“Fine. Do it on your own.” Her lips thinned out as she pressed them together.
“Fine.” Taylor clenched her fists and took a deep breath. “No, it’s not fine, and you know it. You know I need you. So stop being a bitch and help us, please.”
Maddie’s lip curled as though she were suppressing a snarl. “We need to make Belle’s next appointment. Two days from now, same time?”
“Fine.” Taylor agreed to the appointment with a terrible feeling of defeat.
* * *
Back at Flour Sax, Belle and Grandpa Ernie sat together in his little corner of their world, but Belle was glued to her phone. Grandpa Ernie seemed to have great patience for her, despite her generational addiction to the internet.
“Hey, Roxy…”
Taylor’s dedicated employee was cutting fat quarters from almost empty bolts. She wore a vest Taylor swore she recognized from her teen years—a spring flower patchwork. Her mom had made it, but she had never worn it.
Roxy sighed. “I’m doing my best.”
“What? No…. I’m not going to criticize you! You’re doing great.”
“Oh…” She seemed down, and Taylor didn’t like the way she assumed she was in trouble. Her mom hadn’t managed by fear, had she? “It’s just I saw you had the sales records with you when you came in. I’m really working on selling, but everyone just wants to browse. Or come in to gossip about Laura. They go over there,” she indicated the corner where the YouTube show was streaming, “watch the videos and talk about her…”
“I hadn’t thought…”
“You would hate to hear the things they’re saying.” Roxy’s face was red, anger and sadness mixed.
“I haven’t heard any of it.” She had seen the way people whispered behind their hands, but she hadn’t wanted to hear what they were saying as they looked furtively in her direction and scuttled out of the shop.
“They don’t talk openly when you’re in here, you’re her daughter and all. I’m just an employee. But I was her friend too, and I don’t like hearing them call her a drunk or whatever.”
Taylor shuddered. “No, I don’t like that either. Who is it? Locals?”
“Yeah, townies and others from around here.” Roxy folded the quarter yard square of fabric over and over again.
“I could turn off the show.” Taylor had considered doing this anyway. The sound of her mom’s voice coming from the notions display brought sharp biting tears to her eyes at unexpected times.
“They’ll still talk,”
“But they won’t loiter gawking at her and gossiping. I’m sure of it.”
Roxy nodded, accepting her word for it.
“Speaking of the videos, I think I need to start making more.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear it. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.” A lilt returned to Roxy’s movement and a shine to her eyes as though a million pound weight had lifted from her shoulders.
“The only thing is, I have no idea how she did it.” Taylor chewed on her thumbnail, embarrassed. Here she was, the eldest kid, her mom’s partner in crime for so many years, and she had to turn to an employee to find out what the heck her mom had been doing to make such good money online.
“We did it together.” Roxy wrapped the fabric in the paper label.
“That’s fantastic. I’m so glad to hear it. Did you film and edit and stuff?”
Roxy cut another square of fabric with one quick slash of the Ginghers. “I filmed it, then Jonah, my son, did the edits, and Belle managed the channel.”
“This is the best news I’ve heard in a while. You’re saying all Mom had to do was prep and practice and do the show?”
“Yes.” Roxy paused, mouth slightly open like she wanted to say more but was afraid.
“I’ll pay whatever she was paying. We’ll get back on the same schedule. We’ll do everything exactly the same.”
Roxy smiled. “I’m so glad to hear it. This was the only job Jonah could find in town and he can’t drive right now. Auto insurance for teenage boys is way too expensive, so I can’t afford to put him on mine. This show has been such a blessing to us.”
Taylor swallowed. “Of course. I’ve been doing my best going through all of the store records, but I’m still behind. Is there any way you could let me see your invoices or pay stubs or anything? I want to make sure you have everything you need.”
Roxy’s eyes went wide and soft. “I’ll do anything you want, whenever. Just let me know and we’ll take care of it.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d better go back to the office and get at it.”
Roxy waved her away.
Her mom’s office was merely a desk with a safe under it at the back of the shop, next to the stairs to the apartment. Taylor wanted to turn the whole apartment into a proper office, but before she jumped into big jobs like that, she needed to focus on the store. It was one thing to play detective to help Belle get closure. It was another to get so wrapped up in the search for the truth that she let the family business fail.
And she had a terrible feeling it was failing, like so many other parts of her life right now.
Last time she’d visited for more than a day, there had been three employees at the shop, Roxy who had been here forever, Willa who had retired from the business office at the college, and Roberta who could only work when she wasn’t babysitting her grandson. Taylor couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Willa or Roberta. They weren’t on the books anymore. In fact, they hadn’t been this year at all. She’d assumed they were still around, and possibly coming back for their busy season. But they weren’t. The sales records were clear on that. Roxy was the only employee because she was the only one they could afford. She and her son who handled the video edits.
