And then what? Would he buy that ranch that had been Montague’s dream and live there alone, isolated and hidden, so he wouldn’t get caught? Or would he just keep moving, keep scoring, keep deceiving everyone he met for the rest of his life?
A knock on the door to his room startled him, as though he’d been caught with his incriminating thoughts. He glanced at the appointment calendar on his computer to see if he’d forgotten someone. He hadn’t.
Tucking his shirt in and finger-combing his hair, he went to the door. Slade Hampton, the barber, waited there with Jack at his side. “Slade, come on in,” Logan said, shaking the man’s hand.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Slade said. “I didn’t have an appointment, but I just made my mind up this minute.”
It was exactly the kind of thing Logan liked to hear. Bending down to pet Jack, he said, “What’s on your mind?”
“My retirement,” Slade said. “I think I told you that I’ve been planning for it for years. Saving a good portion of what I made, so that one day, I could retire in style and do some traveling, some gardening, some volunteering — the kinds of things I’ve never had the chance to do.”
“Sounds like heaven,” Logan said. “Are you planning to do it soon?”
Slade hesitated for a moment, then looked Logan squarely in the eye. “No. Actually, I’ve decided to keep working a while longer. I want to invest my retirement money into the park. When it starts paying me back, then I’ll retire.”
Logan stared at him for a moment, his conscience at war with his goal. This was what he’d come for — to take money from marks like this. Besides, Slade loved his work. He loved cutting hair, always having someone to talk to, always having a line of friends and neighbors waiting for his services. Retirement probably wouldn’t suit him. He was the type who should work until he simply couldn’t anymore.
And yet — the money Slade was offering him was his life savings, the money he’d earned and banked, the money that would allow him to finally do the things he deserved after a lifetime of working on his feet.
“So do you think that’s realistic? That I’ll earn it back, and then some, in time to retire?”
Something inside Logan — something that had never been there before, something unwelcome — prevented him from lying and making a quick killing. “I can’t promise that you’ll earn every penny back in the next ten years, Slade. In fact, I can almost promise you won’t.”
“But you said —”
“I know what I said, but it’s a matter of timing.” Logan went to his logbook, opened it up to a clean page. Sitting down, he wrote Slade’s name at the top. “Everyone who invests stands to make a fortune. Just not overnight.” He looked up at Slade and noted the disappointment on his face. “Look, don’t give me the whole thing, Slade. Keep some back, just in case. I can promise you dividends enough to supplement your retirement. They’ll grow every year, I know that.”
Wearily, Slade sat down on the edge of the bed, his face pale. “I came here prepared to give you all I had.”
“I know, but I can’t take it. Not all of it.”
Slade rubbed his face, slumping slightly. “You see, I’d like to have enough to live well on in retirement, but still leave something behind to my daughter and her husband. They don’t expect anything, ‘cause I’ve never been a rich man. But wouldn’t it be nice if I could take care of their kids’ educations, maybe a down payment on a house? I don’t quite have enough for that as it is, Logan. But I might if I invest with you. I could leave them my share of the park, and that would be just as good.”
Logan took a deep breath and leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. He tried to block out Montague’s voice blaring through his ears, Take it, boy! You’re thinking too much. Stop it right now!
Logan slammed the door on his conscience and gave in. “All right, Slade. I’ll take whatever you’re offering. And I’ll do my best to see that it helps you reach your goals.”
Slade smiled like a lottery winner as he fished the checkbook out of his back pocket and picked up a pen from Logan’s table. “Thank you, Logan. You’re practically saving this town, you know. You couldn’t have come along at a better time.”
Logan watched him tear the check out and hand it to him, and his heart jolted when he saw the amount — one hundred thousand dollars. It was enough, he thought. Enough to call the mission accomplished and get out of town. There was no point in being greedy. No point in waiting for more.
Excitement welled inside him as he made the careful log entry, trying to keep up the appearance of legitimacy. When he’d finished, he laid the check carefully on the log entry’s page and closed the book. “Thank you, Slade. You won’t regret it.”
They shook hands. Slade’s was unusually limp and clammy. Perspiration glistened over his lip and at his temples, and his face became even more pasty than it had been when he came in.
“Slade,” Logan said softly, “are you feeling all right?”
Slade tried to chuckle, but the effort fell flat. “Just a little angina, I think,” he said. “Chest feels a little tight.”
Alarmed, Logan got to his feet. “Do you … do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“No, no,” Slade said. “I’ll go up the street to see Dr. Peneke.”
“Right now? Do you want me to drive you?”
He waved him off. “I’m fine, Logan. I can make it.”
Logan hesitated at the door as Slade went through it, walking with a pained slump, but trying to hide it. When he stumbled and fell against the wall, Logan ran out and caught him. He eased Slade to the floor as Jack began to whimper. “Doc!” Logan yelled. “Help, Doc! We’ve got an emergency! Please! Somebody call an ambulance!”
