By Lisa Maliga
Emily drove up the winding road and missed the turnoff for the second time. “Crap,” she groaned. Almost twenty minutes had elapsed since she left her apartment. She turned the car around and then was face to face with the huge black wrought iron gate. Ivy grew over it and the brick walls and all she saw was the stucco roof of the mansion. She opened her window and drove close to the speaker.
“Who is it?” asked a gruff voice.
“My name’s Emily Karelin. I’m a temp from Job Co.”
The gate slid open and she waited for it to part to the right all the way before driving up the long asphalt driveway. Eucalyptus and magnolia trees lined the drive, their scent permeating the air. She parked at the edge of the driveway near the basketball goal. Triple Double was painted on the white backboard in red lettering.
Emily grabbed her purse and left the window down and the door unlocked and felt secure enough to leave it unclubbed. Judging by the new BMW 850i parked in one of the open garages, a Ford Escort wasn’t prime pickings for theft.
She slowly went up the concrete walkway, approaching the vast beige Spanish style house. The double doorway seemed massive and suddenly it opened.
The bearded man who stood there appeared agitated. He had on a pair of soiled jeans and an old gray polo shirt and resembled a construction worker. Only his Rolex gave off any hint of wealth.
“I’m Sherman Lee.” He stated and shook her hand as his grey/blue eyes scanned her body with almost as much intensity as Matt’s. “C’mon in…Emily?”
She nodded. “Hi.” She answered, feeling uneasy. As her mom used to say, he was at that ‘dangerous age.’ Of course, dear ol’ mom thought any male between the ages of 15 and 100 fell into the dangerous category.
North of Sunset is available in paperback and as an eBook. See more at the North of Sunset page.