Taylor took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Things weren’t good at Flour Sax these days, but she could turn it around. She wouldn’t let them down. Flour Sax had always been a good little shop, a good little employer. She just needed to remind people the store was out here. The internet had killed a lot of businesses, but quilters still needed fabric, and they liked to see it and touch it before they bought it. Quilt fabric was not something better sourced online.
In the meantime, she didn’t like that Roxy couldn’t afford auto insurance for her son on what they paid her. She had hoped to leave the world of overworked and underpaid employees behind her at the corporate chain store.
“I’m so glad you aren’t mad at me.” Roxy appeared around the corner. “We just need that cash cushion, that’s all. Your mom was a big believer in that, but I’m sure you know. With a cash cushion it’s easy to weather a slow spot.” She patted the little half wall that hid the desk. “But really, anything you need, I am here for you.”
“Thanks, I’m making a list. It’s gonna be long.”
Roxy chuckled and went back to the front of the store.
She was right though. A cash cushion had been Laura Quinn’s motto. And she definitely had one. But Taylor’s motto was advertising, and she was going to have to dip into that cash cushion if she wanted to see good things for this store this fiscal year.
Roxy worked till closing—eleven to six just wasn’t a long working day. When they parted ways, Taylor had a much better idea of how this filming business would go and some ideas for what she could make videos about.
* * *
Despite a positive end to the workday, Taylor’s feelings of insecurity got the better of her that evening. She was not just overwhelmed and cranky, she was angry at the world for doing this to her. Not even to the family. Just her. Her shields were up, and she didn’t have room for anyone else in her little fortress of frustration.
Grandpa had been asleep when she got home, ready to go to the bank. And a quick check at the local small town credit union website had reminded her that they weren’t open anyway. She couldn’t solve any larger problems for their family, and she could hardly keep her head above water with the regular household work. The laundry had pile
d up, the dishes had piled up, and Belle was ignoring her texts and her calls.
She was doing her best, but it wasn’t good enough. In the middle of her private tantrum, her phone rang.
Her hands were slippery with soap suds—she was attempting to take control of at least one part of life—so she couldn’t get the phone before it went to voicemail. She dried them as fast as she could and drug her phone out of her purse. The number didn’t show up on the screen, but she checked the message anyway. Between vendors she was trying to establish new relationships with and legal issues for the family situation, there were any number of strangers calling. She chalked up her inability to keep track of the necessary details for business and life to the fact that her mom had passed less than a month ago and the seams of her mental health were definitely fraying.
Taylor put the phone on speaker and went back to the dishes.
The voice came on strong, and she dropped a plate. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it stops now. I’m not letting that little—” the message was interrupted by a crashing noise and the sound of the caller swearing, but not into the phone. It stopped there, some emergency on the other end aborting his threats.
Taylor wasn’t in the mood to be threatened or trifled with so she returned the call, but it rang indefinitely and then said the voicemail was full.
She slammed a freshly cleaned stainless mixing bowl into the dish rack. Then, feeling like this guy deserved to be harassed, she called the number again. And again. And again. She had called it fifteen times in total, not getting an answer, when another call came through, distracting her from her mission to annoy the hell out of what had probably been a wrong number.
She didn’t recognize this number either, but at least it was listed. “Yes.” Her voice was not friendly. She hoped it wasn’t a vendor.
“Taylor?”
“This is she.” Taylor paced the kitchen hoping to walk off the aggravation she had built up against her anonymous threat-caller.
“This is Amara. You called recently to talk about your mom’s will.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. I did. But actually, I wanted to talk about the custody situation for Belle more than anything. When can we meet?”
“I have a free appointment in the afternoon two days from now, would that work?”
“I can make it work.”
“My office is in Newburg, still okay?”
“Not a problem.”
She gave her the address and Taylor jotted it down.
“Even though you’re only asking about custody stuff, we need to talk about the will. I think you’ll be glad we did.”
“Wonderful.” Taylor didn’t sound like she meant it, but that was because she was still spitting nails.
“But regarding custody, don’t let your heart be troubled.” Amara’s voice was friendly and soothing in a way Taylor had wished Maddie would be.
“Why not?” She stopped in the middle of the kitchen.
“Changing legal guardianship can take well over six months at which point Belle will already be a student at the university. There is no way any judge is going to force her to change that situation. In fact, it’s most likely he will grant her an emancipation. It only makes sense, don’t you think?”
Taylor scrunched her mouth, hard. “She’s only sixteen. I’m not sure emancipation is a good idea.”
“I can see why you’d feel that way, but don’t forget that Belle isn’t your average sixteen year old. Let’s not worry over that right now. We can discuss the details at your appointment, in addition to the will.”
“Thanks Amara.” Taylor softened her tone a little. “I appreciate it.”
“See you then.”
They ended the call and Taylor stared at the phone. Emancipation? Emancipated minor? She thought that was just for abuse victims or spoiled rich kids with absent parents. Belle didn’t have absent parents. She didn’t need to finish her teen years legally alone. The anger Taylor had almost controlled beat against her rib cage.
