Passages is a collection of short stories loosely based on the theme: When one door closes, another opens. What door opens for which person makes all the difference.
I write the Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery series. The protagonist is Dr. Mackenzie Wilder, a widowed small-town physician with a passion for old boats and a knack for fixing both boats and her patients.
The following story (presented in eight installments) is about Mackenzie’s cousin, Lara, who feels she has been unfairly compared to Mackenzie (Mackie) her whole life.
Installment 3
Love’s Door
Downstairs at her mother’s house later, having afternoon tea with Bev, the choices seemed simple.
She sipped her tea, watching her mother over the rim of her cup. Beverly Quadrille Sawyer Mezmer had aged gracefully, looking her best when she wore natural linen pajama pants and long tunic tops. She would joke that she’d been frightened at an early age by a polyester-wearing middle-aged aunt whose sole purpose in life seemed to be demanding awkward hugs and wanting to know why Beverly didn’t help out more at home. Over the years, Lara had decided Bev’s penchant for exotic jewelry and original artwork lay in a desire to enhance her image and mask the insecurities she felt over wanting to please all and sundry around her. Lara loved her mother. But she wouldn’t be like her for the world.
“Have you contacted the priest yet, dear?” Bev asked, buttering a small flat cake. “You know how church-proud Episcopalians are. Father Guthrie and the altar guild will need plenty of notification.”
“Mother, please. I’m not one hundred percent sure we’re even using the church. Or Father Guthrie for that matter. I want Rodger to feel comfortable with the wedding.” If he’s even there, she thought.
“No Father Guthrie?” Bev’s eyes raised simultaneously with her voice. “He’ll be crushed. You know he dotes on you.”
“Yes, well, maybe he shouldn’t,” Lara muttered at her plate. Given my thoughts lately.
Bev narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “What’s going on? What have I missed?”
Lara smiled. Ever since the whole thing with Chieftain years ago, Bev was jumpy about missing signs of trouble in Lara’s life. She’d missed it when Rachel – her friend’s daughter—insinuated herself into their homelife and then shut Lara out of her relationship with her dog. Bev had even been blind to manipulations by Rachel’s mom to urge Lara to give her six-month-old puppy to Rachel, Under the pressure of Bev’s urging and Rachel’s begging and her own desire to do right, Lara had ignored the obvious thought that demanding a friend’s dog was both selfish and strange. Instead, she’d caved and given Chieftain to Rachel.
Ever since, Bev had erred on the side of staying too close. This situation with Rodger wasn’t the type of thing Lara could slide past her. Not entirely anyway, she amended, thinking of the computer upstairs.
“Mother, I’m not sure there’s going to—I’m not sure I’m going through with this. Rodger and I may not be right for each other.” Okay, she’d said it. Was that going to make it so?
“Lara! What are you talking about?” Bev slammed down her teacup, sloshing tea onto the saucer and threatening to chip its lower edge. “Damn! Lara?”
Different though she might be, Bev still had that motherly talent to pull the truth out of Lara. “I think Rodger may be cheating on me,” she admitted. “I’ve hired someone to follow him and see.”
“What? He what! Lara, are you sure? I mean, could it be you don’t want to get married? Maybe you’re projecting your insecurities onto Rodger and seeing things that aren’t th-”
There she goes, trying to change the pieces to fit things back together the way she wants. “No! You don’t understand. I love Rodger. I’ve never felt so close to anyone in my entire life. I want to marry him! More than anything else in the world! But I can’t marry someone I can’t trust.” Lara’s voice grew hoarse and ugly tears started dripping off her reddened cheeks. This was the last time she’d cry over him, she promised herself. The last time.
“All right. All right. Sweetheart, calm down. Lara? Lara!” Bev’s cry echoed with bewilderment.
Well, that made sense. Lara had been careful not to let Bev see her cry since at least high school.
From the corner of her tearing eyes, Lara saw Bev reach for her once, twice. Clearly Bev wanted to put her arms around her daughter, to cuddle her, smooth her hair and whisper promises that things would be all right. All the things Lara imagined a good mother did that hers had never been able to do for her before. Apparently she still couldn’t unbend that far.
“Lara, what do we do now?”
Lara sniffed, rubbing her cheek and raising a tissue to her nose.
“Like I said, Mother, I’ve hired someone to follow Rodger and see what he’s up to. If he’s cheating on me, well, then it’s simple. We’re over. Done. And I’m firing Camille.”
“Well, of course. No wedding, no need for a wedding planner. You could recommend her to Mackie. That might soften the blow—”
“Mother, I am not recommending that woman to anyone, not even Mackie. She can find her own wedding planner, if she ever needs one!”
