Other Titles by Nathan Everett

Jackie the Beanstalk

Tall skinny Jackie is a fresh 18-year-old high school graduate, still in her cap and gown when she is given the keys to her grandfather’s 1968 Ford Fairlane 500 Fastback. Jackie, her 25-year-old Aunt Misty, and her dog Roadkill jump in the car and take off following an old fashioned TripTik map into an alternate dimension. In this alternate dimension, Jackie is a Warrior Wizard encountering robbers, mountain monsters, ogres, rival clans, obstreperous customs officials, a stowaway princess, an adopted bobcat kitten, werewolves, ghosts, giants, and dragons—all on her way to rescuing the Sovereign’s kidnapped son. As she travels, she discovers her magic powers, and the powers of all the weapons she carries—her cap and gown, honor cords, stole, basketball, and things she picks up along the way—including a pocketful of magic beans.

A Place at the Table

Though the America Liam Cyning lives in is quite similar to the America of half a century or more ago, it is also fundamentally different. Ten clearly defined classes are the underpinning of American Society, determined by the educational system. As a newly assigned member of the Leader class, Liam is still uncertain what his role and responsibilities are. This story is a Bildungsroman, a literary genre that focuses on the psychological and moral growth of Liam Cyning from youth to adulthood. With his grandmother as an example and Meredith by his side, Liam earns a place at the table as he exposes the fundamental weaknesses of the very system that made him who he is.

City Limits

Who am I, really? It’s a common question. It’s part of being self-aware. But is it important? Are we really nothing more than our accumulated lifetime of memories? Or is there something inside that makes us inherently who we are? Stripped of his memories and identity, Gee Evars must come to grips with who he is as he attempts to make a home among strangers by simply doing the right thing. City Limits is the story of Gee’s loss of memory and the life and love he gains.

Wild Woods

When Gee Evars wandered into town, he lost his memory in a daring rescue of a toddler in the raging Rose River. Now the man without a memory has become a force that even the Families need to reckon with. When the city votes to annex South Rosebud, Gee accompanies a small army of high school students to tear down the fence that has separated the cultivated hickory Forest from the Wild Woods. This is where the sequel to the popular novel City Limits begins. Gee and his crew must find a way to tame the Wild Woods, uncover its secrets, and live to tell the story. Gee’s real work in Rosebud Falls has just begun.

The Gutenberg Rubric

Two rare-book librarians race across three continents to find and preserve a legendary book printed by Johannes Gutenberg. Behind them, a trail of bombed libraries draws Homeland Security to launch a worldwide search for biblio-terrorists. Keith and Maddie find love along the way, but will they survive to enjoy it?

For Money or Mayhem

Computer forensics detective Dag Hamar has been hired to help a credit card company beef up network security, but are his new co-workers helping him or attacking him? Security video doesn’t lie, does it? Dag is about to get dragged from behind his computer screen—away from the comparative safety of cyberspace—into the dirty streets of Seattle where an online predator has become a real-life serial kidnapper. But will he be in time to save his new romance and the daughter who is a victim.

For Mayhem or Madness

Computer forensics detective Dag Hamar is on the case again! In this sequel to For Money or Mayhem, Dag is commissioned by the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN) to find and stop a dangerous hacker who appears to be a credible threat to national security. Follow Dag as he erases his own digital identity and goes on the trail around the world to track down and neurtralize Hacker X before he does something really dangerous like erase all the nuclear launch codes in the world. Or maybe, Dag should help him.

For Blood or Money

Dag Hamar is a hard-boiled computer forensics detective with all the trimmings: the Seattle Waterfront office, the sexy young assistant who adores him, and an attitude to match the constant gray drizzle outside his window. And a new missing person case. The only problem is he’s a middle-aged computer geek who doesn’t do missing persons. And the only clue he has is the missing man’s laptop. Dag Hamar and Deb Riley discover hidden files and computer code can be as dangerous as dark alleys and flying bullets as they enter the high-stakes game of of tracing a missing friend and the billion-dollar fortune that disappeared with him.

Municipal Blondes

Computer forensics detective Deb Riley has been cut loose to continue the work of her partner, Dag Hamar. He sent her to get the code from a dead man’s tattoo. He told her she needed to crack the encryption on Simon’s thumb drive. He told her he loved her. And then he died. Now Deb finds she is in possession of something everyone wants and will do anything to get. Including kill her. Enter the world of Deb Riley, code breaker, detective, and master of disguise, as she races into the heart of the mystery and risks discovery or worse in Seattle, Belize, and Croatia. She has Dag’s reputation to live up to.

Stocks & Blondes

Computer forensics detective Deb Riley is on the case again, this time with a dead woman named Georgia and a house full of computers. Georgia’s father doesn’t believe the police finding that she committed suicide. He’s sure there was foul play involved. He had no idea how foul it was. Hacking into the computers starts a deadly game as neighbors, friends, and even Georgia, prove not to be what they appear to be. Infiltrating the cabal throws Deb into her deepest disguise ever while trying to balance her real life with a new boyfriend, who might also be different than he appears. Worse, it puts her in danger of ending up just like Georgia.

Steven George & The Dragon

Steven has always known he was a dragonslayer, but on the day his village sends him to slay the fearsome beast he realizes he doesn’t know what a dragon looks like, where it lives, or how to kill it. His quest is facilitated by the exchange of “once-upon-a-times” with the people he meets on the endless road. Think Grimm. For young adults, not children.

The Volunteer

Journey inside the head of a chronically homeless man--a man that in a less politically correct age we might have called a hobo. Gerald Good, known now only as G2, volunteered to take the place of a homeless man, believing he would work his way back quickly. Ten years later, twenty... thirty years, find G2 alone in his head, his memories, and his boxcar.

Copyright ©2024 by Elder Road LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at ElderRoadBooks@Outlook.com.

ISBN 978-1-955874-85-4

Designed by Nathan Everett

Cover photo by Terence Toh Chin Eng ID 1313924522 licensed from Shutterstock.com

https:www.nathaneverett.com

A special thank you to my editors and advisers
who stuck with me through this entire project.
Your help was immeasurable.

Michele Palmer

Lyndsy Fernandes

Denny Wheeler

Jim Ness

Jim Burt

Les Bagley

Chapter One

“BE MY WIFE and I will give you anything your heart desires,” Prince Drake said on bended knee.

“Anything?” Princess Isolde asked, teasing him.

“I would bring down the moon and hang it about your neck if that was what you desired,” the prince affirmed.

“You know, I’ve always wanted a dragon!”

The princess smiled innocently. But the prince stood, drew his sword, and swore that he would call for her when he could give her a dragon.

It seemed hopeless, but the prince had an idea; he got a large piece of paper and a pencil. On it he began to draw the perfect dragon. He summoned a woodcarver, and together they brought a great log into the castle and began carving a dragon.

When it was finished, the prince called for the princess and showed her the dragon and asked her again to be his wife.

“Yes!” she declared. “What other man would honor his wife’s most frivolous wish? I give my heart to you forever.”

The prince and princess were married on the third step of the Staircase of Dragon Jerico, and they lived happily ever after.

Thirty-two-year-old Preston Carver, Chairman of the Board and CEO of JeriCorp, closed the storybook and showed the cover to the gathered children as he stood on the third step of the great dragon staircase. The third-graders applauded, though the story was a little simple for them. Preston had written and illustrated it himself when he was about their age.

Lawrence Jerico, Preston’s grandfather, stood nearby and beamed with pride. His grandson had made it through the reading of the entire book without a stutter or tremor. Little victories in his battle against severe anxiety were always welcome.

“Did it breathe fire?” asked one of the children.

That was off script and Lawrence could see Preston freeze up. He turned to his grandfather with panic written on his face.

“Mr. J-j-j- G-Pop!” Preston spit out.

Lawrence laid a hand on his grandson’s shoulder and pointed him off toward the kitchen where Preston fled. He explained to the children that this dragon had dropped walnuts.

Preston sat at the kitchen table gasping for breath as if he’d run a marathon. Matilda, the family cook and housekeeper, gave him a glass of water that he gulped down. She rubbed his shoulders.

“I’ve always loved that story,” she said soothingly. “You read it so well. Here. I have a nice sandwich made up for you with bread I baked this morning. You’ll need your energy to go out to the lake with Mr. Lawrence.”

“Th-thank you, Tilly. I’ll be okay. I just couldn’t a-answer the question. It’s a piece of wood. How could it breathe fire?”

