Memories in the Attic Read online

  Memories in the Attic

  J. S. Chapman

  Memories in the Attic

  J. S. Chapman

  Copyright © 2019 by J. S. Chapman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Previously published as Trick of the Mind, ILLUSIONS weaves in a major new subplot that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

  Weatherly Books

  Chicago, IL, USA

  Author Website: jschapman.com

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  This digital book is licensed for your personal reading enjoyment and may not be resold or given away to others. Reproduction in whole or part of this book without the express written consent of the author and/or publisher is strictly prohibited and protected by copyright law. Short excerpts used for the purposes of critical reviews is permitted. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Part I - Perception

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Part II - Deception

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  From the Author

  Happy families are all alike;

  every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

  Leo Tolstoy

  Anna Karenina

  Part I - Perception

  Chapter 1

  GUSTS OF WIND whistled off Lake Michigan, barreled through the financial district, surged downriver on the draft, and whisked back to the source, cracking the air like a bullwhip.

  Kendra McSweeney Swain wore a pensive face as she braved the approaching storm. It was the face she presented to the world. Underneath her outward composure churned emotions as turbulent as the gales surrounding her.

  She was a woman on the make, always gazing down the street and around the corner. A woman with troubles on her mind. A woman with secrets. The storm within her was more violent than the water stinging her face or the chill numbing her hands, clutched as they were around the handle of her little red umbrella.

  She trudged on, determined to arrive at her destination by the appointed hour.

  Despite the threatening storm, crowds choked Chicago’s Loop, so named for the elevated tracks girdling the heart of the city. It was evening rush hour on a Friday evening, when office workers poured out of tall buildings and the darkness of night waited just around the corner, ready to pounce. The blustery winds blowing out of the northeast pushed everyone along gray streets lined with gray buildings scraping gray skies. Most were going home at the end of a long workday capping an endless workweek, hopping on buses and trudging toward train stations. Others looked forward to meeting with friends for drinks and dinner. Still others had dates with husbands and lovers.

  Eerie hushings and loud stirrings accompanied the tempest. Clouds billowed high. Night was descending. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed. Drop by drop, the pavement dampened. People scurried to beat the storm. Voices hushed. Buses rumbled. Exhaust fumes filled the air. Taxicabs scuttled past. Passenger cars honked. Water sluiced from tires. Puddles formed.

  Kendra walked alone, nothing to protect her but steely resolve and rough calluses. The rain lashed at her, threatening to take her and her little red umbrella on a fanciful flight. She fought nature every step of the way, thrusting her head into the nor’easter.

  A woman such as her, walking alone on the mean streets of Chicago, is usually fair game for anyone, especially a man on the take. Having grown up in the big city, she had learned self-defense for the defenseless. When she thought about it, which was just about every day, she realized a woman walks alone most of the time, even when someone else walks beside her.

  For now she skipped around the many puddles and hurried past the downtown throngs. Since she was already late for a dinner engagement, her mind swirled with accusations. At her boss for making last-minute changes on a big project. At her job, for taking up the bulk of her waking hours. And at her husband Joel for not answering his cell phone.

  With the many rings on her fingers dancing in the fading light of evening, Kendra again tried to reach him but heard only the flat tones of his recorded greeting. Fighting biting cold and persistent winds, she pushed her head down and forged ahead, passing Dearborn Street and then Clark Street. Less than a block to go, she argued with herself. They would be together soon enough. It wasn’t as if he would start without her. They had a date. A very romantic date. At their favorite restaurant. For a special occasion.

  Hearing her mental clock ticking ever louder, Kendra jostled past tourists, plowed through window shoppers, and cut around office workers. Women were annoyed by her aggressiveness. But men … ah, those silly men … were intrigued by her, often glancing back with appreciation. Little did they know their attentions meant nothing to her.

  Kendra possessed enough self-awareness to know she wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense. Neither her dark curly hair nor the sharp planes of her face measured up to the ideal. Yet she carried with her an indefinable presence most men craved. Her strong points, she eventually decided, lay in her long-legged athletic build, her air of snobbishness, and her full-throttle femininity. The admiration Kendra attracted without trying had presented her with a lifelong challenge. She had become a cautious woman. Should anyone engage her with a sidelong glance or a forthright come-on, she affected a faraway gaze. The trick was to see everything and nothing at all. She learned it at an impressionable age, having been taught by dirty old men who considered sweet young things perfect targets for their indecencies. There was a time when she was still naïve, but innocence lay far behind her, only a distant memory that could be turned ove
r in her hands like a broken souvenir.

