around to save them then.
C HAPTER
Twelve
T he grandfather clock in the foyer struck three. The house on Cregier was finally empty. Brandi Spencer had all but slipped into a coma. Tanya put the last of the plates in the dishwasher and turned it on. Sighing wearily, she rested her hips against the sink, wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.
Walking the length of both levels of the house, she relished the quiet calm as she took in Brandi’s eclectic taste. Evidently the woman was a minimalist, as only the necessary furniture held ground over the bedrooms, living room, solarium, dining room, den, library, and two offices—his and hers. Not one thing extra, making it somewhere between sparse and elegant. Paintings of Egypt and the honey-brown luster of the Egyptian Cleopatra and Nefertiti shared space with blue, lavender, and silver abstracts.
Strangely enough, Tanya had a likeness of a Macedonian Greek Cleopatra alongside the same brown-skinned Egyptian rendition Brandi had. Most people didn’t realize that there were seven Cleopatras, and that by the time the Greeks had invaded the area, the last in their line was nowhere near the same hue as the others, though her life was no less challenging.
At one point, to protect herself from her family, the last Cleopatra had to be rolled up in a carpet and whisked to safety. Almost like Tanya, who had to be under police security in the hospital, then whisked away to live with the Pitchfords.
And also just like Cleopatra’s sister, Tanya’s sister Mindy had been killed because of something Tanya had done. As Tanya stared up at the creamybrown skin and the regal bearing of the Cleopatra on Brandi’s wall, she wondered how Vernon’s wife would equate to the queen.
Tanya had whipped the place into shape in record time—even for her. No one would be able to tell that just hours ago, the place had been spilling over with people who had more questions when they left than when they arrived. She pulled her bags from the foyer closet and settled them into a closet near the master bedroom. Thoughts of leaving had certainly crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed them away. She had to see how things played out.
She peered out the window and saw the Lexus still parked in the driveway. Earlier when she saw Vernon’s car tearing down the street, she’d doubled back to the house on Wabash Avenue, searched the drawers, cabinets, and closets for any important items she may have missed, then packed the last of her things—including her pictures of the two Cleopatras—and put them outside in the shed where she could retrieve them later.
She thought of her sudden urge to return Vernon’s wallet to Brandi just to see her reaction. And boy did she react!
The woman had directed a full-blown symphony last night, with strings, percussion, brass, and woodwinds. Tanya had never seen things done in such a way that no one could gossip—it was all done right there in the open. The woman even had nerve enough to ask, “Hey, are there any questions?”
Despite what Tanya expected, family and friends followed Brandi’s example and treated her nicely. Vernon, on the other hand, caught the pure hell he deserved.
♥♥♥
Yesterday as she drove through the traffic-filled streets of Stony Island on her way to Brandi’s house, she wondered, where would she go? What would she do? Vernon had been right about one thing—she had nothing and no family. Her father had made sure there was no one in the world who would lift a hand to help her, but that paled in comparison to what he had done to her. It ranked a distant third to what he’d done to the personshe’d loved the most—the person he had killed to keep Tanya from talking.
She had driven through the winding streets, passing the house in the Jackson Park Highlands five times before stopping. As she strolled past the shrubs and up the black concrete pathway, at first thoughts of
what the hell do you think you’re
C HAPTER
Twelve
T he grandfather clock in the foyer struck three. The house on Cregier was finally empty. Brandi Spencer had all but slipped into a coma. Tanya put the last of the plates in the dishwasher and turned it on. Sighing wearily, she rested her hips against the sink, wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.
Walking the length of both levels of the house, she relished the quiet calm as she took in Brandi’s eclectic taste. Evidently the woman was a minimalist, as only the necessary furniture held ground over the bedrooms, living room, solarium, dining room, den, library, and two offices—his and hers. Not one thing extra, making it somewhere between sparse and elegant. Paintings of Egypt and the honey-brown luster of the Egyptian Cleopatra and Nefertiti shared space with blue, lavender, and silver abstracts.
Strangely enough, Tanya had a likeness of a Macedonian Greek Cleopatra alongside the same brown-skinned Egyptian rendition Brandi had. Most people didn’t realize that there were seven Cleopatras, and that by the time the Greeks had invaded the area, the last in their line was nowhere near the same hue as the others, though her life was no less challenging.
At one point, to protect herself from her family, the last Cleopatra had to be rolled up in a carpet and whisked to safety. Almost like Tanya, who had to be under police security in the hospital, then whisked away to live with the Pitchfords.
And also just like Cleopatra’s sister, Tanya’s sister Mindy had been killed because of something Tanya had done. As Tanya stared up at the creamybrown skin and the regal bearing of the Cleopatra on Brandi’s wall, she wondered how Vernon’s wife would equate to the queen.
Tanya had whipped the place into shape in record time—even for her. No one would be able to tell that just hours ago, the place had been spilling over with people who had more questions when they left than when they arrived. She pulled her bags from the foyer closet and settled them into a closet near the master bedroom. Thoughts of leaving had certainly crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed them away. She had to see how things played out.
She peered out the window and saw the Lexus still parked in the driveway. Earlier when she saw Vernon’s car tearing down the street, she’d doubled back to the house on Wabash Avenue, searched the drawers, cabinets, and closets for any important items she may have missed, then packed the last of her things—including her pictures of the two Cleopatras—and put them outside in the shed where she could retrieve them later.
She thought of her sudden urge to return Vernon’s wallet to Brandi just to see her reaction. And boy did she react!
The woman had directed a full-blown symphony last night, with strings, percussion, brass, and woodwinds. Tanya had never seen things done in such a way that no one could gossip—it was all done right there in the open. The woman even had nerve enough to ask, “Hey, are there any questions?”
Despite what Tanya expected, family and friends followed Brandi’s example and treated her nicely. Vernon, on the other hand, caught the pure hell he deserved.
♥♥♥
Yesterday as she drove through the traffic-filled streets of Stony Island on her way to Brandi’s house, she wondered, where would she go? What would she do? Vernon had been right about one thing—she had nothing and no family. Her father had made sure there was no one in the world who would lift a hand to help her, but that paled in comparison to what he had done to her. It ranked a distant third to what he’d done to the personshe’d loved the most—the person he had killed to keep Tanya from talking.
She had driven through the winding streets, passing the house in the Jackson Park Highlands five times before stopping. As she strolled past the shrubs and up the black concrete pathway, at first thoughts of
what the hell do you think you’re
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