A Good Man Gone by A.W. Hartoin

Author:A.W. Hartoin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, cozy, marilyn monroe, mystery suspense, mystery detective, cozy murder, cozy murder mystery, cozy crime stories, cozy mystery series woman sleuth, mystery and crime anthology

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Bled mansion lorded over the avenue six houses down and across the street, past the invisible line that separated the upper class from the truly rich. Hawthorne Avenue was a gated street so from the outside we were all lumped in together. It takes bucks to be gated, but on my parents’ half of the street those bucks could’ve been earned the hard way. Doctors, lawyers and businesspeople owned those houses. The rest of the street was another story. Those people didn’t work for corporations, they owned them. Their mansions ran in the high seven figures, but it was rare for one to come on the market. The last time was five years ago and caused quite a stir. Highpoint House went for a cool million seven to the heir of the Lange auto empire and a sigh of relief was breathed by the neighborhood. They lived in constant fear that someone would buy in and try to commercialize their world for boutiques or bed-and-breakfasts.

Myrtle and Millicent Bled didn’t worry about such trivial concerns. I doubted they realized that anyone could or would want to change the world in which they’d lived their entire lives. They lived in the house they’d been born in, been raised by nannies in and received their ultra-private tutored education in. As far as I could tell they had no desire for a different kind of life, but they would hardly have spoken to me about it if they had. In many ways, I was like their child. I, too, was born in the Bled mansion, delivered by a private medical staff and surrounded by an unbelievable collection of art, including framed leaves from the Gutenberg bible, a Matisse, a Degas, and a Vermeer sketch. The Girls said I should be born in the presence of greatness and so I was. The Girls had insisted on caring for my mother at the end of her pregnancy. They liked to call it her confinement. Neither of my parents denied The Girls anything, since they loved them and owed them for their entrance into the exclusive world of Hawthorne Avenue. Neither Myrtle nor Millicent said that we owed them. They didn’t operate that way. I think they fell in love with my parents and did as they pleased. The Girls wanted to give them a house, so they did. They wanted to care for my mother and they did that, too. There was no question of Myrtle and Millicent’s intentions — they were good, always good, even if they infringed on our lives a bit.

“I love this street,” said Pete as we crossed Hawthorne Avenue. “I never knew it was here until we met. It’s like another world.”

“It is another world, believe me.”

My phone rang, but it was an unknown number, not Dad having a seizure. I let it go to voicemail. I could check the heavy breathing later.

“It must’ve been strange growing up here with all these rich people and your dad being a cop.

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