by Tamara Leigh
“From what your uncle has shared with me, I have a good idea.”
I press my shoulders back. “Who, besides you, knows of his dementia?”
“His pastor, Artemis, and now you.”
“What about Maggie and Bridget?”
“I don’t think their brothers have mentioned their suspicions to them.”
I frown. “Where did their suspicions come from?”
“The medication your uncle started taking after his diagnosis. It slows the advance of the disease.” He leans farther back and puts his prosthetic ankle over the other. “The day Obe called the family together to discuss his will and before they arrived, I was in his hospital room with him. The doctor asked if Obe was taking any medications. Shortly after your uncle gave him the name of the one for dementia, I stepped out of the room. And into Luc. My guess is he was there awhile.”
Good ol’ Luc.
“Are you going to tell Luc so he can try to take away your uncle’s right to do with his money as he wishes, thereby preserving the family’s inheritance and their secrets? Including yours?”
I can’t believe he thinks so low of me. I stand. “Obviously I’ve made a bad impression on you. Though I don’t like that my uncle’s plan to make restitution could lead to embarrassing revelations, I would never take this to Luc.” I raise my chin higher. “But even if he did get ahold of that box, I don’t believe it can be proven that Uncle Obe is yet at a place where he’s incapable of making sound decisions.”
“Your cousin would try. If there’s a hole he can crawl through, he will, and I don’t want your uncle to be deluged with lawyers, tests, the media.”
“Neither do I, which is why I’ve been looking over his assets.”
Cynicism crimps Axel’s mouth.
I scowl. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt him.”
“I’d like to believe you.”
“And I’d like to think you’re part of the solution!”
“Which is?”
“I—” I roll my eyes. “I don’t have it all worked out, but let me show you.”
He follows me back to his office, where I open the assets folder. “Earlier today Uncle Obe and I discussed his son and daughter, and he decided to make things right with them before he passes away.”
“Just like that?”
I look up and realize we’re side by side. I should have felt that. I do now. “No, not just like that. Maggie and Devyn dropped by, and it was obvious they’d had a disagreement.”
“They’ve been butting heads recently.”
Who is this man? And how is he so plugged into my family? Er, the Pickwicks. “Then you know Devyn is pressuring my cousin to reveal who her father is.”
“Yes.”
“And you know this how?”
“They’ve shared their frustrations with me.”
“Why?”
“I’m a good listener.”
I recall his exchange with Bridget in the garden when I felt the creep of jealousy. “Are you Bridget’s confidant as well?”
“To a lesser degree. She’s shut herself up since her husband’s death, but from time to time she likes to talk.”
“Is that all?” I can’t believe I said that.
Axel smiles. “You’re asking if she and I are involved?”
“No!”
“Liar.”
I throw my hands up. “Let’s get back on track here.”
“Sure, but to clear the air, Bridget and I are not involved.”
I drop my chin for fear my relief will show, which could prove precarious now that Grant is no longer between us. “Anyway, Uncle Obe told Maggie that the longer she put off telling Devyn about her father, the more resentment there would be. Then he quoted Scripture about concealing sin. I think that’s when he realized he needs to make peace with his children now.”
“I hope he goes through with it. He’s talked about contacting them, but he always concludes it’s better to imagine they would be receptive to reconciliation than to have it disproved.” Axel looks at the folders. “Tell me about your solution.”
I open the one that contains the will. “The current will remains in effect.” Feeling tension rise off him, I hurry on. “With two additions: Uncle Obe’s son and daughter.”
“What about those he wants to add as beneficiaries?”
“Just as he has decided to reconnect with Antonio and Daisy prior to his passing, he wants to make amends to the others now-Well, in the near future.”
His tension eases slightly. “You do realize that means selling the estate.”
“That’s what I thought, but maybe not.” I slide the list of assets in front of him. “A good deal of the restitution can be made without affecting his ability to remain in his home, at least for a while. There’s not much liquidity, but he has assets separate from the mansion and acreage that can be sold for a decent amount, especially in Pickwick’s current market.”
