Scratch the Surface. Amy Lee Burgess
that indicated she did not disagree. She had studiously avoided my gaze.
My pack had painted me as the quintessential party girl, someone who didn’t give a shit about anybody but herself or about anything except the next opportunity to have fun. They said my contributions to the pack funds were minimal because I refused to get a steady job and instead only wanted to play my harp for money. I wouldn’t even go to the parks and play for tips. No, I was too superior for that. I would only play for weddings and business parties. I wouldn’t even deign to teach.
It didn’t matter that when I did have a gig, which wasn’t as sporadically as Jonathan made out—I brought in more money for four hours’ work than most of the pack brought in for a week’s. They were all in retail, except for Grey and Elena. Elena had gotten Grey a job with the game developers. He had been a beta tester and she, a designer. They had both worked from home. The company was based out of California. I could have been a beta tester too, but Elena and Grey wanted me to spend my time practicing the harp. We’d talked about me teaching, but as Elena had indignantly said every time Jonathan made a snide comment about my work ethic, between us we brought in more than three times than the rest of pack.
In exchange for my flexible work hours, I was the one who had cooked for our triad and I’d been responsible for most of the housework and laundry. I’d run errands and done the shopping.
But the way Jonathan characterized it, I had been a lazy-ass bum supported by my hardworking bond mates and the rest of the pack.
Even Vaughn hadn’t stuck up for me. Vaughn was the only other member of the pack who knew his way around a musical instrument. He was pretty good on the piano and the two of us used to spend many Sunday afternoons playing duets. Sometimes he’d gone on gigs with me and I’d arranged that, but he’d never said a word in my defense. He’d even agreed that my musical contribution to the pack had been negligible. Playing music wasn’t work. It was an indulgence—a hobby.
I hadn’t played the harp since the accident. I didn’t even own one anymore.
After the funeral the pack had gotten together for a somber gathering. I had definitely not been invited. I’d taken a cab home, wishing we’d get into an accident even as I’d clung to the little strip of leather above the passenger door, skin coated with a cold sweat of terror. All I’d thought about during the funeral was how I’d wanted to go home and play my harp. I’d wanted to channel my grief and anger through the strings and release some of the more toxic elements of it through the notes. I’d wanted to mourn through music.
The front door of our rented house in New Britain had been yawning open and inside the living room and the bedrooms had been a shambles. My harp had been strewn around the living room carpet in hacked-up pieces along with Elena’s computers, Grey’s CD collection and nearly everything else we’d owned.
Upstairs in the master bedroom, the bed pillows and the mattress had been slashed with a knife, stuffing and feathers everywhere. Someone had taken ketchup and mustard and squirted both all over the walls and ceiling. The stains had still been wet and dripping. The damage had been done during the three hours I’d been gone for the funeral.
My clothes had been ripped to shreds. Even worse, so had been Grey’s and Elena’s.
I remember sinking down to the ketchup-encrusted floor with one of Grey’s flannel shirts. It had been in tatters, but it had still smelled like him. I could smell his hair on the collar and his cologne in the sleeves. I’d rocked and cried like a fucking baby.
* * * *
All of this flashed through my mind as we stood on the front steps of the safe house and waited outside the imposing white door with the brass knocker in the shape of a wolf’s head.
One of the Regional Councilors, a woman named Kathy Manning, answered the door. She was a petite brunette with gray-blue eyes that tilted seductively. Her hair was cut pixie short, lending her a sort of elfish quality. Arrestingly attractive rather than conventionally pretty, she wore a pair of gray wool pants and a white blouse with a gray vest. A long gold chain looped several times around her throat and hung between her breasts. Tiny gold studs winked from her earlobes.
“Hello, Stanzie,” she said with a real smile. I smiled back, but mine was strictly cordial. Although she’d been one of the more sympathetic members of the Regional Council during my ordeal, she’d voted against me when the time came. I wondered if she regretted that now, although she evinced no guilt, merely friendly welcome.
She introduced herself to Murphy when I failed to do so and he shook her hand with reserve, obviously taking his cue from me. Nevertheless, he still charmed her. Women usually fawned over him. All he had to do was smile and they were hooked. She came up to the hollow of his throat and had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.
“Councilor Allerton is in the small conference room. I’m making a pot of coffee. Do you want some?” Her gaze traveled between the two of us.
I was cold, and coffee did sound good, so I nodded and once I did, Murphy did too.
An elaborate coat tree stood in the foyer decorated with winter outerwear and Murphy and I hung ours up too. We made sure to wipe our boots on the prim mat in front of the door so as not to track prints on the spotless parquet floor.
In the front room to the left of the hallway just past the foyer, a massive Christmas tree twinkled with lights in front of the bow window. It was adorned with silver and gold glass balls and a stiff, curled gold bow sprinkled with silver glitter held pride of place on the top.
Red poinsettias, six deep, were arranged artfully under the tree and along the shallow shelf beneath the bow window.
The room was filled with the scent of fresh pine and sap. I also smelled the coffee brewing down the hall in the small kitchen.
Murphy followed me down the hallway to the open second door on the right just before the formal dining room which, in turn, led to the kitchen.
Inside the small conference room, three of the four walls were covered with off-white wallpaper flecked with gold. A small crystal chandelier hung suspended over an oval-shaped cherry wood table with carved, scrolled legs. Ten cherry wood ladder-back chairs were arranged around the table. Each had a plush gold cushion for the seat and the back.
Dark, built-in bookshelves lined the far wall, broken only by a large multi-paned floor to ceiling window that overlooked the side yard and a parking lot for the small, brick office building on the next lot. Massive red velvet curtains were looped back with gold-braided tassels to allow access to the wintry sunlight.
Flames crackled and leaped behind the grate of a dark-green marble fireplace. Above the mantel hung a somber oil painting depicting a whaling schooner setting off to sea. The sky in the painting was the same ominous gray as the sky outside the house. It was a compelling painting, but it was not comforting.
Councilor Jason Allerton sat the head of the table with his back to the window. A hardcover book was propped on the table in front of him and his dark head was bent so he could read.
When he heard us at the door, he deliberately finished the paragraph he’d been absorbed in before he lifted his head to smile at us.
“Constance, Liam, it’s good to see you.” He rose to his feet, impeccable in a dark-gray Ralph Lauren suit with a white shirt and a subdued, yet powerful red tie. The jacket to the suit was draped across the back of his chair and his tie was loose. His shirt sleeves were rolled to just below his elbow.
In contrast, I wore a pair of faded Levi’s paired with a black turtleneck sweater I’d bought at Target for twenty bucks. My hair was pulled back into a messy bun. The wind at the rest stop had tugged several strands free and I’d pushed most of them behind my ears rather than redo the bun.
Murphy also wore jeans, only his were Armani, paired with a cashmere crew neck sweater of a burnished copper color. The wind had mussed his hair but he’d combed it in the car before we got out. Even though we were both casually dressed, I think he pulled it off with way more style and elegance than I managed. For one thing, he never shopped at Target. From