D.C.
“Traffic was light,” she said, rather than tell her father that she had exceeded the speed limit whenever possible. “Are you sure you’re going to be alert enough to drive, or should I wake Mom?”
Oscar, stretching out his arms, shook his head. “No. I can drive.”
He unlocked and opened the passenger-side door, got outand came around the vehicle as Seneca slipped from behind the wheel with a large quilted sack that doubled as purse and overnight bag. She hadn’t changed out of the suit she’d worn to the baptism and the dinner that followed but had exchanged her heels for a pair of running shoes.
She hugged and kissed him. “Get home safely, Daddy.”
Oscar tightened his hold on her waist, lifting her off her feet. “When are you coming up for a visit?”
“I’ll try for the Fourth. Maybe I’ll bring Robyn back with me and have her stay a week or two.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’m certain she would love that. Don’t forget I’ll be in Pennsylvania the first, second and third for the Battle of Gettysburg reenactment. But I promised to be home by the Fourth.”
Seneca smiled. Her father, well versed in military history, was a Civil War buff and had joined a group who reenacted battles from the Revolutionary and Civil wars. “Be careful, Daddy.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve heard the speech from your mother at least half a dozen times. ‘Sit it out if temperatures go above eighty-five.’”
“Please listen to her.” Stepping back, she watched her father get in behind the wheel, adjust the seat and mirror, then drive away, watching until the red taillights disappeared when he turned the corner.
Seneca climbed the steps to the brownstone, unlocked the outer door, then slowly made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She’d volunteered to have Robyn stay with her for several weeks to give her sister a look at another way of a life—a faster, grittier and more dangerous environment. Ithaca, with its magnificent gorges, lush forests, pristine lakes—billed as the gateway to the Fingers Lakes—also had its share of social ills that weren’t as apparent as in largercities. One day Robyn would come to appreciate their mother monitoring her every move.
She unlocked the door and was greeted with a blast of frigid air. Electra had left the living room air-conditioning unit on the highest setting. She closed and locked the door, walked into the living room and picked up the unit’s remote device, readjusting the thermostat. Seneca had lost count of the number of times she’d shown her roommate how to program the timer and temperature, but Electra claimed she always forgot. The sound of Electra’s low-pitched, distinctive laugh, followed by a deeper chuckle, meant that the aspiring actress was either rehearsing or entertaining in her bedroom.
“Go for it, girl,” she whispered. Electra’s bedroom was far enough from hers so she wouldn’t be disturbed by loud voices or music. Closing the door to her own bedroom, Seneca noticed the flashing red light on her phone. Punching the code to the voice mail, she activated the speaker feature.
She froze, listening intently to the beautifully modulated female voice: Mr. Gordon has arranged for a car to pick you up at eleven forty-five. Lunch will be at La Grenouille.
Seneca’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t an invitation but a command.
She would shower, then go online to look up the restaurant, only because she didn’t want to appear gauche if she showed up wearing the wrong attire. Thanks to Luis, she didn’t have to rush out to buy an outfit whenever she had an appointment. Luis had called her his mariposa, and that’s how she wanted to be promoted.
Peering into the mirror over her dresser, she angled her head. A slow smile found its way over her features. “Please permit me to introduce myself,” she drawled in a sultry whisper. “I am Seneca Houston. Better known as Butterfly.”
Chapter Six
T he driver was standing on the top step
“Traffic was light,” she said, rather than tell her father that she had exceeded the speed limit whenever possible. “Are you sure you’re going to be alert enough to drive, or should I wake Mom?”
Oscar, stretching out his arms, shook his head. “No. I can drive.”
He unlocked and opened the passenger-side door, got outand came around the vehicle as Seneca slipped from behind the wheel with a large quilted sack that doubled as purse and overnight bag. She hadn’t changed out of the suit she’d worn to the baptism and the dinner that followed but had exchanged her heels for a pair of running shoes.
She hugged and kissed him. “Get home safely, Daddy.”
Oscar tightened his hold on her waist, lifting her off her feet. “When are you coming up for a visit?”
“I’ll try for the Fourth. Maybe I’ll bring Robyn back with me and have her stay a week or two.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’m certain she would love that. Don’t forget I’ll be in Pennsylvania the first, second and third for the Battle of Gettysburg reenactment. But I promised to be home by the Fourth.”
Seneca smiled. Her father, well versed in military history, was a Civil War buff and had joined a group who reenacted battles from the Revolutionary and Civil wars. “Be careful, Daddy.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve heard the speech from your mother at least half a dozen times. ‘Sit it out if temperatures go above eighty-five.’”
“Please listen to her.” Stepping back, she watched her father get in behind the wheel, adjust the seat and mirror, then drive away, watching until the red taillights disappeared when he turned the corner.
Seneca climbed the steps to the brownstone, unlocked the outer door, then slowly made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She’d volunteered to have Robyn stay with her for several weeks to give her sister a look at another way of a life—a faster, grittier and more dangerous environment. Ithaca, with its magnificent gorges, lush forests, pristine lakes—billed as the gateway to the Fingers Lakes—also had its share of social ills that weren’t as apparent as in largercities. One day Robyn would come to appreciate their mother monitoring her every move.
She unlocked the door and was greeted with a blast of frigid air. Electra had left the living room air-conditioning unit on the highest setting. She closed and locked the door, walked into the living room and picked up the unit’s remote device, readjusting the thermostat. Seneca had lost count of the number of times she’d shown her roommate how to program the timer and temperature, but Electra claimed she always forgot. The sound of Electra’s low-pitched, distinctive laugh, followed by a deeper chuckle, meant that the aspiring actress was either rehearsing or entertaining in her bedroom.
“Go for it, girl,” she whispered. Electra’s bedroom was far enough from hers so she wouldn’t be disturbed by loud voices or music. Closing the door to her own bedroom, Seneca noticed the flashing red light on her phone. Punching the code to the voice mail, she activated the speaker feature.
She froze, listening intently to the beautifully modulated female voice: Mr. Gordon has arranged for a car to pick you up at eleven forty-five. Lunch will be at La Grenouille.
Seneca’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t an invitation but a command.
She would shower, then go online to look up the restaurant, only because she didn’t want to appear gauche if she showed up wearing the wrong attire. Thanks to Luis, she didn’t have to rush out to buy an outfit whenever she had an appointment. Luis had called her his mariposa, and that’s how she wanted to be promoted.
Peering into the mirror over her dresser, she angled her head. A slow smile found its way over her features. “Please permit me to introduce myself,” she drawled in a sultry whisper. “I am Seneca Houston. Better known as Butterfly.”
Chapter Six
T he driver was standing on the top step
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