I run a finger down the list and hesitate as I did when I first saw the name of the property at Promenade Place, where I grew up—the eyeopener. As the date of acquisition coincides with the date the bank auctioned it out from under my mom, it’s obvious Uncle Obe was our knight in shining armor. And I wouldn’t be surprised if we lived there rent-free during our last years in Pickwick.
“According to current market values, this house should sell for nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Then there’s the old movie theater on the square. Last year, the pharmacy opposite it sold for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars—and it’s half the square footage of the theater.”
“That’s where Maggie’s auction house is located.”
I look up. “In the theater?”
He nods. “I don’t know the terms of the lease that Artemis drew up, but it could be a problem.”
It could, and I certainly don’t want to cause Maggie any problems. See—trying to keep the peace. “Well, there are other assets, so we may not have to rock that boat.” Big “maybe” as the theater is a large chunk. I trail my finger past items that will bring in far less but add up nicely. “There’s the antique farm equipment.” I glance at Axel. “Presumably in the barn by the pond.”
“Yes.”
“Most of it won’t bring much, but three of the tractors are highly sought-after collectibles.” I turn the page. “There are the books in the library—some rare first-print editions that could easily go for thousands each. And these are only the ones Uncle Obe listed as assets. There are probably more.”
“I assume you plan on enlisting Maggie’s help. She’s good at getting top dollar for other people’s castoffs, and I believe your uncle would approve.”
I hadn’t considered that, but it would be nice to have an expert on board with a stake in getting the best for all concerned. Of course, if the theater does have to be sold, that could get sticky. I straighten. “I’ll talk to her.”
His brow remains bothered.
“I believe this will work, Axel.”
“If your uncle really is willing and if Luc doesn’t fight it. I doubt your cousin will like this any more than divvying up the estate when your uncle passes away.”
“No, but if Uncle Obe has to defend against charges of mental incompetence, it’s easier to prove he’s in a right state of mind to make these decisions while he’s living than after he passes away.”
Axel’s face is impassive for what seems ages, but then he says, “It would be good for him to finally have peace, even if it means negative publicity.”
Headlines to pay. “Actually, that’s where I come in.” Why do I feel dirty? I’m just protecting the Pickwicks—and, all right, I am one of them. “Where possible, restitution will be made through acts of philanthropy.”
“Your idea, I assume.”
“Public opinion can be cruel, Axel.”
“But disguising repentance as benevolence…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s the kind of peace your uncle is looking for.”
But it’s st
ill peace! I square my shoulders. “The end result is that he pays the debt he feels responsible for without exposing himself or his family to the ugliness of public opinion. That has to count for something.”
“All right, but consider his children. If he does attempt a reconciliation, it will have more impact on them than if he merely writes them into his will. After all, the greatest healing is often found in a sincere apology.”
I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “But money isn’t bad either.” Though it sure sounds bad spoken aloud.
He pats his prosthetic leg, and I wince at what he believes I think of it. “The young soldier who shot me made all kinds of excuses—said there was too much dust and smoke to see clearly… Smith wasn’t where he was supposed to be… the commands were garbled…” His brow creases. “It made me angry. And vengeful. But a few weeks later, he came to the hospital and told me it was his fault, and he’d been too scared to admit it. I didn’t forgive him immediately. But every day I awoke a little lighter with remembrance of his apology and the tears in his eyes. Eventually, I forgave him.”
My nose tingles and eyes sting, and for some reason my thoughts turn to Maggie’s apology. No amount of money could have made me feel as light as I had at that moment.
“I’m not saying that monetary restitution shouldn’t be made where it’s due,” Axel continues. “Only that often it’s best to start with an apology.”
And let the headlines hit the fan. “I appreciate that, and where possible”—rather, unavoidable—“apologies will be made.”