“They’re children. They imagine all kinds of things—just like you did. Now eat up. I’ll go rescue Mr. Lawrence before the children have him too flustered to speak.” Matilda placed a Rubik’s Cube on the table next to Preston’s plate and left while Preston focused on the calming effect of the toy.

Everyone privileged to tour Jerico House stopped to stare at the massive staircase carved in the shape of a dragon. It had been the sentinel of the Jerico family for nearly two hundred years and had been a significant part of the reason Jerico House was listed on the Register of National Historic Places, even though the family still owned it and mostly lived in it.

Part of the agreement in having it listed was permitting tours of the grand old mansion at least twice a year. That’s how Timmy Blake happened to be in the house with eyes as big as those of his third-grade classmates as Lawrence Jerico attempted to tell a bit about its history. And Timmy had questions.

“Where did the dragon come from?” Timmy asked.

“Well, it was carved from a huge old walnut tree. My great-great-grandfather was the artist who drew the picture of the dragon,” Lawrence said. “A wood carver executed the design here and was the sculptor of the city’s dragon gate in Waterfront Park.”

Lawrence kept telling himself that he loved kids and this was a way the family could give to the community, as four generations before him had done—though each in a different way. He had only one child himself and she in turn had only one, so the Jerico name was at a dead end.

“The picture of the dragon is hanging here on the wall. You can see how detailed it is. Not to minimize the great artistry that the woodcarver had, but the whole concept was my ancestor’s.”

“But did the prince go fight the dragon in the woods to bring it back here?” Timmy asked.

“No, no. That’s a fairy tale. Mr. Carver wrote it when he was your age and has signed this copy to give to your class. An interesting thing, though, is that many artists say that carving a statue like this is a process of revealing the subject inside by cutting away everything that wasn’t a dragon.”

“Is there a dragon in you, too?” Timmy seemed convinced the dragon was more than the walnut stair railing.

“People said old Drake Jerico, Senior could be a dragon at times, but I think they were just referring to his temperament. The stories say he could become very angry,” Lawrence said. “Of course, I never met him myself. He passed away before I was born.”

Lawrence was thinking he should definitely have had another cup of coffee this morning in order to keep up with these kids. He wished he had a script like Preston had.

“Did anything exciting ever happen here?” Lily Thomas, another of the children in the class asked. Lawrence wondered what third graders thought was exciting.

“There have been many weddings on this staircase, of course. The first was back in 1838 when the dragon was first completed. Drake Jerico married Isolde LeClerc right here where I’m standing. It’s been a family tradition to marry where the dragon can bless us,” Lawrence said. “Oh, and Princess Bea of Moldavia visited a number of years ago, and had her portrait painted while standing on this stair right here.”

The princess had also continued up the stairs to Lawrence’s bedroom where things progressed to the point of Lawrence’s wife departing from the house and moving to Florida, where she lived comfortably until her death some fourteen years prior. Sadly, Beatrice had stayed with Lawrence only a few months before she traveled to her country for the first time in her life, attempting to reestablish the throne there. Unsuccessfully.

“My own father was awakened in the middle of the night from where he slept in the study. He grabbed his shotgun to shoot a burglar on the stairs as the intruder ascended toward the master bedroom.”

There had always been questions about that. The seventeen-year-old Peter Jerico was quite drunk and the burglar in question was also a drunk seventeen-year-old, perhaps making his way up to the bedroom of Peter’s sister. Neither Lawrence nor the law had discovered any reason to believe it was a setup. They’d all assumed it was legitimately a home invasion and Peter was just protecting his home and sister. She never forgave him, and died a spinster some thirty years later.

“Did your great grandpa turn into a dragon on the stairs or is he still alive in the forest?” Timmy pressed, still not satisfied with the dragon.

“My goodness, boy. Drake Jerico Senior died many years ago and is interred in the city cemetery in the Jerico family mausoleum. His son, Drake Jerico Junior is there, as is Drake Junior’s son, Emmet Jerico. My father, Peter Jerico, is out there, and I expect one day I will be laid to rest there.”

“Don’t the girls get buried there, too?” Lily asked.

“Well, yes, of course. Isolde LeClerc Jerico, my aunt, my own wife, all the wives and those female children who stayed around here. They are all interred in the family mausoleum.”

Children were so different these days than when he was that age. Some days, he couldn’t remember ever being that age and other days, he was certain it was just yesterday. So much for sharp wits and eternal youth in his seventies.

The staircase had not been quite finished in 1838, when Isolde LeClerc was sent from the finishing school in Massachusetts to become Drake Jerico’s bride. Drake gave her the mansion and lots of money with which to furnish it, while he resided at the hotel in town a mile away. It would not have been proper for them to live together before the wedding, and Drake felt the hotel was better suited to a man. There was plenty of domestic help to keep Isolde company, and Drake visited twice a week to court his bride-to-be.

Isolde was utterly fascinated with the carving of the dragon—and the sculptor, Joseph Carver. As talented as Drake was with pencil and paper, he was hopeless when it came to cutting wood and making the dragon take shape. That task had fallen to Joseph, who had selected the tree trunk and hired the men to move it into place so he could begin cutting and carving and sanding and polishing. The log—an old growth walnut tree from the Jerico estate—was over twenty feet long, and bent in such a way that Joseph could fashion the sculpture along the arc of the curved staircase.

The head of the dragon was at the second-floor landing, overlooking the main foyer. The tail curved over the back, forming the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Wings spread to support the rest of the railing. The burl grain of the wood made the dragon look as if it were a living being, just taking flight.

Joseph worked on the sculpture nearly every day for over a year. For much of the last month, before Isolde and Drake were married, she sat at the foot of the stairs enrapt, watching the mighty beast take shape.

Drake, on the other hand, properly staying in the hotel so as not to cast a shadow on the honor of his bride-to-be, was occupied as the architect and planner who turned the riverfront into a city. The other eleven men, who had each been given a land grant of some 1,200 acres to found the town, depended on Drake’s planning and design. They willingly named their fledgling settlement Jerico City.

The precise service the twelve had rendered to the government, entitling them to such extensive land grants, was still unclear, even closing in on two hundred years later. Some said the land, at the confluence of two navigable rivers, was part of Thomas Jefferson’s dream for westward expansion. It was no accident that among the founders were men skilled in iron and woodworks, steam engines, mining, river navigation, fabrication, and various industrial practices.

Within a decade of the founding of the city, barges and paddle-wheelers had made the city a regular stop for repair and maintenance. Twenty years later, the rail line broached the river with an iron bridge, carefully planned to be sure not to obstruct the river traffic.

Jerico City was a thriving metropolis before Isolde arrived. Already, the two-story frame businesses along Main Street and branching onto Water Street along the river were being expanded and rebuilt of brick to reach higher and spread wider. Nearly two thousand souls occupied the settlement.

Of course, Drake had reserved a block fronting both Main and Water Street for his own business. This included his architectural and planning firm, and the headquarters of the construction companies in which he was a partner. Drake was a very busy and prosperous man.

“Can we see it fly?” Timmy asked a perplexed Lawrence. He merely shook his head.

“Do the steps go all the way to heaven?” Lily asked.

“No. That’s a different stairway,” Lawrence chuckled, thinking of an old rock and roll song.

“How many steps are there?” asked a different child. It was a question Lawrence was actually prepared to answer.

“There are twenty-three steps from the main floor to the second-floor landing,” he said. “From the second floor to the third, there are nineteen more. Another seventeen steps lead from the third floor to the rooftop terrace. You will notice that all the flights are prime numbers: twenty-three, nineteen, and seventeen. The sum of the three is fifty-nine, also a prime number. That was part of the genius of the architect, old Drake Jerico Senior,” Lawrence said.

“Can you turn into a dragon now?” Timmy asked excitedly, refusing to be derailed from his assertion that the dragon was more than carved wood.

“Boy, what makes you think the dragon is anything more than an old walnut tree a man carved almost two hundred years ago? There is no such thing as a real dragon. Just this old carved tree!”

Lawrence was ready for the tour to be over and the little brats to get out of his house. Allowing the educational tours had been part of having the house declared a national historic site, but he didn’t think the agreement required him personally to be confronted by children who had more questions than he had answers. Besides, he had a meeting soon and needed to get out to the new site to monitor the surveyors with his grandson, Preston.

“My nan said Old Man Jerico is more dragon than man,” Timmy sulked.

“Your nan?” Lawrence would need to find out more about the kid’s family so he could decide what he’d done to offend the old woman. But he was done for now. “Matilda will take you on the remainder of the tour,” he said shortly. “Don’t touch anything!”

