Cutler 01 - Dawn
bald-headed, tall man, with skin so pale he could be an undertaker, stood looking out at us. He was dressed in a dark blue sport jacket, matching tie, white shirt, and slacks. He stood at least six feet tall. As we drew closer, I saw he had bushy eyebrows, a long mouth with thin lips, and a nose that was an eagle's beak. Could this be my real father? He looked nothing like me.
"Please come right this way," he said, stepping back. "Mrs. Cutler is awaiting you in her office. My name is Collins. I'm the maître d'," he added. He looked at me with curious dark brown eyes, but he did not smile. He gestured ahead with his long arm and long, slightly brown fingers, moving so gracefully and quietly it was as if he moved in slow motion.
Officer Carter nodded and headed down the short, narrow entryway that brought us to what was obviously the rear of the kitchen where the storage rooms were. Some doors were opened, and I saw cartons of canned goods and boxes of grocery items. Collins pointed to the left when we reached the end of the corridor.
Why were they sneaking me in? I wondered. We turned a corner and moved down another long hallway.
"I hope we get there before I have to retire from the police force," Officer Carter quipped.
"Just right down here," Collins replied.
Finally he stopped at a door and knocked softly. "Come in, I heard a firm female voice say. Collins opened the door and peered inside.
"They've arrived," he announced.
"Show them in," the woman said. Was it my mother?
Collins stepped back so we could enter. Officer Carter walked in first, and I followed slowly. We were in an office. I looked around. There was a pleasant lilac scent, but I saw no flowers. The room had an austere and simple look. The floor had hardwood slats that were probably the original floor. There was a tightly woven dark blue oval rug in front of the aqua chintz settee, which was at right angles to the large, dark oak desk on which everything was neatly arranged. Presently, the only light in the room came from a small lamp on the desk. It cast an eerie yellowish glow over the face of the elderly woman who gazed at us.
Even though she was seated, I could see that she was a tall, stately looking woman with steel-blue hair cut and styled in soft waves that curled under her ears and just at the base of her neck. Pear-shaped diamond earrings dangled from each lobe. She wore a matching pear-shaped diamond necklace set in gold. Although she was thin and probably didn't weigh more than one hundred and fifteen pounds, she looked so stern and secure, she seemed much larger. Her shoulders were pulled back in the bright blue cotton jacket she wore over her white frilly collar blouse.
"I'm Officer Carter and this is Dawn," Officer Carter said quickly.
"What has to be done?" the elderly woman, who I thought must be my real grandmother, demanded. "I need this signed."
"Let me see it," my grandmother said and put on her pearl-framed glasses. She read the document quickly and then signed it.
"Thank you," Officer Carter said. "Well." She looked at me. "I'll be on my way. Good luck," she muttered and left the office.
Without speaking to me, my grandmother rose and came around her desk. I saw she wore an ankle-length matching blue skirt and eggshell-white leather shoes designed for someone who had to do a great deal of walking. They looked more like men's shoes. The only imperfection in her appearance, if it could be called that, was a slight roll in her nylon stocking on her right foot.
She turned on a pole lamp in the corner, so that there was more light, and then with her stone-cold gray eyes she stood staring at me for a long moment. I searched her face for evidence of myself and thought my grandmother's mouth was firmer and longer than mine and her eyes didn't show a trace of blue.
Her complexion was almost as smooth and as perfect as a marble statue's. There was just a tiny brown age spot on the top of her right cheek. She wore a touch of rose-red lipstick and just a brush of rouge on her cheeks. Not a strand of her hair was out of place.
Now that there was more light in the room, I gazed about and saw the walls were paneled in rich wood. There was a small bookcase behind and to the right of the desk. But above the rear wall was a large portrait of who I thought had to be my real grandfather.
"You have your mother's face," she declared. Queenly stiff, she moved behind her impressively wide desk. "Childlike," she added, disdainfully, I
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