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CHAPTER 1
Grasping tightly onto the cold, brass railing that traveled waist-high along the inside wall, Elizabeth gazed out the windows through heavy sheets of rain, watching tumultuous ocean waves crash against the rocky breakwater below. The thunderstorm was particularly violent, remnants of a hurricane that had worked its way up the East Coast, thrashing parts of Maine before exiting out to the open sea. Tiny bits of sleet pitted against the windows and were blown away just as quickly by gusts of wind.
She loved climbing the tall, spiral staircase to the old Pennington Point Lighthouse, counting each step as she went, lingering on the treads that creaked. The only thing she loved more was watching a storm roll in from the sea from within the solid, hundred-year-old walls. As a child, she would steal away from her family's home and head for the beacon at the first sign of an impending storm, feeling secure once inside.
Wind rattled the panes, threatening to loosen them from the casings. Larger sleet pellets knocked on the glass before sliding down, etching a trail on the wet surface. With the late afternoon light melting into the grayness of the rain clouds, Elizabeth became mesmerized by the rhythm of the storm.
Movement at a distance caught her eye. Something dark on the breakwater. An animal? Squinting to discern, she stepped closer, swiping the fogged-up glass with her palm and drying it on her pants leg. Was it a person? Someone drawn to the tempest of the sea? An unfortunate soul who'd been caught too far out on the oversized, jagged boulders when the storm arrived? The shape shifted, appearing to stand more upright. Just as a second figure emerged, a wave rose up and swatted them both down against the rocks. Elizabeth pulled away at the sight and her back stiffened. Biting her lip, she crept closer again. Only one shape remained, flattened against the breakwater.
Entranced by the storm's fury, Elizabeth didn't hear anyone approaching from behind but felt a hand on her shoulder. Pivoting on her heels away from the windows, she over-rotated her turn, teetering in a suspended moment with arms flailing, flopping awkwardly into the conference room chair. She grabbed the arms to steady herself, squinting at the glare from the overhead fluorescent lights that ran the length of the table.
"Sorry, Liz. Didn't mean to startle you." Clearly amused to have caught Elizabeth off guard, her boss' voice was rough and raspy from decades of smoking cigarettes. She preferred the long, skinny brown type that looked more like cigars.
Trying to gather her composure after drifting away from work, Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning. She hated it when that happened. Her boss seemed to have a knack for catching her in uncomfortable situations, or rather putting her in them.
"No, n-no. It's all right. I just — I got lost in my thoughts. Quite a proposition, wasn't it?" She switched the focus back to the excitement at hand.
One of their major clients had just become dramatically larger. During her brief career to date in interior design and her college years at NYU, she'd only dreamed of the opportunity Jack Drescher had just presented. A fairly good-looking man in his mid-forties, Jack was stocky with piercing blue eyes, complete with laugh lines and wavy, dirty blond hair. He usually used too much aftershave, but he probably couldn't tell he overdid it. It reminded Elizabeth of Pig Pen in the Peanuts comic strip — as if he had his own cloud of scent that billowed around him as he walked. It wasn't entirely terrible. In fact, she found the fragrance intriguing — from a distance. There were times she wondered if she found him intriguing in some distorted sort of way but couldn't allow herself the indulgence to think very long about it. He was so much older than she was. But it was hard to know if he was even her type. Her shy nature seemed to preclude her from meeting guys she found interesting. In the years since college that were approaching a decade, she'd only been in a couple of relationships that fizzled long before turning serious.
During his visit, Drescher had looked uncomfortable in his dark blue Armani suit that belied his humble beginnings. He was a self-starter who had made a name for himself and a fortune to match in New York City real estate. Beginning in the Bronx where he grew up, Jack purchased neglected properties or buildings in foreclosure and renovated them before putting them back up for sale. Soon he had amassed an impressive net worth and moved on to Manhattan. Most recently, he'd been acquiring properties throughout New England, particularly in Connecticut and Massachusetts.
A powerful and well-connected man, he seemed to enjoy a life of luxury, yet never tired of the pursuit of the next acquisition, traveling in impressive circles of politicians, wealthy investors, and dignitaries. Known for his business savvy, Drescher knew the right people in the right places who could make annoying complications go away. Given his tenacity to get whatever he went after and a temper to go along with it, he'd made his share of adversaries over the years as well.
Drescher's latest acquisition was near Battery Park, a block west of Ground Zero, an empty twenty-four-story foreclosed commercial building. Previously used for office space, the front of the property gazed across the Hudson River to the sprawling expanse of New Jersey and offered a view to the southwest of the Statue of Liberty, still standing, unwavering after the dust settled from 9/11. Confident the resurgence of construction currently underway in the area would mean a rebirth in lower Manhattan, Drescher's plans were to be a part of this growth by reconfiguring his building into a luxury downtown hotel. He planned to gut the first three stories and, enlisting the help of Elizabeth and her boss, Vera Loran, transform it into the lobby, creating an exquisite, unforgettable focal point that would be the trademark of this and future Drescher hotels. Accommodations would be luxury suites, complete with fine furnishings and amenities.