“How does your uncle feel about this?”
No need to detail his initial reaction. “He agreed it’s for the best.”
As Axel stares at me, I begin to feel like a moth on a pin. Finally, he says, “Where is the list of beneficiaries?”
I pass it to him, and he frowns. “Trinity’s name has been crossed out.”
What was I thinking?
He looks up. “You did it?”
This must be how Reggie felt when I came after her. Unfortunately, I’m less adept at playing possum. “Yes.”
“That’s not your decision.”
I beg to differ, but that would require an explanation. So either I reveal I’m the one who will be making restitution to Trinity, thereby exposing myself as the perpetrator of the Lady Godiva ride, or I clam up and appear to be cold and calculating. If it’s not one bad impression, it’s another—on top of his believing I think less of him because of his prosthetic. I shouldn’t care, but I do.
I draw a deep breath. “It’s not what it looks like. Trinity will receive restitution, but not from my uncle.”
Axel’s lids flicker. “You?”
“I’ll be the one writing the check.” And, yes, it will hurt.
He tilts his head questioningly, and it strikes me that if I tilted my head opposite and stepped in—
Why am I standing so near him? Warmth invades my cheeks, and I sidestep.
“Then you’re taking responsibility for something you did that adversely affected her.”
Something? He hasn’t heard of the Lady Godiva ride? That’s hard to believe, but maybe there are too many stories about Trinity for him to put a finger on one. “I am.”
A bit of Blue returns to his eyes—meaning I’ve made good my bad impression?
“Commendable,” he says.
Score!
“But is this one of those instances where, in lieu of an apology, philanthropy is meant to serve?”
Penalty. “You can only rock the boat so much before it starts taking on water, Axel.”
“Which is a problem for those who can’t swim, hmm?”
Of course I can swim, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use a life preserver in choppy water.
He sighs. “I’m sorry. Though I think it’s best to be straight with people, I’ll have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”
I do, don’t I? Trinity did enjoy the attention for a while, and it’s not as if she wanted to run the family business—
The ring of my phone causes my conscience to take cover. “Excuse me.” As Axel turns away, I clap my phone to my ear. “Piper Pick—uh, Wick.” Aargh!
“Obadiah Wick—uh, Pickwick,” my uncle grumbles. “For once I’m grateful that phone of yours is attached to you like a… um… you know…birth cord.”
Umbilical. Panged by his word-retrieval difficulty, I watch Axel step into the hallway and head from sight. “Is everything all right, Uncle Obe?”
“She’s singing one of her Cinderella songs again, and right down the hall—’Zip-a-dee-doo-dah’ this, ’Zip-a-dee-doo-dah that, then ‘bluebird on her shoulder’ this, ‘bluebird on her shoulder’ that.”
Not a Cinderella song, but I don’t correct him. I come around the desk. “I’m heading back now.”
“Where are you?”
I hope he doesn’t read too much into this. “At the cottage.”
“Is Axel there?”
I step into the kitchen and catch sight of him through the window where he stands in the yard with his back to me. “He’s outside.”
“Is that right?” No doubt he thinks Axel and I were up to no-good.
“I came up to get the lotion, remember?”
“Of course I remember!” he snaps, as if in defense of the dementia I’m not supposed to know about. He clears his throat and says in a lighter tone, “That was a couple hours ago.”
As it’s better that he believes my prolonged absence is due to time spent getting to know Axel rather than his personal papers, I say, “Time flies when you’re having…” Not fun. “… a good conversation. I’ll head back now.”
“No rush.” He chuckles. “She’s singing ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ now.”
Now that is a Cinderella song.
“Not that it’s any better, but it’s a change, so visit as long as you like.”
Incorrigible. “I’ll see you soon.” I return the phone to my waistband as I walk outside. “My uncle is awake, and Trinity is singing again.” I descend the stairs.
He steps forward and extends the bottle of lotion. “If the rash appears, wash again. If nothing else, it should lessen the severity.”
