Chapter 3

Rebecca buzzed me for dinner. After washing up, I didn’t have long to wait before my guests trickled in. Neither Heroine nor Villainess seemed all that pleased, which indicated that a compromise was reached. Good.

“Food first, discussion after. It’s not nice to waste Rebecca’s efforts.” Only Miss Jacobs, aka BloodThorn, grunted at the delay.

My cook, chef really, kept the dinner simpler than usual when I entertained. Salad, soup, four-ounce petite filet, finished off with a miniature meringue. When alone, I liked to eat a more robust meal for dinner - but as always, Rebecca catered to the guests in such circumstance.

After I set down my ale, when all but one of the deserts were finished, “What did you ladies decide to do with the ‘miscreant’?”

Tracey, acting as the Hero liaison, pronounced their judgment. “Galeleio will be removed from the Hero roster and charged as a normal vigilante for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and whatever else the police want to pursue.” She, along with the rest, looked at me to see if their decision was correct.

“Do you four believe that you can work together in this capacity?” Three of the four agreed that they could. Apparently, more was discussed in the library than this case. As I hoped.

The fourth, the youngest, replied, “Maybe in a couple years. I’m not ready.” She looked down at her plate disturbed and ashamed at her inability to help.

“There is no shame in admitting that you aren’t ready. It is much better than starting and getting in over your head. Take your time and if you ever want back in, you know where to find me.” I paused, “Miss Stevens?” Waiting until she looked up. “Thank you.” Causing her to blush for some unknown reason.

“Are you really going to pay us Two. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars. To do this?”

“Yes, as long as each of you do your task diligently, I have no problems paying you a fair wage. Please do not speak of what we do here outside of this house. It is for your own safety more than anything else. Miss Stevens, that goes doubly for you. If the wrong people were to discover that you had a hand in any of this, they might act against you.”

“I won’t say anything.”

“I am not worried for my safety if it does get out. A few organizations already know what I do.” The warning was delivered and received by my four guests.

“I would like you three to meet once a week and discuss your cases. Each week, you will receive a stack that has been prepared from a list of infractions. I ask that you give me your recommendations. In this week’s sole case, you decided to remove the Super in question from the Hero list and see that he is charged as a vigilante. Lieutenant Mayes, I believe that is your field. Please see to it.”

“I am a liaison. I don’t have that capacity, Bach.”

“You do. You represent the government. The Heroes Association takes money from the GAO and cannot operate without that large stipend. Use it as a threat. With the evidence you have on Mr. Givanti, they will have no choice but to cut him loose. From there, drop off your evidence at the DA’s office with your personal information. Make contacts there, you will have close dealings with that particular office over the course of your career.”

“That won’t work with us,” BloodThorn replied.

“I’ll speak with Mantis. For the troublesome ones, I will handle those personally.”

Suzanne Stevens, aka Kaleidoscope, left shortly after dinner was concluded. The other three stayed, learning what I expected and needed for their new office. I suspected that Julie Perkins guessed how large this task would grow in the coming years. Tracey Mayes might have also had a grasp, but BloodThorn or Charlene Jacobs was not thinking that far ahead. She only saw dollar signs at this point.

But she too was not chosen just because she had an axe to grind.

Knock. “Grandfather?”

“Lea?” Pressing the mute on the remote, George Eastinghouse gestured his treasured granddaughter into his frequently used office on the first floor of his mansion.

“Do you know anyone with a BlonT?”

“Eh? ... Why are you asking about those?” Giving the girl his full attention, George leaned forward and sat up straighter.

Lea Billingsly hesitated before speaking, “I met someone with one.”

“Those are expensive. Where did you meet this person?”

“At school. The student area was packed and he was sitting alone at a table. When Kendra asked if we could share the table, he offered his to us. That’s when I noticed his watch. When I asked him about it, he said it was a K2, but I could only find out that it was a limited run. No pictures or prices anywhere on the web.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Patriarch of the Eastinghouse family relaxed with an odd expression. “Describe this man for me.” The air of command, which had disappeared, or hid upon his retirement, returned in full force.

