Revenant in Death
Chapter 03
by Technomad
Rayleen, or Jane, as she was calling herself these days, could hardly believe her own good luck. "Why, yes, ma'am, I'd be delighted to come in for an interview! When, and where?" When she had the information she wanted, she hugged herself with sheer delight.
She had anticipated a lot of trouble getting into Roarke's mansion. While nobody, to her best knowledge, had any reason to anticipate trouble, the number of valuable objects to be found inside ensured that security would be tight, tighter than on most residences. Roarke owned enough security companies to be able to acquire the best, and he was smart enough to use them.
In addition, his wife's continuing connection with the police ensured that Roarke's mansion was probably one of the safest houses in all of New York, if not the world. Rayleen had managed to dig up enough information to make her think that the house could have held off a full-scale siege, if the Urban Wars had started up again.
However, the long peace, and the lack of attempts to breach the house's security, had led to a certain complacency. She had been past the house, many times, looking like nothing more than another stroller in the park or on the sidewalk, and had noticed no signs of extra vigilance.
She had been pondering various ways to enter, but had always run up against the problem of the security systems. They were, after all, state-of-the-art, and Roarke was understandably tight-lipped about all the details. She was a good hacker, one of the best her mentors had ever seen, and could work well with electronic gadgetry in general, whether building it or modifying it, but she knew all too well that she'd have one shot at this at most.
She had underestimated her opposition only once, but that underestimation had led to decades of derailment. No more! Not ever again! She felt that she'd cheerfully die before going back to the places she had been.
While she did have some money, New York wasn't a cheap place to live, so she'd set up her own lair in an inexpensive part of New Jersey, on the farthest edge of the tri-state public transport system. She couldn't afford wheels, at least not as yet. Later, once she'd settled accounts with her nemesis (and if her nemesis' pestilential husband happened to get into the line of fire, wouldn't that be a dreadful pity?) she could put some schemes into operation to get herself the lifestyle she so richly deserved.
She had also scouted out her birth family. They were now living in a tony Connecticut suburb, and apparently had had more children after disowning her. Driving past in a rented car, she had narrowed her eyes, as fury rose up inside her. How dare they? How dare those interlopers take the life that should have been hers? Well, she had a few plans about how to deal with that little situation.
Some of her companions in misfortune had been disbarred lawyers, and disbarment had not meant that they knew less of the law. With their guidance, she had found out that her father's disownment of her had very little legal standing. If her ex-parents died, and there were no other heirs, everything would go to her. Her change of identity might complicate things, but she had set up some measures to ensure that any monies being paid to "Rayleen Straffo" would be accessible to "Jane Mollenbeek." A simple request to the bank to put Jane Mollenbeek's name on Rayleen Straffo's account, and that was that.
Once ex-Lieutenant Eve Dallas was dead (and roasting in hell, if she had anything to say about it!) she had figured out what to do. First, target her unwanted siblings. They roamed fairly freely; suburban Connecticut was nowhere near as dangerous as New York City. Two unsuspecting teenagers would be child's play to eliminate, in a staged "accident," or possibly with a false suicide. The thought of the pain their deaths would cause her ex-parents made Rayleen smile for a minute.
Then, it would be Sweet Mommy's turn. Her former mother moved around without any caution, and Rayleen now knew more than enough about poisons to be able to select several substances that would send dear Mommy off to a long, endless sleep. Just as she had tried to do (and, foolishly, had boasted about in that thrice-damned diary) so long ago.
Daddy, or ex-Daddy, would be more of a difficult target, but she rather thought she could deal with him, too. After all, she still had all the beauty she had ever had, and so many men were so susceptible to an attractive woman. She had considered, and rejected, seducing him before killing him. Although she found the idea highly arousing, she wasn't sure that she could keep up her disguise at quarters that close, and ex-Daddy had once known her face as well as he knew his own name.
Instead, she would troll around, looking for a suitable fool to make into her puppet. She had learned more than enough from her partners to know exactly how to please both sexes. She'd find someone lonely, and vulnerable, and move in on him or her. Once she had him tangled in her sexual web, she'd spin him a sad, sad story about how her life had been ruined…just ruined!…by her cruel ex-Daddy. Of course, she wouldn't admit that there had ever been any familial relationship between them. No, she'd sniffle that she had once been an up-and-coming young woman, on her way to big things in her life and career, only to be brought down by a cruel man who took revenge on her, getting her fired and blackballed, for not sleeping with him. She would get her partner so indignant, so furious on her behalf, that he or she would volunteer to erase this ogre from the face of the Earth.
