by Asha King
“It’s been a decade but records like that are kept,” Brennen said thoughtfully.
“I checked as anonymously as I could a few years ago—she must’ve done something, as I can’t find any record of it.”
“You know...I think my dad was your dad’s lawyer.”
Gina shifted and leaned on her elbow so she could meet his eyes. “What?”
“I can’t say for sure, I was a kid, but I think he might’ve handled the will. He handled most the wills in town.”
“Would he remember the details or have a copy?”
“You put on a pot of coffee and I’ll see if someone’s in the office today to let us in.”
“I’ll do you one better and make breakfast.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Perfect.”
Chapter Ten
Since it was the Friday before Saturday’s party, both Gina and Brennen had a lot to do, but she didn’t want to put off the visit to his father’s office and he thankfully didn’t even suggest it. She dressed in her clothes from the day before, which had spent the night in the dryer, and headed out with Brennen by 10:30 that morning.
His father wasn’t in the office but the receptionist was, and she waved them back while keeping the phone to her ear and jotting down details for a later appointment.
“I don’t know for sure if he’d have copies still from a will executed a decade ago, but if he does, they’d be in here.” Brennen led her into the small file room next to his father’s office, where rows upon rows of filing cabinets sat. He scanned the dates on the drawers, leading her around the room until he found the ones he wanted. His keychain held a small key that worked the lock, and he swung the drawer open to search the files.
Gina peered over his shoulder as he looked, cycling through alphabetized names straight to the very back, and then shook his head.
Brennen sighed. “I don’t see Cassidy. It’s possible he filed it under the year the will was drawn up, however. Do you know when that would’ve been?”
Gina thought on it for a moment. “Maybe three years before that? Sometime after he married Maureen.”
He unlocked two other drawers and directed her to one while he took the other. Again, they came up with nothing.
After closing up again, Brennen wrapped his arm around her and walked her out of the store. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve left my father a message—hopefully he’ll get back to us.”
She nodded and tried to keep at bay her disappointment. Her usual insanely busy schedule would resume after the party, probably first thing Monday morning, but hopefully they’d find time to do more soon. Before Maureen had officially sold the bakery, at least.
Just a few steps outside of the office, Gina squinted in the sun at the figure that approached them. She and Brennen paused and she recognized Raina Lowe, a pair of big, Audrey Hepburn-esque glasses hiding her eyes.
“How’s your grandmother?” Gina asked right away.
“Still in the hospital but doing well.” Raina smiled and clasped Gina’s hands in both of hers. “Thank you so much—I could’ve been upstairs an extra half hour without knowing.”
“I’ve been busy this week with the Prescott anniversary party, but I’ll bring her up some cookies soon—her favorite sugar-free ones.”
“She’ll appreciate that, I’ll let her know. Thank you, again, for everything.” Raina smiled at Brennen and then continued on.
“You secretly help little old ladies when I’m not around?” Brennen asked in a low voice, grinning at her.
“I happened to be making a delivery when Mrs. Lowe had a stroke.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “She’s lucky.”
Gina figured lucky would not be having a stroke in the first place, but she was glad she’d been there to help.
“Speaking of, I know you’re arriving tomorrow afternoon to do the final baking. You are staying for the duration of the party, right?”
“Yeah,” she said mildly and avoided his eyes. She’d been planning to hide in the kitchen with the rest of the staff since she wasn’t about to prance around in blue jeans.
“I’m expecting you to dance with me.”
“Brennen—”
“You’ve worked hard, you deserve the break.”
He’d persist on this point, she knew. Gina sighed and nodded. Sure, she’d have to find something to wear, but maybe she could put something together. Her mother’s things were in the back of a closet in the attic, after all. Clothing was sealed in plastic. She could find something.
“A nurse will be taking care of my grandfather for the night and I’m staying at my parents’. Pack an overnight bag and stay with me?”
Her heart thumped hard. Sure, she’d showed up at his place last night and slept over, but a planned overnight...
“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ll ensure a car takes you home if you want. But I’d be happy to have you.”
And she felt very certain, then, that staying overnight with Brennen would lead to her giving all of herself to him—she knew she wanted to, knew her body would take over as soon as they were near and alone, and that she wouldn’t want to stop.
And would that be so bad?
No, she decided—it wouldn’t be bad at all.
“Sure.” She had her arm around his waist and leaned into him; his arm over her shoulder hugged her tightly.
His cell phone rang suddenly just as they paused at his car, and she leaned against the vehicle while he answered.
“Dad.” Brennen met Gina’s eyes and she held her breath, waiting. “Yeah, I know it was a while ago but I wondered if you remembered William L. Cassidy’s last will before his death. Ten years ago. Mmmhmm, I know...”
Gina crossed her arms under her breasts and waited, silently praying this would lead somewhere helpful.
