Patti Standard - His Perfect Family

So much for traditional.

As we approach the millennium, it’s harder to find a definition of family that fits everyone. But one thing we all agree on is that family matters. It matters to me, and it always matters to my characters. In His Perfect Family, both Adrianne’s and Cutter’s worlds revolve around their families. Flawed, tense and occasionally chaotic—definitely not perfect—their families ground them, define them and comfort them.

May your family, however traditional or non, however chaotic or calm, be the perfect family for you.

Best wishes,

Chapter One

Cutter Matchett stopped sanding and blew away the layer of fine oak dust. He ran a callused hand over the satiny wood, sensitive to the slightest imperfection, and wished that Mr. Jonathon Round would move out of his light.

“So, anyway,” the balding young man was saying, “barely an hour after our accountant friend has embezzled the twenty-five grand, he’s making his getaway, zipping down the highway...when guess what?”

Without looking up, Cutter reached out and took the insurance adjuster by his pseudosilk tie and pulled him aside. That was better.

“Cutter, are you even listening?”

He inspected the piece of sandpaper critically, folded it into a smaller square and began to rub the wood again. “Cut to the chase, John.”

“Jonathon.”

“Whatever.”

“The chase is, Mr. Harvey Rhodes takes a turn too fast—probably so excited by the thrill of recent larceny—hits a cement divider...” Jonathon brought his palms together with a loud clap. “Ends up with massive chest injuries. Dead as a doornail.” He wiped at the large thumbprint on his tie and tucked it into the waistband of his navy pants with their knife-edged crease. “But that’s not all.”

“No, I didn’t suppose so.”

“The police are on the scene in minutes, but where’s the money? Hmm? He’d just left the office with the bucks in his briefcase, makes no stops anybody knows of, but twenty-five thou never makes it to the morgue with him. Vamoose. Nowhere to be found, and nobody knows nothin’.”

Cutter raised his head.

“Hell, Cutter, it was two weeks before our client even realized his accountant had screwed him. By that time, the grieving widow has cremated the body, the car’s been scrapped and our insured is whining for us to ante up. Police started an investigation, but there were no witnesses, they swear there was nothing in the car but personal effects and wadded-up napkins, there’s no fat, juicy deposits in any accounts... The trail’s as cold as ice.”

“So a cop’s got sticky fingers. It’s happened before.”

Jonathon shook his head. “The first blue on the scene is squeaky-clean. My gut tells me our man stashed the cash somewhere just before he hit the wall. I’d bet my retirement that money wasn’t in the car when the police got there.”

Cutter refrained from commenting on just what he thought about the adjuster’s gut. “Did he have time to get it to the wife?” He felt a stirring of interest in spite of himself. “Is she sitting on it?”

Jonathon Round smiled. “That’s where you come in.”

That smile reminded Cutter of certain suck-up lieutenants he used to take great pleasure in transferring to Biloxi in August He didn’t like the adjuster for First Fidelity Insurance, he decided as he did every time they met. He didn’t even particularly like investigating the cases Jonathon brought him. But the money was good, and they kept his skills from getting rusty. There wasn’t much call for a retired naval intelligence officer in Little Rock, Arkansas. Picking a few locks for Johnny every now and then held a certain nostalgic appeal.

“It seems Mrs. Harvey Rhodes needs a carpenter to do a little remodeling project,” Jonathon went on, “and my thoughts immediately turned to you. Alone in the house all day, knocking holes in things, it would be the perfect opportunity to find out just what Mrs. Rhodes has got in her piggy bank.” His smile this time would have gotten him icebreaker duty in the Arctic—in January. “By the way, our man Harvey was too cheap to take out any life insurance. He left her with nothing but a piddly IRA and a passbook savings account”

“How do you find out this stuff, Johnny?” Cutter asked mildly. He pulled a fresh sheet of sandpaper from the package on top of the unfinished buffet. “Have you been opening her mail?”

“I’ve kept my eye on her. We dragged our feet for six months, but First Fidelity finally had to pay up. If there’s a chance I can get that money back, I want it.”

You would, Cutter thought with contempt. “Twenty-five grand’s a drop in the bucket for a company the size of yours. Why don’t you let it go? Raise somebody’s premiums or something and let the lady keep her nest egg.”

Jonathon shrugged, bunching the shoulders of his suit. “It’s my account. Happened on my watch. Payouts don’t look good on your record, no matter how small.”

“Especially for an up-and-comer like you.”

“That’s right.”

Sarcasm went right over the head of this guy. No, he didn’t like little Johnny at all. But he did like to eat and he could use the money. “How much?”

“Mrs. Rhodes will pay you, of course,” Jonathon said quickly. “Whatever it takes to turn a pantry into a spare bathroom. I’ve already got it taken care of through a friend of a friend. She thinks you come highly recommended and can start Monday.”

“Forty an hour plus expenses.”

Jonathon sighed and looked pained. “All right. But I want an itemized account.”

Cutter nodded.

“Just see what you can come up with. That money’s got to be somewhere. I’ve been watching Adrianne Rhodes like a hawk for the last six months and she sure as hell hasn’t spent it. Who knows, if she thinks it’s safe now, she might pay you with my money.”

“Okay, Johnny boy, I’ll rummage through her pantie drawer for you. It looks like you’ve snooped through just about everything else.”

“Hey, I wish I got the panties, let me tell you.” That smile again. “The lady is a real looker. Southern, icy little blonde. Bet she’s heavy into cool satin and scratchy lace.”

Cutter turned the drawer he was sanding upside down and tapped. Sawdust cascaded over Jonathon’s shiny black shoes, covering the neat tassels and filling the cuffs of his pants. “Sorry.”

He had to credit the guy—Jonathon didn’t blink an eye as he delicately shook each foot. Instead he laid a smooth, white hand on the top of the oak buffet and gave it a tentative pat. “Nice work. How much do you get for a piece like this?”

“I’m charging him eight thousand dollars.”

“Good lord! I had no idea—”

“Go home, Johnny. I’m busy and you’re in my light.”

“Uh, right. Well, I’ll be expecting a report from you by the end of the week.” The man shifted uneasily. “I’ll just see myself out.” He scurried from the garage, empty except for the heavy piece of raw furniture, and the even larger, more raw man that caressed it so lovingly.

“Adrianne, darling, I’m so glad you’ve finally given in and decided to see things my way.” Blanche Munro swept into the kitchen where Adrianne Rhodes diced carrots for stew. A long, pink-tipped nail whisked under the descending knife and neatly extracted a carrot square. Blanche popped it into her mouth. “Lisa, sweetie, come over here and tell your mother how thrilled you are to get your own bathroom.”

The girl obediently crossed to the counter and gave Adrianne a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the bathroom, Mom. It’ll be great.” Then she turned to the refrigerator, hanging on to the door as she studied the leftovers.