Forever, Sonny

The River Bend Chronicles

Forever,

Sonny

Renee Kumor

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING eBOOKS

Published by Whiz Bang LLC, 926 Truman Avenue, Key West, Florida 33040, USA.

Forever, Sonny copyright © 2014, 2015 by Renee Kumor. Electronic compilation/ print edition copyright © 2015 by Whiz Bang LLC. Cover Photo: Jenny Kumor Shail

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This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents. How the ebook displays on a given reader is beyond the publisher’s control.

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Books in

The River Bend Chronicles:

Small Town Secrets

Taking a Chance

‘Tis the Season

An Act of Charity

Someone Cares

Forever, Sonny

Someone

Cares

CHAPTER

ONE

"What do you mean, no more money? Lily cringed as the dark man yelled at her. How the hell are you going to live? I’m not going to support your lazy ass!"

She stared at the attorney’s letter, blinked, then looked up at the shouting man. It was always hard to concentrate this early in the day. She needed a drink.

Call your lawyer and get him moving. You can’t let that guy cut you off.

It’s for child support, she mumbled.

What?

This letter says my youngest child is eighteen. No more support. She blinked again. I didn’t know she was that old. Little Patti Ann is an adult? Where did the time go? She looked out the window and watched the autumn leaves dance along the gravel road.

I need a drink, she said as she folded the letter.

You always need a drink, he sneered at her. If you can’t find any money for your share of the rent, then get out. He shoved her aside and stormed out of the cabin, cursing.

Lily sat down. As she tried to think about what was happening, she watched the golden leaves on the trees outside the window. She was a thin, pale woman who had traces of the fine features that were found in her daughters, all beautiful young women. Her long, curling hair had been a honey bronze in her youth and was now a matted, gray tangle.

Once she had been Lily Seymour, young, lithe, graceful – a delicate beauty. Once she had a devoted husband and four loving little daughters. Now she was a haggard old woman ravaged by alcohol and abuse, confused and alone in the world. Lily wondered what had happened. Why had her ex-husband, Hank, taken the girls away? Why wasn’t he going to give her money anymore?

She remembered the day Hank came and told her she would not see the girls again. I’m going to raise the girls, he said. I can’t let them stay with you. He had stood in the jumbled mess of her place.

You’re taking my girls? Lily didn’t understand.

You can’t take care of them, a sad and frightened Hank replied.

When Lily told her boyfriend, he said, Tell your old man if he stops your money, you’re going to court and ask for full custody.

Lily understood that threat. She could follow ideas in those days. She went to Hank and gave him the ultimatum. I get my money or I get my kids. She was sober. She dared him. He didn’t want his daughters back at Lily’s place with any of her men.

Hank said, As long as you stay away, the checks will continue just as the court directed. How long ago had that been, Lily wondered?

Lily’s boyfriend moved on, like all the others. He beat her up, stole her money and TV and some little bits of jewelry she had from her mother, and disappeared.

There had been a lot of other boyfriends, men who said they would protect her. Lily tried to remember those men. All she remembered was that they always shared her alcohol, always told her they never took her money, but she never seemed to have any cash. Money came to her, then where did it go? She stared out the window at the leaves. She was certain they were sending her clues, trying to help her understand, help her settle all this confusion in her mind.

Now her old boyfriend was back. Mace Masterson was taking over like he did before. He told her that he would be in charge and that she would listen to him. She wasn’t frightened because he gave her some vodka in a big bottle, like he really cared about her.

She needed a drink.

≈≈≈

Sonny knew she would die in September. That’s what she had been telling Marianna for weeks now. And yet, each morning she opened her eyes and she was still alive. She knew she was very ill. She knew it was terminal. But why was it taking so long?

Sonny Bosco lay on a hospital bed in the living room of the charming bungalow that she and her best friend, Marianna Pruitt, rented. Sonny’s hair, close cropped and nearly white, was only slightly paler than her skin. But those eyes, those dark pieces of coal, burned with interest and affection for everyone who came into the house. She and Marianna had made many friends in this small town. Everyone they turned to volunteered for Sonny’s army of caregivers. Any hour of the day or night someone was in the house with Sonny. Someone was preparing a meal. Someone was bringing stories and gossip and laughter.

