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 Which is why it isn’t like her to be this withdrawn.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.”

*  *  *

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.

With a grateful smile, I pulled out a glossy snapshot of which I could tell was of professional quality. It was a black and white print of an older woman, with dark hair and sunglasses. And she was caught, mid-stride, in the middle of a bare parking lot and coming from what appeared to be an extremely seedy, outdoor motel.

“Mr. Franks has a surprisingly clean record for a man of his caliber – not even a parking ticket on his record.” said Mr. Talbot, placidly.  “He has three young children – two boys and a girl – with a sheepdog dog named Sparky, a two story home with a white picket fence, a slight gambling addiction, and an allergy to peanuts. He’s also got a wife named Helen that he’s been married to for eleven years, with an upcoming anniversary this December.”

“And I’m guessing that this woman in the photograph isn’t his wife?” I asked, disgustingly pleased.

“No, it isn’t.” Mr. Talbot agreed. “That, would be the woman he is currently having an affair with. Her name is Claire Briton, and she works as his secretary at Proctor and Soole’s. And they meet every Friday between the hours of six and eight p.m. at the Quality Inn, a half hour south of town.”

“Hmm, quite the family man.” I said, in rancorous observation.

“Oh quite,” he replied, with no form of amusement. “I imagination that this would all be very embarrassing for the firm, should word get out. They are, after all, a very prestigious law firm, and I would imagine that they have a very strict policy on fraternization. Doubtless, Miss Briton would lose her job, and Mr. Franks would lose his family, at the very least.”

“This is… very useful.” I said, in awe. “And with the most amazing timing. But how did you –”

“I believe the fewer questions asked, the better, Miss Noble.” Mr. Talbot reminded gently.

“Oh, of course.” I said quickly. “I completely understand. Thank you – again.”

Mr. Talbot excused himself politely, and then took his leave. Meanwhile, I pondered the photo a little more before turning it over to see Claire’s full name, address, license plate, and cell phone number, written in Mr. Talbot’s neat, careful print. And with a grin, I began to contrive the workings of a plan.

*  *  *

“Criminal mastermind much?” Adelle said later, in response to my ideas concerning my mother and Mr. Franks.

We strolled together, casually, through the large shopping square in the midst of town. It was a beautiful, and almost sunny day (one of the last before autumn would hit), and we took advantage of this by window shopping. But now it seemed as if our previously light-hearted conversation was taking a decidedly less stress-free tenor.

“But I have to do it.” I said, firmly pushing aside the guilt. “And if he’s smart – if they’re both smart – they won’t cause me to force my hand. Claire and Franks will both do what needs to be done.”

“I guess you’re right.” Adelle replied with an easy. “Cheating bastard. And I bet his wife has no clue.”

“Oh, they never do.” I assured, while still lost in thoughts of the plan.

It would be a breeze, and quite simple, really. Adelle and I would pick a Friday to drive to the motel and wait for Claire and Franks to meet. And then, hopefully, we would be able to capture a more incriminating photograph of the two. And from there, all I would have to do is approach her at her work and (while steering clear of Franks himself) use the photos to alarm her enough into helping Adelle and I break into her boss’ office.

This was the only plan that I could come up with for finding a way to deter my mother and her lawyer. Because if I could find out what it was that they knew, then perhaps I could also find a way to stop her from being taking me to court. And it was a long shot, but I really didn’t see any other alternative.

“So,” Adelle continued. “Any more thoughts yet about how you plan on handling your grandfather? Because I was thinking: as sheisty as Charles has been, Diane never really struck me as the malevolent type. She’s much more… humane than her husband.”

“I’m not sure what I should do.” I replied, with a defeated sigh. “And to be honest, I’m still surprised that he’s even curious about me at all. I mean, neither of them ever called or wrote to me, so why is he suddenly curious about me now?”

“Well, that is definitely a reasonable question to be asking.” Adelle replied faithfully. “But the Elder is so sheisty, that you’ll probably never get a straight answer from him about anything. You’d probably have better look tracking down one of those crazy Witches, and having one of them rub down a crystal ball for you, or something.”

“Hmm,” I said distractedly, stopping momentarily to peruse an eye-catching clothing display in a shop window. “Maybe I could.”

“Uh, hello? Just kidding?” Adelle replied, looking around furtively, and lowering her voice as she faced the window too. “That would be totally against Pack rules, and our kind don’t mix with Witches anyway – or Vampires for that matter. In fact, most Supernaturals generally prefer sticking to their own. And besides, I’m pretty sure that getting involved with magic would more than likely attract Hunters, and that’s that shit you wouldn’t like – I’m telling you.”

“Hunters?” I asked, turning to face her with a troubled frown.

“They’re these warriors that the Witches originally created to help protect them from other Supernaturals. But somewhere along the line, the Hunters must have decided that protecting Humans from all things that go bump in the night was a much more rewarding cause. Personally, I’ve never met a Hunter, but I hear they are super strong and pretty nasty – not exactly the friendly type.”

“And what’s with all the hostility between the Supernaturals? Why does everyone have to hate each other so much?”

“Because, a long time ago the Vampires almost wiped out the Witches in some crazy, underground war. And since Pack members didn’t exactly jump up to get involved, the Witches and the Vampires kind of took that to heart. And, so, here we are. We’re all civil, but we don’t mingle – that’s just the way it is in Harbor. You get used to it.”

Soberly, and without a word in reply, I turned from the window and began to walk again.

Besides a list of endless rules, under Adelle’s careless guidance, I had also learned that I was part of the most influential Pack in existence –the Garou (something that my father had failed to mention in any of his letters). And not only that, but I was also descended from the very first line of werewolves, which had essentially generated from the Noble family.