Sweet Fortune

“You can have my invitation if you want it. I'll never use it.”
    “ What ?” Jessie dropped her pen in astonishment. “You got one?”
    “Sure. We all did. I kept it because Susan suggested I hang on to it, just in case I changed my mind, you know.”
    “Is the invitation transferable? Can anyone use it?” Jessie was having a hard time containing herself now.
    Nadine frowned. “I don't see why not. There's nothing on it that identifies me. I think it just says something about the bearer and a friend being welcome to tour the facilities. There's charge, though. A stiff one. Two hundred dollars apiece. You can write it off as a donation to the foundation, I think.”
    “Two hundred dollars? Apiece?” Jessie was shocked. “That's a lot of money for a tour.”
    “Yeah. It's one of the reasons I didn't go. Susan said they stipulate a high donation in order to discourage curiosity seekers.”
    Jessie made her decision. “Nadine, I will gladly pay you for the invitation.” She reached for her purse and yanked it open. “How much do you want for it?”
    Nadine thought about it. “I dunno. Maybe twenty bucks?”
    “I'll give you fifty,” Jessie said, feeling extremely magnanimous. She would put it on the expense account, she told herself. She was not so sure that account would run to the two hundred she would need to take the DEL tour. She would have to approve it with the client. But she was almost certain Mrs. Attwood would want her to go to the island.
    * * *
    The invitation, which was inscribed “Admit bearer and one friend,” was safely tucked into Jessie's purse an hour later when she returned to the office. She was feeling inordinately pleased with herself until she saw Constance Benedict, Elizabeth's mother, waiting for her just inside the hall.
    One glance at Connie's face was enough to tell Jessie that this was no casual visit.
    “Hello, Connie. What on earth are you doing here?”
    “I'm working on a downtown condo residence. Thought I'd stop by and see you for a few minutes before I went back over to the Eastside.”
    “Something wrong?” Jessie's stomach clenched suddenly. “Elizabeth's okay?”
    “Yes. But I want to talk to you about her.” Connie sounded grim as she followed Jessie up the stairs and into the office.
    “Have a seat.” Jessie motioned her to the sofa.
    Constance was a few years younger than Jessie's mother. She had not had Elizabeth until she was thirty-five, nine months to the day after marrying Vincent.
    After the divorce Constance had admitted she had known Vincent was probably not going to make an ideal spouse, but she had been panicked by a ticking biological clock. She had apparently regretted the marriage within a few short months.
    She had stuck it out, however, until Elizabeth was nearly two. By then she had become close friends with Lilian Benedict, the only other woman in the world who really understood what it was like to be the wife of the head of Benedict Fasteners.
    Constance was a strikingly handsome woman. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she had an instinct for making the most of her dramatic coloring, just as Jessie's mother did. She favored strong colors and vivid makeup. She had a lush, full figure that somehow always looked chic and sensual rather than dowdy. Today she was tightly sheathed in a short-skirted turquoise suit.
    “All right, what's the problem, Connie?” Jessie sprawled in the swivel chair behind the rolltop desk and waited. She knew she would not have to sit in suspense for very long. Connie was very much like Lilian in that they both had a habit of coming straight to the point.
    “Vincent called this afternoon. He left a message for me at the office.”
    Jessie's stomach tightened again. “And?”
    “And he says to tell Elizabeth that he's very sorry but something has come up and he won't be able to take her to the school science fair.”
    Jessie's worst fears were confirmed. She closed her eyes as frustration and anger washed over her. “ Damn him . Damn him, damn him, damn him. He knows how important this fair is to Elizabeth. He promised he'd be there.”
    “We all know what Vincent's promises are worth, Jessie. If you're a business associate and the promises have to do with a contract or a deal, they're solid gold. You can take them to the bank. If you're family, they're written in snow. They melt almost as soon as you have them in your hand.”
    “I know that. But sometimes…” Jessie slapped the surface of the desk