“I know it’s too late to contest it, that’s not what it’s about. His daughter never heard the details and can’t find any information. She wanted to clarify that nothing was left to her. Okay...yeah. Huh.” Silence followed while Brennen listened for a few minutes, his gaze briefly hitting hers before he stared at the empty air ahead of him again. “No, she didn’t know that. Thanks, Dad.” Brennen hung up but said nothing, clearly hesitating.
She tensed from head to toe. “What?”
“Let’s get in the car.”
“Brennen—”
“Let’s get in the car and I’ll tell you.”
There was nothing else she could do, so she relented and climbed in the passenger seat, waiting with the door open while Brennen sat in the driver’s spot and turned the key in the engine. When the air conditioning blasted on and cooled the sunny heat of the interior, she closed her door and twisted in the seat to face him. “Well?”
“Someone else in the office handled the will because Dad was out of town but he remembers the overview. In the event your dad died while you were a minor, everything was technically left to your stepmother.”
Gina’s shoulders deflated, but her mind twigged on one word. “Technically?”
“He expected you to go to college first for a few years, and then the bakery would be yours when you turned twenty-one.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s three weeks from now.” And college? Maureen had never breathed a word of it. Probably because it would’ve cost her money—Gina’s dad’s money—and she’d never do that even to get rid of her for four years. “So it’s mine? I could get a lawyer, find an old copy of the will that would’ve been kept somewhere, some public record, or with Maureen’s files, and then I can take control of it? That could stop her from selling, right?”
“There’s more. Knowing that the economy changes, your father specified that if profits declined and couldn’t support the shop, Maureen could sell it before you took possession of it.”
Realization dawned on her and she buried her head in her hands, frustration spearing her. Of course. Of course. That was why she was pushing so many orders they couldn’t keep up with, buying su
pplies, renovating. Even...
Even the break-in.
The loss of profits. Maureen could’ve orchestrated that, couldn’t she?
“I’m sorry, Gina,” Brennen said softly, his hand folding on her shoulder.
She looked up at him. “I don’t believe the store is losing money, though. It can’t be. I do all the work and she doesn’t pay me a wage. She’s upped the prices over the years. Even with the break-in, the cost of repairs and the money lost, I just don’t believe her about the lack of profits. And she doesn’t have an accountant, she does everything herself. What if she’s cooking the books?”
“Where would you find evidence?”
Gina shook her head and leaned back in the seat, staring ahead at the busy narrow street. “Somewhere in the house. I’ve been through everything while I clean, the only place I haven’t gotten into is the safe in her office. She’s changed the combination.”
Brennen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his dark brows pulling into a frown as he gazed at the windshield. Silence followed, just the quiet blowing of the air conditioner filling the space and dulling the sound of cars and voices outside. “I may have an idea. Let’s head back to my parents’ so you can prepare for tomorrow and I’ll make a call.”
****
Brennen’s family home was large like his grandfather’s but older with extensive grounds beautifully manicured and landscaped. He escorted Gina to the kitchen—she’d been there before, knew the house’s interior, but he wanted to ensure she had everything she needed before he ducked out—and then closed himself in the billiard room and dialed a familiar number. When the office turned up nothing but a voicemail recording, he tried his friend’s cell phone.
Three rings in, Mike O’Hara picked up. “Prescott.”
Brennen hesitated. Mike worked private security now and he tended to keep it legal, but he was the only person Brennen could think of who might be able to help. “I need a favor for a friend.”
“What kind of favor?”
“The kind I suspect only you can deliver.”
Mike was silent at this and Brennen paced the length of the room, rounding the pool table and pausing to stare through the window at the eastern garden.
“What’s this favor?”
Brennen let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; if Mike wanted details, he would help if he could. “A friend is in a situation where her rightful inheritance is likely being kept from her. We have a very small window in which to act. She needs to get a hold of the accounting books for the business that should be hers.”
“I assume that if it was as simple as walking into an office and accessing a file, someone already would’ve done it.”
“She thinks they’re kept in a safe in the home.”
“Is this for the girl you wanted to stop in and see a few weeks ago?”
“Yes.” Whether or not that would add weight to his request, Brennen didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to lie to his friend.
“And you say it’s a small window?” Paper flipped in the background—presumably his friend was going through his calendar.
“Possibly already closing.”
“I know a guy who can crack the average safe but he might not be available right away. Regardless, he can direct me. Still, we’ll need some time—can you guarantee when this house will be empty?”
He couldn’t, but hopefully Gina could—especially if it meant catching her stepmother. “I’ll call you back in a few.”
“I’ll start making arrangements.”
He found her in the large kitchen, sorting through the boxes of supplies delivered earlier that morning. She popped open a bag of decorative chocolate pieces and offered him one, grinning faintly as she popped it in his mouth and her finger rested a moment on his lips.
“For a diabetic-friendly version I’ll offer.”
He chewed and swallowed the chocolate, which he admittedly could barely tell the difference from the regular kind, and marveled at how quick she’d been from the very beginning to accommodate dietary restrictions of some of the guests.
“I spoke to my friend.”
Gina paused her rummaging and glance up at him, her expression growing cautious. “And?”