While Drake Jerico was in town being the newly elected mayor, Isolde continued to spend much of her time watching and talking to Joseph Carver, and becoming quite infatuated with the woodworker. He was more than a craftsman. He was as much an artist as her husband-to-be was. They simply worked in different media.

She appreciated the skill and artistry of Drake. He had sent her many drawings during their courtship, while she still lived back East. She had chosen this one to realize as the great stairs. Joseph was also working on a monument sign that would welcome people to the city at the waterfront. It was another of Drake’s designs and Isolde was convinced the town would one day be known as the City of Dragons. After all, it was the meaning of Drake’s name.

“How do you make this creature so lifelike?” she asked Carver.

“The secret is in hiding the action of the knife,” he said as he worked on a fine detail near the eyes. He stood on the ladder to reach the bit. “No part of the dragon can give away its true nature as a walnut tree. The grain, the colors—the carving must all become the dragon.”

“What do you mean by hiding the knife?” Isolde asked. She found Joseph’s words to be almost as mesmerizing as his actions in carving.

“Well, Miss, if you touch the eyes, here, I believe you will be able to tell,” Joseph said.

“What? Am I supposed to lean over the unfinished railing and feel for the eyes, while all the time being perched at my peril?” she teased.

Joseph Carver was a simple man when it came down to it. He embodied the very essence of innocence and artistic awareness that was required by the delicate work he was doing. Isolde could not help but think of him in the same breath as the dragon, the two being so closely linked to each other.

“My lady, if you would climb my ladder, you would be in less peril,” Joseph said.

“I foresee that my peril would be different, but at least equal,” Isolde sighed. “Yet it seems the only way I will ever see the image closely. Is the ladder sturdy?”

“I will steady it to be sure you are secure,” he answered.

Joseph stepped off the ladder and held it as Isolde began her ascent. She was scarcely aware that Joseph stayed just a rung below her as she climbed. Yet when she reached out her hand to touch the dragon’s eye, she was fully encased in Joseph’s arms. Her heart beat wildly.

“If you stroke across the area I have been focused on, you will find it as smooth as the finest silk,” the craftsman said. Indeed, he was proud of the work he had done. Polishing the cut wood with sandpaper and wool cloths had left no mark of the chisel. In fact, this was the part of the job he liked most, for he could feel the living wood beneath his fingers.

Joseph guided her hand to the dragon’s eye and as she stroked the wood, he caressed her hand.

“Oh, my!” Isolde said. “It is so smooth; it almost feels soft. It is so sensuous.”

She let her fingers explore further and Joseph, emboldened, also explored further with his fingers. Both found all the features they could reach were silky beneath their fingers. Her heart beat more rapidly as she turned on the ladder and found herself face-to-face with Joseph.

“As soft and sensuous as you, fair lady,” he whispered.

She was not sure who moved to let their lips come together, but the kiss at the top of the ladder, as her hand felt across the dragon’s nose, was full and sensual and led to much more than was permissible. Isolde fell into Joseph’s arms.

Two hundred years later, Lawrence did not mention to the children—nor did he know—a child was conceived of their passion right there on the staircase of Dragon Jerico. Isolde fled from Joseph’s presence and swore herself only to her husband’s arms. Drake and Isolde were married just days after the final polish was applied to the dragon. She took her wedding vows on the very step on which she had only recently been sullied.

Lawrence watched the children disappear up the stairs after Matilda, who was gleefully filling their little heads with more impossible stories about people who had seen the dragon fly. She also pointed out the little indentations on the back of the dragon where some of the shot from Peter’s gun had struck when he killed the burglar.

Lawrence went to the study where he sat to go over the most recent progress in the purchase of land for Preston’s planned community. The concept was good. It harkened back to the family roots, two hundred years previously. Acquire a sufficient amount of land to develop an entire community—just as Drake had done with his eleven partners and Jerico City.

Of course, Royce Duval, the public face of the company, would be responsible for funding the development, but Lawrence had committed himself to the land acquisition nearly twenty years earlier. The property was sufficiently remote that his purchases of acreage surrounding the lake had gone unnoticed. All except the one holdout. He assumed the consortium owning the last parcel of land would sell it, once a premium was set on its value.

The concept itself had all been Preston’s idea. The boy was a genius when it came to envisioning a community. Boy. Lawrence’s grandson was thirty-two years old. His mind was as sharp as any Lawrence had ever encountered. It was too bad Preston was seized with such anxiety that he couldn’t face so much as a board meeting to talk to the directors. He sat as the chairman of the board and CEO at his grandfather’s insistence. But the talking was all done by the President and Chief Operating Officer, Royce Duval. Most people just assumed Preston was a figurehead and Royce was the brains of the company.

One-on-one with people he knew, Preston had learned to communicate without difficulty. There were few people, however, who managed to get close enough to him to see the real brilliance of the chairman.

“Grandfather,” Preston had said, “our ancestor made his mark by planning and designing this entire city. There are plat maps still in the files for the expansion of Jerico City, which could be pulled and executed as needed, nearly two hundred years after the initial platting. It was built around transportation—the shipping lanes and the railroad right of way. Times have changed. Now we are the center of other kinds of commerce. We have furniture manufacturing, woolen mills, a printing company, electronics, chemicals, food processing… We have all these. But we don’t have tourism! Tourism and recreation are the bywords of the future. That is what we need to build.”

Lawrence was less certain, but Preston’s enthusiasm was contagious. Then they were struck with the damn plague. It looked like it would kill all tourism forever. But Preston had rolled with the punch to see a wider expansion for the resort as a ‘working retreat’ where people could connect remotely to their offices.

Even while he was designing the Jerico City Community Center Complex at the peak of isolation, Preston continued to make plans for his resort community. His anxiety and his stammer made it difficult for some people to work with him, but his life was controlled by his vision. Preston was surely made from the same mold as his ancestor, Drake Jerico.

Lawrence packed up his notes, his briefcase, binoculars, and heavy boots. He stepped into the kitchen to grab his sandwich and join Preston, going to the site to observe the surveyors as they began to stake out the perimeter of Cloudhaven, about seventy miles upriver from Jerico City.

The children finally left to return to school with their teacher. Lawrence and Preston were already on the road, and by this time, the inexhaustible housekeeper Matilda was ready to go back to bed. She would have if not for needing to get lunch ready for Jacqueline Carver, Lawrence Jerico’s daughter and Preston Carver’s mother. Jacqueline had divorced Lyle Carver only months after Preston was born and the hapless teen boyfriend had gladly taken the share of her wealth he was entitled to in his prenup, and left town. Jacqueline considered it to have been a fair price to pay for the son she bore.

Lawrence had been the only father figure Preston had ever really known. Maybe that was why he was such a social recluse.

Jacqueline descended the dragon staircase more regally than the children had, and headed to the dinette where Matilda was setting out lunch.

“Miss Jacqueline, your meal is ready,” Matilda said, setting a simple salad and tea before her.

“Did my father and son get lunch?”

“They asked that it be packed and it is gone, so I assume they took it before they left.”

“How did the tour with the halflings go this morning?” Jacqueline asked as she sampled the baby arugula and spring greens salad.

“Oh, they are energetic young ones, they are. I don’t remember Mr. Preston being half so lively as a child.”

“It’s just been so long ago that we’ve forgotten how much livelier we were ourselves,” Jacqueline laughed. “I wish he’d get busy and marry so I could have grandchildren around.”

She enjoyed lunches with her long-time housekeeper and friend—not what one might assume of a privileged woman. When she finished her salad and tea, she cleaned up her own dishes and prepared for a meeting of the arts council in town. Jacqueline was quite active in the community and even tried to keep a hand in what happened on the JeriCorp Board.

On her way to her car, she stopped and looked at the giant dragon staircase again. On that step… the step where generations of Jericos had spoken their wedding vows… One day she would see her son stand there, if only she could find the right match for him.

The staircase was the silent witness to all that had occurred in the past two hundred years. Isolde’s infidelity before her wedding vows. The birth of Drake Junior. And the knowledge that all the generations of Jericos who came after were not related to Drake Jerico Senior at all.

Chapter Two

“I know you’ll just love this cozy little bungalow. It’s the perfect starter home for a young couple. With that all-important room for expansion,” Livy Olson gushed. She’d introduced young couples to their first homes frequently over her twenty years as an agent for Family Real Estate in Jerico City. When the Silvers had entered the office, she was immediately called to talk to them and she loved it.

She unlocked the little house and held the door open for Bruce and Erin.

“It smells new,” Erin said, sniffing at the air.

