Sweet Fortune (35 page)

Hatch leaned his elbows on the counter. “You're really going to make a demanding sort of wife, aren't you?”

She chuckled. “Better get used to it. So, what was the deal with Patterson-Finley?”

Hatch was silent for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “The man my wife was going to meet on the day she was killed?”

“Yes?”

“His name was Roy Patterson.”

Jessie nearly choked on her bagel. “The same Patterson as the one in Patterson-Finley?”

“Right. Now, if that's the end of your questions, I'll finish off these numbers and get back to bed.”

Jessie watched as he returned to the calculator. “Was it worth it?” she asked.

“Tearing apart Patterson-Finley? Yes.” He did not look up.

“He was your best friend, wasn't he?” she whispered. “And he was running off with your wife. You must have loved her very much to exact that kind of vengeance.”

“Whatever I once felt for her died when I found her note saying she was leaving me because I was a loser and she needed to be with a winner.”

Jessie considered that. “Nobody goes after revenge the way you did unless he feels very intensely about a woman.”

“You don't understand revenge, Jessie. It's best cold, like the old saying has it, not hot. At least for me it is. It's not an act of passion.”

“Just a business thing, is that it?”

Hatch nodded slowly. “You could say that. Yes. A business thing.”

“Bull.” She got to her feet and started back toward the hall that led to the bedroom. “You loved her and when you lost her it tore your heart out. You went after your vengeance with everything that was left in you.” She paused in the doorway. “Tell me something, Hatch. Will you ever take that kind of risk again? Will you ever let yourself love again? Or is a long-term, committed relationship called marriage all I'm ever going to get from you?”

“
Jessie
.” His voice was a dark growl of warning.

“What?” She'd turned back toward her room.

“You know there's more to it than that.”

“No,” she said. “I don't know that. Sometimes I delude myself into thinking there's more to it than that. But other times I wake up alone in the middle of the night and I panic. Because I don't know for certain, you see. I love you. But I don't know if you love me.”

“Dammit, Jessie.”

“Good night, Hatch.”

She went back into the bedroom and crawled into bed, curling into herself.

“Jessie.”

She turned her head just far enough to see him filling the doorway. Wordlessly she watched him walk toward the bed. His fingers were busy at the fastening of his trousers.

“You know there's more to it than that,” Hatch said again as he got into bed beside her. He was already fully aroused.

“No.”

“Yes.” He pulled her into his arms, his mouth rough and heavy on hers. “Yes, dammit. There's a hell of a lot more to it than that.”

“Yes,” she whispered. There had to be a lot more to it than that. She was banking her entire future on the possibility that he could one day tell her he loved her.

T
here was nothing quite like the sense of pride, satisfaction, and accomplishment one got from a job well done, Jessie decided. She gazed down at the neatly typed five-page report that lay on top of the desk. It was truly a thing of beauty. Mrs. Valentine was going to be extremely impressed.

Alex had let Jessie use the word-processing program on his computer to assure a crisp, polished finish to the report. Both right and left margins were justified, the spelling was letter-perfect, and the prose was in a businesslike style.

Jessie had stopped at an office-supply store on the way to work to buy a handsome report binder in order to add a further touch of professionalism.

No doubt about it, Valentine Consultations was never going to be the same. A new era had arrived for the psychic-consulting business. The morning papers had broken the news of the DEL case and Jessie knew the phone was going to start ringing off the hook at any minute.

She looked up expectantly when she heard a familiar tread on the stairs. A moment later the office door opened and Mrs. Valentine walked in wearing her professional attire. She had on a dark green turban, a wide-sleeved green paisley blouse, and a long green skirt that fell to her ankles. The usual assortment of beads and chains covered her bosom, tinkling merrily as she came through the door. She had a newspaper tucked under one arm.

“Mrs. V, you look great. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, dear. Just fine. I can see again, if you know what I mean. Such a relief.”

Jessie smiled happily. “I'm so glad, Mrs. V. Go on into your office. The tea is almost ready. I'll bring it right in.”

“Thank you, dear. I could use a cup of tea.” Mrs. Valentine unfolded the newspaper as she headed for the inner office.