“Thank you.” Our fingers brush as I accept the bottle, and attraction hums through me. Did he feel that? I glance at him in time to catch the curve of his mouth before it flattens and his brow pinches. “Are you all right?”
He shifts his weight. “Just one of my phantom pains.”
I touch his arm. “I’m sorry about what I said in the garden.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, what I didn’t say when Uncle Obe asked if your… prosthesis bothers me.”
His eyes move from my hand on him to my face. “What didn’t you say?”
I snatch my hand back, only to wonder where to put it. As the options are limited, I clasp it with the other around the bottle, but it feels awkward. No wonder my clients groan and complain about the tasks I breezily set for them. It takes a tremendous amount of preparation and practice, both of which I’m lacking.
“What I didn’t say was that I hardly notice it anymore.”
Disbelief crosses Axel’s face, and I’m reminded of his fiancée’s inability to reconcile herself to his loss of a limb. “It makes a lot of women uncomfortable.”
“Not me,” I say with an eagerness that surprises—and embarrasses—me. “I mean, yes, it came as a shock, as I had no idea your limp was anything more than that, but it isn’t off-putting. In fact, I think you’re…” This is not the direction I should be going.
“What?”
Oh well. “You’re attractive, even with that whole”—I wave a hand at his lower face—“mustache-goatee-ponytail thing you have going on.”
His skepticism remains in effect, though I do detect amusement.
“I mean it.”
“Under the circumstances, you shouldn’t.” He smiles. “You are taken.”
Reminded of the last time attraction drew me to him, when Grant and I were stil
l “on,” so to speak, I feel an urgent need to update him. “Actually, it’s basically over between me and… the man I was dating.”
Axel tilts his head. “Should I say I’m sorry?”
I almost laugh. “Would you mean it?”
“It depends on how heartbroken you are.”
Why am I not? I was practically engaged. Or was I? “I’m recovering fine.”
He glances at my mouth, which suddenly feels dry. And in need of kissing. Not good.
I hold up the lotion. “Thank you again.”
Without giving him time to respond, I hurry around the side of the cottage. As I start down the hill, I’m struck by a need to look back. Not that he’ll be there. He’s in the backyard where I left him, or else he’s gone inside the cottage. But…
I look around. There Axel is with his ponytail and blue-collar attire and unsophisticated, down-to-earth persona. Pickwick might not be such a bad place to live after all—
“Ah!” I jerk my head around in time to avoid a low-hanging branch. What has come over me? I am not in need of kissing! And Pickwick, even it didn’t have any dust, would not be compatible with me.
Maybe I need a shrink.
22
Now my partners are mad. This wasn’t supposed to take more than a week, and yet here I am heading into week number four with the Fourth of July parade just around the corner. Though Uncle Obe is getting around better and the words that go AWOL have yet to affect him in any significant way that I can tell, he has come to depend on me to meet many of his personal needs—for care, meals, and even companionship.
Of course, he’s also depending on me to help him make restitution to those wronged by the Pickwicks. I knew it would require time and effort to devise a workable plan but didn’t count on his unwillingness to allow me to handle the details. And to add one headache to another, he still doesn’t like the spin of philanthropy, although he grudgingly acknowledges its benefit with regard to protecting the family.
One instance where it won’t work is the compensation of the employees of the textile mill who continued to work for Bridget’s dad after he stopped paying them. Based on his assurance that paychecks were forthcoming, nearly a hundred employees worked a month without pay. Pay still due them, with interest. As it’s no secret the employees were wronged by Uncle Bartholomew and there are too many to expect them not to talk should anonymous checks start appearing in their mailboxes, this has to be handled in a forthright manner. Thus, if you’re going to open old wounds, do it with salve and bandage in hand (in this case, an apology and generous compensation). If the press gets ahold of it, it will either be too scandal deficient to report or end up as a human-interest piece.
