Sunny Cylo: Cold Date

Sunny Cylo: Cold Date

Status: In Progress

Genre: Mystery and Crime

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Status: In Progress

Genre: Mystery and Crime

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Summary

A quiet, snowy weekend getaway turns tragic when one guest meets a terrible fate.
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Summary

A quiet, snowy weekend getaway turns tragic when one guest meets a terrible fate.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Chapter One

Author Chapter Note

Meet Jordan Andrews.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 27, 2017

Reads: 20

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 27, 2017

A A A

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CHAPTER 1

August 1933

His name was all over the news, his picture on the cover of every tabloid. Reporters begged for interviews; his biography had been done in radio broadcasts, books and newspaper articles. "Jordan Andrews, multibillionaire! Eccentric genius! Reclusive man of wealth!" The gossip columns were sure to detail everyone that he spoke to, his tailor was bribed to give out the name of every designer he bought from; the scandal sheets trumpeted about his various long lasting love affairs with glamour queens and celebrities. Most people who lived around Los Angeles knew his name, and even those who didn't could probably recognize the name regardless. 

Of late the tabloids had been eager to catch the details of his love affair with Marina Gavert, a rather popular screen star; each and every minute detail of their romance was reported and milled through, the tabloid reporters broadcasting the restaurants they ate at, the movies they went to, the perfume Marina wore, and when it seemed as if there was a chance they could be breaking up - for as Jordan was handsome and Marina was beautiful, the reporters supposed "readers must be sighing sadly at the chance of losing a shot at them"'. Currently, Marina was rather busy with shooting a film in San Diego, and Jordan tending towards isolation beyond his norm, and thus the reporters had to find something else to fill their time with.

Jordan was tall, slim, and blond, good-looking in a very young, boyish manner, despite being nearly thirty-four. He had wonderful taste in clothes, and the money to afford them; he was Harvard educated and thoroughly blue-blood. Yet the tabloids, and most of his more upper-tier acquaintance, could make no sense of his close friendship with a man named Mort Fernly. 

Fernly was a professional boxer, and part-time working man. He came from the lower end of the railroad business, raised in a one-room shack by working parents who had many other children to attend to, and was suspected to have had run-ins with the law before. He was also handsome, but even taller and certainly much bigger than Jordan, being muscular enough to compete in some of the most vicious boxing circles in the city. He could barely afford rent on a small, dilapidated apartment in Inglewood. 

And yet somehow, inexplicably, the two men were often seen together, going to the races, to restaurants which Jordan paid for, test-driving the most expensive cars, and attending social occasions that Fernly could not have hoped to enter without Jordan's help. The tabloids would often question him profusely, asking "Where did the two of you meet? What's his name? How did you come to know each other?" Common politeness kept some of the more discreet journalists from stating what they most wanted to know, but some of the more vicious mudslingers would accuse Mort from being anything from a "vulgar social climber" to a "homosexual gold digger", and would continually harass Fernly about the friendship to the extent that some of the more savvy of readers might have wondered why Fernly was friends with Andrews and not the other way about.

On one such occasion at the races, Fernly said to Jordan "I was wondering if you would do me a favor, Jordan."

"What would that be?"

"I feel like a shmuck to be asking - the number of nice things you've done for me already. But I need this so much, I - I don't know what to do."

"What is it that you need?"

"I - I guess I haven't mentioned it before, but I've been seeing this girl."

"Relationship troubles?"

"No, not troubles - not with the two of us, anyway, I mean. She's great - beautiful, smart, funny, a lovely person - and I want to marry her."

"Are you afraid she'll say no?"

"I don't need to worry, cause I already asked her and she said yes."

"Congratulations, Mort - But I must wonder - why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Well, it all happened rather fast - and besides, you've always got so much else to worry about, it just never came up before, and I - "

"No need to apologize, I just wondered. So what do you need my help for?"

"Well, as you know, I - I'm not exactly well-off, I don't know if I can afford to get married."

"How is her situation?"

"She's a typist at a local firm - doesn't bring in much but it does pay the bills. I was wondering if you - I mean, would you - could you - "

"Help pay for your wedding?"

"No, no, I'm not asking for money - I'm not that much of a mooch."