Her phone rang again, this time unlisted. She snatched it. “What?” She snapped the one word like a dried twig.
“I’m returning your call to the bank.” The voice on the other end seemed to find humor in the way Taylor answered the phone. “Am I speaking to Taylor Quinn?”
“Ah.” Taylor cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I want to admit to that right now.”
“I’m returning a call about the Flour Sax account. If you’d like to have Taylor Quinn call me back, I’m John Hancock, this is my number.” He gave her his phone number plus extension.
“John Hancock?” Taylor stifled a much needed chuckle. “Sorry about that. I had a bizarre threatening phone call moments ago from an unlisted number.”
“Did this one show up unlisted? Jeeze. I’m sorry. It’s not supposed to do that, but I did use a back line since it’s after hours.”
Taylor hoped this John Hancock was the same good-looking guy named John she had met not long ago at the bank, and in that hope, she settled comfortably into a chair.
“How can I help you?” John Hancock asked.
“I’ve taken over the family business—Flour Sax Quilts up in Comfort. I’m going to need to be put on the business account. What do I need to get to do that? Something from a lawyer?”
“That’s easy. Ernie’s on the account as an administrator, he can just add you. Bring him down soon and take care of that. No lawyer needed.” Some papers rumpled on his desk. It was a nice old-fashioned sound.
“I don’t know if you remember from when I was in before, but my mother Laura Quinn passed away, so I’ll need to remove her…”
“That’s a little more complicated, but still not hard. Unfortunately, we do need a copy of the death certificate.”
“Got it.” In fact, it was still waiting at the funeral home for her to pick it up.
“If that’s everything, I’ll let you go. Who knows when your phone enemy will call again.”
“Yeah, I should probably get all riled up again just in case, huh?”
He laughed. “Hope to see you soon.”
The call ended and Taylor smiled.
Funny thing to smile after a call about getting her dead mother off her business account, but she welcomed it. This grief business was killing her.
Her phone enemy didn’t call back that afternoon, but Belle texted. “eating with Cooper.”
Taylor wanted to think of something terribly clever and a little curt to respond to that, but she couldn’t, so she just said “cool” knowing full well that her text wasn’t cool, and that she wasn’t cool with Belle’s dinner plans.
Chapter Eleven
Taylor had a hard time falling asleep that night. She chalked it up to getting so mad about what had probably just been a wrong number. She ought to have taken a long walk to get over herself, but Belle hadn’t come home, and she wasn’t sure she could leave Grandpa by himself. He seemed fine, but then, before he went to bed, he asked her if she thought Todd and the boys had the fires under control yet.
Todd was her dad.
Taylor dozed on and off a little, but she was awake when Belle slipped into her room. Belle had on some baggy winter themed jammies and padded her way in quietly. She sat on the floor, leaning her head back on her bed. “Are you awake?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Mm hmm.” Taylor fluffed the quilt aside, an invitation for Belle to join her like she had done when she was little.
“Ever since this morning with Maddie, I keep thinking about Amara.”
“How so?” Taylor propped herself up on her elbow and stroked Belle’s soft hair.
“Now that Mom is gone, why hasn’t Amara brought up Colleen with me?”
“It’s not really her place, is it?”
“But she was their friend so she must have known. What does she gain by not telling me about it?”
“You’re just a kid.”
Belle shifted her head away.
“Let me finish before you get
mad. You’re underage. Maybe there’s some kind of legal reason she can’t say anything to you.”
“There’s not.”
“Maybe Colleen asked her not to.”
“What does Amara get out of Mom being dead?”
“I’d think nothing. She lost a good friend.” Taylor yawned. Tomorrow would kill her if she didn’t get any sleep.”
“But she’s the family lawyer, right? Doesn’t she get a lot of work out of this? Doesn’t that mean we have to pay her a lot of money?”
“I hope not.”
“What if she gets something else out of it? Something we can’t see yet?”
“I’m going to see her in a couple of days. Want to come?”
Belle pulled down the Barn Dance quilt that was folded on the end of the bed for decoration and wrapped herself up in it. “No. I don’t. If she’s keeping secrets from me, the only way we’ll learn them is if you go alone.”
After a few moments of silence, Belle climbed onto the bed and lay on top of the other blankets. She rested her head on the spare pillow. “I miss Mom.”
“Me too.”
* * *
Taylor managed to get through the next day’s work, though it was quiet enough in the store, she almost fell asleep more than once.
But the day after that Taylor was well-rested and drove expertly to Amara’s office on the first try, thanks to her phone.
Amara worked out of a newer brick office building with a rock garden and fountain area out front. Once inside, a receptionist shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a bandaged finger and asked Taylor to wait.
Taylor was about ten minutes early, so she sat in a chrome and black pleather arm chair and pretended to read something on her phone. After a moment, it rang, the number unlisted. She answered it softly. “Hello?”
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