My Man Pendleton(5)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

The first to follow his own instructions, McClellan, Sr. rose from his chair, turned his back on his executives, and disappeared through a door behind him. Then, with a brief nod toward the other VPs, McClellan, Jr. followed immediately behind, closing the door with a soft click.

“Oh, way to go, Pendleton.”

He looked up to find Novak smiling at him now, with what appeared to be heartfelt delight. As was Martin. Before he could comment, however, a chuckle greeted him from the other side of the table. When he turned, he saw that every other VP present was smiling the same sort of smile.

“What?” he asked.

In response, the others only chuckled some more. Finally Rutledge stood, casually buttoning his double-breasted blazer as he did so. “You, uh, you might want to make sure you’re armed when you go to the old man’s house tonight, Pendleton. An Uzi ought to cover you just fine, though you might want to hide a little something extra in your sock, too.”

Redhawk nodded. “Yeah, like a bazooka.”

Chang concurred. “And Kevlar under your Brioni pin-stripe wouldn’t be out of place.”

“The boys are relatively harmless,” Carmichael said with an odd smirk.

“But watch out for the girl,” Bahadoori added.

Dizzy from his confusion, all Pendleton could ask was, “The girl?”

“She bites,” Washington clarified, gnashing his teeth for illustration.

Pendleton, too, finally stood, gathering up his portfolio in the process. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about.”

They all chuckled even harder at that.

“Yeah, we know,” Ramirez said gleefully, obviously speaking for everyone present.

“But you will,” Carmichael told him, winking. She was halfway to the door before she turned around, a thoughtful expression on her face. As she scanned Pendleton quickly from head to toe, she nodded with what he could only assume was approval. Then she added, “Just between you and me, Pendleton, you might be exactly the man for the job.”

Chapter 2

Cherrywood, the McClellan home, was a majestic brick Georgian monstrosity perched high on a majestic green hill in majestic Glenview, an enclave for the way too rich just outside Louisville. The house was nestled amid huge, majestic trees—probably oaks and maples that were doubtless even more majestic when they weren’t stripped of foliage by the winter chill. Because the sun had just set, the house was awash in soft, golden, majestic light, thanks to the majestic outdoor illumination in the majestic landscaping.

All in all, it was very majestic.

Pendleton rolled his car to a stop in the cobbled court in front of Cherrywood and simply sat behind the wheel, staring. A house with a name. God. He didn’t begrudge anyone the material rewards that came with success. Hell, he planned to buy a few of his own once his paychecks from Hensley’s started kicking in. But no one should be allowed to have as much money as the McClellans obviously had. There was just something very unbalanced about it.

Nevertheless, he supposed it wasn’t his role in life to decide who got what and how much. So he pushed the thought away, opened the door of his brand new Porsche Carrera—okay, so he’d already bought himself a material reward—and unfolded himself from inside. The winter wind whipped around him again, and he tugged the collar of his Ungaro overcoat—okay, two material rewards—up over his bare neck. Then he approached the McClellans’ front door as he checked the time on his Breitling watch. All right, all right. Three material rewards. But that was it.

Noting that he was a few minutes early, he lifted leather-clad fingers to the brass door knocker, an art deco sun with an expression on its face Pendleton could only liken to completely soused. After four quick falls of the knocker, he stepped back to await a response. Within seconds, the door opened, and he was met by a slender, white-haired woman with a very nice smile.

“Mrs. McClellan?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly. “Mrs. McClellan passed away two years ago. I’m Mrs. Mason, the McClellans’ housekeeper. You must be Mr. Pendleton.”

The Mr. part surprised him for a moment. Even having been employed at Hensley’s for such a short time, he had already begun to think of himself as just Pendleton. “Yes, ma’am,” he returned with a smile of his own.

“Please come in,” Mrs. Mason told him, stepping to the side of the door. She swept an arm toward the interior, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it felt like it was about a hundred below zero outside.

As he entered and watched her close the door softly behind him, Pendleton noted that she wore the traditional livery of a housemaid—a plain black dress with white collar and cuffs. She lifted her hands at shoulder level, and for a moment, he wondered why she was surrendering. Then he realized she was waiting to help him remove his coat so she could hang it up for him. Feeling a little self-conscious, he unbuttoned himself, turned around, and let the woman who was his mother’s age help him out of his coat. And he made a mental note to remember that if he ever rose to the status of filthy, stinkin’ rich, he’d never hire anyone to undress him.

The foyer in which he stood was bigger than most suburban living rooms. It opened onto an ivory-colored, softly lit hallway that extended a good fifty feet before ending in a staircase that wound up to the next story. The hardwood floor was buffed to honey-colored perfection, and topped with the biggest Oriental rug he’d ever seen, woven of the softest colors he could ever imagine—apricot, ivory, pale blue. Along the walls, flowered loveseats beckoned to visitors, while marble-topped tables boasted a variety of knickknacks and family photographs, antiques, and fresh-cut flowers. Above the furnishings hung massive oil paintings of landscapes that—just a shot in the dark here—must have cost a small fortune.

Halfway down the hall were two large entryways facing each other beneath elaborate molding, the French doors of both thrown open wide in welcome. Muffled voices emerged from one of the rooms, though Pendleton couldn’t have said which. He glanced at Mrs. Mason in silent question.

“Mr. McClellan and the boys are in the library,” she told him. “Miss McClellan hasn’t yet come down.”

The girl. Pendleton recalled Washington gritting his teeth and decided that Miss McClellan must be the one with the overbite he was supposed to watch out for.

“The library?” he asked, pointing first to one entryway and then the other.

Mrs. Mason smiled benignly, and Pendleton couldn’t help but wonder if she really, really hated her job. “On the right,” she told him with a quick gesture.