Free Rite of Passage by Kevin V. Symmons Page B

he was hiding something. It reinforced her misgivings from earlier in the day. She had the feeling he was holding something back.
    “Simon. Is everything all right on your end? Nothing you want to tell me?”
    “Everything’s fine,” he said a little too quickly. His words had a hollow ring. “Good night.” He hung up abruptly.
    Courtney stood, frustrated, angry, and more than a little frightened.

Chapter Twelve
    “Oh,” I groaned. The knock grew louder.
    “Mr. McGregor, are you in there?” I recognized the housekeeper’s voice.
    I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” I answered, checking my watch. My head felt the size of a watermelon, my mouth like the inside of a riding boot.
    Nine-forty-five. I never slept this late.
    “I have a telephone message for you. From a Mr. Michael McGregor.”
    Michael!I jumped out of bed, scrambling for my robe. He must have found something. I opened the door, putting my hand over my mouth. I didn’t want the woman to faint.
    She smiled and handed me a slip of paper: Got something important. Call me back as soon as possible. Mike.
    “Thanks.” I smiled and backed into the room. I sat on the bed, trying to remember the evening. The conversation with Michael was clear enough. The drive home foggy. But I remembered the policeman and Courtney’s Academy Award performance. I had a memory of something odd about the way he acted, but it was hazy. She drove my car, got me coffee, a vague recollection of the moon, something strange about her eyes, and memories of the backyard. It was difficult to separate fact from fantasy.
    I rose, trudged to the bathroom and took three aspirin. I hopped into the shower, shaved, and spent ten minutes brushing my teeth and gargling with Listerine before heading to the house.
    Heading across the courtyard, I hoped Jon’s office was free. I shielded my eyes against the sun and my hangover. The heat and humidity had returned, but talking with Michael was my mission.
    I waved and nodded to the guests sitting around the pool. Entering the main hallway, I heard someone playing a classical piece. Chopin. The pianist was exceptional. The music stopped. I stole a quick look inside.
    There were no lights on, but the large ballroom was illuminated by light from the east-facing windows. Someone sat at the spectacular grand piano. I was about to leave when the pianist launched into Debussy’s La Mer . I stepped into the room. The artist stopped and turned. Courtney stared at me, her face in shadow.
    I applauded. She stood and approached, head tilted. “Please stop it,” she ordered. “You’re embarrassing me.”
    “You’re wonderful.”
    She stopped in midstride and studied my face as she narrowed her eyes. The hint of a smile worked across her face.
    “I’ve had lots of practice and some very special teachers.”
    “Really. How long have you been playing?”
    “Seems like forever.” She wore a distant look.
    I held up my hand. “Don’t get too close.”
    “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, closing the distance between us.
    She stood in front of me, looking perfect again. She wore a plaid skirt, dark-green knee socks, and a long-sleeved blouse. Today her medallion hid behind a dark scarf that matched her socks. She saw me staring and touched it.
    “Courtney, I’m sorry about last night. And I wasn’t joking. You really don’t want to get close this morning. I did my best with Listerine, but I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
    “Actually you were very sweetlast night. I like you that way. You let your guard down.” Her eyes sparkled as she searched my face.
    “Oh. I hope I didn’t do or say…”
    Her fingers touched my lips. I closed my eyes, inhaling her jasmine scent.
    “You were perfect. The proper gentleman throughout.” She squeezed my hand.
    I offered her a cigarette. “It may kill the smell of the alcohol.”
    Laughing, she took one as I lit it. “Don’t punish yourself.” She passed it back to me. “Remember, you’re