Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Jerry was at Colonial Auction a half hour early for the first time ever. Of course he’d never fallen asleep the night before, so getting up had been no real feat. Despite having to face the consequences of his gullibility today, he was anxious to get the proceedings over with. In fact, he was wired. He hadn’t even needed a second cup of coffee.

  Shortly before the auction officially opened for business, four plainclothes police officers arrived from Orlando PD along with one investigator from the FBI. Two of the cops stayed outside in an unmarked car. The other three gave final instructions to Jerry and informed him that they would be wandering around the building pretending interest in merchandise.

  Mary Beth arrived at 8:30, when she usually did on Monday mornings. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, coming into the office and giving him a strawberry-flavored kiss. “Did you get all your paperwork done last night?”

  Ha! Paperwork. Jerry had never kept books for the auction, but that was the excuse he’d given Mary Beth last night for not spending time with her. He’d said he wanted to surprise Meg with an up-to-date set of records when she returned to Orlando. It had been a good excuse. Mary Beth hadn’t questioned him. The funny thing was, Jerry actually had spent the long evening hours entering credits and debits. It had been a way to keep his mind off what was to come the next morning.

  “Yep. All finished,” he said and stared at her with a longing he hoped she wouldn’t interpret as his way of saying goodbye. The phrase “too good to be true” popped into his mind for the hundredth time. Mary Beth had seemed a perfectly packaged combination of beauty, sweetness and seduction. But he knew now it had all been a facade. She matched the description given him by the Orlando PD to a tee. And today she was going down—both as a criminal and as Jerry’s ideal.

  She perched on the edge of his desk and looked out to the public area. “You have customers already this morning?” she asked.

  Jerry watched the cops dig through a couple of boxes of old books. “They’re collectors,” he said. “They come in every once in a while to hunt for first editions.”

  “Oh.” She stood up and straightened the pens in a ceramic mug on his desk. “How’s Spence?”

  All at once Jerry didn’t like her mentioning his nephew. True, she’d been good to the kid. She even acted as if she really liked him, but Jerry now figured she’d just done that to earn Jerry’s trust. She’d believed that Spence was his responsibility and knew he cared about him. What better way to gain someone’s confidence than through the people he loved? Mary Beth was good at her job.

  “He’s fine.”

  She glanced into the auction hall and tapped him on the shoulder. “They’re here.” She pointed to Mr. Horton and the fellow he always brought with him. Jerry realized that he’d never even gotten the other man’s name. “Let’s give them their check,” she said. “They’ll be so pleased.”

  Jerry picked up a check he’d faked and followed her out. Yeah, right. They were going to be overjoyed. One of the cops looked over at him and Jerry validated the identities of the two men with a discreet nod.

  And then everything happened in a matter of maybe sixty seconds. Mr. Horton accepted the check. The two cops and the agent surrounded him and his buddy. One of the officers uttered a few crisp, legal-sounding words while his partner restrained the crooks with handcuffs.

  And Mary Beth headed for the back entrance and her escape.

  She didn’t get far. An officer had positioned himself at the rear door, and within seconds he brought her back into the auction. She, too, wore cuffs.

  Jerry steeled himself to look her directly in the eyes. He expected to see hatred, anger, disappointment, perhaps fear. What he found was acceptance, maybe even relief. She stared at him for a long time until finally her lips curved slightly and she said, “Sorry, Jerry. It was fun while it lasted. I guess I should have known that one con artist can’t fool another con artist.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said. “I’m not like you.”

  She looked him right in the eye and said, “Oh, yes, you are. You lied about your nephew to get me to like you. You used him, and I used you.”

  For a moment, Jerry could only stare at her. “How did you figure that out?” he finally said.

  “Oh, come on, Jer, I know when somebody’s lying to me—most of the time. I knew the day we went to Disney World that Spencer had a good relationship with his mother. Good grief, he kept bringing her up in all our conversations.”

  It was true, and at the time Jerry had warned Spence to cool it with the references to Meg. “Still, you and I, we’re not the same,” he insisted again.

  “Only because what you did isn’t a crime.”

  “But I really liked you.”

  Her eyes glistened for a moment. He thought she might be going to cry. Of course he wouldn’t believe they were real tears.

  “That’s another way we’re similar,” she said. “I liked you, too. And Spence. That part wasn’t a lie.” The officer led her toward the door. “I don’t think I’ll be locked up too long,” she added. “Maybe when I get out…”

  Jerry was glad she’d gone through the door. Damn. Even after all she’d done, he wasn’t at all sure how he would have responded to her implied invitation.

  EARLY TUESDAY Jenny came downstairs dressed for Amelia’s memorial service in a black skirt and gray sweater.

  “Did you see Meg?” Wade asked.

  “She said she’d be down in a minute,” Jenny answered. “As soon as she gets Spencer’s tie on straight.”

  She went into the parlor and sat on one of the chairs Wade had brought over from his rental place so this house wouldn’t be completely empty. He knew he could have gone back now that the auction was over and Amelia’s belongings had been removed. No money had been found, and even those people who once believed it existed had to admit that the rumors were unfounded.