In seconds, Doc, who had never been a real doctor, ran out of the office downstairs, looked up at Logan holding Slade, then dashed back inside to the phone.
As Slade clutched at his heart and winced in pain, Logan flashed back to Montague’s heart attack. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. Just hold on.” The memory of the teenaged kid he used to be, and the death of the only person in his life who had cared for him, reeled in a loop through Logan’s frantic mind.
Jack began to whimper and lick Slade’s face.
In moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, the area outside Logan’s room was crowded with paramedics and machinery. But before they could get him on the gurney, Slade Hampton was dead.
fifteen
The funeral home was crowded from the first moment of visitation. Flowers lined all four walls of the viewing room, where mourners clustered beside the coffin, paying their last respects to the barber who’d been such a vital part of the community. Logan felt a tinge of apprehension as he signed the guest book, and a great sadness fell over him as he noted how vastly different this was than it had been when Montague died.
He hadn’t bothered with visitation for Montague, since they’d been in the town solely to score, and the only “friends” they’d made were marks who had believed them to be government employees selling surplus real-estate holdings dirt cheap. Since Montague had never spoken of family back home in England, Logan had arranged a small, private funeral at which the only guests were Logan and the preacher he’d hired. He had taken the money they’d made thus far on that score — several thousand dollars — and bought the best coffin he could afford and a headstone with Montague’s final con — an epitaph that claimed he was “a pious man, beloved of all who knew him.”
But it wasn’t a con in Slade’s case, for everyone who came by to pay their respects to Slade’s daughter had tears in their eyes and stories to tell of special ways Slade had touched them. It was so sudden, they all said. So unexpected. He’d had so much living yet to do.
But no one felt that as vividly as Logan, as he waited for the small group at the coffin to break up. And when they did, there was Jack, curled up on the floor at the foot of the casket, looking as forlorn as an abandoned child.
Logan didn�
��t know where the tears came from, but he blinked them back as he looked down at Slade’s slumbering body. “You weren’t supposed to die, you old fool,” he whispered under his breath. He drew in a long, deep breath and turned away.
Carny stood behind him, looking up at him with uncertain eyes. “Carny.”
“I heard he was with you when he died,” she said, and though he expected it, he found no accusation in her voice.
“That’s right.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and he wondered when she would ask how much he’d gotten from the man before he collapsed. If she knew he held a check for a hundred thousand dollars in his pocket right now, she’d probably break her neck getting to a phone to call the police.
He looked back at Slade’s body. “He was talking about retiring. Traveling. Doing all the things he’d never had time to do.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat.
Carny looked down at Slade’s body, her eyes filling with tears. “Serenity won’t be the same without him.” Then she looked up at Logan. “Are you all right?”
The question threw him, and for a moment, he searched the words for hidden meaning. Why wasn’t she condemning him, blaming him? “I … I’m fine.” He looked down at the dog, still lying there. “Look at Jack. He won’t leave Slade’s side.”
“It’s gonna be awfully hard for him,” Carny said.
Logan stooped next to the dog and scratched his ear. As he stroked Jack, Slade’s daughter Betsy left the cluster of people surrounding her and approached them. “We don’t know what we’re going to do with Jack,” she said, wiping her eyes. “He wouldn’t leave Daddy’s side all night. Mr. Nelson, the undertaker, said he had to lock him out of the building last night, but he slept right beside the door until he let him in this morning.”
The image of Jack refusing to leave Slade’s side touched Logan in a place that had been numb for as long as he could remember. “How do you explain death to a dog?” His eyes filled again, and he blinked back the sting of tears. “He’ll just keep expecting him to come back.”
Carny touched Betsy’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Have you slept any?”
“Some,” Betsy said. “It’s been a shock, but … we’ll make it. Mr. Brisco, I know he was with you when he died … I know you did everything you could …”
Logan looked at her. Where were these emotions coming from, the ones assaulting him from so many directions today? Coming to this town had been a mistake. A serious tactical error. Montague would have been long gone, and he’d have already cashed that hundred-thousand-dollar check.
But Logan wasn’t Montague. Maybe he was just weak.
“He … he came to me that day to talk about an investment, Betsy,” he said, and Carny’s head snapped up. “He had a dream of retiring and traveling and doing whatever he wanted, but he still wanted to leave an inheritance to you to put your kids through college, help you financially … he wanted to invest his retirement into the park, so he could make it grow enough to do both of those things.”
“He gave you money?” Carny asked.
“Yes,” Logan said. “He gave me everything he had. A hundred thousand dollars.”
Betsy gasped. Carny’s mouth dropped open, but it was Betsy who got out the words.
“I had no idea … that he had …”
“He’s been saving for years,” Logan said. “Your father might not have made a lot of money, but he saved it well.”
He could see the recriminations in Carny’s eyes, the murderous accusations, the I-told-you-so’s. But for now, she had too much decorum to vent those feelings in front of Slade’s body, his grieving daughter, and a room full of mourners.