"You aren't a mooch, Mort."

"I feel like one - letting you pay for all these outings."

"Would you rather I didn't?"

"I'm not sure how to put it - anyway, what I was hoping is - could you maybe pull some strings and get me a job at your dad's company? I mean, I'm not sure it'll pay that much more than what I do now, but it'd help, and me and Leigh could save up enough to get married."

"That wouldn't be a problem. But are you sure you want to work at my company? It doesn't seem like your type of place."

"I'd be willing to do anything - any kind of ground work you needed - just so long as me and Leigh can get together."

"I'd be glad to do so."

"Thanks - listen, I'm meeting Leigh after this, we're going out for drinks, and I'd love for you to meet her."

"I am most interested. She sounds like a charming lady."

"She is - she's great. I'm sure you'll like her."

"I'll see."

As the two men sat watching the horses charging down the track, Jordan's mind wandered, as it often did, to his own history with women. He had never, in his entire life, loved a woman enough to marry her - indeed, he had scarcely ever felt that special something that books and poetry talked about as "love". He had been with many beautiful women - being three-fold of rich, cultured and good-looking was quite attractive to the fairer sex - and had had several relationships that could even be described as promising, but they hadn't lasted. Perhaps a few months, maybe - three or four at most - before the relationship would run its course.

Jordan was the sort of man who soon would note some problem in her political views, or some disparity of taste, or some rather rude behavior she would exhibit towards waiters, or the fact that she could never seem to laugh, or that she would make quick judgments about somebody and refuse to change her mind, and soon enough such small defects of character would become increasingly irritating to him, until he could no longer bear to be in said woman's company, and would simply end the relationship, usually with mutual pleasure, for his rather distant manner was not endearing to the women either. 

Even his current relationship with Marina - she certainly excited him, yes, in that she was a clever woman and a brilliant actress, and pretty and exciting besides. But his mind, which governed most of his actions, was patiently waiting for that moment, which he subconsciously sensed was coming, when he found that little defect in her - that problem, that flaw in her personality, that would inevitably cause the end of the affair. Nothing good, to Jordan's mind, could last forever.

The races were over, and as Jordan and Mort drove away, and spoke about mundane things, such as the races, the stats, and the anger of the governor when his horse of choice lost, Jordan's mind continued on this tract, wondering if he would ever find someone he liked enough to marry, as Mort had done. Mort, now, Mort would be a much easier man to satisfy. Give him a pretty face, a decent education, and a reasonably easy and amiable temper, and he would be conquered. He was not looking for perfection - Mort simply wanted someone to be with. His mind lighted for a moment on the fear that all humans possess that he would end up alone - that his own nit-picking would leave him without anyone when the time came for him to die.

But with his usual intellectual vigor, he dismissed the fear as not being worth settling for less, and turned his attention to more important matters as Mort pulled up to a small apartment building where a woman in a white trench coat stood in the sidewalk, looking in the opposite direction.

Mort honked the horn of the car and the woman turned.

She was in her late twenties, slender and pale, with platinum blond hair cut in the finger wave style that was trendy at the time. She had very large blue eyes, the rare kind that look almost painted on, and flawlessly pretty features, highlighted by delicate makeup - full lips, gentle cheekbones and thick lashes. The trench coat suited her figure. She wore gloves and carried a small purse in her hand; although her clothes were all made out of a cut and material that denoted them to be from a cheap designer, they were in general of good quality and still attractive enough that one would overlook it. She walked to the door with a smile on her face that lit up her already lovely features to the point where any man upon seeing her would be rendered speechless. 

"Mort - its nice to see you. Did you have a good time?"

Her voice was like calling birds, ringing bells…

Mort's voice seemed to fade, something like a distant sound of grinding trucks on the street when you're trying to sleep at night.

"Sure did. This is my friend, Jordan - I told you about him…"

"Oh, yes - " Turning those exquisite eyes to him, she smiled. "I'm Leigh - Mort's fiancee."

"Jordan Andrews."

She seated herself in the back seat, her face still visible in the car;s mirror. As Mort started the engine, Jordan gazed back at her, and made no effort to shake his gaze.


© Copyright 2017 Laura Colette. All rights reserved.

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