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Lionel wasn’t a worrier. He never even ask
ed where she’d been on her nights out with girlfriends. He was safe, and her new career and Lionel would balance. But was he another ‘Uncle Ned’?
Auntie had the hots for John Henry? Kitt never knew that.
Last night when Rob’s sleek black sports car sat behind her yellow Bug out front of the house seemed far away, almost as if it never happened. Rob Harrison in a Corvette. Or a Porsche or…she was terrible at identifying cars…might well have been a dream. But remembering his magic touch, she felt the heat rise from her toes to linger on her sex, making it twitch, and to swell her breasts, and to eventually touch her neck and cheeks in a burning sensation.
Shaking her head, she forced her attention onto the screen of her laptop. She could not let lust ruin her future career. She had to stop thinking about…him. She hadn’t bothered to bring her printer, so she needed to copy the info into the notebook by hand. Scanning the notes, she read them aloud. She remembered things better when she heard as well as saw them.
“Jason Terewski and Pamela Patterson lived together for two years. Pamela was the widow of Graham Patterson, a millionaire who dropped dead of heart failure. Graham, 20 years older than Pamela, a bachelor prior to their marriage, bought her lavish gifts and left her his fortune.
Six months after his death, she met Terewski at a car dealership when she took in the vehicle Graham bought her to be serviced and he tried to sell her a newer one.
Jason Terewski, born in Colorado, lived in various states, usually working as a car salesman. Last seen in Leesburg, FL where he’d lived with Pamela. Jason: average height and weight, muscular build, blue eyes, curly light-coloured hair, a charmer. Underhanded, Pam said.
Terewski left Pam a note saying he couldn’t stay with her any longer. She treated him as if he was inferior because he came from a less moneyed background, didn’t have a college degree and wasn’t a bank president and aristocrat like Graham had been.
Furious and eager to gain restitution, she wanted him caught. He’d cleaned out their joint bank account, stolen her diamonds, and left in the black Porsche that she’d bought him. She hadn’t contacted the police because she wanted to save herself the embarrassment of being taken for a sucker.
The car was a gift from her to him and in his name, but she wanted the rest recovered.
Rumour had it that Jason had been pursuing another wealthy widow and they’d gone off somewhere together. Her name was Lana and since her husband Martin Turner died, she was the sole owner of a popular restaurant/bar business.
I’ll bet Pamela wasn’t the first, and Lana won’t be the last woman he suckers. Kitt rapped her pen against her laptop. “Talk about a gigolo!”
“Are you talking about that Harrison boy?”
The nasal voice made Kitt jump.
“I saw he visited you…um…early this morning. Or was it late last night? The nerve of him, honking that awful horn!”
“Jonesy! I mean, Mrs. Jones.” The old busybody was standing on her porch, looking over the railing. “Why would you think he’s a gigolo?”
She shrugged. “Look at the car he was driving. Where else would he get the money?”
Kitt was seething inside, but she didn’t want to prolong this conversation. She rolled her eyes and hoped Jonesy would get the hint and leave.
“You think he worked to get it?” Shaking her head, she planted her hands on her hips. “Your aunt told me you might be coming but she didn’t know when.”
Auntie sure had been confident she’d come. “I know.”
“You were mumbling to yourself when I came out. Do you always read things aloud?”
“I’m working,” she said, gazing at her laptop.
“I thought school was out.”
“I have a summer job.”
“Does that mean you won’t be staying? Because you should. Carolina needs you. She hasn’t been well. During her latest spell, I took her some chicken soup.”
“That was nice.” Kitt felt bad that Auntie hadn’t had anyone to care for her when she was ill, but she didn’t need a buttinski neighbour to tell her what she should do. On second thought, Jonesy might know something about Sug’s condition… “Latest spell? When was that? Did she say what was wrong?”
“A couple of weeks ago. She said it was nothing but I could tell she was lying. She was white as a sheet and perspiring. She still looks peaked, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never known Sug to lie, Mrs. Jones.” Kitt crossed her fingers. Her aunt was currently suspect. She looked fine to Kitt and she still wasn’t sure if Sug was really sick or had secret ambitions—such as worrying her sister or playing matchmaker between Kitt and Rob. “However, I can work from here for a time and see that she rests and eats well. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She began gathering up her things.
“Humph. I’ll go. You can stay. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