Jessie hurried over to the tea tray and spooned tea into the pot. She hummed cheerfully as she reached for the kettle of boiling water. When all was ready, she arranged the pot and two delicate cups on the tray, added a tiny bowl of sugar cubes and a spoon, and picked up the tray.

On the way past the rolltop desk she paused long enough to place the neatly bound Attwood report on the tray. Then she entered Mrs. Valentine's private office.

Mrs. Valentine had the newspaper spread out on top of her consulting table. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose and she was deep into the front-page story.

Jessie glanced at the headlines as she set down the tea tray. She grinned with satisfaction. “Local Psychic Exposes Multimillion Scam.”

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Valentine read carefully to the end of the last paragraph and then turned to the next page to continue. “Oh, my goodness.”

Jessie could hardly contain her excitement. She hovered on the other side of the desk with eager impatience until Mrs. Valentine had finally finished the article. When her employer eventually closed the newspaper and sat back in her chair, looking somewhat stunned, Jessie could not wait any longer.

“Well, Mrs. V? What do you think? Valentine Consultations is going to be famous. People will be beating down our door. We'll be scheduling appointments weeks in advance. This is going to be the most important psychic-consultation agency in the city, maybe in the whole state.”

“Jessie, dear…”

“I've been doing some planning. We'll probably have to take on additional staff to deal with the paperwork, but that's okay. I've had some experience in personnel work. I'll handle that end of it.”

“Jessie…”

“But I'm wondering if we shouldn't get another psychic to work with you.” Jessie frowned in thought and began to pace the office. “We're going to be awfully busy and I don't think we can depend too much on my abilities. The truth is, much as I hate to admit it, I don't think I have any real psychic talent. I'm much more suited for management.”

“Jessie, there is something we must discuss, dear.”

“I'm going to speak to Mom and Connie about coming up with some sketches for a redo of the interior design of the office too.”

“Something important, Jessie, dear…”

“We want the place to look businesslike, yet charming and a bit otherworldly. Successful, yet unconcerned with success, if you know what I mean.”

“Jessie…”

“We may eventually have to look for larger office space. But we can wait for that, don't you think?”

“Jessie, I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go, dear.”

“Also, I was thinking it might be a good idea to…What did you say?” Jessie came to an abrupt halt and stood staring down at Mrs. Valentine. “Mrs. V, you can't mean that.”

Mrs. Valentine heaved a massive sigh. “I am so sorry, dear. You know I'm extremely fond of you. You're a delight to have around the place. But I'm afraid Valentine Consultations is, uh, too small an operation to warrant an assistant.”

Jessie gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. “But that's just it, Mrs. V. It won't be a small operation once these headlines hit the streets. The phone will be ringing off the hook. We're going to go
big
.”

“That's precisely what I'm afraid of, dear. I never meant Valentine Consultations to go big. I liked it the way it was. Just a small, pleasant little business I could run by myself. I had doubts the day I hired you, but I liked you so much, I overcame my premonitions of trouble. You'd think I, of all people, should have known better. Now look what's happened. You've ruined everything. I may have to close entirely until the excitement dies down.”

“Mrs. V, are you firing me?”

Mrs. Valentine sighed again. “I'm afraid so, dear. Don't worry, I shall be happy to give you a good reference.”

The telephone on the rolltop desk started to ring.

Hatch paused briefly at Grace's desk before going on into Vincent Benedict's office. “Hold all his calls until I come out, will you, Grace? No interruptions.”

“Yes, Mr. Hatchard.” Grace smiled. “By the way, I saw the full story of your adventure with Jessie in the morning papers. It sounds as if it was all terribly exciting.”

“That's one way of describing it.” Hatch went on past the desk and into the inner sanctum.

Benedict looked up, frowning in disapproval at the unannounced visit. “I'm in the middle of something, Hatch. Is this important?”

“Very.” Hatch put down the file he had brought with him and went over to the coffeepot to pour himself a cup. He carried the coffee back across the room and leaned against the edge of Vincent's massive desk. “Seen the morning papers?”