And the beauty of that whole plan was that she, Rayleen Straffo, was completely above suspicion! If anybody wanted to know where she was, a few minutes' search of the records would show that Rayleen Straffo was still in confinement, and would be in a coma for the rest of her life. Who would suspect a comatose prisoner of mischief?
About the only weak spot was the order on the bank account putting Jane Mollenbeek's name on it, but she had thought of that, too. As soon as the monies were securely deposited, she planned to re-deposit them in another account she had set up in a tax haven outside US jurisdiction, in the name of another doppelganger. She had learned from some of her fellow-prisoners who were in trouble due to financial irregularities of one sort or another how to keep money from being tracked, and she intended to put those lessons to good use. She deserved that money, and she would have every penny of it!
Once she had her ex-family's fortune at her disposal, she planned to enjoy herself. A long, long vacation somewhere beautiful, with a beach and mountains, sounded like just the medicine she needed to forget the long years in confinement. She had been detoured from that by Lieutenant Eve Dallas. Yet another reason for her to take revenge.
She had been idly scanning the news when the most incredible opportunity had come to her attention. In the "Help Wanted-Female" forum, one of the society ladies that Eve Dallas associated with when fund-raising was advertising for a personal assistant! Visions of the perfect entrée to Roarke's mansion passed through her mind, as she answered the advertisement and set up the interview.
She walked into the interview serene and confident. Just as a precaution, she had sealed Jane Mollenbeek's record of her conviction, so as to not have any awkward questions about that. Granted, it had been for a minor count of being involved in an illegals ring, but still, the sort of upscale lady that she was going to see might well frown on such things. And she knew more than enough about how to deal with interviews to have no fear of probing questions. She knew Jane Mollenbeek's story, both the true parts and the parts she'd fabricated and inserted into the record, as well as she knew her own. She also knew that she had more than enough qualifications to land the position. All that was left was to charm her potential employer.
She sat in the reception area, looking around with interest. She had to admit, the woman she was going to see was rolling in money, if the décor and furniture were any indication. Possibly, after she'd dealt with Eve Dallas and her ex-family, she might see about finding a way to tap some of that money and steer it in her direction. She deserved it far more than some rich old bag who'd probably married it, after all! And she was smart, smarter than anybody else, so she should be able to figure out a way to get it. She'd almost always been able to charm the people she needed, after all.
"Will you come with me, Ms. Mollenbeek?" The receptionist, whose nametag read "Gooch," led Rayleen into a comfortably-appointed office. She noticed that the décor was just as tasteful, and just as expensive, as the outer waiting room, but then she concentrated on her would-be employer. And possible future victim. "Ms. Burnside, here's Ms. Mollenbeek."
Ms. Burnside was an older woman, obviously still interested in looking her best. Rayleen's keen eye noted the signs of various treatments for the effects of age, but she estimated that Ms. Burnside could still pull a man when she wanted to. She smiled warmly and motioned to a chair. "Please, sit down, Ms. Mollenbeek. So, you're interested in the position I have open, for a personal assistant?"
"Yes, ma'am. I think I could do a good job and be very useful to you." And she would, as long as the connection was useful to her. She wasn't lying about her own abilities, either. Even though she had been meant to never leave prison, her keepers had not neglected her education, and she had been trained in many useful skills.
"Oh, please, call me Mame, will you?" The older woman laughed throatily. "Being called 'ma'am' makes me feel old! And I don't plan to ever be old!" Rayleen nodded, suppressing a grin by sheer willpower. If Mame had known just how much she and Rayleen were on the same page! Rayleen did not intend for Mame to ever get old. Dying young, or young-ish, and leaving all that lovely money for Rayleen to get her hands on it…that suited Rayleen far better.
"I will, if you'll call me Jane. I hear 'Ms. Mollenbeek,' and I think my mother's in the room." Mame laughed again, and leaned forward, her dark eyes alight with curiosity, and intelligence. Rayleen reminded herself not to get too cocky or arrogant. This woman had survived decades of the cutthroat New York social scene, and was almost certainly old enough to remember the Urban Wars, possibly from the point of view of a participant. Underestimating her would not be a good idea.
For the next hour, Mame dissected Rayleen verbally, inquiring about "her" background, her skills, her future plans, and her reasons for wanting to take a job as a wealthy society matron's right-hand woman. Rayleen had anticipated most of the questions, and the ones she hadn't anticipated were not terribly difficult to fake. At the end of the hour, they stood up, and shook hands, man-style.
