while turning a deaf ear to any of his less ‘socially
acceptable’ dealings.
Swanson was
still waiting patiently and Aldrich smiled inwardly while keeping
his face blank. It wouldn’t do to let Swanson know of his approval.
Employees functioned most effectively when they weren’t completely
sure of the employer’s opinion of their work. An edge of
uncertainty kept them on their toes. Greyson had taught him that as
well.
Quirking an
eyebrow, he questioned Swanson, keeping his tone neutral. “And the
issue with the neighbouring buildings?”
“We tested your
theory about the surrounding rooftops and the chance of a
telescopic rifle being used. The correct angle would be difficult,
but it is possible. I recommend heavy blinds be installed and kept
drawn on all the windows facing to the north and east. Those on the
south and west sides are safe since none of the buildings are tall
enough to give a good shot.”
“Very well.
Tell Ms. Matthews what's required and she will order it.”
“Very good,
sir.”
“And what about
Mrs. Robinson, my latest nurse?”
“I’ve run a
security and background check on her again, once a week as you
requested. It’s still clean. She’s exactly what she claims to be; a
private nurse, widowed for ten years.”
Aldrich nodded
pleased to learn that the woman who cared for him was as
trustworthy as his gut was telling him she was. His instincts were
seldom wrong about people. “Excellent. She’s very good at her job
and seems content to simply carry out her duties, unlike some of
the other nurses I’ve employed.”
“Very true,
sir.” Swanson kept his face expressionless. “You did seem to have a
string of bad luck with the previous women.”
Rubbing his
chin, Aldrich thought of the previous nurses he’d hired; annoying,
lazy, money-hungry... None had lasted very long. It was nice to
know that finally there was someone suitable filling the position.
Sylvia Robinson was a godsend in his opinion; almost too good to be
true. He allowed a faint smile to curve on his lips as he
considered her before refocussing on the tasks at hand.
“Now, what
about your report on Ms. Matthews? You indicated she had stopped at
a house three weeks ago after leaving the Greyson Estate. Did you
find out who owns the home?”
“It belongs to
Albert Winters. He’s an antique dealer of some renown, though his
methods of acquisition have come under scrutiny at times. However,
nothing has ever been proven against him; just rumours in certain
circles.”
“Indeed.”
Aldrich made a moue, then nodded slowly. “Thank you, Swanson. I’ll
consider this information and then let you know how I want you to
proceed. Dismissed.”
Once the man
left the room, Aldrich leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
The effort required to project his voice and regulate his breathing
made conversation tiring. He reached up, touching his throat where
the tracheotomy tube was situated and adjusted the silk scarf he
used to cover the opening.
Damned
werewolf! He curled his fingers into a fist. The beast had nearly
killed him, but Leon Aldrich was a survivor. Despite having his
throat crushed and his vocal chords mangled, he was still around.
True, he struggled when talking and needed a trach tube to breath,
but it was better than being in a coffin.
Even after
three years, he could still remember the feel of the wolf’s paws
hitting him full force in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
For a brief second, he’d locked eyes with the beast, sensing its
murderous hate. Then, as if in slow motion, he’d reached up and
grabbed at its neck, trying to push it away. His efforts had been
futile. The wolf had possessed unbelievable strength. Its breath
had been hot against his skin just before pain erupted as the
creature sank its teeth into his flesh, snarling and ripping...
Aldrich sat up
straight, shuddering at the memories that still haunted him.
Running a shaking hand over his face, he forced himself to
acceptable’ dealings.
Swanson was
still waiting patiently and Aldrich smiled inwardly while keeping
his face blank. It wouldn’t do to let Swanson know of his approval.
Employees functioned most effectively when they weren’t completely
sure of the employer’s opinion of their work. An edge of
uncertainty kept them on their toes. Greyson had taught him that as
well.
Quirking an
eyebrow, he questioned Swanson, keeping his tone neutral. “And the
issue with the neighbouring buildings?”
“We tested your
theory about the surrounding rooftops and the chance of a
telescopic rifle being used. The correct angle would be difficult,
but it is possible. I recommend heavy blinds be installed and kept
drawn on all the windows facing to the north and east. Those on the
south and west sides are safe since none of the buildings are tall
enough to give a good shot.”
“Very well.
Tell Ms. Matthews what's required and she will order it.”
“Very good,
sir.”
“And what about
Mrs. Robinson, my latest nurse?”
“I’ve run a
security and background check on her again, once a week as you
requested. It’s still clean. She’s exactly what she claims to be; a
private nurse, widowed for ten years.”
Aldrich nodded
pleased to learn that the woman who cared for him was as
trustworthy as his gut was telling him she was. His instincts were
seldom wrong about people. “Excellent. She’s very good at her job
and seems content to simply carry out her duties, unlike some of
the other nurses I’ve employed.”
“Very true,
sir.” Swanson kept his face expressionless. “You did seem to have a
string of bad luck with the previous women.”
Rubbing his
chin, Aldrich thought of the previous nurses he’d hired; annoying,
lazy, money-hungry... None had lasted very long. It was nice to
know that finally there was someone suitable filling the position.
Sylvia Robinson was a godsend in his opinion; almost too good to be
true. He allowed a faint smile to curve on his lips as he
considered her before refocussing on the tasks at hand.
“Now, what
about your report on Ms. Matthews? You indicated she had stopped at
a house three weeks ago after leaving the Greyson Estate. Did you
find out who owns the home?”
“It belongs to
Albert Winters. He’s an antique dealer of some renown, though his
methods of acquisition have come under scrutiny at times. However,
nothing has ever been proven against him; just rumours in certain
circles.”
“Indeed.”
Aldrich made a moue, then nodded slowly. “Thank you, Swanson. I’ll
consider this information and then let you know how I want you to
proceed. Dismissed.”
Once the man
left the room, Aldrich leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
The effort required to project his voice and regulate his breathing
made conversation tiring. He reached up, touching his throat where
the tracheotomy tube was situated and adjusted the silk scarf he
used to cover the opening.
Damned
werewolf! He curled his fingers into a fist. The beast had nearly
killed him, but Leon Aldrich was a survivor. Despite having his
throat crushed and his vocal chords mangled, he was still around.
True, he struggled when talking and needed a trach tube to breath,
but it was better than being in a coffin.
Even after
three years, he could still remember the feel of the wolf’s paws
hitting him full force in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
For a brief second, he’d locked eyes with the beast, sensing its
murderous hate. Then, as if in slow motion, he’d reached up and
grabbed at its neck, trying to push it away. His efforts had been
futile. The wolf had possessed unbelievable strength. Its breath
had been hot against his skin just before pain erupted as the
creature sank its teeth into his flesh, snarling and ripping...
Aldrich sat up
straight, shuddering at the memories that still haunted him.
Running a shaking hand over his face, he forced himself to
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