Stone Cold Charade (A Stone Family Novel)

Copyright©
2012 by Kathleen Ward

All
rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization
of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or
other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

All
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author
and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They
are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the
author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This
edition published by arrangement with Kathleen Ward.

Cove art:

Designer:
Kathleen Ward

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This
book is dedicated in loving memory to my son.

Who
taught me that every day was a gift from God.

And
also, how to live.

Frank Gallo was a
walking dead man. Anticipating the worst, he had recently upped his life
insurance policy. He took measures to double the previous annuity and make sure
that his will was up to date and in order. The inevitable was about to happen.
No matter how he struggled to slow it down or stop it, the catastrophe that was
about to take place seemed unavoidable. However, it still didn’t prevent him
from hanging on to the smallest glimmer of hope that his employer, Max, would
suddenly come to his senses before casting the die that would forever change
the lives of those it touched. He could literally feel his life slipping away.

Frank was an ex-flat-foot,
or in other words, a retired cop. On the force for over ten years he had been
approached by Richard and Sandra Stone, Max’s son and daughter-in-law, about
keeping Max out of trouble. The constant havoc Max seemed to generate made the
need for a babysitter their priority. Facing his own demons at the time, Frank
had taken the job as Max’s bodyguard. His paycheck could fund a small nation
thanks to the hazard pay he’d gotten over the last twenty-five years. The
bonuses he received from keeping him out of the media were astronomical to say
the least.

Being in his late
fifties, he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. However, Max, in his seventies,
had the energy of a forty-year-old on steroids. Tired of the travel, and
headache of Max’s paranoia, he wanted to retire and live out his days in peace.
The only problem seemed to be the culmination of Max’s life’s work. Deemed “The
Plan,” he knew it was going to get him murdered painfully and slowly.

Frank was about fifty
pounds overweight according to his doctor, part of the lovely news he received
on his last visit.
Just one among many things that are starting to go wrong
with my aging body
, he mused as he pulled out a bottle of multi-colored
tablets from his suit pocket. He popped two of the tablets into his mouth. The
doctor had recommended them after confirming Frank was in the beginning stages
of an acute ulcer due to a high level of stress.

That was no surprise
considering who he worked for. He wondered absently if his good doctor had ever
met Maximillion Stone.
Well that didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out,
he thought sarcastically. If the doc had met the man, he would have prescribed
an antipsychotic drug to Frank believing he was nuts for working for Max. The
term high-maintenance in the dictionary prominently displayed a picture of Max.
Fearing Max’s latest hair brain idea and his own impending murder, Frank
reconsidered and shoved five more of the chalky tablets in his dry mouth.

The summons from Max
came in as he was leaving work at the home office of Maximillion Enterprise,
and had him boarding a plane yet again to Wilkinson, Montana.
Oh goody
,
he thought silently and condescendingly to himself.

“Have you made up your
mind yet? I’m freezing my butt off out here!” By voicing that simple question,
laced with his complaint, Frank knew it would set Max off. Nevertheless, he
really didn’t care.

Already having had to
deal with a cranky stewardess, the incompetent car rental agency, and then the
long drive, his humor about the situation was precarious to say the least. Forced
to grab a bite at a fast-food chain, he had wolfed it down in the car as he
drove. Disgusted with Max along with the whole circumstances with his doctor’s
advice to lay off the stress and the cheese burgers, he had rebelled and
ordered a double chili cheeseburger. Now, his suit smelled of stale fast food
and antacid tablets.

And, he wanted to pull
his hair out because of all the sneaking around at odd hours of the day and night.
Case in point, how he now had to creep onto Max’s property, yet again, in the
middle of the night.

No stress here
, he thought grimly.

Who needed to watch
Survivor when he lived it twenty-four hours a day?
Bring on the coronary.
.

“Will you keep your blasted
voice down?” Max bellowed out even though he was the one trying to get Frank to
pipe down.

Talk about a hypocrite!