"I think we have a meeting of the minds, Jane. Why don't you talk to Ms. Gooch, and she'll set you up with the paperwork we have to do." Mame smiled conspiratorially. "Mustn't cut legal corners, must we, dear?" She leaned forward and gave Rayleen a chaste kiss on one cheek. "Welcome to my employ, darling! I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time together!"
"I'm sure we will, Mame," Rayleen assured her, her expression all but oozing sincerity and eagerness. "What'll we be doing first, and when do I start?"
"Why, dear, if you have no objection, would the beginning of next week be too soon? I've a reception to go to for one of the corps diplomatique, and having you along to help me keep track of things would be such a burden off my back!"
"Monday it is, Mame! I'll see you then!" With that, they parted, and Rayleen followed Ms. Gooch off to do the paperwork incidental on being hired for a new job, a song in her heart. Things had worked even better than she had planned!
Mame hid it well, but Rayleen could tell that she was a drinker. When they had kissed, Rayleen could smell the unmistakable odor…whoever said that vodka leaves you breathless? Rayleen herself was a teetotaler, and considered drinkers to be people put on earth to be prey for such as her. Drinking made people soft in the brain, stupid, and easily led by someone who knew how. And Rayleen had learned how in the years of her incarceration.
"Well, welcome to the madhouse," Ms. Gooch remarked, while Rayleen went through the screens of information she needed to enter to be legally in the employ of Ms. Burnside. "Keeping up with her and her wild hairs is a full-time job, let me tell you!"
"Wild hairs?" Rayleen asked, entering a line of data.
"Oh, she gets caught up in some enthusiasm or other, and it's Katy bar the door! For weeks or months, that new hobby, or whatever, is all we hear about, and she rearranges her life around it. Then she forgets all about it, as soon as a new thing catches her attention. She's been through all sorts of things. About the only constant is the New York social and charitable whirl. She's one of the wealthiest women in New York, and she does believe in using her wealth for good causes."
"Oh, I do, too!" Rayleen agreed, perfectly sincerely. Of course, the best good cause she could think of was the comfort and well-being of one Rayleen Straffo, now posing as Jane Mollenbeek. "It does sound like there's never a dull moment!"
"There isn't. It can get tiring, but I wouldn't work for anybody else. Even though life can get lonely…" Ms. Gooch gave Rayleen a significant look, one Rayleen had long since learned how to interpret. "I think it would take another employee of this madhouse to really understand. Do you know what I mean?"
"Oh, I think I do," Rayleen purred, giving Ms. Gooch a steamy look. In her time in custody, Rayleen had learned how much pleasure women could take from each other, and while she mainly preferred men, she had no objection to bedding other women if there was a good reason to do so, or she was bored, or there were no men available. And Ms. Gooch would be a very valuable ally. Not to mention, a possible patsy. If it were believed that Mame Burnside had been murdered by her longtime aide-de-camp, for the purpose of embezzling a chunk of her fortune, many people would look no further. Of course, that was all a ways down the road. Right now, ingratiating herself took precedence.
Ms. Gooch beamed. "You can call me Agnes, if you prefer," she whispered. Yes, thought Rayleen, the signals were crystal-clear!
"Only if you call me Jane…Agnes," Rayleen purred. They linked fingers for a few minutes, before Rayleen pulled away. "Let me finish this, and then I've got to get back to my place to make arrangements. The deal here includes quarters in the mansion, right?"
"It does. Our rooms are a few floors away from Mame's. She's one of the most tolerant employers I've ever seen, but I prefer not to rub things in her face."
"Good. Then I'll be back on Monday." With that, Rayleen stood up, and after another exchange of steamy glances, she left. Once she was a little way down the street, and out of sight of the mansion, she let herself do a little jig of happiness.
Things were falling exactly into place. Not only did she have a rich, trusting employer, one she could probably mulct for a fair amount, but her employer was perfect for her other goal.
The Nina Swisher Foundation "do" was coming up, and Mame Burnside never missed it. She would be there, and so would her new assistant, to whom nobody would pay much attention. From what she had learned, people came and went in Ms. Burnside's employ, so nobody would particularly question her.
And, best of all, instead of having to work and study on how best to defeat the security on Roarke's mansion, she would be invited in by the very person she was planning to murder! Things couldn't have gone better, she thought, and she stopped off for an ice cream sundae to celebrate her good fortune.
END Chapter 03