“The entire home has been refreshed,” Livy said. “New floors, new kitchen, new bathroom. I have an inspection certificate for the electrical and plumbing. And, of course, with your exclusive Family Home Buyers’ Warranty, if you discover a problem with any appliance or mechanical system in the house in the first year you own it, we fix it or replace it!”

Livy was astute. In her interview with the couple, she’d found that Bruce was newly employed by JeriCorp as an architect, but she detected that unemployed Erin was really the decision-maker. She’d seen women who elected to give up a career in order to start a family, but she didn’t doubt that in a year, Erin would be employed and earning far more than her husband while the baby was in the care of a nanny.

“Look, honey,” Bruce said. “This would be the perfect baby’s room. It’s like they planned it for that.”

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse,” Erin laughed. “You know all those stress factors they talk about. Marriage, pregnancy, new job, and moving are right up there at the top. We’ve already got three out of four. I’ve no intention of doing the family thing by myself.”

Just as Livy thought. Erin was managing the process. They’d been married three months and even though she’d quit her job to move to Jerico City with her husband, she hadn’t dived headfirst into pregnancy—if that was the way one dived into pregnancy.

But Erin was thirty and her biological clock was ticking. She’d said in their interview that she didn’t want her children to have ‘old’ parents. As it was, she and Bruce would be in their late forties before any child they had would graduate from high school.

“There’s lots of space in the back for various stages of a child’s life and play cycle,” Livy said.

It was a good thing the back yard was the last thing they saw and not the first. The 12 x 12 deck outside the patio doors sat flat on the bare ground. It had a few damaged boards and looked like it would need to be replaced. The yard itself had no grass. A single oak tree dominated the center of the yard and threatened the dilapidated swing set with falling branches.

“The previous owners had three children, if you can imagine that in this little house. And they were enthusiastic pet owners,” Livy said.

It was apparent the yard had been dominated by large dogs. It had to be dogs, plural, because no one could imagine any one dog so completely tearing a yard down to bare dirt.

Still, if that was all they found wrong with the property, fixing the landscaping was probably low on the difficulty scale. Bruce was waving from the garden shed/garage at the back of the property. Erin stayed on the deck with Livy.

“If we ever get lucky enough to have grass out here, we have space to store a lawn mower,” he laughed. Somehow, Bruce seemed much younger and less mature than Erin.

“Which of us gets to have her car in the garage?” she asked. Bruce ignored the broad hint.

“I suppose I’ll have to be sure my car is protected and ready to get me to work in the mornings. We might even discover you don’t need a car at all. This is hardly Cleveland,” Bruce said.

“The elementary school is only three blocks from here,” Livy said unhelpfully. “You’ll join dozens of others walking your child to school.”

Livy knew the right lines to use when selling the house, but she fully expected it to be back on the market before any child of Erin and Bruce was old enough to walk to school. This would be the fourth time she’d sold the property.

Bruce was on a management track at JeriCorp Architecture and Development. Livy was sure they would want to trade up their home in three or four years. This was a starter home, not a stayer home.

“I guess I’m sold,” Erin finally said. “What do you think, Bruce?”

“How soon can we move in?”

Since the house was unoccupied, they were able to close in two weeks. Bruce’s new company was paying for relocation, but he had to stay in Jerico City to start his job while Erin returned to Cleveland to pack their belongings and supervise the moving company getting things to Jerico City. Even though she’d already quit her job, she at least had friends in Cleveland who would help.

“Is it everything you dreamed of?” her best friend, Dee Bonner, asked. She was helping Erin pack things in boxes that would either go to the new house or to storage in Jerico City. Not everything would fit in the little house.

“It’s a start,” Erin said. “It’s not how I plan to be living in five years. I honestly thought Bruce had a little more put aside for a down payment and we’d be able to afford something more upscale. With just what I could borrow against my 401k for a down payment, we’re not getting as nice a place as we imagined. But it’s in good condition with a new bathroom and kitchen and floors.”

“Are you regretting things?” Dee asked, concern for her friend showing clearly.

“Oh, no! I realize I won’t be in a high-powered corporate job anymore, but I’ll have children to occupy my time. Eventually. Of course, I’ll miss everything here a little. You. And everyone at work,” Erin said. “It’s just a big change.”

“It must be a drag being separated from your husband while you’re getting ready to move,” Dee said.

“It’s only a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t survive the packing without friends like you to help me.”

“I’m ready to pack up your awards.”

“Make sure the box is clearly marked. It’s one that’s going to storage. I don’t have room to display a bunch of corporate awards in the baby’s room,” Erin laughed. “I anticipate pulling them out when I’m rocking a grandbaby and spinning tales of my glory days.”

“Ten years at Allard Holding Company,” Dee said, looking at a crystal pillar before she carefully wrapped it in bubble-wrap.

“I started as an intern when I was still in college,” Erin laughed.

“And shocked everyone when you announced your departure as a regional vice president,” Dee nodded. Erin had a lot of awards, certificates, and commendations, most of which were already off the walls of her apartment. She and Bruce had lived together in the apartment for the past six months and it was really too small. And the house in Jerico City wasn’t much bigger.

“Going south to where everyone talks with an accent,” Erin laughed.

“At least you won’t get cold like here,” Dee said, looking on the bright side.

“It does snow, but the winter is a bit shorter. I wonder if the city has a decent bus service. We aren’t all that far from Bruce’s office, but it’s too far to walk. I haven’t had a chance to look for a job yet,” Erin said.

“You’re going back to work?”

“I have no intention of sitting home alone all day, even after we start a family. I’m thinking of something that gets me in touch with people. I can’t exactly take a job on with as good a career track as I had here, but I’d go crazy if I didn’t have something.”

“Just remember, I’m only a phone call away. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

Landing a plum job at JeriCorp was a dream for Bruce Silver. Life was really coming together for him at thirty. He had a nice car, a great job, and had landed a strong and sexy wife. He was afraid he’d lose her when he suggested they move to Jerico City for a new job opportunity. It was a long way from everything they knew.

But Erin had surprised him, talking about how she’d like to have children and they weren’t getting any younger. They’d married in the spring and by the end of summer, Bruce was working for the huge architecture and development company.

Erin had turned down multiple offers to stay, resigned from her job, and was getting their little nest put together in Jerico City.

“Bruce, the Mackenzie Building drawings should be reviewed,” the director of design said to him. “I’d like you to head the team to do a full review of the designs and the plans. That includes taking over as our point man with Mackenzie. You might need to put some miles on, getting into St. Louis, but we have generous travel allowances. Pull together your team and let’s get this project handed off to construction.”

“Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

This was exactly what he was hoping for when he came to JeriCorp: real responsibility and authority. It’s what he’d trained for, served his apprenticeship for, and moved five hundred miles for. He immediately called up the drawings on his computer and then sent a meeting request to all the people who had worked on the project so far. This would be a full-day review before he drove to St. Louis to meet with the client. He wanted to know everything was perfect.

Everyone accepted the meeting request in short order, except the initial architect, Preston Carver. When Bruce checked with his director, he was told that Carver wasn’t important to the project and he had all the team he needed.

Weird.

“It’s wonderful!” Erin said at dinner that night. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked hard for this and it shows that moving here to Jerico City was the right thing to do.”

“I’m not pretending my job is anything near what you could have had in Cleveland,” he said, holding his wife tenderly. “But I promise I’m going to make the best of this and be as successful as I can be. You won’t ever regret coming with me.”

“I’m enjoying nesting and getting our home settled. If things continue the way they are, maybe we won’t need to wait until spring to get things started. What would you like for Christmas, lover?”

“You’ll be such a great mother!”

“Well, I’m not going to just sit around eating bonbons. I need to get out and find a job now that we’re settled in the house.”

“Will we still have time…?”

“I guarantee it. I’m just going to get a job, not a career.”

Erin knew from her experience exactly what it was like to lead a team, even though they’d been in different industries back in Cleveland. She managed the region and was on track for executive management in the parent company. Bruce’s leadership position spurred her to get moving and find a job as well. If Bruce was going to be working long hours and traveling, Erin wanted to be someplace where she could meet people and talk to other adults.

Jerico City had a thriving economy with businesses focused on electronics, real estate development, furniture manufacturing, textiles and clothing, steel works, transportation, and fine arts. It was tempting for Erin to walk in with her credentials and try to get a job in one of these large corporations, but that wouldn’t be fair when she was intending to work only part time. Besides, she’d become a bit burned out in her corporate position. She really wanted to simplify her life. She chose food service.

