Sunday, May 1^st

Sunday morning dawned with bright sunshine. The temperature had already topped 70 before Trent and Darcey’s guests arrived. It would reach 78 by the end of the day. Unusually warm for a city that seldom gets above the mid-60s in early May.

Darcey was convinced it was an omen of good things to come.

Trent thought it was a nice day.

Downstairs Alexis Brandt was working at the concierge desk. As the junior member of the staff she was required to work weekends. She didn’t mind. At least she didn’t have to work the night shift. And compared to her life before she came to San Francisco and lucked into this job, working the desk on the weekends was like a dream. A very nice dream.

Ms. Anderson on the 15^th floor was having guests in for brunch today. She had given Alexis the names Mandy Rillard, Scott Douglas, and Miles Diaz-Douglas. Scott owned an investment firm. He and Miles had been among the first gay couples to be married when same sex marriage became legal.

Miles and Scott arrived first. Mandy entered the building just in time to join them in the elevator. Miles led the group into Darcey’s condo. In his usual dramatic style, he announced that something was up and, with his psychic powers, he knew what it was.

“And, Trent Marshall, if you think you’re going to drag our Darcey away from us, you will have to think again,” he said. “We simply will not let her go.”

Trent laughed.

“Oh, calm down, Miles” Darcey said. “Trent’s back in town and we’re having our best friends over for brunch. That doesn’t mean there’s a conspiracy.”

To keep him busy, Darcey set Miles to work making mimosas with fresh-squeezed orange juice. He circled the room offering the scintillating flutes.

Mandy and Scott accepted and promptly moved out onto the terrace. It was well known that sipping wine while watching others cook was the extent of their culinary talent. They were even better at their specialty when they could sit outside on such a beautiful day.

Within minutes Darcey answered the doorbell to admit Preston Johnson, her eighty-three year old neighbor. He entered dressed for the occasion as usual. Tan slacks, navy blue blazer, baby blue shirt, topped off with an old-fashioned ascot. Beige with alternating blue and brown chevron stripes. His silver hair and mustache sparkled in the light of the sunny day.

In one hand he held two chilled bottles of wine; in the other the cane Trent had admired.

“Trent, my boy, please accept this small gift. I know you have become a fan of Mumm’s Napa product and rightfully so. But I think you’ll find this bubbly to be quite satisfactory.”

Taking the bottles from the old gentleman, Trent raised his eyebrows.

“Preston, these bottles are both 2006 Dom Perignon.”

“Yes, and you’ll note they’re both brut, which I know you prefer.”

“This is a very generous gift, Preston,” Trent said. “Thank you.”

“We’re serving mimosas, Preston,” Miles said, offering the tray. “May I offer you one?”

“By all means,” the old man replied. “And my guess would be they’re made with Mumm’s Napa Brut Prestige. Am I right, Trent?”

“Dead on, Preston,” Trent said.

“That’s an expensive wine to mix with orange juice, isn’t it?” Scott asked, ever the fiscal conservative.

“Right you are, Scott,” the old man replied with a wide smile. “And I think Trent will agree with me that the best cocktails, like the best foods, are prepared with the finest ingredients.”

“You’re absolutely right, Preston,” Trent replied as he put the Dom Perignon in the cooler. “My dad always said, ‘It only costs a little bit more to go first class.’ But then he died broke.”

“Perhaps so, my boy,” Preston said. “But he no doubt was a man who enjoyed life. And that’s the way he should be remembered.”

Trent looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded his agreement.

“You look so good, Preston,” Mandy said. “So dapper. So handsome.”

“You’re too kind, Mandy,” the old man responded. “I’ve reached the age when I wake up and if I don’t hear anyone saying ‘He looks so natural,’ I open my eyes.”

“Oh Preston, now you’re just being dramatic,” Darcey said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

While their guests made themselves comfortable in the sunshine and Miles made sure no one’s glass was ever empty, Darcey and Trent were busy in the kitchen. At Darcey’s instruction Miles urged everyone to gather around the dining table Trent had arranged for the concierge to place on the terrace.