  But he hadn’t wanted to leave. Meg was grieving for Amelia and he thought his presence would help her to cope with her loss. He hadn’t imagined that she would seclude herself in her room for most of the last forty-eight hours. It wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t like her. Since she’d returned from Shady Grove and gone upstairs without speaking to anyone, the only time Wade had seen her was Sunday when she briefly came out on the porch to tell Gloria goodbye.

  If he hadn’t heard from the children that she appeared occasionally to work on the auction records, he might have broken her door down by now. As it was, he knocked periodically, and respected her wish that she just needed time alone. After all, he’d gone through the grieving process himself, and he knew that people reacted differently to loss. If it hadn’t been for Jenny needing him after Brenda’s death, Wade might not have spoken a civil word to anyone for weeks.

  Still he wished she would come to him and share her feelings. He only wanted to help. Besides her son and Wade’s little family, she had no one here to lean on. Even her brother couldn’t attend the memorial since he had to deal with the Horton arrest.

  With just a few minutes to spare before the service, Meg and Spencer finally came down the stairs. She looked drawn and tired. Her eyes were a lifeless, dusky blue. Her skin, which normally glowed with coppery health, was eggshell white against the black turtleneck of her sweater. She had really taken her aunt’s death hard.

  Wade met them at the bottom of the stairs and offered his hand. She curled her fingers around the newel post and stared into the distance.

  He let his hand fall to his side. “Are you all right?”

  She looked at him then, but her gaze was void of all emotion. “Yes, I just want to get this over with.”

  “Okay. I can fit us all in the patrol car.”

  She didn’t argue, just walked ahead of him and out the door. When he suggested she sit in the front, she declined, offering the seat to Roone while she slid into the back seat with the children.

  He leaned into the window to speak to her. “You k
now, Meg, when we get back, we need to talk.”

  Her gaze snapped to his and he saw something in her eyes he couldn’t interpret. Sadness, yes, but even more—a deep profound anguish that surpassed grief. When she didn’t speak he walked around the car and got in. Later, he’d have to find a way to reach her.

  On the way to the cemetery, Spencer and Jenny sniped at each other as they usually did, only now their banter had grown more sibling-like. Meg never reprimanded them. Wade glanced in the rearview mirror occasionally to catch glimpses of her face. She sat rigidly, staring straight ahead, her features as still as a stone carving.

  The service was short. A minister spoke of Amelia Ashford’s many virtues and her contributions to the community. Friends offered condolences to Meg. She accepted their kindnesses with detached grace. Only when the etched bronze urn was lowered in the ground did she shed the first silent tear.

  When the last people were leaving the grave site, Wade walked to the car and waited for Meg there, giving her a few minutes alone with her thoughts. He hoped the service had provided her with the closure she needed to say goodbye to Amelia. While he waited, he saw a woman approach her. She gave Meg an envelope. Then the two women sat on folding chairs next to the grave and Meg took out the contents.

  “THESE PAPERS WERE in my aunt’s nightstand?” Meg said to Amelia’s nurse.

  “That’s right. One of the cleaning crew was clearing out Miz Ashford’s belongings, and he came across these papers. I thought you might want them.”

  Meg slipped several official-looking records from the envelope and placed them on her lap. Her mind spun. Was it possible that the deed she’d been looking for had been in Amelia’s nightstand at Shady Grove all along? Her hand trembled as she picked up the first document. It was Stewart Ashford’s death certificate. Beneath it were a number of papers related to the house—the satisfaction of a lien, a verification of the purchase of additional property in 1968. And last, a document enclosed in a blue legal cover. Meg lifted the stiff sheet and read the words, Quit Claim Deed at the top of the first page.

  With her hand over her rapidly beating heart, she skimmed the sheet. She saw her name and Amelia’s and the address of Ashford House. With deliberate care, without reading further, she pressed the cover over the document again. She took a few deep breaths and hoped her voice didn’t reflect the torrent of emotions swirling inside her. “Mrs. Williams,” she said to the nurse, “do you have the name of a local attorney?”

  “The one we use at Shady Grove is Walter Erdman. He handles the affairs of most of our residents.”

  The nurse gave Meg the lawyer’s address, expressed her sentiments once more at Amelia’s passing, and went to her car. Meg stood, surprised to find her legs capable of holding her. She walked to the patrol car and slipped into the back seat again. What was she going to do now that she’d found the document? Surely it would negate Wade’s claim to the house. She could have it back. She could own Ashford House free and clear.

  “Is everything okay?” Wade asked.

  “Yes, fine. But I need to run an errand as soon as we get back. Can I leave Spence at the house?”

  “Of course.”

  The return to Ashford House seemed to take hours instead of a few minutes. Meg glanced at Wade’s face in the rearview mirror. Since she hadn’t seen him much in the past couple of days, she hadn’t realized how the recent events had affected him. His eyes were pink-rimmed from lack of sleep. There were tiny lines around his mouth. He had hardly known Amelia, so she doubted those physical signs of distress were due to a lingering grief over her death.

