discipline in your ranks?” Asked Russ.
“Not anymore,” said Brian. “At least, not often. I find that if you make a good enough example out of a lazy few, the rest abandon suit.”
“Lynn, a hand in the kitchen, please!” Nancee called from the direction of the kitchen. “Russ, a nice chardonnay to go with the chicken, please!”
For a small woman , thought Brian, she’s got a rather large voice.
He guessed that no matter how large-and-in-charge Russ appeared to be, Nancee had the final say on the goings-on of the Gundy household.
It was no wonder, then, that Russ didn’t want to fully disclose the findings of the investigation with her. She would probably give him the vicious brow beating that he might even deserve.
“Is your firm very large?” Miranda asked of him, though not looking directly into his intense grey eyes.
“Well, I’ve got sixty two – no, sixty four – security guards under my employ.” Brian began, with shrug. “I don’t know – is that large?” When no one answered, he added, “I’ve three men who install and maintain security alarms full time, a secretary, Caroline and an accountant who comes to do the books at month’s end.”
Miranda gave this a moment of thought.
“So if they compose the security component of your firm, who does the investigations?” She asked.
“That would be me and a select handful of the guards trained in the specialty.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Curious little bugger, aren’t you?”
“Just making conversation.” Miranda replied with a warm smile. “So what part of Australia are you from, anyway?”
“Sydney. I’m a city boy at heart.” He grinned. “I haven’t seen much in the way of sheep in my lifetime, nor have I ever wrestled a crocodile, in case you were about to ask just that.”
“I wasn’t.” Miranda laughed. “Do people often get that impression from you?”
“What, that I should be a sheep-trimmer or croc wrestler? Sometimes. If your Australian, you have to take the jokes with a pinch of salt.”
“How long have you lived in San Francisco?”
“Since college,” he confessed, with a smile. “And how about you, Miranda? Have you always lived in San Francisco?”
“I used to live with my parents and brother in Mill Valley, just outside the city by a few minutes. After they passed, I moved in here with Uncle Russ, Nancee and Lynn.”
“How old were you, when you lost your parents?” He asked her, in a soft, endearing tone.
“Sixteen.” She felt the familiar ache of loss in her chest.
“I lost mine when I was twelve.” Brian’s voice lowered, to a compassionate tone. “I lived with my eccentric Aunt Bernie well into my twenties.”
“Eccentric how?” Miranda was curious.
“Well…”
“Supper is served,” called Lynn cheerfully as she entered the dining room with a platter of savory spiced chicken breasts in her hands.
Nancee followed her red headed daughter with a ceramic pot of scalloped potatoes in her oven mitted hands.
The large bowl of garden salad was already on the table, with several flavors of salad dressings arranged.
“It’s Saturday,” Nancee explained apologetically, “So the cook and the housekeeper have the night off. I forewarn you, we did the cooking ourselves, Lynn and I.”
“I brought the wine, so let us dine,” Russ re-entered the room and was licking his lips in anticipation of the meal.
“Smells great, Aunt Nancee.”
“It certainly does,” said Brian.
“It’s an old family recipe and a good one at that.” The tiny blond promised. “Now dig in.”
And so they ate, of Cajun spiced chicken breast and creamy scalloped potatoes, of crisp garden salad, tangy marinated baby vegetables and savory garlic dinner rolls.
Conversation flowed from their tongues with light hearted good nature, as plentifully as the chardonnay did from its bottle.
Once the main courses were done, out came the dessert, pre-portioned in
“Not anymore,” said Brian. “At least, not often. I find that if you make a good enough example out of a lazy few, the rest abandon suit.”
“Lynn, a hand in the kitchen, please!” Nancee called from the direction of the kitchen. “Russ, a nice chardonnay to go with the chicken, please!”
For a small woman , thought Brian, she’s got a rather large voice.
He guessed that no matter how large-and-in-charge Russ appeared to be, Nancee had the final say on the goings-on of the Gundy household.
It was no wonder, then, that Russ didn’t want to fully disclose the findings of the investigation with her. She would probably give him the vicious brow beating that he might even deserve.
“Is your firm very large?” Miranda asked of him, though not looking directly into his intense grey eyes.
“Well, I’ve got sixty two – no, sixty four – security guards under my employ.” Brian began, with shrug. “I don’t know – is that large?” When no one answered, he added, “I’ve three men who install and maintain security alarms full time, a secretary, Caroline and an accountant who comes to do the books at month’s end.”
Miranda gave this a moment of thought.
“So if they compose the security component of your firm, who does the investigations?” She asked.
“That would be me and a select handful of the guards trained in the specialty.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Curious little bugger, aren’t you?”
“Just making conversation.” Miranda replied with a warm smile. “So what part of Australia are you from, anyway?”
“Sydney. I’m a city boy at heart.” He grinned. “I haven’t seen much in the way of sheep in my lifetime, nor have I ever wrestled a crocodile, in case you were about to ask just that.”
“I wasn’t.” Miranda laughed. “Do people often get that impression from you?”
“What, that I should be a sheep-trimmer or croc wrestler? Sometimes. If your Australian, you have to take the jokes with a pinch of salt.”
“How long have you lived in San Francisco?”
“Since college,” he confessed, with a smile. “And how about you, Miranda? Have you always lived in San Francisco?”
“I used to live with my parents and brother in Mill Valley, just outside the city by a few minutes. After they passed, I moved in here with Uncle Russ, Nancee and Lynn.”
“How old were you, when you lost your parents?” He asked her, in a soft, endearing tone.
“Sixteen.” She felt the familiar ache of loss in her chest.
“I lost mine when I was twelve.” Brian’s voice lowered, to a compassionate tone. “I lived with my eccentric Aunt Bernie well into my twenties.”
“Eccentric how?” Miranda was curious.
“Well…”
“Supper is served,” called Lynn cheerfully as she entered the dining room with a platter of savory spiced chicken breasts in her hands.
Nancee followed her red headed daughter with a ceramic pot of scalloped potatoes in her oven mitted hands.
The large bowl of garden salad was already on the table, with several flavors of salad dressings arranged.
“It’s Saturday,” Nancee explained apologetically, “So the cook and the housekeeper have the night off. I forewarn you, we did the cooking ourselves, Lynn and I.”
“I brought the wine, so let us dine,” Russ re-entered the room and was licking his lips in anticipation of the meal.
“Smells great, Aunt Nancee.”
“It certainly does,” said Brian.
“It’s an old family recipe and a good one at that.” The tiny blond promised. “Now dig in.”
And so they ate, of Cajun spiced chicken breast and creamy scalloped potatoes, of crisp garden salad, tangy marinated baby vegetables and savory garlic dinner rolls.
Conversation flowed from their tongues with light hearted good nature, as plentifully as the chardonnay did from its bottle.
Once the main courses were done, out came the dessert, pre-portioned in
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