Darcey and Trent set a plate in front of each guest that was piled with crisp bacon, spicy Louisiana hot links, Potatoes O’Brien in which jalapenos had been substituted for the usual sweet peppers, fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast. The banter among the guests became subdued as they enjoyed the mid-day feast.

As their guests finished the last of their meals, Darcey disappeared into the kitchen. Trent and Miles cleared the table. Miles returned to the terrace still chattering on about how his psychic powers told him something big was about to happen.

While Darcey worked with dough she had rolled out, cut into squares and dropped into the deep fryer, Trent made a pot of coffee.

With some pride, she brought to the table a tray of beignets, the wonderfully airy square French doughnuts, dusted with confectioner’s sugar, made famous by New Orleans’ Café du Monde.

“Ivy taught me to make these the last time I was in New Orleans,” she explained, as she placed the platter on the table. “It’s her own secret recipe.”

Trent followed with a tray containing cups of coffee laced with milk.

“You can’t have beignets without café au lait,” he said as he set a cup in front of each guest.

“These are delicious, my dear,” Preston said.

“And you’re so domestic today,” Miles said. “The needle on my psychic meter is pegged into the red.”

Darcey laughed and held her hand out to Trent. He reached into his pocket for the ring he had been carrying until they were ready to make their announcement.

They were ready. He slipped the ring onto her finger.

“Your psychic powers were right, Miles,” Darcey said, happily. “Trent proposed to me on Wednesday and I accepted.”

“I knew it!” Miles exploded. “What did I tell you? My psychic powers are never wrong! I am simply amazing!”

Mandy wanted to see the ring. Darcey was anxious to show it off.

“Girlfriend, that’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen,” Mandy said. She hugged first Darcey, then Trent.

“Congratulations, my boy,” Preston said as he shook hands with Trent. Darcey leaned over to hug him so the old man wouldn’t have to get up. “And best wishes to you, my dear. Trent is a lucky man.”

“Congratulations, Trent,” Scott said as he also extended his hand.

“We’re planning on late June at the Pines,” Darcey said, referring to her family’s farm in northwest Louisiana. “We hope you all can make it. I know it’s a long trip, but Mom wouldn’t have it any other way. Mandy, would you be my maid of honor?”

“Of course,” Mandy said. “I couldn’t imagine your wedding without me beside you.”

Darcey reached down and took Preston’s hand in hers. “And, Preston, would you agree to stand in for Dad and walk me down the aisle?”

The old man was silent for a moment. Trent thought his eyes were glistening.

“I would be honored, child,” Preston said. “Honored. You have made an old man very happy.”

“And what about me?” Miles demanded. “What do I get to do? You’re not going to have a wedding without me.”

Darcey laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miles. What role would you pick for yourself?”

“Bridesmaid,” Miles said. “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Miles,” Scott said.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Miles said. “You didn’t have any problem with me being a bride!”

“He has you there, Scott,” Mandy said, with a laugh.

“Besides,” Miles said, “I’ve always dreamed of being a bridesmaid.”

“Dreams do come true, Miles,” Darcey said. “Bridesmaid it is.”

“Trent, I assume some sort of alcohol will be available?” Scott asked. “Preferably quite a lot of it.”

“Don’t worry, Scott. I’ll make you one of my specialties. A peach martini. So smooth you won’t know how many you’ve had until you stand up and try to walk.”

“That sounds good,” Scott said. “If possible, I’d like one before, one during, and…well, we’ll see about after.”

“But wait,” Miles said, glaring at Trent. “Where do you two plan to live? You don’t think you’re going to move her to New Orleans, do you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miles,” Trent said, a look of mock terror on his face. “I know your revenge would traumatize all of us.”

“Don’t worry,” Darcey said. “We’re keeping both homes and will spend time in each. And since it’s a morning for announcements, I might as well add this one. I’m going to reorganize the company. I plan to remain as chief executive officer. But in the new organization you, Miles, will be chief operating officer. And I have some ideas on expanding to offer more services. If, that is, it’s agreeable to you.”

For the first time that morning Miles was speechless.