“We do a brisk breakfast business. People on their way to work are only here because they don’t want to waste time cooking and cleaning up their own breakfast. You’ll find a lot of people who just look in the door, decide it’s too crowded, and turn to leave. They grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich up the street at the coffee shop,” Dolores said as she gave Erin a tour of the Top Knot Diner. “We have more customers at lunch, but they are more relaxed. Usually, they sit with two to four at a table, unlike the solo breakfast crowd.”

“I love the kind of old-fashioned atmosphere,” Erin said.

“Not much has changed here since the sixties. Biggest difference is the clientele. Used to be a big after-school crowd, but when they built the new high school east of town, that made it too far for the kids to drop in after class. Of course, I wasn’t here in the sixties. Well, not working here, at least,” Dolores laughed. “We still try to keep the same atmosphere. Some of the lunch crowd are business execs who were here as teens in the sixties. Of course, most have aged into retirement, but those are the ones who come in for an early dinner. If it weren’t for those who still carry the good memories of what the place was like back when, we’d close up at two instead of seven.”

“I like people,” Erin said. “All ages. Being new in town, I haven’t met many yet.”

“Let’s have a seat and a cup of coffee,” Dolores said.

She grabbed two mugs from behind the counter and poured coffee. They sat in a corner booth to talk over Erin’s application to be a waitress.

“I have to ask why you want to be a waitress. Your resume is stellar. Surely there are a dozen places in town that would hire you at a level you’re qualified for,” Dolores said.

“I followed my husband to Jerico City,” Erin said. “Quit my job and moved five hundred miles. We just bought a little place on the near east side of town. We plan to start a family, maybe this winter or early spring. I know what I look for in an employee at the level you say I’m qualified for. Part of it is longevity. A prospective mother would be low on my list to employ and I won’t lie to an employer about that.”

“And you think I don’t want long-term employees?” Dolores asked.

“I think I could continue doing this type of job through most of pregnancy and into motherhood. It’s not like my need for human contact is going to lessen after I have a baby,” Erin explained.

In fact, she felt she might need the job more desperately after a baby was born than before. She had no friends in Jerico City yet. Of course, she was sure she’d meet other new mothers in things like birth classes and daycare, but she couldn’t fathom a life where that was the entire depth of her relationships.

“Honey, you might find differently when you’ve been walking the floor all night with a colicky baby and then come to work with a temperamental customer,” Dolores laughed. “But I like you. You’re friendly and outgoing. I’ll put you on the lunch shift so you don’t lose time with your hubby at breakfast or dinner. If you plan to make a baby, you’ll need some of that time. So, show up at ten on Monday morning. Let’s get you fitted for a uniform. A lot of our girls still wear masks while they’re working. I encourage it, but don’t require it. There are customers who really appreciate it.”

“I have no difficulty with that. I consider myself to have been very lucky so far. Part of that luck is avoiding risky situations,” Erin said.

“Smart cookie. I’ll be surprised if you don’t have my job by the time you have a baby.”

Smart cookie or not, there was still training to be done before she could be set loose to wait tables by herself. She showed up for work on Monday, changed into the uniform the diner provided, and attached her nametag: Maizie.

“No one uses her real name here. We just choose from the tags available. They’re all popular nicknames from a bygone generation. You didn’t think my real name was Dolores, did you?”

Erin wore her hair up in a knot and under a net with a little cap over it. The uniform was a pink pinafore with a white blouse and apron. It was about mid-thigh length and worn with bobby socks and tennis shoes. Erin thought it was rather cute. Once completed with the mask, however, she doubted even her own husband would recognize her if he came to the diner for lunch. She imagined herself on the Newlyweds game show to see if the husbands recognized their wives in different settings.

Of course, he was supposed to be saving money and eating the lunches she carefully prepared for him each morning. She was sure he’d have some occasions to eat out with co-workers, though. She certainly would if her job didn’t automatically include lunch.

It was a new experience for Erin to reach in her apron pocket and find cash there. Even her first day’s tips were more than she normally carried in cash. Who carried cash? Apparently, many of the diner’s customers. Many paid with a credit card, but left a cash tip. If the tip was included with the credit card payment, it was added to the tip pool and divided among the waitresses and kitchen staff according to their hours. They received their portion with their paycheck and proper taxes were deducted. Cash tips went into the server’s pocket.

Erin worked only a four-hour shift, from ten until two, but she felt like she’d walked miles. Doing this every day would surely have her in good shape by the time she was ready to carry a baby.

She stopped at the supermarket on the way home from work and bought chicken breasts, asparagus, and rice for dinner. Then she bought an apple pie as a treat for dessert. She was glad she hadn’t given up her car.

Bruce was excited as he described the project he was working on at dinner.

“The president stopped by my desk to congratulate me on taking the leadership of this project,” he said as they ate.

“Of the United States?” Erin asked with tongue in cheek.

“Of what? Oh! No. The president of the company. What a guy! I tell you, he’s brilliant. Knew absolutely everything about the Mackenzie Building and everyone involved in the project.”

“Wouldn’t a company president normally know what projects people are involved in and who they are?” Erin was teasing a little. Her own company president back in Cleveland had been a very smart woman who consciously mentored new employees and always got the best out of them. That Bruce was finally experiencing something like that was a good sign.

“There are two hundred people in our building in five corporate divisions,” Bruce explained. “Most of the divisions only have the executives in the building and work with a scattered workforce. Architecture is the largest division in the building. But Royce—he told me to call him Royce instead of Mr. Duval—even asked how my move had gone and if my wife had managed to get settled. He asked if we needed anything. The whole company has a real family atmosphere.”

“I’m so glad you have such a good job and management,” Erin said. “We made the right move to come to Jerico City. I’m even going to enjoy my job. Not nearly as glamorous as yours, though.”

“It’s hard to believe you work in a restaurant all day and then come home to make dinner and do housework. Let’s make sure that Friday, we go out to eat. I feel guilty about you working and taking care of the house, too.”

“It’s shorter hours than I was working in Cleveland. And you still come home to help after work. It will change after we have a baby, you know. I really don’t have an idea how much work that will be!”

“You can count on me. Let’s get the dishes done and go out for a walk before it gets completely dark. I’ve hardly had a chance to explore our neighborhood.”

Walking another mile after being on her feet at the diner was not high on Erin’s priority list, but it was good exercise and an opportunity to be with her husband.

Chapter Three

“Twenty-one!” Preston called out as he sank another basket. That felt good.

“Are you practicing all the time, bro? You were never that good when we were playing back in school,” his friend Gene panted.

They’d managed to get together for hoops at Jerico House every Sunday morning all summer long. It was their way of breaking out after the pandemic. They played without masks.

“Just hyped about our new project. It makes everything easier,” Preston said enthusiastically. He’d hinted at the new project several times, but Gene was on the board of directors and Preston didn’t want to tip his hand until he was sure everything was lined up. “It takes all my time. I even passed the Mackenzie project on. I don’t have time for it.”

“I hope you’re not isolating yourself in your ivory tower too much. The economy has been a little unpredictable when it comes to building and development.”

“Nothing is recession-proof,” Preston said. “But we learned things from the pandemic. We didn’t shut down. Jobs were retained and a new business model emerged.”

“So, you’re getting the company back on its feet. Bravo. Of course, everyone believes that’s Duval’s doing. What are you doing to get back in the world now that the pandemic is supposed to be over?” Gene asked.

“I’ve never been very good at facing the world, Gene. You know that. I can talk to you. I can talk to Mom and G-Pop. It’s all I can do to rap the gavel in a board meeting. I got along better with the world when I could stay isolated and not talk to anyone. I’m not eager to get out in it again.”

“I think you slipped backward during the pandemic. Have you continued seeing your therapist?”

“Yeah, yeah. We go through hours of talking about my childhood and nothing changes. Hell, I had a great childhood. I don’t understand where the anxiety comes from.”

“Is that all your therapist does?” Gene asked in disbelief.

“No, of course not. That’s me talking about things I can’t control. She’s big into cognitive behavior therapy and I’ve learned some ways to deal with it. Then, I enter a room full of people and I can’t even breathe.”

“It’s not healthy to stay isolated all the time. You might even find some things that would help you with your new project if you got out once in a while.”

“It would be fine if I could stay safe while interacted and watched people. I use my binocs from the rooftop to watch people sometimes. But to get out there and interact? That’s torture.”

He’d tried to overcome his social anxiety. He had counseling, speech therapy, and even got involved in sports. At six-two, he’d been good at basketball, but that hadn’t translated to social circumstances. His family was well-known as city founders with one of the oldest homes in Jerico City. He still carried the Jerico name as his middle name, though the Carver clan had been around the city almost as long. They simply hadn’t been as influential.

