The Secrets She Carried (4 page)

Jay shrugged. “I like to cook.”

“I meant you seem pretty comfortable in
this
kitchen.”

Ah, now they were getting down to it. Next would come the questions, followed by the answers she didn’t want to hear, followed by God knew what. Draining his mug, he stood to retrieve the pot from the counter, as good a way as any to stall for time. The eager tap of nails alerted him that they had company, but before he had time to turn and open his mouth, Belle was already making a beeline for Leslie. He smothered a laugh as she shoved back from the table, eyes wide with alarm.

“It’s a Weimaraner, Leslie, not a lion.”

“I know that, but where did he come from?”

“He’s a
she
, actually. And she’s mine. Her name is Belle.”

“As in silver bells?”

“No. As in Belle Watling from
Gone with the Wind
. Maggie named her.”

Leslie stroked one of Belle’s ears cautiously. “She always loved that movie.”

Jay brought the pot to the table and topped off her mug. “She did. I finally broke down and bought her a copy so she could watch it whenever she wanted.”

Leslie frowned but said nothing as she picked up her fork again. They ate in silence for a while, with Belle waiting nearby to scarf up the results of any mishaps. He was just beginning to think he’d sidestepped the worst of it, when Leslie pushed back her plate and turned her green eyes on him.

“So,” she said, folding her arms on the edge of the table. “We’ve established that Maggie named your dog and that you know your way around her kitchen even better than I do. What we haven’t established is why.”

Jay picked up his last strip of bacon and folded it into his mouth, then stood to collect his plate and silverware. He said nothing as he
carried them to the sink, content to let her wait while he peeled back his sleeves and flipped on the tap.

Leslie joined him at the sink with her plate. “Is there a reason you won’t answer me?”

“There is, as a matter of fact,” he said, turning off the tap and firing the sponge into the sink. “For starters, it was a stupid question. It’s also one you already know the answer to, but here it is anyway. For the last five years, while you were off somewhere being important, I was right here—when she got sick, when they buried her, and every day since.”

Jay wanted to regret the words but couldn’t. They were true. For a moment she stood there with her plate and fistful of dirty silverware, so stunned and still he thought she might actually cry. Instead, she dumped her plate in the sink, clearly not caring that she had soaked the front of his shirt in the process.

“Why I stayed away is none of your business. Neither is why I’m back. Why you’re here, however, is very much
my
business. Now, for the last time, I’d like an answer.”

Jay grabbed the dish towel, making a pretense of drying himself off while he cast about for something like an answer. How much did he volunteer, and how much did he let her find out on her own? His gut told him the truth might go down more easily coming from someone else.

“Have you spoken to the lawyers?”

“Today, at one.”

“And have you given any thought as to what you might do with the place?”

Leslie folded her arms. “I’m not sure how that’s any of your business. I’m also not sure why my being here has pissed you off, but I am here, and I’ll make my decisions when I’m good and ready.”

Jay went still while the words sank in. If she decided to sell, she
would blow their plans sky-high. In all his careful planning, he had never planned for this, never let himself think it could all slip through his fingers. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He simply couldn’t afford to go to war with this woman. Not that he’d have much choice after she spoke to Maggie’s attorney.

A string of curses issued from Young Buck Shively as Jay entered the barn, followed by a request for yet another wrench. Jay handed it off with a shake of the head. He was starting to think dynamite might be the only option for the old relic they fondly called the Beast. He’d been warned about used tractors, but buying new meant less money for other things. At the time it seemed like a no-brainer.

That was five years ago. Now it was beginning to look as though both the tractor and his luck were running out of steam. He didn’t relish telling Buck the news. The man had dropped everything and dragged his family halfway across the state to be a part of this. Sooner or later, though, someone was going to ask about the BMW in the driveway, so he supposed now was as good a time as any.

He was still trying to decide how to broach the subject when Angie Shively appeared with a tray of sandwiches and apples. With a stab of relief he gave Young Buck’s boot a kick. “Come on out. The little woman’s here and she’s got food.”

Nothing made Young Buck move faster than food. Like a turtle on its back, he wriggled from beneath the tractor and stood, six feet six and as thin as a rake, with hair like a new penny and freckles so thick they could almost pass for a tan. He grinned at his wife, a moony, lopsided grin that made Jay look away. There were times when it was damned uncomfortable being around the two of them.

“So,” Angie asked, eyeing the Beast as she filled two plastic cups with sweet tea, “she gonna make it ’til harvest, do you think?”

Young Buck cocked one eye and gave his chin a scratch. “At this point I’m not sure she’s gonna make it ’til sundown.”

Angie handed out ham and cheese sandwiches in little plastic bags, then turned her eyes to the tractor. It was the kind of look she might have given a lame horse. “Maybe it’s time to do the humane thing.”

Young Buck’s mouth was already full. “And use what to buy a new one?”

“You know Virgil will give you whatever you need on credit,” she said, swapping his empty sandwich bag for a full one. “Look, I know keeping this thing going has turned into some macho badge of honor, but harvest is six weeks out. We’ll be in a fine mess if the old girl decides to give up the ghost right as the picking crew shows up.”

Jay didn’t say a word. She was right, of course. What she didn’t know was that twenty-four hours ago, their plans had changed.