“I feel faint,” he finally managed to say, dropping into a chair.

“Chief Operating Officer, eh? How did that slip by your psychic powers?” Scott asked.

While Trent and Darcey entertained their guests, Jonathan Rossi was enjoying a light lunch in the garden of his large home in the hills of Atherton on the southern end of the San Francisco Peninsula. He chose this house for its privacy, though he enjoyed the theater, the wine cellar, and the pool as well. But the garden was his favorite part of the property. The garden and the privacy.

Rossi lived in the heart of Silicon Valley. He was surrounded by people who had made their fortunes in high tech stocks. Rossi owned no high tech stock. He owned no stock of any kind. Rossi never bought stock. He acquired companies. Companies that he could own wholly. Companies that he could buy for strategic purposes and on extremely favorable terms. More than one major stockholder had found himself unable to resist Rossi’s powers of persuasion.

That thought directed his attention to the large guest house at the far end of the garden. No guests were ever invited to use it. It was, instead, where his security detail was headquartered. They were charged with maintaining his privacy. For seeing to the security of Rossi’s home and Rossi himself. When necessary they assisted Rossi in exercising his powers of persuasion.

There were six. Three were on duty at all times. All six were armed, on duty or off.

The guest house, with its six bedrooms, was luxurious. The men who provided his security were paid well. They lived comfortably. They were loyal. If Rossi suspected, for any reason, that one was not loyal, the man quickly disappeared and someone new took his place.

Rossi was thinking about the phone call from Sherman, the cop at Sergeant Booth’s precinct who was on his payroll. He had heard about Trent Marshall from his contact in New Orleans. He knew Booth had been assigned to investigate Rossi’s coalition and their money laundering activities. He had arranged through another cop on his payroll, this one at a level well above the sergeant’s boss, to have the job assigned to Booth.

He didn’t think Booth was dumb. But money laundering was not something the sergeant knew anything about. He thought Booth would spend a lot of time being frustrated. He thought Booth wouldn’t figure out the system Rossi had put together. Trent Marshall could change that.

He thought about the phone call he had received from his New Orleans contact several months ago regarding an ex-cop named Burgess. He had given Burgess a few small jobs, more to keep an eye on him than for any other reason. Burgess had, as Rossi’s New Orleans friend predicted, asked for another favor. Rossi told him he would think about it. He hadn’t given Burgess an answer.

Reaching for one of the prepaid mobile phones that were a part of doing business these days, he dialed a New Orleans number.

“You called me several months ago about a dirty cop named Burgess. As you said, he requested a favor involving Trent Marshall. How dangerous is Marshall?”

He listened, thanked his friend and ended the call. He handed the phone to one of his security team to be destroyed.

With a sigh, Rossi forced himself to leave his beautiful garden. Business must be addressed. He returned a few minutes later having used a high frequency radio transmitter to send a burst transmission. A message that was both compressed and encrypted. He would receive a reply using the same method when the recipient chose to send it. If the recipient chose to reply at all.

“Why did you decide to have the wedding at your mom’s farm?” Mandy asked.

“I don’t think we had a choice,” Trent said, good-naturedly. He wisely let Darcey tell the rest of the story.

She had called her mother first thing Thursday morning to tell her the news. She had turned on the phone’s speaker so Trent could hear the conversation.

“I’m so happy for you, Darcey,” her mom gushed. “This is the best news you could ever give me. Well, except maybe when you call to tell me there’s a grandchild on the way.”

“Mom! Let’s not rush things,” Darcey said, laughing as she watched Trent’s eyes grow wide.

“I’m just so excited,” Betty said. “And, Darcey, we have to have the wedding here at the Pines. An outdoor wedding. It’ll be beautiful!”

“We haven’t even talked about details yet, Mom,” Darcey said.

“Darcey Jane,” Betty said, “I went to New Orleans for Thanksgiving. I flew to San Francisco for Christmas. It’s my turn. It’s only fair that I get to host your wedding.”

Darcey mouthed to Trent, “She used my middle name!”