Glancing over his
shoulder to make sure they were still alone and seeing no one, Max relaxed back
in his rocking chair. Frank shook his head. No one in their right mind, if they
could help it, would be up at three in the morning, especially looking to Max
for pleasant company! God, he loved his job. He got to listen to Max bitch and
moan, yet again, about his life while getting hypothermic on his wrap-around
front porch.

It wasn’t that he
necessarily disliked the small town of Wilkinson; it was just too damn quiet
for his taste. Not for Max. If you asked him, this was heaven compared to his
former life. Max had uprooted the family and moved them here years ago after
tragedy had struck. It was a country rich with wide-open spaces, not the view
of dusty oil pumps running twenty-four hours a day on your front lawn.

“Reminds me of a low
budget horror movie. Blasted things stickin’ out of the ground, lookin’ like
big oversized bugs!” Max would complain, remembering the nightmare of living on
the old homestead in Texas.

Most people believed Max was as loony as his
outlandish notions. Except with the kind of power and money he possessed it had
made the press label him eccentric, unlike Frank, who knew the truth. Max was
the way he was because his heart was ripped out of his chest not once, but
twice. No amount of money could ever replace losing the people in your life
that you love the most.

For that reason, and that reason alone, Frank
knew he would help Max. He just needed him to go about completing his objective
in another way. Because, if he couldn’t get Max to reconsider, the outcome was
going to buy them a one way ticket to the hereafter on the “You’re a Dead Man”
express, especially once Emma, Max’s wife, and his granddaughters found out.

Max turned to him and exploded. “There’s no
other way! I need rid of the cursed money you blasted, over stuffed Kewpie doll!”
Max sat back in his chair with a weary sigh and a far-off look in his tired
eyes.

Max took a moment to gather himself then began
to speak.

“You forget I didn’t sign up for this mess, it
was dumped in my lap! Don’t get me wrong, I love my granddaughters, but they
need to start dealin’ with their legacy! I got pushed into this debauchery.
Well, I’m done. Now it’s my turn to jump ship and by God, curse or no curse,
I’m through!”

Frank knew the legend well of how Max had
struck his fortune in a show of brainless chance. Just, the thought of it made
him want to roll on the floor, laughing. He knew the story verbatim, having
heard it a million times over the years. It still didn’t stop Max from
retelling it over and over again to Frank’s unenthusiastic ear. Max always
began the story in the same way. Frank groaned aloud as Max’s voice rang out
into the night with the all too familiar sermon.

“I’d been drillin’ for water in the north
pasture to make it though the drought that was happenin’ that year on the old
homestead in Texas. When, all of a sudden, instead of my cattle getting the
water they needed, they were having an oil bath! I could have blasted the whole
dang spread to hell an’ back that day and not cared one iota! I wish to high
heaven Emma hadn’t taken the dynamite away from me at the last possible minute.
I had the match lit and everythin’. She just blew it out like a dang birthday
cake.”

At the ripe old age of forty, Max became a
millionaire. “God save me!” Max hung his head dejectedly. “See, Frank, you have
to understand. I was brought up to believe being rich is a curse. I had a small
ranch, a hundred and fifty or so head of cattle, a wife, a son, and two
employees. My life was simple. I just had the bills and hard, back-breakin’
work. Money, you see, is nothin’ but a blasted imposition, in my opinion!
Frank, havin’ money means havin’ more responsibilities! It starts really simple
like it always does,” he explained, shaking his head in exasperation.

“First, your wife wants more frilly clothes.
Then the house needs paintin’ and the kitchen needs remodeling. Next thing you
know, it’s a new house she’ll be asking you to build. Then, the people who are
supposed to be your friends, the people you’ve worked with sixteen hours a day,
three hundred sixty five days a year, went through drought, flood, and famine
with, the people who you have kept a roof over their heads for the last ten
years, turn on you! Your own employees! They come to you screamin’ bout better
benefits! Who ever heard of medical, dental, and life insurance policies being
handed out to employees, and on a working cattle ranch no less? Oh, and don’t
you forget a’course those employees of yours will be askin’ in the not so near
future, for a pay increase and a 401k plan!”