The Secrets She Carried (5 page)

Brendan Goddard smiled knowingly. “You’re asking if your grandmother was of sound mind, as they say.” He shrugged. “I never met the woman, but my grandfather never gave any indication that she wasn’t. I understand why you’d wonder, though, the way she carved
things up. But, Ms. Nichols, let me caution you. Contesting a will can be a nasty business.”

He was leaning forward in his chair now, brows knitted. “I can see that you’re upset. That’s understandable. But after so long an estrangement, it might be wise to accept things as they are. In cases like these—”

Leslie was only half listening, making a mental list of questions, contemplating her next step, but finally Goddard’s words penetrated.

“I’m sorry, did you just say
carved
?”

Goddard squirmed a bit in his chair. “You have spoken with Mr. Davenport, haven’t you?”

“I met him last night. Why do you ask?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t be very happy about…things.”

Leslie felt the room wobble. “What…things? What are you saying?”

Goddard spread his hands on the desk and eyed her squarely. “I’m saying your grandmother divided her property between two beneficiaries, and one of those beneficiaries is you.”

“And the other?”

“Is Mr. Davenport.”

“Mr. Davenport…my grandmother’s handyman?”

“I’m told he and your grandmother were quite close.”

“And I suppose Mr. Davenport told you that?”

“Ms. Nichols, given the length of your estrangement, you can’t expect—”

Leslie cut him off. “Your secretary mentioned some sort of time limit. I had a year to claim my inheritance or it would default to someone else. Might I ask who that someone is?”

“That would be Mr. Davenport, of course.”

He turned the remaining paperwork around and slid it across the desk. Leslie’s face went hot as she scanned the pages, scarcely able to believe what she was reading. The Big House, as well as the smaller
house where she had lived with her parents, belonged to her. Jay got the cottage and deed rights to the lake. The vineyard acreage was to be divided between them. It was impossible. And yet it was all there in black and white, properly sealed and notarized. Either Maggie had been completely out of her mind, or she had a nasty sense of humor.

She pushed the papers back. “Is there something I’m supposed to sign?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“To take possession of what’s mine. There are signatures required to complete these things, aren’t there?”

“Well, yes, of course, but—”

“May I have a pen?”

“Ms. Nichols, we’re not even close to being through. There are other documents we need to go over, so that you’re clear on the details.”

“I’m as clear as I need to be, Mr. Goddard. A pen, please.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, then gave up with a shrug. Separating out several sheets from the stack, he scooped them into a large white envelope. “Your copy of the deed is in here, as well as the property survey. We’ll need to record the transfer of deed with the county court. No liens of any kind, of course, and this year’s taxes have been paid. As executor, Mr. Davenport agreed to look after your share of the property until you could be reached. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”

Executor too. Well, he had certainly maneuvered it all very neatly. Another two weeks and all of Peak would have belonged to him. No wonder he’d been so happy to see her.

Goddard was raking together the last of the papers, preparing to slide them back into their cardboard pouch, when he stopped and upended the folder, shaking a ring of keys out onto the desk. He picked them up and handed them to her.

“I have no idea what any of these go to, but they’re yours—oh, and this.”

Leslie stared at the old sepia photo he put into her hand and felt goose bumps rise on her arms. It was a queer shot—a solitary grave enclosed by a low iron fence, the weathered stone listing to one side as if to hear a secret. It was an amazing shot as photos went, framed by a lightning-struck oak. She flipped it over. No date, no location, nothing.

“What is this?”

“I haven’t a clue, but it was in the file with your grandmother’s paperwork, so I can only assume it was meant for you. You don’t recognize it?”

Leslie shook her head. “Your grandfather never mentioned it?”

“Not that I recall. I suppose there could have been a mix-up while we were packing for the move. Last week I found a prenup misfiled with an adoption file. Take it. If I find out it was a mistake, I’ll get in touch.”

Leslie thanked him for his time, and stood.

Goddard stood, too, and walked her to the door. “Will you be staying on in Gavin, do you think?”

“Not permanently, no. I’ll be here as long as it takes me to dispose of…things.”

“I understand. My grandfather left me this place, and don’t get me wrong, it was very thoughtful, but it’s not exactly my style.” He pointed to the grandfather clock near the door. “Take that, for instance. What am I supposed to do with something like that?”

Leslie eyed the clock, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and likely worth a fortune. Its cabinet was the deep rich hue of molasses, its hands and face gleaming like a Sunday choir. The time was wrong, though, as if no one had bothered to wind it since William Goddard died. Staring at the dead face and hands, she searched for something to say.

Goddard saved her by sticking out a hand. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Ms. Nichols. I wish you luck—selling, I mean. Messy business, but the best thing for people like us.”

“People like us?”

He chuckled, a cold, uncomfortable sound. “The inheritors of white elephants, I guess you’d call us; the recipients of unwanted legacies. Our grandparents left us their whole life’s work, and we can’t run away from it fast enough.”

Leslie’s heels left a trail of wounds as she crossed the smooth green lawn. She had a few questions for Mr. Davenport, and according to the paperwork, the cottage was where she was likely to find him.