  Two doors away from her rendezvous with Joel, Kendra spotted a panhandler lingering near the curb. Leaning against a lamppost, he assumed a feral stance, eyes on the lookout for unsuspecting prey. Unlike the usual beggars occupying nearly every street corner and doorway, he appeared vulnerable, new at the game, shy about his intentions, but determined to stick it out. When Kendra came abreast of him, he glanced at her as if she were the only woman of his desires. His eyes shifted slyly, focusing downward. She saw what he meant her to see.

  The special item he hawked wasn’t a common sight during daylight hours but neither was it unheard of in a city crowded with indifferent people. He gripped a cell phone in one hand and his cock in the other, one pressed jealously to his ear and the other offered as a consolation prize. A lyrical smile played across his face, making him the happiest man in town.

  With a rush of adrenalin but absent a beat of hesitation, Kendra veered away from his gift, freely handed out, and turned into the restaurant. The simple act of pushing through the revolving door swept him away like an illusion. She would never give him a second thought, not until weeks later, when it was too late for her to do anything about it.

  Chapter 2

  INSIDE THE RESTAURANT, steamy air had mixed with appetizing cooking odors. The vestibule was dark and clammy. After checking her coat and umbrella, Kendra climbed to the upper-level dining room.

  At the landing, she made room for a mismatched couple. He was upper crust and debonair though in his dotage. She was blonde and bodacious, exposing bare flesh in all the right places. Though ill-suited for a lasting relationship, they were made for each other: two hustlers relying on the deficiencies of the other to get by. Of themselves they were incomplete, but together they made a complete human being.

  The black-suited maître d’ greeted Kendra at the upstairs hallway. His slick hair and soap-bubble eyes matched his frayed tuxedo.

  “Reservations for Swain.” She gazed toward the restaurant bar but didn’t see Joel. “My husband’s probably been seated already.”

  The maître d’ paused for a moment, nodding with comprehension and bending his head over a leather-bound book of names, numbers, and tick marks. Bluish veins and pinkish arteries set off his chalky-white throat. He clucked before peering up, at first taking in Kendra but then directing his attention towards a brunette brushing past behind her. A heady whiff of perfume trailed in her wake as she sidestepped the host station and descended the staircase. Kendra saw only the back of her trench coat, the belt tied in the rear rather than the front.

  Kendra gazed back at the maître d’. “My husband called it in.”

  He cleared his throat and ran his finger down the ruled rows a second time.

  “For seven,” she said.

  He dog-eared the left-hand page and flipped it back. “Ah yes. Here we are.” He quickly gathered up two menus. Raucous laughter came from the bar and quickly faded. He snapped his fingers toward one of the busboys before swinging his eyesight back around. Tilting his head, he stared at her as if trying to recall her. Kendra sent him a disarming smile. He lapped it up like warm milk and escorted her into the dining room.

  Arranged like honeycombs and decorated with twinkling Italian lights, the booths provided the illusion of privacy in a crowded room. As she had guessed, Joel was already seated. By his slack posture and the way he made himself at home, he had been waiting for quite some time. Kendra greeted him with a peck, the kind wives pass out to husbands like Swiss chocolates on a linen napkin. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Late?” He stood to greet her. His admiring eyes washed over her face and eventually settled on her cashmere dress. She picked it out for him. The plunging neckline accentuated the grace of her throat and revealed just enough cleavage to tease him. Admiration turned into craven hunger as his appraisal stroked her skin like the tongue of an alley cat.

  Heat brushed across her cheeks. Joel could still make her temperature rise. “Sorry I’m late. Those changes Rob wanted …? As always, it was a bigger project than he thought.” Rob Leven was the owner of Largesse, a boutique advertising agency catering to startups. Kendra had been working there for three years.

  “Changes?” Though Joel was mouthing one-word questions with an even-tempered voice, tension lingered beneath his calm exterior. Perhaps reproach. More likely worry. He was also tired, evident in the pale color of his face and his half-closed eyelids. Brushing off any initial concerns, he smiled, helped her off with her coat, and rubbed her arms, an affectionate gesture that said he was glad to see her. His eyes flitted around the dining room. He was seeking privacy in a public venue where none could be had. Angling his head, he leaned close. From the mischievous look in his eyes, he wanted to give her another kiss, a proper one. Chivalry won. He brushed her lips with his, no more, and backed away, his grin shy and almost apologetic. “Missed you.”