Sonny, a famous Hollywood producer, and Marianna, a skilled actress, had come to River Bend in March as part of an Arts Council program at the community college. They and the other entertainment professionals helped students become familiar with job opportunities and career options available behind the cameras and back stage in the entertainment industry. Aside from two murders, the project had a successful conclusion. Sonny and her friends had produced the play, The Odd Couple, casting many prominent River Bend citizens in the production while demonstrating to the community college students the types of careers available on Broadway and in film and television behind the scenes.

The grant ended as Sonny came to terms with her illness. Deciding to stay in River Bend to die had been the best decision she had ever made, and as a very successful Hollywood producer, she had made a lot of great decisions. Her heart burst with affection when she thought of all the people who had become a part of her life these last months. She knew that when she left, passed, departed, she would be mourned and celebrated by people who had really taken the time to know her.

Today was October first.

≈≈≈

Lynn Powers, executive director of the River Bend Philanthropies, placed a note on her office door and ambled down to the coffee shop. The morning had been filled with phone calls, editing reports and unexpected interruptions. She started her job with the Philanthropies, a local community foundation organization, on her return to River Bend after the death of her husband. It was a job that had grown from its original design and she had thrived and grown in her fund raising and management skills. And, much to her surprise, she found herself married - again. This time to Dusty Reid, lead detective with the James County/River Bend Joint Investigation Unit.

A fortyish mother of a teenaged son, Lynn was tall and slender with a ready smile. Although her dark brown hair seemed to have more strands of gray each week, she was still youthful looking and attractive. She and Jason had returned to help care for her widowed father, Jim, as he underwent chemotherapy. She had inherited her hair from her mother, but her best feature, her warm hazel eyes, came from her father.

Standing in line at the office park coffee bar planning to order a pumpkin swirl latte and, maybe, a cranberry scone, she overheard talk at one of the tables.

That Sonny woman is hanging on, said one coffee shop patron. My daughter-in-law cleans the place for Amelia’s Maids. That other woman always gives her a big tip for cleaning real quiet. It just breaks her heart to see that Sonny woman get thinner and weaker.

I know what you mean, said her friend. I heard the same thing from my son. He does the yard work there. He says that other woman always wants flowerpots and bird feeders. That Sonny woman likes to watch the squirrels and birds. Both women sipped coffee. The second woman continued, He says they give him big tips, too. He doesn’t think she’ll last much longer. He says he can’t believe all the people who call on her. He’s seen several people who looked familiar. Sometimes he’ll be watching TV and shout ‘I saw that man yesterday.’ The woman shook her head. That boy has no sense. You’d think he could recognize famous people. And you’d think he’d call me.

Someone tapped Lynn on the shoulder and whispered, I’d ask you how Sonny’s doing but I just got the scoop.

She turned and grinned at H. Lawrence Grayson, a thirtyish attorney and the Philanthropies board treasurer. I had to run here for a snack before our meeting, she whispered back.

Walking back to the Philanthropies office carrying her coffee and a scone, Lynn said, I can’t wait to tell Sonny that she’s now part of our small town gossip.

I hope she doesn’t mind that the whole town is in violation of HIPAA regs, H. Lawrence said.

Hippa?

H-I-P-A-A are privacy rules to guarantee confidentiality regarding medical history and treatment, said H. Lawrence. Your doctor can’t call the newspaper or some reporter and say you’ve got an STD.

She frowned at him. I didn’t hear any doctor talking about her, said Lynn using her head to gesture back toward the coffee shop.

I’m sure they are, replied H. Lawrence. They’re so excited when they meet celebrities at Sonny’s. Haven’t you noticed how the house call has been revived when it means calling on Sonny?

Lynn laughed as they walked into the office. You’re kidding.