“Goddamn right, I saw the morning papers.” Vincent tossed down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “When you told me what had happened up there in the San Juans, you left out a few minor details, didn't you?”

Hatch shrugged. “A few.”

“I'm damn glad that nonsense is over.”

“So am I.”

Vincent paused and slanted Hatch a speculative glance. “David really clobber that guy?”

“Knocked him cold with a karate punch. Saved the day. We probably wouldn't have gotten out of that mess alive without him.”

“I'll be damned.” Vincent nodded, quietly pleased. “Maybe he'll be okay. Maybe he's going to turn out different than Lloyd, after all.”

“Maybe it's time you gave him credit for being his own man.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Vincent picked up his pen. “Like I said, I'm glad the whole thing is finished. But I'm holding you personally responsible to see to it that Jessie doesn't get herself into any more scrapes like that one.”

“I'll do my best.”

Vincent eyed him. “Speaking of Jessie, you two set a date yet?”

“No. But we're going to make the formal announcement of our engagement on Friday evening. Jessie said she was going to book a table at her favorite restaurant, the one down in the Market. Everyone in the family is invited. Even you.”

Vincent grinned. “Reckon I can make that.” He pulled his calendar across the desk and jotted a note on Friday's date. Then he leaned back in his chair again. “You in here to talk business or just pass the time of day?”

“Business.” Hatch sipped coffee meditatively. “There are a few things that need to be cleared up before Friday.”

“You're talking about buying into Benedict Fasteners, aren't you? Don't blame you for wanting to get the deal done. You've waited long enough.”

“It's a little more complicated than my share of the deal, Vincent. There are a few other people involved.”

Vincent scowled. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

“I'll lay it out in plain, simple terms. We can go over the details later. I want you to agree to divide the company into four equal parts, Benedict. One-fourth goes to David, one-fourth to Elizabeth, and one-fourth to Jessie. I'll buy the last quarter and I'll run the business.”

Vincent's mouth dropped open. For an instant he was obviously speechless. When his voice returned, it came out in a full-throated roar. “
Are you out of your head
? Break up Benedict Fasteners? After all the sweat I've put into this company?”

“I'm not talking about breaking it up. I'm talking about keeping it in the family, just like you've always intended. But this way all the involved parties own a piece of it. That gives them a vested interest.”

Vincent slammed his fist down on a stack of papers. “None of them knows a goddamn thing about running a company like Benedict Fasteners.”

“That's what you've got me on board for, remember?”

“Jesus, man, you don't know what you're saying. Give David a chunk of this company and there's no telling what kind of trouble he'll start. He's always blamed me for Lloyd running off. And the boy has no common sense. He's going to study philosophy, for crying out loud. The kid's a flaming liberal with radical notions about the environment and things like that. He'd make all kinds of trouble for me if he owned a quarter of the business.”

“I can handle David.” Hatch took another swallow of coffee. He was fully prepared to weather the storm. He had expected nothing less when he had walked into Vincent's office. When it was all over, Benedict would calm down and agree to his plans.

“You think you can handle David, huh? Well, what about his mother? Glenna's an iron maiden, pal. She's bitter and she's weird. There's no telling what she would do if she got her hands on David's shares.”

“David's not a kid any longer. The very fact that he's opted for grad school is proof that he's willing to take a stand against his mother. She wanted him to stay here at Benedict.”

“You're wrong. Giving a piece of Benedict to that side of the family would be inviting disaster. And what about Elizabeth? She's just a kid. Twelve years old, for Christ's sake. You can't go turning over a quarter of this company to a twelve-year-old kid. What if Connie remarries? The new guy might try to get involved in the company and he could use Elizabeth's shares to do it.”

“You're her father, remember? You can retain control of her quarter until she comes of age. Or you can make Jessie the trustee until then.”

“And then what? That's less than ten years away,” Benedict raged. “With the plans you've got, the firm will be three times the size it is now. Maybe bigger. Elizabeth will be dissecting rats' brains or something for a living. You want some ivory-tower research scientist trying to make business decisions for one-fourth of this outfit? She won't know what the hell she's doing.”