Taking the prescribed drugs, going to counseling, and practicing speeches he never managed to give. The last time he’d called a woman his mother wanted to set him up with, he’d hyperventilated while on the phone with her until he passed out. The woman had called 911 and refused to speak with him again.

“How about a limited interaction environment? Here’s an idea: Slip out to a different restaurant once a week for lunch. You might find some new dishes you want to try. See some interesting people. All you’d have to do is point at what you want on the menu and nod when they ask you how it was. Make it a study, my friend. Watch people from a little closer than your rooftop. Listen.”

“I’d end up with people watching me. ‘What’s Preston Carver up to, eating by himself? We should say hi,’” Preston said. “You know, I went out to a play a while ago and by intermission, there was a reporter waiting in the lobby to interview me. I don’t even know why they know who I am.”

“You’re Preston Carver, Chairman of the Board and CEO of JeriCorp. There’s a page dedicated to watching you on social media.”

“They all want to know why I’m chairman and CEO. I quit following them when they started talking about how Royce Duval is the brains keeping JeriCorp alive.”

“You know, it doesn’t take that much to disguise yourself these days. Masks are still a thing. Put on dark glasses and wear a baseball hat or something.”

“I don’t know, Gene. You and I can talk. We’ve learned over the years. My own assistant at the office is always trying to finish my sentences for me. She walks all over me.”

“I’m thinking of you, my friend. I know it’s hard, but try it. See if you can manage just a little anonymous interaction. If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out. Really, man. It’s got to be better than another blind date your mother arranges.”

“No kidding. I’ll try it.”

“Let’s suppose a woman you meet was only interested in your money,” Jacqueline said at Sunday dinner.

It was a family tradition and Preston endured it after his morning basketball game with Gene nearly every week. Preston’s mother was a would-be matchmaker, and he simply tuned out her well-intentioned interference in his life. He appreciated her intent. Really. He had just been burned often enough to not be enthusiastic about dating.

It started with Beverly, back in high school. Preston had fallen hopelessly in love and she’d been his first lover. But she’d shown her true colors when she got pregnant by another classmate and tried to convince Preston it was his.

“They are only interested in money,” Preston sighed. He supposed, as his therapist had told him, that was a terribly unfair declaration. There were days he wished he had no money. But that scared him, too.

“Well, what’s the downside? Just make sure any relationship is locked into an ironclad prenup and enjoy yourself. Someplace along the line I’m sure to end up with a grandchild.”

“I think that’s called prostitution.”

“It’s what I did. Lyle looked at the agreement, then looked at me. He signed it. I assume my standing in front of him naked until he signed might have had something to do with it, but he signed. He married me so everything was legitimate. He got me pregnant, exactly as I planned, and then I kissed his ass goodbye. He took what was owed him in the prenup, and your father was never seen nor heard from again.”

“I’m supposed to be happy I never knew my father, Mother?”

“Believe me, son, you’d have been bored to death with him,” Lawrence said. “I wasn’t sure what Jackie saw in the boy until I met you. Getting her pregnant was probably the greatest accomplishment of his life. The second greatest was leaving.”

“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to be alone,” Jacqueline said. “It’s not healthy. Find someone who is poor, pretty, and desperate. Take her out. Show her the agreement. Marry her and enjoy her for as long as it pleases you, making sure you get an heir out of her. Then divorce her and pay her what she’s owed in the prenup.”

“It’s what Royce has done,” Lawrence nodded. “After his first wife took half of everything he’d worked for and the children, he presented Shannon with the prenup, so she knows exactly how long she has to put up with him and what she’ll get for it when it ends. He gets a beautiful young wife and she gets pretty much whatever she wants.”

Preston laughed at the thought of his chief operating officer and his young wife.

“Neither one of them can keep their pants on,” Preston said. “No thanks. I honestly think they work together to seduce whoever one or the other wants to bed. They grin at each other like conspirators.”

“Royce is a good and effective public face for the company,” Lawrence said. “Believe me, I locked him into as tight an employment agreement as his prenup with Shannon.”

“In return for which, he gets to take credit for every success the company has. Everyone believes the City Community Center was his idea. They actually believe he designed the Mackenzie project himself,” Preston snorted. “He never had an original idea in his life. You even designed his prenup with Shannon.”

“But the man can sell,” Lawrence said. “I know you spent hours with him to make sure he understood what the Community Center concept was and the reasons for it. He can be a little dense sometimes, but then he took the concept and sold it to the city, to the board of directors, and to the rest of the company. And let me remind you that you did not have to make a single presentation.”

“I… I… know, Grandfather. I’m a g-great disappointment,” Preston stuttered. As soon as he was on the spot, he froze up. Detecting his grandfather’s criticism, it was like his tongue swelled in his mouth. He couldn’t get a sentence out that made sense. If he could, he wouldn’t need Royce as a front man for the company.

“Preston,” Lawrence said gently, “you have never disappointed me. You have vision. You have talent. And you understand the market trends better than anyone I know. Having a puppet who can present those ideas and sell the concepts is no disgrace. It’s what I hired Royce for in the first place. And he knows he’s a puppet. He takes your words, your ideas, and packages them together with his natural charisma and glib presentation style. It’s a winning combination. You just need to pull on his strings once in a while to make sure he’s dancing to your tune.”

Maybe that was what Preston needed in his social life, too—a puppet who could sell him to a good woman without him having to actually talk to her.

It had always been that way. It was why Beverly thought she could control him by pretending he got her pregnant in high school. It had been a satisfying first sexual experience, but he’d fallen in love with her. When he found out she just wanted his family fortune, it was devastating.

Since taking over from his grandfather as Chairman of the Board and CEO, Preston had remained isolated in his penthouse office at JeriCorp. He had a private elevator that rose to the apartment, so very few people saw him enter or leave the building. He met with Royce each week to go over plans and coach him on the details of any project needing to be sold.

He had a personal assistant he worked to the bone, just carrying messages to the executives on the staff and reviewing projects. He never had a personal assistant who worked for him more than a few months. His people skills were so poor that he drove his assistants away.

Gene Hathaway, Preston’s high school friend and staunchest non-family ally on the board of directors, had encouraged him to get out of his office for lunch once a week. It took Preston until Thursday before he got up the energy to leave his office and explore a little.

Lawrence had designed the penthouse office and apartment when Preston first graduated from college. The two shared the office for several years before Preston took over the company. The space was comfortable and Preston didn’t really like leaving it. His grandfather had insisted on a few rules, however. During business hours, the space was the office. Both men wore suits and ties to the office. A secretary had her space next to the elevator and reported to work each day in proper business attire.

Royce was considerably less formal in running the rest of the office on the lower floors. Architects and engineers often wore jeans and casual shirts unless they were meeting in the penthouse. It was understood that anyone who came into the penthouse during business hours was to wear proper business attire and use formal terms of address for Mr. Jerico and Mr. Carver and Ms. whoever happened to be their assistant.

At Preston and Lawrence’s end of the office were floor-to-ceiling windows with sliding doors that opened to the rooftop terrace. Of course, Lawrence’s desk was now empty most of the time, but the old man still came in regularly to consult with his grandson and advise him on the business. Between the two spaces was a comfortable meeting area for when a table was not needed. The sofa and chairs were formed in a U-shape facing the windows.

A loft was Preston’s private sleeping and lounging area with his bath and closet. Beneath it, next to the central office space, was his kitchen and dining area.

The assistant’s space was as large as any office in the building. It was fully networked with printers, projectors, file cabinets, and computer system with multiple screens. Beside the assistant’s area was a restroom and a large storage area.

When his assistant left for lunch Thursday, Preston quickly removed his jacket and pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt from his alma mater. He put on dark glasses and a mask, took a deep breath, and left by way of the elevator directly to the ground floor exit.

He was going to do it. He was going out to lunch.

The Top Knot Diner had a good reputation, according to online ratings. It was only three blocks from the office, so Preston made it his destination for his first adventure. Of course, he couldn’t expect the diner to serve food as good as what he would make for himself. If he hadn’t been born into the Jerico family of architects and designers, he could imagine himself owning a restaurant and cooking up his own special dishes. He’d have gone to culinary school and become a great chef. These days he only cooked for himself and occasional family meals at Jerico House.

The first thing he noticed at the diner was that it was clean. That was an important issue for Preston. Restaurants often kept the lighting low so dirty floors and seats went unnoticed. The bright lights in the diner would have exposed any mess or spill that went untended. As he waited for a seat, he saw a waitress grab a clean towel, wet it in hot water and go to the last booth in the corner of the restaurant to scrub it down. She even washed and dried the plastic menus at the table. Preston was sold.

