The Rules of the Red - 2nd Edition |✓|

Chapter Three, Part One - If Looks Could Kill

"You certainly look nice this morning, Naomi." Mrs. Trentley was there to greet me as I descended the staircase into the foyer the next morning. A pair of white skinny jeans hugged my slim curves in just the right places. Russet-colored, platform heels camouflaged my lack of height, and a matching silk tank top felt cooler than a breeze against my skin. A brown cardigan and a pair of canary yellow diamond earrings completed the ensemble.

"Thank you." I patted my fishtail braid with a self-conscious smile. "I made plans with Adelle Newport. We're supposed to go to lunch today and then have drinks. Do you know her?"

"She comes from a rich family, though not as wealthy or distinguished as Ethan Knight's. But her father does serve on the Leadership, so I suppose that counts for something."

"Are my grandparents close to her family?" I asked, thinking of how Charles had asked Adelle to be his spy.

"They used to be." Mrs. Trentley led me to the dining hall for breakfast. "Adelle's mother – Carolyn – was up and down the halls of this house for years before your mother moved. Paris has a suite at the Maison now, but I haven't seen her in town since the funeral. She seems withdrawn, which is odd really...

"And why's that?"

"Because your mother is very social, and usually has her nose in every scandal in this town – and Carolyn with her. But I heard that Paris won't attend Pack meetings anymore, and that she doesn't bother with town social functions either."

"Mrs. Trentley, are you sure my mother's the one with the appetite for gossip? Or could you be mixing that up with someone else?" She pointedly ignored both the humor and the questions.

"Mrs. T, Paris' husband is dead. Couldn't that explain her behavior?"

"Say what you will, but I'll never forget Paris' face when her mother died. At the funeral she was stricken, devastated. But she was so... apathetic, so cold at Jack's service. She didn't look like a wife in mourning--I can tell you that much."

* * *

After breakfast, Mrs. Trentley escorted Mr. Talbot into the dining room. A great man in a great suit, with a briefcase full of hope. After exchanging greetings, he opened the attaché to pass me a manila folder.

With a grateful smile, I pulled out a glossy snapshot of professional quality. It was a black and white print of an older woman with dark hair and sunglasses. She was caught, mid-stride, in the midst of a barren parking lot, exiting what appeared to be a seedy, outdoor motel.

"Mr. Franks has a surprisingly clean record for a man of his caliber – not even a parking ticket to speak of," said Mr. Talbot, placidly. "He has three young children, a sheepdog dog named Sparky, a two story home with a white picket fence, a slight gambling addiction, and an allergy to peanuts. He also has a wife named Helen. They've been married for eleven years and will celebrate their anniversary in December."

"I'm guessing the woman in this photograph isn't his wife?"

"No, it isn't," Mr. Talbot agreed. "That, would be the woman he is currently having an affair with. Her name is Claire Briton, and she is his secretary. They meet every Friday between the hours of six and eight p.m. at the Quality Inn, a half hour south of town."

"What a family man."

"Oh quite," he replied, with no form of amusement. "I imagine this would be very embarrassing for the firm, should word get out. They are, after all, a prestigious law firm with a very strict policy on fraternization."

I was thoroughly pleased. "This is... very useful. But how did you –"

"I think the fewer questions asked, the better, Miss Noble."