Free The Achilles Heel by Karyn Rae

family, and it’s obviously
     been going on for a while; everyone seems to know about it but me, and it’s pissing
     me off,” I said, punching my fist into my hand.
    “However inappropriate this may be, I’m having a drink. Does anyone else want one?”
     Robert asked as he opened the dark stained, wooden doors to the hutch, and poured
     himself a glass of Johnny Walker Blue.
    Three other hands shot up, including myself. “Drinking sounds like the only way to spend the rest of the day,” I stated as I took my glass, tossed the liquid
     fire down my throat, concentrating on keeping the whiskey inside my body; I didn’t
     want to puke on Grady twice.
    “Are we done here, because I’d really like to go home?” I asked Robert.
    “Not quite, Mrs. Whitman, one more thing,” he said, as he took a small manila envelope
     out of his top desk drawer. “This is also for you,” he added, dropping a peculiar
     key into my hand. “I wish I had some information about this key, but I don’t, and
     I’m hoping you know what to do with it. My only written instruction from the Will
     was to give it to you in private, but I guess it’s okay if Officer Grady is here.
     It’s clearly a key to a small lock; my guess would be a pad lock or a lock box,” he
     said.
    “I have no idea what this goes to, but what else is new,” I stated, putting the key
     back into the envelope and put it in my pocket. “I’m done here; no more surprise Will
     readings or surprise street brawls, I’m going home to continue drinking,” I said rather
     matter-of-factly. “Do I need to call Jamie’s wife, Elizabeth, or has that already
     been handled?”
    “Don’t worry about that detail; I think you’re done for the day. Although, with the
     way it’s going for you…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean
     to be insensitive, Mrs. Whitman,” he said, looking ashamed.
    “Hell no, Grady, you couldn’t be more right!” I yelled, grabbing my purse off the
     sofa.
    I slid into Jamie’s car since he got a ride from the cops and drove home; it was the
     first time in weeks my house was a welcoming sight. I shut the garage and locked all
     the doors, went into my closet, put on some sweats, and then went back out into the
     kitchen to make another drink.
    I’ve always been partial to vodka and when my good friend Claire Kingsley told me
     I should drink it with Crystal Light (no calories and all) I was smitten with the
     first sip. It’s not fancy and can be somewhat redneck to drink in certain upscale
     situations, but it’s refreshing, it reminds me of good times with my girlfriends,
     and I never claimed to be fancy.

KESSLER
    B y the time my jet landed in St. Croix, I had a firm buzz and couldn’t stop smiling.
     The driver was waiting for me, courtesy of Lloyd, my concierge, and the thirty minute
     trip across the island to Cotton Valley Estates gave me time to knock off for a quick
     nap.
    The more exclusive homes in St. Croix have proper names according to their location.
     Since I live in Cotton Valley, all the homes around me have the word Cotton in them;
     mine is called Cotton Falls, because there is a water-fall on the back balcony that
     runs into the ocean. However, the realtor neglected to tell me what a pain in the
     ass it is to keep it functioning properly; a small over-site on her part, I’m sure.
     When I first viewed the property, I was bowled over by the immediate connection between
     the land and the ocean. There is no backyard, the exact opposite from my house in
     Nashville, but the patio is an extension of the home and almost runs right into the
     water. Even though the salt from the ocean clogs up the waterfall on a monthly basis,
     it’s what sold me on the property and today it was working, so nothing was going to
     spoil my mood.
    The combination of jerked chicken and Pine Sol greeted me as I walked in through the
     front door. This was another courtesy of Lloyd who obviously got