Rumors had circulated recently that Drescher was leveraged beyond his means and showing signs of serious financial problems, but Elizabeth didn't see how that was possible if he was actively pursuing this new hotel project. She hoped when she was finally brave enough to open her own design studio one day that she was able to acquire powerful, successful clients like Drescher.
Vera leaned her backside against the end of the table next to Elizabeth's chair and folded her arms as if keeping a measured distance. Elizabeth took it as a sign she should stay seated. She played her part and looked up submissively. Plastic wrapping from a package of smokes poked out of a pocket on the lower right side of Vera's teal-blue linen suit jacket. Elizabeth didn't have a visual on the lighter, but a bulge in the other pocket told her it was tucked there.
"Drescher has big plans for the future and he wants Loran Design to be a big part of it — you to be a big part of it." She seemed to add the last part for clarification and emphasis. Gazing upon Elizabeth more like a jealous big sister than her boss, Vera appeared to be contemplating her subordinate's role in the new project.
A petite woman with a slender, almost fragile build, Vera usually wore six-inch spiked heels, presumably to compensate for her lack of height. She was somewhat of an overly stylish woman with short, masculine, coarse blonde hair, the color of which originated from a bottle. Although the years had taken their toll and the lines on her face gave away her late fifty-something age, she was always dressed as if the next person through the door was going to be from Cosmopolitan magazine. The design studio had been engaged by its share of high-visibility clients over the years, but Cosmo hadn't been one of them.
Loran Design had grown with its clients, both residential and commercial, but it had been a long, hard fight for Vera to transform her company into one of the top design firms in the city. The battle came with a price. While her friends were marrying and raising children, Vera was burning the midnight oil preparing presentations for prospective clients, trying to build a name for herself and a business to sustain her. Men had come and gone in her life, having different priorities than her at the time. Eventually men stopped showing up on a personal level, so she was simply grateful when they became clients. Her work had become her life. But how far would she go to maintain her success? Would she break the law? Commit murder? Elizabeth pushed the thought away.
Vera barely stifled a sinister chuckle as she regarded Elizabeth, perhaps scoffing at her conservative dark blue Brooks Brothers suit she'd once teased her for wearing, claiming it made her appear matronly. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small package wrapped in clear plastic. Her hand with its pale, withered skin, protruding blue veins, and gnarled fingers, looked like a vulture's claw grasping its latest kill. Vera skillfully tapped the package against the side of her fist. A single smoke emerged. Raising the package to her mouth, she pursed her lips around the lone cigarette, accentuating the creases encircling her mouth, and pulled it out. By the time she had returned the rest to her pocket, she'd already retrieved the lighter with her other hand. In a single, flawless motion that came from years of repetition, Vera pressed the red tab, took a long drag on the end while her eyes found a random spot on the ceiling, and then released the tab, shoving the lighter back into its secure spot. Turning to her staff designer, she exhaled.
As on many occasions, Elizabeth held her breath as long as she could, all the while despising her boss' filthy habit, albeit fitting with Vera's personality. It was agonizingly tiresome to have her clothes reek of cigarettes at the end of each workday. Unable to hold it any longer, Elizabeth let out a long, deliberate exhale, wishing she didn't have to inhale again. She blinked and fought to keep from coughing as she took a shallow breath.
"Sometimes I wonder about you, Elizabeth Pennington." Vera glared. Turning away, she walked half the length of the table before pivoting to face Liz again, motioning with her left hand while grasping the cigarette. "Are you really that naïve?" Her tone dripped with condescendence.
Elizabeth tried to control her reaction but inadvertently furrowed her brow. Never having felt such strong, negative feelings, she feared a deep-rooted hatred festered inside.
Her boss' voice became quieter as she leaned over and pressed her forearms against the back of a padded chair. "You do realize Jack finds you attractive, don't you?"
Clearly, it wasn't lost on Vera that Drescher had a glimmer in his eye when he gazed at Elizabeth, fifteen years his junior. So if her biggest client kept coming back for more and her top staffer was part of the reason, apparently she could live with that. It was good for business, even if Liz shuddered every time he spoke her name or caught her eye during a meeting.
Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Elizabeth could feel her face turning red again.
Vera's hands slid fluidly to her hips, the cigarette sticking out like an extension from her side. Feathery, gray ash hung precariously. She appeared to be carefully choosing her words. "You need to be more aware of what's going on around you." Sashaying back toward the end of the table, she stopped at the last chair, leaning her right side against it.
