Burn

As she drove she thought about calling Michelle, telling her what was going on. She even fished her cell phone out of her bag, thumbed in the first couple of numbers, before she hit the End button and dropped the phone back into the bag. Michelle would think she was just joking around, but … what if she didn’t? That wariness surfaced again. Jenner wanted everything settled and protected before the news got out.

The Payne Echols offices were downtown, where parking was at a premium, but when she drove past she noticed the firm had a private parking deck attached, and watched over by a guard to keep the general public out. She pulled up to the orange barricade arm and rolled down the window. The guard looked at the Goose and she could almost see the doubt running through his brain. "I have an appointment with Ms. Smith."

"Your name?"

"Jenner Redwine."

He punched a few keys on a small computer, evidently confirmed that her name came up on the approved list, and raised the barricade. Jenner drove though, parked in the first empty slot she came to, and hurried to the entrance.

As soon as she opened the door, a sense of uneasiness rippled down her spine. The Payne Echols offices were cool, austere, and so quiet she could hear herself breathing. The main colors were gray and brown, as if the decorator had been deathly afraid of color. The abstract paintings on the walls each had a touch of blue, but even that was subdued. There were a lot of very impressive plants, so perfect they couldn’t be real, but when she poked her finger into a planter she found dirt. Hurriedly she stuck her hand behind her back and tried to dust the dirt from her finger as she crossed to a desk half-hidden behind more plants.

Behind the desk was a slim, business-suited brunette, who lifted her head at Jenner’s approach and said, "May I help you?" Her tone was perfectly neutral, just like her surroundings, but once again Jenner had a sense of being sized up and dismissed.

Keeping her own voice as blank and calm as the receptionist’s, she said, "Jenner Redwine. I have an appointment with Ms. Smith."

"Please have a seat. I’ll notify Ms. Smith’s assistant."

Jenner perched on the edge of an uncomfortable gray sofa. Straight ahead of her was one of the abstract paintings, which looked to her as if a blind monkey had painted it. How hard could it be? All that was needed was a couple of paintbrushes, a canvas, and whatever colors happened to be lying around. Haphazardly apply the colors, and presto, one big ugly painting.

Some men in suits walked past, and she could spot a few people in the offices that were within her limited field of vision. They were all busy, focused, on the phone or poring over papers, or tapping on a computer keyboard. She didn’t see any women.

Evidently Ms. Smith wasn’t in any hurry to greet her new client. Uneasily Jenner wondered just how trustworthy financial planners were. She’d have to trust her instinct when it came to deciding whether or not to use Ms. Smith, because no one she knew had enough money to know squat about investments and taxes and stuff like that. She had only the yellow pages and her common sense to guide her.

Finally a stick-thin woman appeared from a carpeted hallway and approached. "Jenner Redwine?"

"Yes." Jenner quickly stood, gripping her bag.

"I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Ms. Smith’s assistant. If you’ll come this way …?" She indicated the hallway, and led Jenner at a brisk pace down the long expanse.

They walked past large, slickly decorated offices, visible through open doors. Other doors were closed, so Jenner had to use her imagination about their appearance and inhabitants. As they went down the hallway, the offices became smaller in size, the furniture plainer. She began to think she should have picked a number larger than fifty grand for her white lie, because evidently Ms. Smith wasn’t very high in the Payne Echols pecking order.

The assistant stopped in front of a door, tapped lightly, then turned the knob. "Ms. Redwine to see you," she said, stepping back so Jenner could enter the small office, then closing the door and presumably returning to her even smaller cubbyhole.

A somewhat stocky woman with too-short hair stood up behind a slightly battered desk and with a tight smile extended her hand to Jenner. "I’m Al Smith."

"Al?" Jenner repeated. Maybe she’d heard wrong.

The tight smile widened the barest bit. "It’s short for Alanna. No one calls me that." From the complete lack of humor in the comment, Jenner suspected no one dared. Al Smith continued, "I understand you have a small inheritance you’re interested in investing."

Small? No one Jenner knew would call fifty grand "small," but in a place like this, even to the inhabitants of the less-than-lavish offices, it was probably chump change. Again she perched on the edge of her seat, and studied Al Smith across the expanse of desk.

Ms. Smith couldn’t be called a pretty woman. Not only was her dark hair too short, she didn’t wear much makeup – if any – and the gray suit she was wearing made her look boxy. If her lack of wrinkles was anything to go by, she was probably not much older than Jenner, but the image she projected added ten years to her age. Her eyes were disconcertingly pale, her gaze direct, and she didn’t look as if she laughed very often.

Jenner didn’t trust easily. Just because this woman worked for a top-notch financial planning firm, didn’t mean she was reliable and honest. She did like the no-bullshit attitude, though.

"Can I ask you a question?" she finally said.

Ms. Smith looked faintly interested. "Of course, but I might not answer it."

"Fair enough. How long have you worked here?"

"A little more than two years." She didn’t seem surprised by the question. "It’s obvious I’m low man on the totem pole here. That doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job. I’ll work my way up."