I’m not. H. Lawrence put his mocha something on the conference table. I heard from my secretary that she heard from Sonny’s oncologist’s receptionist that he said that he got to meet . . .

Lynn was laughing again. I hope you’re not telling me you’re appalled at the gossip - it sounds like you’re part of it. And if you want to meet celebrities come to the bungalow any evening and help us serve dinner. Dusty and I have met them all.

≈≈≈

Where did you get this truck? Patti Ann asked as she climbed into the cab to sit between Lynn’s son, Jason, and his friend, Doyle.

It’s Gramps Llewellyn’s, replied Doyle as he moved the vehicle away from the curb.

He let us take that old motorcycle in his barn, explained Jason.

What old motorcycle? she asked.

He had it from the old days, Jason explained. He put it in the loft to punish our moms. Patti looked confused at the explanation, so Jason went on to detail the motorcycle’s history. Our moms tried to use it to do stunts when they were young. They were punished.

Gramps had it in his loft since then. Doyle finished the explanation. We’re going to fix it up. Doyle was the son of Piper Zubov, Lynn’s best friend since the day they met in kindergarten.

The two of you? Patti Ann laughed. The boys frowned at her lack of faith. So where is it? Can I see it? she asked deciding to support the project.

It’s hidden in our barn, said Jason. So don’t tell my mom.

Why would I tell your mom? asked Patti Ann.

I mean, don’t talk to her about it like she knows about it. Jason had a pleading look in his eyes.

I won’t tell anyone, but I better get to ride it. Patti Ann knew how to negotiate.

The kids drove to Jason’s home in The Heights. Delighted that the place seemed deserted, Jason waved goodbye to his friends and decided to spend a little time with his new ride. Happy that he was alone, he trotted out to the old barn to begin his detailed inspection of the motorcycle. His dog, Chips, watched from a respectful distance, wanting in on the action, but distracted by the smells and unseen critters in the barn.

Before the boys took the motorcycle, Gramps Llewellyn had put some fuel in the tank. The engine hadn’t even coughed. So Jason decided that he would try the engine again. His mechanical skills were nonexistent, but the idea of having his own transportation made him eager to do something, whether useful or not.

He tried to start the engine. Nothing. After several more non-starts, he began to concentrate on cleaning the chassis. Wiping off years of dust, cobwebs and mouse droppings soon had his attention. Next he checked the tires and filled them with air. Throughout this process the dog, trying to help, nosed in and out of Jason’s work.

Finally Jason pushed the dog out of the barn and slid the door shut. Chips refused to be ignored and began pawing and whimpering at the door. Then he gave one sharp bark and was silent. Jason was working as the barn door slid open. Startled he turned as he tried to hide his project. His Uncle Will Zubov stepped into the barn.

I thought you were Mom, gasped Jason, a greasy arm wiping panicked sweat from his brow.

Where’d you get this? asked Will.

From Gramps Llewellyn, answered Jason as he brushed dirt from a fender.

It’s not that thing he told us about last Christmas? Will had laughed at the story of Lynn and Piper trying to leap an old streambed, imitating the stuntmen at the county fair.

Jason nodded. I thought I could use it, since I don’t have a car.

And your mother doesn’t know. Will gave a sidelong glance at his nephew. Jason nodded slowly. Will slapped him on the back and grinned. Does it run? Jason shook his head. Will stared at the bike, worked the key, flipped a small piece of metal to reveal the inner workings of the engine and studied the mysteries inside.

Jason watched intently. Will poked and pulled, twisted and wiped. Jason was hypnotized. Finally his uncle said, We should take this to my shop. We have to clean the engine and probably replace these hoses and I don’t even want to think about how old the plugs are or how long the oil has been sitting in that filter. But it’s a good engine, heavy duty, not one of those sissy things guys buy when they get drunk and lose their drivers’ licenses. Will owned a manufacturing facility that made customized automotive parts, many of his own design.