“He’s willing to help but your stepmother and sisters will need to be out of the house, at least for a few hours. Will they all possibly be working at the shop tomorrow?”
“Not all three. Tatum and Tamara wouldn’t both be working at the same time. And given Maureen’s attitude about the bakery, it wouldn’t surprise me if she closes it tomorrow since I’ll be busy catering and blame me for ‘loss of profits’.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Did they get an invite to the party?”
Brennen wasn’t familiar with the guest lists—it was just generally understood that a large number of Midsummer’s residents would be there. “I don’t know about specifically. Did you see them with the RSVPs?” He knew Gina had been through the lists to plan the desserts and double check any notes of allergies and dietary concerns.
“Not that I recall.”
“I’ll get you one. If they’re at the party, even if only for a few hours, combined with the travel it should keep them out long enough for Mike to look around.” He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her close, gazing down at her. As much as he believed her, he also knew she’d been through a lot and before he committed his friend to something definitely illegal, he had to ask. “You’re...sure, Gina? Your stepmother is horrible, I don’t doubt that. But you really think Mike will find this evidence?”
Her eyes darkened, lids fell and long lashes swept down to hide her gaze for a moment. “I don’t know why she does what she does, but it’s true, Brennen. She is that cruel. Maybe she resented me because Dad left things to me, which meant less money for her. Maybe she thought I’d leave by now and when she realized I wasn’t, she decided to try selling. I just know she terrifies me and she’s absolutely capable of doing it.”
He gave her arms a squeeze and drew her to him, holding her tight and breathing her in. “Okay. Let’s get things in place and Mike will go in tomorrow night.”
Chapter Eleven
Gina had slid the invitation on the table in front of Maureen that evening before she went to make dinner, throwing a, “I was informed you hadn’t received an invitation. That is for you and the girls.” Maureen simply raised a slim, ice-blonde brow and said nothing, and Gina added nothing more, continuing with her chores for the evening while dinner cooked. With any luck, her time as free labor would be severely limited once Brennen’s friend looked around.
Brennen had an extra copy of her house key cut and would deliver it to his friend for her; she would later confirm for him when her stepmother and stepsisters had gone, Brennen would tell Mike when they’d arrived, and then his friend’s team would enter and do their thing.
Nervousness twisted her stomach and she barely slept a wink Friday night, everything from fear she’d somehow be caught to worry something would go wrong with the party.
The party would officially begin at four in the afternoon, though Gina’s part in things began at seven in the morning. Brennen’s father sent a car for her and immediately she went to work, finishing the baking work she’d done the day before and preparing everything that had to be fresh. Cookies and cakes, decadent squares and tarts. The rich desserts would rival the hors d’oeuvres being served.
Just as the first guests started to arrive a half hour prematurely, Gina exited the house to be driven back to her home again. She could’ve gotten cleaned up and dressed at the Prescotts’ but she wanted to see Maureen, Tatum, and Tamara out the door and ensure they were coming.
Skies had remained clear as early evening came, which would benefit the guests who wandered the gardens at the Prescott estate prior to the big cake reveal. The Prescott car brought Gina to her house and then looped around the block, heading off to pick someone else up. They’d return for her in ninety minutes or so, she k
new, giving her time to get ready and then she could arrive like any other guest.
Maureen’s car was in the driveway. Gina walked past it, her feet and back already aching, and headed through the front door. The large house was mostly silent except the tapping of heels upstairs, likely Tatum and Tamara getting ready. Gina skipped the main staircase and instead crossed through the kitchen to the old servant stairs so she could reach her room without running into the others.
Her stepsisters’ voices carried, not audible words but giggles and mumbles. They probably should’ve left already but then they’d take extra time dressing and preparing, and Maureen would be shrieking at them to hurry up until her voice rang through the house and Gina ended up with a headache.
Soon they’ll be gone. The shop will be mine and I’ll never have to listen to this again.
It seemed both within her grasp and impossibly far away at the same time.
In her dark musky attic bedroom, Gina stripped from the clothes she’d worn all day for baking and slipped her old bathrobe on. Before heading to the bathroom, she stopped at the far closet and pulled the creaky door open. It was storage, mainly, boxes and trunks of items that used to belong in the house but Maureen didn’t want around.
And, among them, her mother’s things, packed up after she died and before her dad remarried.
The boxes were dusty but Gina held her breath and moved on, the faint light from her bedroom spilling into the large closet area so she could see. She shifted boxes out of the way, frowning and growing more frantic as she didn’t see the labeled one she was looking for. The one with her mother’s clothes sealed—there was a dress there, simple but elegant in silver, kept zipped in plastic.
Box after box, tearing lids open, checking behind the trunks. There were other items missing too, photo albums, more clothes, knickknacks, but the dress...
Her heart thumping hard, eyes watering from dust, Gina spun and tore out of the closet, out of her room, down the stairs. The voices no longer came from the bedrooms but the lower level, front foyer—they were preparing to leave.
