door.

  Ike sighed. "Listen, we can do this easy or hard. However you want to play it, you are going to be delivered to Miss Mills tonight."

  "But why?" Lisa swallowed. "Why does she want to see me?"

  "Ask her when you get there," the guy said, his voice
almost exaggeratedly patient. "How should I know?"

  "Who is she?" Lisa inhaled; she was not getting into another car with strangers tonight.

  "Miss Mills is a very wealthy client. We cater to her security needs," the guy in the front said easily. "And wouldn't it be better for you to come with us now? It is late and you are dressed really, er, suggestively. It will be safer to be with Miss Mills now than out on the road."

  Lisa rubbed the back of her neck. What could this Miss Mills want with her?

  Another car came up the avenue and slowed down.

  The security guy sighed. "Get in before they think we are soliciting. This is a company vehicle, you know. Not good for the reputation."

  Lisa inched closer to the car and then got in.

  "Thank you," Ike said with a sigh, closing the door and getting in behind her.

  Lisa was holding herself tensely, but the men ignored her. The driver had the radio on a night talk show, which he turned up overly loud.

  Maybe to drown out any potential questions from her.

  She sat back and listened to the show absently. It was a call-in show with a counselor who dealt with relationships. The security guys found some of the calls hilarious but she couldn't relax enough to laugh. She was holding herself stiffly, wondering what was next in her night of adventure.

  ****

  Francine paced before Ricky in the spacious living room of her Jacks Hill home. Ricky yawned and looked bored. "You are going to wear out the carpet."

  "She overheard my conversation with Raybourne Cross," Francine hissed. "What a stupid man. He discussed the committee, he discussed the bids, he called my name in full.

  "He said it. Then he went on to say that he squashed the bids for the contracts and isn't it nice that I have him in my back pocket! He even called Frank Holland's name. This is not good."

  Francine was almost hyperventilating.

  "He said it in front of this Lisa girl. Then he died. I can't let her talk to anyone about tonight until that deal goes through. It won't take a genius to work out that there is only one beautiful and fabulous Francine Mills. I have always known that Raybourne was a moron! "