He made a phone call, then explained to Jason, I asked one of my mechanics to come and pick this up. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Will threw his arm around Jason’s shoulders. We’ll take this to my shop and you can come over and learn how to fix it. You’ll have to ask Bobby how much he’ll charge you for the help, but you have a job at the bakery. But you can’t ride this until your mother says it’s okay.

Jason frowned and opened his mouth to argue. But Will continued, Having transportation is a responsibility. You don’t have a car because you can’t afford it. A motorcycle has costs, too.

But Doyle has a car, argued Jason.

Doyle works in my shop on Saturdays and helps Piper by taking his brother places when she can’t. It’s not a free ride. Will laughed at his pun and tousled Jason’s hair. I don’t think this should take a lot of time. Then you have to talk with your mother.

CHAPTER

TWO

Mace Masterson was a very bad man, a sometime child molester (he preferred pre-teen girls) and a smalltime thief - a man who thought abusing women was his right. He was a big man with dark, oily hair and a pockmarked face. When he entered a room, most people noticed and some trembled.

The Masterson family had been part of the local criminal population of James County since settling in this part of the state over two hundred years ago. They settled in the town of Portage, which had been the historic center of criminal activity in the county from river pirates and bootleggers to present day small time drug dealers and meth lab operators. Mace was one of the family of Mastersons who had been part of the crime scene in James County for generations. His family’s history was a great source of pride to him. He thought of himself as an heir of regal lineage - king of vice, prince of pain.

Mace left the cabin he shared off and on with Lily Seymour in a fury. He usually showed up a day or two before the check arrived from her husband. He bought her some alcohol and a little food then left with the bulk of the cash. He came back frequently to make sure she wasn’t dead, to have some drunken sex, and, usually, to slap her around if he was mad at someone.

Stomping out of the cabin, leaving that useless drunk of a woman behind, Mace knew he had some thinking to do. Ten years ago that husband of hers tried to stop the money but Mace came up with a strategy to keep the checks coming. Too bad he had to leave town after that Seymour man complained about Mace touching his daughters. Well, by golly, I’m back, thought Mace, it’s been too many years, a few of them in prison, but I’m back.

Mace returned to Portage, the Masterson family stronghold, upon his release from prison. He was getting older and thought he needed to make himself a comfortable nest for his old age. He remembered Lily. If she still got checks from her husband, Mace could make a good life on that money as long as he gave her a bottle now and then.

Upon his return, he had to convince her current boyfriend to move on. That wasn’t hard. He was a drunk, too. Once Mace took over he moved Lily to an isolated cabin, situated with three or four other cabins off in a distant corner of an old tract that had provided farm laborer housing years ago. Then he told Lily how life would be. She was in bad shape, and just nodded as he laid down the rules. Now he had to deal with this problem about the money and her ex-husband.

Mace drove to River Bend after leaving Lily. Sitting at a bar in South End, he reviewed his situation. He had stomped out of the cabin telling Lily she had to pay her share of the rent. He snorted to himself. Her share was the only share, he didn’t pay any rent. In fact Lily’s checks paid for everything. That Seymour guy was ruining Mace’s retirement plans.

The problem was obvious. Mace had to figure a way to keep the checks coming. He had to plot and scheme to get that man’s attention. Mr. Seymour had to be convinced that supporting Lily, and of course Mace, was in the Seymour family’s best interest. He decided to do a little reconnaissance on that Seymour guy.

Leaving the bar Mace drove along the road to Seymour’s industrial waste company. From the roadway the place looked like any other small business with trucks and storage tanks and an office building and warehouse. He watched as trucks entered and left the site. Parking his pick-up down the road beyond the facility he trotted into the trees. Coming to a small stream Mace walked downstream along its banks toward Hank Seymour’s business. Passing the business site he continued along the stream until he came to a man sticking a small bottle into the water.

You drinking that stuff? Mace asked the man.

No, sir, replied the man. I volunteer for the river water quality program. We check the local streams for pollution.

Why’re you nosing around here? asked Mace.

Is this your property? asked the man.

"It belongs to my friend. I