She could just make it out now, tucked between the trees along the lake’s eastern shore, bordered on three sides by a wall of mossy stone. In her day it was a musty shack crammed with old furniture and other assorted castoffs. Now, as she stepped from the trees, she saw that time had transformed it. Gone was the run-down shack of her memory, replaced by a quaint clapboard cottage with shiny black shutters, a white picket gate, and window boxes full of geraniums.

The front door stood open. Leslie stepped through without knocking. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but eventually she could make out her surroundings: a small parlor with a scrubbed pine floor, walls washed a soft seawater green, a smattering of simple pine furniture.

Something like surprise registered on Jay’s face when he glanced up and saw her in the doorway. He was seated behind a battered pine desk, bare chested but for the towel draped around his neck, his hair slightly damp. He took his time closing several desk drawers, then finally met her gaze, his expression infuriatingly bland.

“Good afternoon.”

Leslie wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. She crossed the room
and thrust Goddard’s papers at him. “You knew I’d find out about this. Why the farce?”

“There was no farce. I just thought it would sound better coming from Goddard. I assume he filled you in on all the gory details?”

Leslie mentally counted to ten before firing back. “He shouldn’t have had to. As my grandmother’s executor, you had an obligation to tell me the truth.”

Jay looked genuinely stunned. “Obligation…to you? Do you really want to stand there and talk about obligations when you’ve just breezed into town with your hand out?”

“That’s right, get all high-and-mighty. You’ve been hostile from the moment I showed up, but I didn’t get why until I was sitting in Goddard’s office. My turning up yesterday was pretty inconvenient, wasn’t it?”

“Stunning is more like it.”

Leslie ignored the dig. “If I had waited just two more weeks, it all would have gone to you. You can’t tell me that doesn’t piss you off.”

Jay stood, arms rigid at his sides. “I already got more than I should have.”

The response caught Leslie off guard. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

“You think I swindled your grandmother out of her fortune. Is that it?”

“I think I’ve got a right to know how all this happened.”

“You’re asking if I locked her in the attic until she agreed to leave me everything.”

“Goddard said you and Maggie were close. Is that true?”

Jay pulled the towel from his neck and dropped it on the chair before stepping from behind the desk. “The truth—at least the part that’s any of your business—is that your grandmother and I met and hit it off. Eventually we went into business together. There was nothing sneaky about it, but I can’t prove that. I had no idea about the
will. She and Goddard Senior cooked that up. I was as surprised as anyone.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“Can you see my side? I show up, and here you are, like a stray cat.”

He smiled at that. “I guess I was something of a stray when I showed up.”

“And Maggie just took you in?”

“Your grandmother was quite a woman, Leslie. And I’m not the only one who thought so. The whole town turned out for her funeral. It was something.” He paused, locking eyes with her. “You should have been there.”

Leslie winced. It was the kind of thing people said casually, about a party or a picnic, but they both knew that wasn’t what he meant.

His voice was softer when he spoke again, missing some of its edge. The change was unsettling. “She never stopped waiting for you to come back, you know. To her you were still an eight-year-old in pigtails.”

“I haven’t been eight for a very long time.”

“Maybe, but the eight-year-old was all she had.”

Leslie felt her throat tighten. “Can we not talk about this?”

“You don’t get it, do you? She hadn’t seen or heard from you in thirty years, but she was still waiting for you to come home. You didn’t, though—at least not while it mattered. So the next time you wonder why I’m hostile, you might try looking in the mirror.”

Determined not to flinch, she squared her shoulders. “Goddard’s papers may give you the right to half of Maggie’s estate, but they don’t give you the right to judge me.”

She turned then and headed to the door.

“I knew her last.”

The words hit her in the back, so soft that they forced her to turn around. “What?”

He closed the distance between them in a few short steps, neatly blocking her way. “You knew her first, when you were a girl. But at the end—when she needed someone—I was here. That’s what gives me the right. I knew her last.”

There was nothing to say to that, nothing at all. To this man she was the interloper, the grasping, illegitimate relation. And maybe he was right.

She willed herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I showed up and spoiled your plans.”

“That’s what you think? That I want it all?” His eyes locked with hers, searching for something. After a moment he shook his head. “There isn’t a shred of her in you, is there? You have her blood, even her looks, but none of her heart.”

Leslie stiffened. He was a stranger to her, and a con man for all she knew. How dare he stand there and claim to know anything about her? She didn’t care how long he’d been at Peak; her heart was none of his damn business. She was preparing to push past him when she remembered the photograph Goddard had given her. If he was such an expert on Maggie, then let him prove it. Fishing it out of the envelope, she handed it to him. “All right, you know so much about my grandmother. Tell me what this was doing with her papers.”

Jay took the photo, studying it briefly before flipping it over. After a moment he shrugged and handed it back. “What did Goddard say about it?”

Disappointed, Leslie returned the shrug. “He didn’t have a clue. His grandfather never mentioned it. For all he knows the thing was misfiled and has nothing at all to do with Maggie.” She peered at the photo again. “It’s strange, almost…familiar. Though I can’t imagine what it would have to do with Maggie.”

Jay let out a huff. “Could you please stop calling her that? She was your grandmother, for God’s sake, not some stranger.”

Leslie wanted to tell him that after thirty years Maggie was essentially a
stranger. Instead, she pushed past him and out onto the stoop. “What did you call her?”

He smiled then, a genuine smile that was a little sad too. “I called her
Old Broad
.”