“Don’t be unkind about your cousin.” Bev sighed. “I know she isn’t your favorite person. I was just thinking of Camille and the contract.”
“Mother,” Lara set down her teacup and twisted in her chair to confront Bev’s admonition. “Camille is the woman Rodger’s been cheating on me with! Why do you think I said I wouldn’t recommend her to anyone?”
Of course, you could do it, whispered the voice in her head. Kill two birds with a single stone. She and Mackie deserve each other. One too perfect; one too—not.
Bev was already rattling on. Really rattling—her cup against her saucer was beating a rapid tattoo. She rose with them still in her hands, pacing and talking to the room and all the furniture. “Camille! She’s the bi- she’s the one! Oh, Lara.” She addressed the curtains, gazing through them to the driveway. She turned and faced the sofa. “I never should have introduced her to you. I knew she had a reputation, but I didn’t know she preyed on her clients.” Bev’s voice rose. “Lara, we have to do something. We have to stop her!”
“It’s already too late, Mother. Besides, if Rodger weren’t ripe for it, nothing Camille did would have enticed him. And, it might not even be on her. She is a bitch, but it’s Rodger who needs to be taught a lesson. He’s the one I need to punish.”
“Punish?” Bev halted her tour of the room, ducking back to the table. This sounded like Lara. A lot healthier than all the weeping and moaning. “How?”
“I don’t know exactly yet, but I’ve been pulling together ideas.” Lara eyed her mother. “I know an awful lot about Rodger.”
“Of course. You’re engaged.”
“It’s not just that. I wouldn’t have access to quite the same material if we weren’t engaged.” Lara’s tone expressed bitterness, and something more. “I’ve told you Rodger works in finance, right?”
“Something to do with equity investments, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He offers trade advice for M.H. Reichman. They’re a traditional firm operating through local and online brokerages. It’s a stodgy sort of company, very concerned with image and propriety.”
“Propriety? That seems quite old-fashioned.”
“Tell me about it.” Lara wiped her face again. No tears now, but it seemed to calm her. “As Rodger’s fiancee, I had to go to two, no three dinners with the senior partners. One time they flew us to the head offices in Chicago. We went to a church dinner that night. Felt like a bug under a microscope. Point is, his company doesn’t like any negative publicity. No fuss. If there is, somebody gets in trouble. Maybe even fired.”
“That makes sense for a financial firm. But what does it do for you? Specifically, I mean.”
Lara waggled her fingers at her mother. “It provides me with opportunity, means, if you will. I have access to all his accounts, all his data, and his passwords. I could—get into things.”
“But Lara, he’d find out. He’d stop you.”
“I know,” said Lara, frowning. “I haven’t got a full-blown plan. Yet. Give me time.”
Bev eyed her daughter. “That’s all you’ll need, isn’t it?”
Lara nodded. It would take time, but she’d do it, and then she’d get over it. Get over him. And come out ahead into the bargain. People didn’t do things like this to Lara Sawyer and get off scot-free.
***
Morris Koadh’s call came in before two the next afternoon. “I’m sorry, Miss Sawyer. I’m afraid you were correct. … Miss Sawyer? Are you there? Miss Sawyer?”
Lara gripped the phone in her hand until her knuckles were white knobs with red streaks across them like needle scratches. “I’m here, Mr. Koadh. What can you tell me?” She cut her words short, before her voice could fail her.
Morris cleared his throat. “I followed Rodger Fenton from his place of work, leaving at eleven forty-seven. He was picked up outside the offices by an Uber and taken to 518 Brandywine Street, the abode of one Ms. Camille St. Vaultrin. She—um, greeted him at the door wearing a skimpy set of matching brassiere and panties in black and ivory –,”
Lara groaned over his exactitude.
“- the couple entered the home and were at the residence together for a period of forty-five minutes. Mr. Fenton then exited the building, um, carrying the ivory and black brassiere with him in both hands, apparently admiring it and then placing it in his jacket pocket and whistling while waiting for an Uber to pick him up and return him to his place of business. Um, that’s it, that’s the end of the report. Miss Sawyer?” He coughed. “I have pictures if you need them.”
Lara couldn’t breathe. It was exactly as she feared. No surprises, no reprieve.
“Miss Sawyer?”
Lara drew up her shoulders and shook her hair back. “Mr. Koadh. Please fax or email me a written report and invoice your fee. I’ll put a check in the mail immediately. If you prefer, I’ll Paypal or Venmo you your money. Just include the email you want me to direct it to. And thank you for your discretion.” She clicked off the phone, staring at it in thought. Then she pulled up a spreadsheet on it and studied its data. There were a few more passwords she had to look up. And some arrangements she needed to make.