Trent smiled. He kissed her ear and whispered, “Tell her we’d love to have the wedding at the Pines.” He went back to the kitchen to let the women negotiate the details while he made breakfast.

“Well, OK, Mom, you win,” Darcey said. “But we were thinking late June. It’ll be awfully hot.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll get misters and fans. We’ll set up canopies. It’ll be wonderful. And you’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.”

After breakfast both got on the phone to call Ivy with the news.

“Trent, I told you that woman was something special the first time I met her,” Ivy said. “I know you’ll take good care of that boy, Darcey. And if he don’t take good care of you, let me know. He’s not too big for me to handle.”

She was thrilled to learn that the wedding would be at the Pines.

“I’m gonna call your momma right now, Darcey,” she said. “We got plans to make.”

“Don’t y’all get too carried away, Ivy,” Trent said. “Darcey should have some say. This is her wedding.”

“Oh, we’ll do it up like she wants,” Ivy promised. “But y’all got to let us old folks have a little fun.”

Jordan Baron congratulated them both and wished them well. He wasn’t particularly surprised. He was appreciative when Trent asked him to be his best man. Jack Blake, the sheriff of Sabine Parish where the Pines was located, agreed to stand up with Trent also. Especially since it was an election year. There would be voters at the wedding.

Scott’s phone rang. He looked at the number and frowned.

“Sorry,” he said. “I have to take this call. It’s a client.”

“Tell’em it’s Sunday,” Miles said.

“Take it in a bedroom, if you want privacy, Scott,” Darcey said.

Scott nodded his thanks as he spoke into the phone, entering the condo.

“It seems to me, my dear, that there was never any doubt the wedding would be held at the Pines,” Preston said, chuckling. “I knew when I first met your mother that she would be a force with which to reckon when she made her mind up about something. I’m looking forward to it. And I’m also looking forward to another of these delicious beignets and more café au lait. Trent, would you be so kind?” He held his cup out.

“Anyone else for café au lait?” Trent asked.

Miles handed his cup to Trent. “Chief Operations Officers don’t wait tables. I’ll have another.”

“Darcey, you’ve created a monster,” Mandy said, laughing at Miles’ theatrics.

“Well, just think of it, Miss Mandy,” Miles said. “Who would ever have thought a kid who grew up on the streets would wind up in such an exalted position? Or, for that matter, that this little group would be headed to a farm in Louisiana for a wedding among the horses and cows and chickens and who knows what else?”

“We don’t have cows and chickens, Miles,” Darcey said. “Only horses. And one donkey.”

Preston chuckled. “It’s the serendipity of life that makes it interesting, Miles.”

As Trent prepared the coffee in the kitchen, the sound of Scott’s voice attracted his attention. He looked up to see Scott speaking animatedly into the phone. He couldn’t understand what was being said but judging by the look on his face Scott had a visceral fear of whatever was being discussed.

It wasn’t Trent’s business. He took the café au lait back to the terrace.

Their guests having left, Trent and Darcey cleaned the kitchen. Trent took the trash down the hall and around the corner to the bin located past the elevator. He heard doors opening and closing. He heard Mrs. Philby’s anxious cry. James Williams’ nasty laugh. Wanting to avoid becoming involved, he stopped just out of sight. The next thing he heard came unexpectedly.

Mrs. Philby’s voice became calm. It dropped to a lower register.

“You think you frighten me, James Williams,” the old woman said, speaking deliberately. “You think I’m just a doddering old fool. Perhaps I am. But let me ask you something. Did you know I sleep with ear plugs?”

Silence.

“Do you know why?”

More silence.

“Do you know what the letters MRAD mean?”

Still more silence.

“Median Range Acoustics Device,” the woman continued. “My condominium is equipped with such a device. If anyone attempts to break into my condominium, they will be met with a sound of such intensity, at such a high decibel level, they will be overcome. The pain will be debilitating. Their ear drums will burst. They will be permanently deaf. I warn you to back off.”

She paused.

“Leave me alone,” were her final words.

Trent heard two doors close. Williams had said not a word. Trent made a mental note to get ear plugs.