“Stop looking at me like that, Jay. I’m not asking you to flush the family goldfish. It’s a tractor, for crying out loud. I know you said you didn’t want to go into hock, but it wouldn’t be that much. The two of you need to be out in the rows, not in here performing CPR.”

Buck looked to Jay. “What do you think, boss?”

Jay kept his eyes on his sandwich as he worked it from its bag. “I think no matter what, we need to keep her breathing until we get the fruit in.”

Buck nodded gravely. “I’ll do what I can, but I think we may need to bring in a priest.”

“Last rites?”

“Exorcism.”

Jay forced himself to smile. He’d seen the flicker of concern in Angie’s eyes when he said
no matter what.
The woman didn’t miss a trick. “Well, if you think an exorcism will help, I’m in. Hell, at this point we’ve tried everything but duct tape and religion.”

Buck’s face fell. “Sorry, boss. Tried the duct tape this morning.”

Jay grinned in earnest now. Thank God for Buck. The man was always good for a laugh, even when laughing was the last damn thing that made sense.

When the sandwiches were gone, Angie handed out the apples and collected the scraps. “I’ll leave you two engineers to it, then. Try not to burn down the barn or cut off any important body parts. I’m off to ShopWay for popcorn. Sammi Lee talked me into a sleepover. Five eight-year-olds in one house—God help us all.”

Jay watched Buck’s eyes trail appreciatively after his wife’s backside and wondered why some men hit the jackpot, while others hit the wall. “How’d you get a smart girl like that to marry you, Shively? She lose a bet or something?”

Buck pushed back a fringe of red hair and grinned. “I ask myself that almost every day. So does her daddy—every time he sees me.” He paused to bite into his apple before changing the subject. “Speaking of sleepovers, I saw you had a guest yourself. Saw her pull away in her Beemer just a little bit ago—looked real nice. Maybe the lone wolf’s changing his spots?”

Jay smiled tightly. Here it was, then, the moment of truth. “No, Bucko. I promise my spots are still intact. The Beemer you saw belongs to the mistress of the manor.”

Buck’s apple stalled midway to his mouth. “Do what?”

“Miss Scarlett has come home to Tara.”

Buck’s eyes widened. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

Buck blinked at him. “What the hell’s she been waiting for?”

Jay rifled his own half-eaten apple out the barn door and watched it wobble to a stop in the dirt. “Doesn’t matter. She’s headed to town right now to meet with the attorney. I think she’s going to sell.”

Buck went quiet. Jay knew he was calculating what the news might mean to his small family, to the arrangement that let them live rent-free in exchange for Buck’s expertise as a vineyard man.

“Does she know someone?” he asked finally.

“Know someone?”

“Who wants to buy it?”

Jay shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll have some time, at least.”

Buck kicked a greasy rag across the barn floor. “This is sure going to make a mess of things.”

Jay gazed out at the trellised fields beyond the barn. “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m afraid it is.”

Leslie

T
he office of Goddard and Goddard wasn’t an office at all, but a converted three-story Queen Anne that conjured thoughts of Edgar Allan Poe and Mrs. Caswell’s ninth-grade English class. The reception area, a made-over parlor, was dimly lit and reeked of stale tobacco. A woman in lumpy gray tweed looked up over enormous glasses, inquired if Leslie had an appointment, then directed her to an office at the end of a narrow hall.

The man behind the large mahogany desk was young and slender, with wheat-colored hair and pale blue eyes, too young to be an attorney, surely. He folded his hands on the blotter and smiled blandly. “Good afternoon…Ms. Nichols, is it?”

“Yes. I have an appointment with William Goddard.”

“Actually, your appointment is with me. William was my grandfather. He passed away a few months back, which means you’re stuck with me.” He reached a hand across the desk. “Brendan Goddard.”

Leslie shook his hand, then took the chair he offered. “I’m here about my grandmother’s estate.”

“Yes, Peak Plantation.” Withdrawing a green Pendaflex file from one of the drawers, he emptied its contents onto the desk. “I’ll need a few moments,” he told her, pointing to a stack of storage boxes near
the door. “Your file was already boxed for the move, so I haven’t had a chance to review it. I must say I was surprised when you turned up out of the blue. I’m sure Mr. Davenport was as well.”

Leslie wasn’t in the mood to talk about Mr. Davenport. “Do you think we could proceed, Mr. Goddard?”

“Please, call me Brendan, and yes, I believe everything’s in order. Generally, the reading of a will is attended by all interested parties. However, in this case, after so much time, all other parties have been apprised of your grandmother’s final wishes, and all related articles of property have been disposed of.” He skimmed several pages off the stack, flipping them over on the desk. “I’ll be happy to cover it all, but unless you object, we can move straight to what was left to you.”

Leslie nodded.

“As you probably know, Ms. Nichols, your grandmother was a woman of considerable property, real property, that is, eighty-five acres in all. There are also several houses with which you are undoubtedly familiar, various barns and outbuildings. Then there are the contents of the primary home, and a small amount of cash.”

He slid a bank statement across the desk, lined up beside various deeds, surveys, and property tax assessments. It quickly blurred together with the others.

“As you can see, Ms. Nichols, the bulk of your grandmother’s net worth was in the property, and her venture with Mr. Davenport.”

Leslie’s eyes snapped back to Goddard. “I’m sorry, did you say Mr. Davenport?”

“I assumed you knew they were partners.”

“Partners?” The word caught Leslie off guard. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “Was she…Did she handle all this herself?”