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He grunted and moved to a seat near the front of the aircraft. I stayed in the middle, and Kensington was fast asleep in the aft. Social-distancing at its finest, I thought with a smile. Keeping people at arm’s length was a specialty of mine. Any closer, and losing them would hurt more than I could bear. One loss alone had nearly destroyed me. More, I’d never live through.
When the pilot announced our initial descent into White Plains Airport, I returned to the stateroom to find Kensington awake and sitting in one of the chairs.
“I was just about to come out,” she said, putting something I couldn’t see in her bag.
“Very well,” I said, turning to leave.
“Cortez?”
“Yes?”
“Have you spoken with Kiki?”
“I have not.”
She looked away, toward the window. “She may not appreciate my showing up.”
“She was the one who alerted the Queen, Kensington. I’m sure it was out of concern for the daughter she would like very much to protect from harm.” As I recalled, though, the Queen had said she believed the news came by way of Kensington’s mother. It now occurred to me that it hadn’t been from her mother at all, it had been from mine.
Kensington laughed and shook her head. “Concern and protect are two words that have never been in my mother’s vocabulary.”
I rested my hand on the jamb of the stateroom door when I felt the essence of a hand on my shoulder.
“She needs you,” came the unwelcome voice I’d heard enough from earlier.
“We’ll land shortly. Grinder and I will accompany you to your mother’s residence.” I abruptly turned and walked away, knowing by my glimpse of the look on her face that Kensington felt my harsh dismissal. Rather than try to make up for it, I returned to my seat.
Kensington was understandably subdued when we arrived at her mother’s residence in Greenwich, Connecticut. The stately home was one of the few remaining Long Island Sound compounds, large enough both in square footage and acreage that Kensington and her mother could live on the estate and never see one another. It was in gate-guarded Indian Harbor and sat almost directly on an expansive shoreline, making it more secure than many of the area’s other communities.
As we drove through the gates of the estate, we passed verdant landscaped grounds, a pool, tennis court, and putting green.
“You can pull in there,” Kensington said, pointing to what looked to be a guest house.
“We’ll stop at the main residence first,” I said to the driver before he made the turn.
The front door was open, and we stepped inside, but Kiki was nowhere to be seen.
“I hate this place,” Kensington muttered under her breath.
Even I had to admit its ostentatiousness was overwhelming. The entryway alone was ornate to the point of being gaudy. Buckingham Palace had nothing on this.
“There you are.” A woman I wouldn’t have recognized had we not been in her home, approached from the back of the house. “Hello, darling.” She cheek-kissed Kensington, put both hands on her shoulders, and took a step back. “You look exhausted. I’ve warned you, the lifestyle you lead will catch up with you if you don’t take care.”
&nbs
p; “Hi, Kiki.”
In three sentences and one look about, I understood why Kensington didn’t want to be here.
“Cortez! Goodness, I didn’t see you there.” My eyes met Kensington’s as her mother walked toward me, and I winked.
“Hello, Kiki. May I introduce my associate Miles Stone?”
“Aren’t you a handsome one?” she said to him, cheek-kissing him after me. “Kenzie, don’t you think Mr. Stone is handsome?”
“How many times must I remind you, Mother? I am a lesbian.”
“Oh, pish-posh with that. I know you say that simply to get me riled up.”