Elizabeth watched in horror as a large clump of ash fell to the floor, landing on the black floral Oriental rug next to the pointed tips of Vera's shoes. Her boss was unaware of her transgression, but Elizabeth couldn't tear her eyes away from the glowing ember until it died out. She returned her gaze to her boss who stepped closer and continued.
"For a young woman who's talented and shows a lot of potential, you sure lack street smarts." Vera hovered uncomfortably close at the end of the table. "But you need to figure out how to do everything in your power to make sure Jack is happy. He's a major client and we need to cater to him, to his needs. Whatever they might be."
Elizabeth withdrew from the confrontation and sat back in the chair, unsure of what Vera had meant. Her boss' bloodshot eyes had the look of someone desperate enough to do almost anything to avoid becoming a has-been, certainly to hang onto a client that represented a major portion of Loran Design's revenues.
As Vera leaned closer, Elizabeth fought to keep her nostrils from flaring at the stench of her ashtray breath. A throat clearing startled them. Fortuitously they were interrupted by Sara, the office receptionist, a young perky woman with a blonde page boy hairstyle, who had stepped into the conference room far enough to tell Elizabeth her grandmother was on line one. Liz did her best to stifle a gasp at the announcement. Her grandmother usually only called when something was amiss. Elizabeth switched her gaze to Vera to catch her reaction, knowing she vehemently opposed personal calls on the company clock. Her eyes widened as she cocked her head with nicotine-stained teeth visibly clenched. Turning away from Elizabeth, she flicked her cigarette over her shoulder before striding toward the door. Elizabeth watched in horror again as a lump of glowing gray mass fell — this time into her lap. She jumped to her feet to allow the ashes to roll off her skirt and fall to the floor.
Reaching the door, Vera turned back, striking an authoritative pose with a hand on her hip and the other poised with palm open to the ceiling, her cigarette caught securely in the "v" between two fingers. She instructed Elizabeth to stop into her office before she left for the weekend.
Elizabeth cringed, knowing what that meant — Vera wanted to get started on developing ideas and making preliminary sketches for Jack's project. No time to waste! Instead, she was anxious to head out and start enjoying the long weekend away from the office. She didn't have any particular plans but ached for a break from the grind. The whole office had been working hard lately. That never seemed to bother her boss. It was as if Vera had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.
Arching her back in defiance, Elizabeth reached for the receiver to speak to her grandmother, Amelia Pennington, spinning her chair around toward the wall of windows behind her, high above the busy streets of Manhattan. Rain gently spattered the glass. Florescent lights from neighboring office buildings glistened through the raindrops.
CHAPTER 2
Elizabeth rode down in the elevator with two middle-aged men in dark suits she recognized as attorneys from the firm of Mendelson, Jenkins, and Leate. They had entered on the nineteenth floor and stood next to her, self-absorbed in their own conversation, without so much as a nod or a word. She was entertained by their chatter, though, as they tossed client names around like confetti, bantering about this judge and that judge. Amazing how unprofessional two guys can be.
As the doors opened to the lobby, the two men pushed forward to exit before Elizabeth. She stood back. A smirk spread across her face as she watched them enter the bustling lobby and stride swiftly across the broad room, their egos in tow. "Jerks." Her voice barely audible, she stepped out into the flurry of activity.
A grand room with a high ceiling, the lobby had antique brass chandeliers and dark marble pillars spaced evenly throughout. A warm burgundy carpet with a stylized geometric pattern anchored the large space. It was furnished with traditional mahogany coffee tables paired with stately wingback chairs set in small groupings. Since the location was a popular meeting place after work, particularly on Friday afternoons, many of the chairs were occupied by young professionals with glasses in hand. Located on the far left side of the lobby was a large, European-style bistro that catered to lunch and dinner crowds. Happy hour was in full swing with noisy young urban movers and shakers. On the opposite side of the lobby were a newspaper stand, a shoe shine booth, and a quaint flower shop.
Noticing a small group of men in suits gathered just ahead and to the left of her path to the exit, Elizabeth recognized the one gesturing with the flair of an orchestra conductor as the mayor of their fair city. The rest were probably aides and a handful of the city's well-connected. Elizabeth had only made it halfway across the lobby when someone stepped out from behind one of the grand pillars, startling her.
"Elizabeth, so good to see you again." Drescher lunged uncomfortably close, leering at her. She wasn't surprised he was among the mayor's entourage at happy hour.
"Mr. Drescher." She took a step back to put more space between them, examining his eyes to discern what was going on behind them. The overwhelming smell of cologne made her nose wrinkle. She rubbed the tip of it to stifle a sneeze.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Murder on the Precipice"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Penny Goetjen.
Excerpted by permission of Secret Harbor Press, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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