  Was he suffering because of his deception with regard to the house? Was he feeling guilty for proceeding so quickly with his plans? Did he even know that Meg was aware of his furtive dealings with Betty Lamb and that his deception had torn Meg apart, both because she would lose Ashford House and because she had lost faith in him? He’d told her once that he didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Had those been just meaningless words?

  Or had he believed her when she’d responded that if his claim to Ashford House prevailed, she would go back to Orlando, and she would be fine. Ironically those had been just words. She knew that now, but if Wade believed them, then her casual attitude about her possible loss took away his guilt today. Meg wished she could take those words back, that she’d never said them. She would be fine. Meg doubted she would ever be fine again because that foolish statement had left Wade free to pursue his own goals without regret.

  Meg had to ask Wade these questions. She would never fully accept the choice he’d made unless she heard his motives, judged his reaction. But she couldn’t confront him now. Her grief was too fresh, the hurt too deep, her ability to comprehend too tenuous. She couldn’t bear any more heartache, especially if she were forced to accept that Wade was not the man she’d believed him to be. So, right now, her next step was to discover if her claim to Amelia’s property was real.

  When they arrived back at Ashford House, Meg went to her car without going inside and set off for the attorney’s office. What would she do if Mr. Erdman told her that her deed to the property took precedence over Wade’s contract? She would confront Wade then. She would tell him straight out that she’d found the deed and was taking possession of what had always been rightfully hers. And he would either prove himself to be the fair-minded man she’d thought him to be or she would learn that she could never trust her instincts again. As Meg pulled in front of the attorney’s business, she was trembling, not so much about discovering the truth about Ashford House as about discovering the truth about Wade.

  The receptionist in the law office informed Meg that Mr. Erdman was in and would be available to see her for a short appointment in a few minutes. Meg sat by a window and waited.

  She drummed her fingers on the envelope, picked up a magazine only to discard it after flipping through the pages without reading any words. She stood up, paced the small room and returned to her chair. Minutes dragged, leaving her too much time to think, to dread, to contemplate facing the tough decisions that lay ahead.

  And then, suddenly, as if a bolt of divine inspiration interceded, everything changed. Meg began to look at her situation with a new clarity, a judgment unclouded by feelings of betrayal. She uttered a deep sigh, thrust back her head and stared at the ceiling. She’d come to the totally unexpected conclusion that she couldn’t bring herself to resent Wade. The truth was, she hated herself for what she was about to do.

  She tried to reason with her conscience. “Get over it, Meg,” she said to herself. “You’ve won. You have the deed. All you have to do is verify its authenticity and the house will be yours.”

  So why was she so miserable?

  But she knew. After thirty minutes of waiting, she realized she couldn’t go through with her plan to take the house away from Wade and his family. Yes, he’d hurt her by not telling her he was going to sign the papers, but he’d really done nothing wrong. In fact he’d only done what he’d said he would do all along. The problem hadn’t been Wade’s deception. The problem had been her own illusions about having a future with him.

  Meg made an excuse to the receptionist about why she wouldn’t be keeping her appointment and left the office. She crossed the street to the park where the strawberry festival had been held and sat on a bench under a century-old banyan tree. In the cool shade of the giant tree, she collected her thoughts.

  Yes, she had known the pleasures of the house long before Wade had. But Amelia was gone, and buried with her this morning was much of the joy of Meg’s past in Ashford House. In the last few months, Wade had put his heart and soul into making the old place his. With each swing of his hammer or stroke of a paintbrush, he’d left his mark on Stewart’s legacy and made it his own. Meg would never be able to improve the house as he could. Plus, he’d bought the house in good faith, according to a fair contract, by giving and keeping his word that Amelia wouldn’t have to leave.

  And Meg had to consider her aunt’s wishes. Tru
e, at one time, she had wanted Meg to have the house. But most recently she had chosen to sell it to Wade. This had been her decision as she faced the end of her life. Perhaps she had wrestled with this choice more than Meg knew. Or perhaps she had signed the contract only while her mind was failing her. But either way, what right did Meg have to alter the course of her aunt’s final objective?

  She rose from the bench and walked back to her car. Her decision was made. She and Spencer would leave Mount Esther tonight and go back to the life she had before she got the call from Shady Grove urging her to Amelia’s bedside. Ashford House would enter a new phase, with new possibilities under the guardianship of a man who cared about it as much as Meg had. She wasn’t the same woman she had been then—her life had changed dramatically. But she wouldn’t carry any regrets with her about the choices she’d made. She had loved Wade Murdock, and she was grateful that he had reacquainted her with the possibilities of a life she had long ignored.

  Meg’s past was filled with cherished memories. And if Wade Murdock had to become another one, then she would accept that. She had to. Right was right.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN we’re going home?” Spencer scowled as he threw his clothes into his duffel bag. “I can’t go home now. I promised Wade I’d help paint the cabinet doors in the kitchen. He said we were just waiting for you to choose the color.”

  She tried to ignore the choking sensation in the back of her throat, but still her voice trembled when she answered him. “That won’t happen now, Spence. We’ve got to go home. I still have a business to run, and Uncle Jerry needs us.”