“Tall, six-four or five, late twenties, short sandy brown hair with a left side part, strong square jaw, dark brown eyes, tailored clothes, BlonT on his thick left wrist, gold ring on his right ring finger, broad shoulders and medium waist. He exercises regularly. Very calm, and very polite.” Lea Billingsly caught herself when she noted that she was becoming too detailed. Her blush was half restrained.

“And this was a very brief encounter, you say. Interesting.” With a smile at his granddaughter, “Have you any plans on seeing this man in the future?”

“Sunday after church, Leo agreed to let me see his collection.”

“Leo? Is that this man’s name?”

Blushing at letting out more than she planned, or she hoped that was the reason of her blush, “Yes. We exchanged phone numbers and he texted his address later.”

“Was he alone?”

“No, he had an assistant with him. At least Kendra and I thought she was one.”

Nodding, “This man interests you, doesn’t he?”

“I liked the watch,” she protested, unsuccessfully.

“Just the watch?” he repeated and pressed.

“He seems nice.”

“What, besides nice, was your impression of this man?”

“You know who he is, don’t you, Grandfather!”

“Yes. Now tell me your impression of ‘Leo’.”

Lea didn’t catch the slight emphasis on the man’s name. “Calm and strong. His eyes were nice and his voice was...” the poor girl was unable to continue in her grandfather’s presence.

“Have you told anyone in the family about your date on Sunday?”

“It’s not a date, I am just going to his house.”

“That’s a date in my book. Did you tell your mother?”

“Don’t be mean, grandfather. No. I didn’t want to listen to another lecture.”

“Good. Don’t, and no pestering anyone about that address or that watch until I say so. Understood?”

“Not really.”

“Good. Get your purse and warm up my car. I think I need to go shopping with my favorite granddaughter.”

“You are acting mysterious. Don’t let mom catch you.”

“Your mother lives in my house. If she doesn’t like it, she can live somewhere else.” The icy steel in her grandfather voice was at odds, compared to how he usually dealt her mother. “Git.”

“What are we shopping for?” Not budging, she pressed her kind old patriarch.

“An outfit or two. Maybe shoes if Luis is around.” Her friends would know instantly what that name meant in conjunction with shoes, but Lea Billingsly had other priorities and pursuits than fashion.

Trailing minutes after his, in his eyes, beautiful granddaughter, George Eastinghouse locked his home office door behind him, “Marge, I am taking Lea out for some shopping. Dinner too. We will be out late.”

“Father, you know that the Abernathy’s are coming over tonight.”

Ellen Abernathy had a fading parts supply business she inherited from her father and was trying to use Eastinghouse money to shore it up. That wasn’t happening in his lifetime, the astute businessman years ago decided. “Let them. I will not be here.” With shoulders back, the seventy-one-year-old man marched past his daughter’s complaints without a further reply.

“Father, what has gotten into you?” Her complaints about skipping out on her friends visit turned to a direct question, stopping the septuagenarian before leaving the sun room his daughter favored.

“I am taking my favorite Granddaughter out for the day; do you have a problem with that, Margret?” George asked with iron in his voice.

“Do whatever you want. No spoiling that girl and no more watches, she has more than I do as it is.”

Thus, the crux of the issue, he thought. “My money. My choice.” Firmly shutting the door behind him, George seriously considered changes that needed to be made around his home. He didn’t retire to spend his time at home, only to encounter greater stress than at the office.

Lea’s opportunity needed to be addressed.

Three minutes before eleven, the gate buzzed, announcing the arrival of my Sunday morning guest. Wearing gray slacks, a white button-down shirt and purple tie, I met Lea at the door. Shooing Nancy off, she would get to meet Lea in time.