Logan looked into the young woman’s eyes and realized he had two choices. He could keep the money and tell Betsy how much this investment was going to make for her and her family, or he could do the right thing, the thing Carny least expected. The thing he would never have expected of himself.
Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out the check, unfolded it, and handed it to Betsy. “I haven’t cashed the check yet, Betsy. And in light of what happened to Slade, I can’t do it in good conscience. This money should go to you.”
Bursting into tears, Betsy took the check in trembling hands. Reaching up to hug him, she whispered, “Thank you, Logan. You’re a good man.” Then she disappeared back into the other room, leaving him with Slade’s body, Jack, and Carny.
Carny looked speechless when he finally met her gaze. She’d clearly been ready to chew him out, and now she didn’t seem to know what to say.
“What did you think I would do?” he asked. “Skip town with his life savings?”
She drew in a deep breath. “I thought I had you all figured out,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises.”
Unable to take another moment of her scrutiny, and unable to hold back his anger at himself, Logan made his way back through the crowd and left the funeral home. Instead of returning to the Welcome Inn, he just drove. What was happening to him? As he drove down the main street of town, mentally identifying every store by its owner, he found that he had warm feelings about each owner’s family and the employees who worked there. Some of them had given him money, and others were on the verge.
He was getting too soft. Giving back that check had been inexplicable. Montague would have washed his hands of Logan right then and there.
He reached the outskirts of town, where the land lay empty and abandoned — the area he’d claimed would be developed into the park. And as he aimlessly followed the roads around it, he asked himself why he had given that check back. Was it for his own conscience, a conscience that had never spoken up before, no matter how much money he took? Or was it to impress Carny? If so, it was just another hustle.
He drove for over an hour before he realized he had no direction. No attachment. No home. Was the life in hiding Montague had dreamed of really so great? Montague had never attained his dream. He’d died in a strange town, and even his headstone was a sham. He hadn’t been able to keep his fortune. What good had any of his clever schemes done him the day he dropped dead?
Logan wasn’t sure he wanted the same fate — to leave behind no legacy except that of being a fraud and a thief.
He didn’t like the fact that it disturbed him so deeply. Why now, when it never had before? Logan pulled his car to the side of the road, left it idling, and tried to think. Never before had he allowed himself regrets about the people he’d scammed. Never before had he given a thought to what they would think of him when he was gone.
But this time, he cared deeply.
Jerking the car into gear, he turned around and headed back to Serenity. But his self-disgust stayed with him like the stench of a skunk. He had to see this through, because it was too late to turn back. But when it was over, there would be little joy in his success.
sixteen
Why do people have to die?”
Carny finished tying the knot in her son’s tie and looked into his freckled face. Usually, she had a ready-made, carefully thought-out answer to these profound questions, but today she was at a loss. “I don’t know, Jason. Maybe Slade had finished doing whatever God meant for him to do.”
“Will he go to heaven?”
“I’m sure,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “He was a strong Christian. He loved Jesus and showed it every day.”
“Do you think Logan will be at the funeral?”
The question seemed to come from left field, and Carny stood up and got her purse. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Just wondered.” He looked quietly at her, then said, “Mom, you look real pretty.”
“Thanks, honey,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead. “But I don’t think black is my color.”
“You look pretty in any color,” he said. “Logan thinks so too.”
Frowning, she turned back to him. “Logan? When did he tell you that?”
Jason hesitated for a mo
ment, then shrugged. “Maybe at church. No, it was at the dance. That must have been when.”
The way he answered alerted her that something wasn’t quite right, but they were going to be late, so she let it go. She was just about to ask him what else Logan had said, when Jason pulled another question out of thin air.
“Can we have Jack?”
Getting in the truck, she shot him a look. “I don’t think so, honey. We have enough animals, and he’s used to living inside. Besides, I think Betsy’s family will probably take Jack in.”
“Poor dog,” Jason said, gazing out the window. She blinked back the tears misting in her eyes and tried to concentrate on getting to the church.
After the service had started, when Carny had almost given up on Logan’s attending the funeral, he walked into the church, head down and shoulders slumped. She saw him slip into the back pew and look toward the coffin at the front of the church. Jack lay curled next to it, still unwilling to leave his master’s side. The other mourners had told Carny how Betsy’d tried to get Jack out of the church for the funeral, but he’d growled at her, so she’d left him alone.
Carny couldn’t help playing the facts over in her mind. Had she been wrong about Logan? Would he really have given back a check for a hundred thousand dollars if he were, indeed, a con artist? She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which her father, no matter how attached he got to someone, would give back a hundred grand.
Logan had seemed truly shaken by Slade’s death, and the tears she’d seen in his eyes when he’d stood at the coffin had been real. She knew she wasn’t wrong about that. But she’d been sure she wasn’t wrong about his being a fraud, either. Now she was just confused.
Jason snuggled closer, leaning his head against her as dear old friends stood and told stories about Slade. The barber would have enjoyed it. It was a shame that people waited until you were gone to say good things about you.
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