  “Missed you, too.” Meeting up with Joel Swain for a dinner date was like going out with him for the very first time. After three years of marriage, the thrill never left.

  They separated. She made herself comfortable on the broad bench opposite him. The booth isolated them in a romantic setting for two. From the warm setting to the dim lighting and flickering hurricane lamps, this was the perfect spot to unwind and get away from it all. It was their favorite restaurant. The service might have been fawning and the atmosphere stifling, but the food was superb.

  “What changes?” he asked again. Joel wasn’t really interested in her job at Largesse. Or her demanding boss. Or the client review they were putting together for one of the biggest food manufacturers in the country. For him—and for Kendra, too—it was just small talk.

  “You remember. The presentation next week for that organic foods accounts. Everybody left early. Good, in a way. I finished everything without having to think about it over the weekend.” She shrugged it off. “We’ll probably lose the account.”

  “How do you know?” He was more than tired. Exhaustion deepened the stress lines across his brow. His face looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot.

  “You remember my friend Linda? Linda McCallister? Head of business development over at Winthrop & Klein? She gave me the heads-up.” Kendra couldn’t help rambling, as if lighthearted gossip and sweeping hand gestures might dispel the strain she sensed since greeting him. The fatigue on his face said it had been a long day. Something else was bothering him. Something he wouldn’t share with her until later, after the lights went out and they made love. “The agency review is just for show. Everything we’ve been working on all these months—brainstorming, midnight sessions, research—probably a waste.”

  “You should say something.”

  The table had not been cleared from the previous diners. Leftover salmon piccata seasoned with a hint of tarragon and lemon covered one of the place settings. The leavings of shrimp scampi and angel hair pasta was evident on the other. One of two drained wine glasses was smudged with the imprints of burgundy lipstick. Scattered breadcrumbs and drops of red wine spattered the white tablecloth. Coffee cups had been recently filled, oil slick surfaces still steaming with heat.

  “Who? Me?” She shook her head. “You’ve got the wrong lady. Let someone else take the heat. You weren’t worried, were you?”

  “Worried?” His gaze skimmed over her face. He made her feel like an artist’s model. Naked. Exposed. She had come to rely on his flirtations. Though he proclaimed passion in every glance and gesture, she never quite trusted his assurances, as if they were half given. His brooding silence lingered behind like a foggy night. The distance he put between them brought up those old questions. Did Joel love her? Or did he merely want her? And was there a difference between the two? After five years of being with him, she hadn’t found the answer. In the back of her mind lurked the nagging doubt she wasn’t worthy of his love. The insecurities stemmed from childhood and the realization at the age of ten or eleven that she took after her mother’s frailty instead of her father’
s practicality.

  “I tried calling,” she said.

  “I thought you were―”

  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

  He was slouched against the bench back. He had loosened his tie but did not remove it, a concession to his conservative upbringing where conventions must always be observed. The crisp white shirt he put on in the morning had lost its starch. The way it fit, you would think he had been working in a warehouse instead of a law firm. She saw little interest in the set of his slack mouth and the vacant look in his eyes. Had she not known this was her husband of three years, she would have thought him a stranger. A very distant stranger who didn’t want to know her and didn’t care if she wanted to know him. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves like a workman. The scruffier Joel Swain looked, the sexier he became, except for night.

  “The cell phone signal around here must be weak.” She glanced at her surroundings. The diners across the way were eating, laughing, shrugging off the workday. Other couples sat at nearby tables, engrossed in conversation, focused on the plates beneath their ravenous mouths, drinking lavishly of liquor, beer, water, fancy cocktails. Her eyes circled back to their table. Joel was staring at her. Not just at her, but through her. The shaded look in his eyes unnerved her. This wasn’t like him. He was usually glad to see her. He usually had a smile on his mouth when he kissed her. Tonight was different. “Are you angry with me about something? I know I’m late, but―”

  He didn’t look at her when he shook his head. Instead, he focused on the decorative candleholder at the center of the table, studying it as if it were a priceless artifact. The flickering candlelight ignited his eyes. When he angled his head and glanced away, his eyes dulled once again. His forehead tensed and just as quickly relaxed. He pushed aside the soiled dishes, reached across the table, and took her hands. “I just want this to be a perfect night. Our night.” He stroked the backs of her hands, thumbs tenderly sliding across her knuckles.