Pale yellow sleeveless blouse and a peach-colored silky skirt, with large bright off-yellow flowers, standing at five-nine, with a fine set of curves, the fresh young woman waited for me at the door. Subtle makeup that accented her beauty without detracting from overapplication didn’t completely mask Lea’s light dusting of freckles.

The ever-present rimless glasses couldn’t hide the nervousness in her golden eyes. She adorned a gold Verdant on her left wrist with a matching bracelet on her right. I caught a quick glimpse of a long-braided gold necklace that dipped into her cleavage, hiding whatever charm she chose.

“Lea, you look lovely. Please come in.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Leo. Or should I call you Bach? ‘The man in a castle on Maple Lawn Hill’.” Even with that correct guess, the young woman still took the time to look around the foyer, her face reflecting approval. At what, I didn’t know.

“Either is fine.” While she observed my home, I caught sight of the shoes she wore. They were identical, except in color, being a sharp ivory, to the ones that Julie had drooled over the other day. Luis’s handywork.

“Your house has more feminine touches than I expect. I’ll call you Leo. What is it short for?”

“Leopold. I was named after my grandfather.” She nodded to herself. I thought she had guessed my name correctly and wanted conformation.

Stopping in the hall before the hundred and seventy-year-old painting of two elderly Cherokee sisters seated in obvious erect poses, “This painting seems out of place. I bet it’s special.”

True, the quality of the artist wasn’t all that, but my options at the time were limited. Henri La Mont, a Dutch immigrant, was the only one available and willing to capture the likeliness’s of my two dying wives. “It is.” She wasn’t asking for an explanation, just confirmation of her insight.

“I bet you have all sorts of artifacts from the past.” Turning to look at me in a new light, Lea regarded me with an intense gaze of her golden eyes.

“A few. Too many would dilute their purpose.” And clutter my life.

“I think I can see that. Would you show me the rest of your house? No one who comes here talks about it, or you. But they are all like my grandfather and know what damage loose tongues can do.”

I offered my arm, lowered instead of the customary parallel with the ground due to our height difference. With her hand resting lightly above my wrist, I gave a formal tour of my house to a woman for the first time since it had been remodeled twenty years ago. Not even Lillian nor Nancy received the effort I put forth for my golden eyed guest. Occupied rooms excluded, of course.

The regal young lady became hesitant and returned to her earlier nervousness upon entering my bedroom, the last stop on our impromptu tour, with the stated goal in mind to see my watch collection.

Releasing my arm, she headed straight for my slowly revolving watch trees. “May I?”

“Feel free.” I chose to sit and observe in the overstuffed leather chair that I used on those all too frequent sleepless nights.

“An Ometrix? And its scuffed. Why would he have one of these?” Replacing the watch I wore when I expected a scuffle that could end up damaging a real one, she continued her monologue while minutely examining each and every watch on the first tree. I bought those Ometrix in bulk.

The buzzer from the intercom alerted me that lunch was about to be served, causing my guest to jump and remember where she was. A head-to-toe blush covered her face, neck and upper chest.

Covering for her embarrassment, “That was Rebecca. Lunch will be ready in five minutes. Would you like to wash up? You can use my bathroom here or the one across the hall to the left.”

“Thanks.” Even distracted, she was unable to go against female instinct to inspect my personal abode. She, of course, chose my bathroom to wash her hands in.

Smiling to myself, I wouldn’t wager on her opening the medicine closet, but I bet the desire would be there. I used the hall bathroom to freshen up and waited for Lea to join me, before going downstairs for our meal.

The two of us sat at the table, she to my right; the empty spot to the left where Julie sat of late was not set. My aide had mentioned that she needed to report in and left the house early.

“Why do you have an Ometrix?”

“I wear those when I plan on activities where anything I wore might get broken. It’s the Swiss special forces version and very robust.”

“It’s a terrible timepiece. Those things lose minutes per year,” she complained.

“I haven’t noticed. Most of those only last a few months.”