When she turned away from the booth, he startled her, standing just behind her.

“Okay?” he asked, pointing at the booth.

“Sure. Sorry, you startled me.”

“Th-thank you for… using cl-clean cloth. To… you know…”

“Oh, sure. It doesn’t help to wipe a table down with a dirty cloth and old dishwater,” she laughed. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Water?”

“Y-yes.”

The waitress, named Maizie according to her nametag, hurried off to get his drinks while he looked at the menu. Maizie had nice legs and arms, though that was really the only description he could manage. The pinafore uniform looked exactly like all the others in the diner, the hat covered her hair, and she wore a mask, like he did. He supposed it was suspicious for him to keep his sunglasses, mask, and hoodie on, but he’d seen half a dozen employees in the diner when he arrived and wasn’t going to risk being recognized.

When Maizie returned to the table with his drinks, she asked what he’d like.

“J-just… th-th-the…,” Preston just pointed to the note on the menu for the Blue Plate Special. Maizie nodded.

“Have it for you in a jiff.” She was gone again.

That was refreshing. She didn’t try to finish his sentences for him. She just took the direction from his gesture and went about getting his food. When she brought the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, she set it down so Preston would get the best presentation of the old-fashioned comfort food.

“I’m Maizie,” she said. “If I’m not near or not paying attention, give me a shout if you need something.”

“Yeah. Oh. I-I-I’m Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. Enjoy your meal.”

He bent his head over the food and lowered his mask just enough so he could eat. The bright lights of the diner meant he could see fine with his dark glasses. And the food was good. Maizie stopped by to refill his coffee cup and then was off to wait on her other customers. He was impressed with how cheerful she was, even in the demanding atmosphere of the diner.

“I’ll be happy to be your cashier when you’re ready,” she said when she delivered the check for $13.45.

“Oh. Um… I-I have it here,” he said, digging in his pocket. He handed her a $20-bill. “Keep… the… uh… change. Enough?”

“That’s very generous of you, Jerry. Take your time with your coffee. Thank you for choosing the Top Knot for lunch.”

He saw her run the twenty through the bill reader at the cash register and then count out her change. He left before she returned to her station.

He was back at the office before Mrs. Armstrong returned.

Chapter Four

“A six-and-a-half-dollar tip!” Erin exclaimed to Bruce at dinner. “I mean when four guys sit at the table and all order lunch, it’s a miracle if they tip five.”

“That’s disgusting,” Bruce said. “Um… How much should they tip?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to tip a waitress! Standard is between eighteen and twenty percent. If you have a ten-dollar meal, it’s nice to tip two dollars,” Erin said. “So, if the total bill is forty for four guys, they should tip eight dollars.”

“It seems like that adds a lot to the bill,” Bruce said.

“Well, if wait people were subject to minimum wage, tipping wouldn’t be so critical. It dates back to the days when people were just hired off the street to do an errand and the boss gave them a little something for their effort. It was never supposed to be a job title. I make eight dollars an hour. So, even with my six-and-a-half-dollar tip, I’d come up short of the fifteen-dollar minimum wage.”

“Well, if they paid food servers minimum wage, hamburgers would cost twenty dollars.”

“Bruce, I can’t believe you can spout that nonsense. I talked to Dolores about this and she’s working the numbers for what the real difference would be if she raised everyone to minimum wage. There’s this chain of drive-ins up in Washington that gives all its employees a minimum of $19 per hour. They get free health care, three weeks paid vacation, 50% 401k match and $9,000 for tuition and childcare. There isn’t anything on their menu that’s more than $5. Their basic burger costs $1.80.”

“Well, they have to make up the wages somehow,” Bruce insisted.

“Yeah. They raised their prices this year to afford the pay increase and supply chain increases. Their deluxe burger went up by twenty-five cents.”

“I bet people still complained.”

“Here’s a riddle for you. Three guys go to a restaurant and their check comes out to $25. They each toss in a $10-bill for a $5 tip. The owner realizes the check was miscalculated and should only be $20. So, he gives the waitress $5 to return to the customers. The waitress is greedy, though, and only gives each of the men $1. She keeps the other $2 for herself. Now each of the customers has contributed $9 and the waitress kept $2. Nine times three is twenty-seven, plus two is twenty-nine. Where did the other dollar go?”

“That doesn’t sound…” Bruce shook his head and went back to the previous subject. “Why do we constantly hear about how much prices will increase if minimum wage increases?”

“Because if the lowest paid worker gets a doubled salary, from $7.50 to $15.00 an hour, the president of the company gets a triple increase from $250,000 to $750,000 a year. It’s not the workers who drive prices up!”

“Um… Weren’t you on a fast track to become one of those high-paid executives?”

“Am I still there?” Erin asked. “Allard paid everyone in the company a fair wage, and that included executives. They set a limit on how much more an executive could be paid than an hourly employee. I was on track to earning a great wage, but I wasn’t going to be an obscenely paid president who earns a hundred times what a regular employee does. There is no business brain that is worth that much. They’re criminal brains. For every high-paid executive in the United States, there is another person who could do just as good a job for less than half the price.”

“Well, please don’t start capping wages at my company before I get mine up to where it will support our family.”

“As if I would go to work for your company,” Erin sighed. “As soon as we’re stable, I’ll have all I want at home with the children and cooking for my husband.”

“Your husband wishes he was home for more meals,” Bruce said. “I didn’t realize how much more than just full time it was going to be to manage a project like this. I’m going to be in St. Louis most of the week next week. I have meetings with the client and with the construction teams.”

“Just remember, no matter what kind of meals you get on your per diem, they won’t compare to what you could have waiting right here at home.”

“Not to mention all the side benefits,” Bruce said, reaching for his wife. She gladly came into his arms.

Erin enjoyed working at the diner. It was a completely different kind of stress than what she’d been used to in corporate management. It was especially nice during those weeks when Bruce was out of town managing his project. She got together with other employees occasionally. She met new people. She explored her town. Still, she missed her husband. They spoke every night before bed and she envied the excitement of his job just a little.

But she was counting the days until she felt she could go off birth control and be ready to start their family. She finally decided that if she went off at Thanksgiving, she and Bruce could spend the Christmas holiday playing ‘Let’s make a baby.’

She’d acquired her own small contingent of customers at the diner who wanted to sit at one of her tables, just as many of the other waitresses had. One of them was her Thursday regular, Jerry. He was a very low-key guy who always kept his head and face covered. As they’d gotten to know each other, he’d become more comfortable talking to her, though. She seldom noticed his hesitation.

Maizie always greeted him when he came in and had ‘his’ table ready for him. She checked to be sure the menu was wiped clean with a disinfectant wipe before handing it to him. She didn’t mind providing a little extra care for him since he was always so generous with her.

The Thursday Blue Plate Special changed every week. She could pretty much bet that Jerry would order it, no matter what was on the menu. Each was priced at $9.95. With coffee and taxes, that came to $13.45. And Jerry always left her a twenty to cover the meal and tip.

She greeted him by name and tried to be pleasant, no matter what was happening that day. She’d even started giving other customers the extra service of a freshly disinfected menu, handled their plates and flatware with a clean cloth rather than her hands, and tried to be bright and friendly with her conversation.

“Tell me about the special today,” Jerry said when he was seated.

“I haven’t eaten yet, but I sampled what the cook has back there. A lot of people don’t eat pork because they think it’s too fatty, but the cook’s pork loin is lean and flavorful. He could have gone all traditional and just served mashed potatoes, but he put together a mushroom risotto that is unbelievable. He’s suggesting the green salad with the meal today because he says cooked vegetables just won’t stand up to the rich flavors of the pork and risotto.”

“Wow! Your chef is a real gourmet! I’ll have that special.”

As far as Erin was concerned, the cook was very good, but she made up the descriptions. Her fellow waitresses would listen to her tell about the special and use the exact same words for their customers. As a result, sales of the Blue Plate Special were going up.

“Jerry, the cook made an apple crisp dessert today. I confess, I tried it and it’s really scrumptious,” Erin said at the end of his meal. “Can I bring you a piece? On the house.”

“That would be lovely, Maizie. I think I’ll need another cup of coffee to go with it,” he answered. She smiled at him and hurried to get his dessert. She wrote herself a bill for three-fifty for the crisp. It was just a little extra she could do for her favorite customer.

She wasn’t terribly surprised to find an extra five tucked beneath the twenty he usually left.

“My financial controller gave me a nice compliment today,” Bruce said at dinner. “We’re working closely on managing the expenses on this project. She reminds me a lot of you as far as her business sense goes.”

