The Rules of the Red - 2014 Watty Award Winner |✓|

Chapter One - Part Two

a town like this, with a name like yours… I daresay you’ll find that quite useful as well… Good afternoon.”

And with a final, brief nod, Mr. Talbot was gone, leaving me alone to ponder all the possible depths of his offer.

*  *  *

At five p.m. sharp, my taxi was waiting. So with a full stomach and a buzzing brain, I departed from the restaurant against the polite arm of one of the doormen. Dinner had totaled to an astonishing $457.12 that the hostess from earlier had insisted was on the house. And despite her nasty attitude from before, I left her an eighty dollar tip, with a smiley face on a napkin.

And once I had reached the house on the hill again, the cabby also received a tip and the fare I had promised. With dollar signs for eyes, he took the money too, tipping his hat while blowing smoke from the side of his mouth.

“Man, I love this neighborhood.” he said, and I watched him drive away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, and wondering if it wasn’t too late to call him back. But reason withheld, and I forced myself to watch his lights until they eventually disappeared.

So there I stood, in the shadow of the house on the hill, with my ratty suitcase, and feeling miserably out of place. With a sigh, I noticed that I could go no further than what the edge of the driveway allowed, deterred by the fact that the entrance to the property was secured by massive twin gates. They were wrought iron, black, twisted and curled into fancy shapes and designs. With a low whistle I looked to the left and then to the right, noting how the gates extended into a tall fence that lined the entire edge of the property. I also noticed that each bar ended in pointed spikes at the top – merely decorative of course, and not sharp enough to cut, but they would surely be lethal to land on.

 I walked up to the gate, wrapping my hands around its cold metal, and peered up at the house. Lights were on now in some of the windows on the lowest floor of the house, letting me know that someone else had also anticipated my arrival. Looking down, I pressed the red button on the intercom by my hand, and spoke tentatively into the speaker.

“Um, hello? If anyone can hear this right now, my name is Naomi Noble. And I kind of live here now, I guess –”

“Miss Naomi, we were expecting you.” said an older, female voice, coming clearly through the speaker. “Please, come in.”

A moment later there was a loud buzzing sound, and then the click of a latch being unlocked as both halves of the giant gate swung soundlessly inwards. And with a grim smile, I picked up my suitcase and began the trek up the long, winding drive. It was steep from the get-go, starting on an incline that continued to rise steadily. But I was in shape, toned from years of ditching cops and misbehaving in the streets. So because of this, I was able to spend more time appreciating the scenery than watching my breathing.

As I walked, I let my eyes sweep across the rolling, green lawn. The thick grass was well-manicured, and cut with a precision that I knew was professional. Several rosebushes were planted in long rows against the sides of the house. The green of them remained vibrant in color, but the red of their remaining blooms was already fading, while the pecan and walnut trees stood at full blossom.