“Oh? Is she reminding you of me in other ways?” Erin teased.

“Don’t be silly! She’s… Well, I guess she’s about our age. Redhead. And most importantly, married to the president of the company. I treat her nicely and he comes around to compliment my work occasionally.”

“So, what was her compliment today?” Erin asked.

“Just that she appreciated the work I’d done to get the numbers ready for our trip to St. Louis Monday. She’s suspicious that the client is not being up front about their financial condition. They’re thirty days late on their payments.”

“I hope that doesn’t negatively affect your project,” Erin said with a trace of concern. She knew all too well how the supply chain worked.

“No, we’ll get it worked out. I’m flattered that she wants me beside her when she meets with Mackenzie. It looks like we’ll be working more closely together over the next few weeks.”

“Just don’t work too closely together, okay?”

By Thanksgiving, Maizie’s friendly attitude and attentive service had built her a following of loyal customers at the diner. More and more regulars wanted to sit in her section, but she made sure to reserve the corner booth on Thursday for Jerry.

Of course, the diner was closed on Thanksgiving and Erin fixed a full Thanksgiving dinner for her and Bruce. She tried to control the portions that she cooked, but even a small turkey is a lot for two people. She and Bruce ate turkey all weekend and she still had enough remaining to make a big kettle of soup that would supplement their meals until Christmas.

For the first time in a long time, they had a long weekend to just be together without running to the office or the diner. Erin felt they were renewing their relationship all weekend and was happy to have her husband paying attention to her and not to his project in St. Louis. Or to his financial controller.

She admitted to being a little jealous of the redhead she’d never met. She’d love to travel to St. Louis every other week with her husband. The Thanksgiving weekend put those thoughts to rest, though, as they went shopping for a Christmas tree and decorated their little home for the holiday. They even got lights that Bruce hung on the eaves, while Erin held his ladder steady.

Monday, of course, things were back to the same hectic schedule. If Bruce wasn’t traveling, it seemed he was working late night after night.

Maizie was just preparing Jerry’s booth on Thursday after Thanksgiving when two guys in business suits came into the diner and headed straight to the corner booth.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I already have a customer for this booth,” she said pleasantly.

“There’s no one here,” one of the guys said.

“There will be as soon as I finish wiping it down.”

“We’ll take it.”

Erin was not normally hard to get along with. She was flexible in most things, but she was loyal to her loyal customers. Something about the attitude of these guys just put her off. It was an attitude she’d learned to hate during her ten years in corporate politics that indicated these men felt they were entitled to whatever they wanted and no one could stand in their way. They were about to find out differently.

“I said no,” she responded. “I have a customer for this booth.”

“We’re here first.”

“That doesn’t really make a difference. I serve this table and if you insist on sitting here, you won’t have any service. I have a customer.”

“Where?”

“He’s waiting politely by the register.”

The men turned to see a fellow in a hoodie sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a mask.

“You’re saving a place for a homeless guy who shouldn’t be seen in public?”

“He’s my regular.”

“Where’s your manager, girl? We’ll see about this. Call your manager.”

“Certainly, Karen,” Erin said.

“Bitch!”

“Dolores? Could you re-seat these gentlemen, please?” she called.

“Sure. I’m sorry, you arrived at the wrong time to have this booth.”

“You need to fire this bitch,” the man said. “You’re losing paying customers because she’s a woke bleeding heart with a homeless guy.”

“To my knowledge, that man has never failed to pay for his meal, nor has he stiffed a waitress. I seem to recall the last time you gentlemen were here that you left a quarter tip for a thirty-dollar tab. No one in the diner wants to wait on you.”

“She was a lousy waitress. I had to ask twice for coffee. She’s lucky she got two bits without spreading her legs.”

“Get out of my restaurant and don’t come back,” Dolores snarled, pointing toward the door. All the waitresses and the kitchen help moved to Dolores’s side. Faced with the wall of disapproval, the men moved toward the door.

“Who needs this greasy spoon? Once people read our reviews on Good Eats, you’ll be lucky if even the homeless come to beg for scraps.”

They left and the diner returned to its normal bustle. Jerry made his way to the table as Erin wiped his menu with a disinfectant wipe.

“You… um… didn’t need to… uh… do that,” he said as Erin motioned him to his seat.

“Jerry, I don’t believe you are either homeless or particularly poor. But even if you were, I’d still save this table for you and treat you with the same respect. Those men were disgusting and if they proved to be the Jerico himself, I’d have treated them the same way. For all I know, one of them was!” Erin giggled. “Now, we have a magnificent country fried steak for the special today that I know you’ll like. Want that?”

“Yes, thank you, Maizie. Thank you.”

“I’m not usually such a demanding bitch,” Erin confided in a whisper. “My system’s all crazy at the moment. I miss my husband.”

Jerry stared at Erin and both snorted a laugh.

Preston was a bit distracted when he met with his Grandfather Friday afternoon. They sat in the meeting area between their desks, drinking coffee and going over the plans for the new development. But Preston’s mind was on the waitress at the Top Knot Diner.

Of course, just because Maizie was nice to him and was easy to talk to didn’t make her a possible date. For one thing, she wore a wedding ring and Preston would never consider going out with a married woman.

What he needed was a woman like that who was actually available to suddenly drop into his life and take it over.

As he talked with his grandfather, he absently worked a Rubik’s Cube, turning the colors this way and that as they gradually fell into place. It was one of the things he did to control his anxiety and focus his thoughts. There were cubes lying all over the penthouse in every size from 3x3x3 to 7x7x7. No one spoke to Preston if he was working a 7x7x7 puzzle. It was a sure sign he didn’t want to be disturbed.

“We have just the one holdout,” Lawrence said. “I know you wanted the whole piece before we announce the project, but I think you should prepare to launch the plan anyway.”

“Who owns it?”

“A consortium out of St. Louis. I believe word of the project leaked somehow. It was purchased after we started putting offers out on the big blocks of land. We’ll get the property, but it will be at a premium once development of the other parcels has begun,” Lawrence said.

“How could word get out?” Preston puzzled. “Do we know who is in this consortium?”

“A couple of smaller developers and a recreational property developer. Probably some wealthy individuals backing them.”

“We certainly don’t want them to start developing something before we put our stamp on the area. Can you imagine what a glass and steel monstrosity would look like compared to our planned community?”

“We’ve kept the nature of our interest well-concealed. Our Interlake Holding Company is listed as an agricultural development company. But we’ve had to make inquiries with the county regarding development in order to make sure it was a sound investment. Those records are open to the public.”

The two men got up from the sofa and moved to the central conference table. It was seldom used for conferences. For the past few months, it was the staging area for Preston’s planned community. He’d downloaded the topo maps from the USGS and fed them into a 3-D rendering program. He’d used this to send each portion to his 3-D printer and assemble a scale model of the entire development site. It was almost like being on site.

They walked around the 3D map on the table and Mrs. Armstrong jumped up with a notepad. She was used to having them simply ignore her until they needed something and then she had better be ready.

The problem of developing without the holdout parcel was that it was where he’d intended the entrance to Cloudhaven to be. The bite out of that section would move the entrance nearly half a mile toward the lake and make the property more U-shaped than consolidated.

He wanted that piece of property, but he would have to trust his grandfather to force the sale. He’d go ahead and plan the development as if it were a fait accompli.

It was curious that word of the project had leaked far enough that a competitor could jump on it. The property acquisition was not done through JeriCorp. They had leveraged nearly every penny of the family fortune to acquire the property themselves as Interlake Holding Company. Three sections of lakefront, missing a single bite of 160 acres. Lawrence and Jacqueline had put their trust in him when he planned the project. He owed it to them and to the Jerico name to make it successful.

Not that he was a Jerico. His mother had married Lyle Carver, his father. Why she didn’t revert to her maiden name when she divorced was a mystery to Preston, but he bore the Carver surname with Jerico as his middle name. It was the name he used at the diner, though no one knew that Jerry was short for Jerico.

Regardless, it was time Preston started platting the new community and designing the buildings that would make it a destination resort.

Chapter Five

“The company isn’t hosting a general holiday party for all employees,” Bruce explained. “Instead, we’re just doing individual group parties. With Christmas on Monday, we figured Friday night after work would be the best. No big venues, and it’s employees only, without a plus one. Since we see each other almost every day, it’s not likely to be a late night. I’m going to take a cab from work, though, because I’ll probably have a few drinks.”

That was a preview of The Staircase of Dragon Jerico. To read the rest purchase the book.

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