Seeds of Trust

by Cynthia Reese

  “Not yet. You know, by a weird sort of twist, if we did find J.T., it might be the thing that saves us.”

  “I don’t know, Ryan.” Jack looked doubtful. “There’s still Mee-Maw’s check to consider. What if she did pay him off? We’ve asked her about that thing a thousand times, and she just clams up. What if J.T. comes back into town with the glad news that Gramps and Mee-Maw were part of this mess?”

  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you? I keep trying to figure why Mee-Maw would protect J.T., and I can’t—except she’s always been one to fight for the underdog. But I cannot for the life of me see her breaking the law. It’s just not her, Jack, and you know it.”

  “What I know is that I should have run J.T. off the minute Gramps told me he’d hired him. J.T.’s the cause of all this mess. He brought those vines in knowing what Murphy meant to do with them. Then he left. I didn’t like it when he disappeared when he did.”

  “I should have risked going to Ag-Sure. I should have…” The bitter taste of regret welled up in Ryan’s throat. “This is getting us nowhere. What can we do at this point? I have maybe three grand in the bank. Do you have any you can lend me? If we pay this tax bill, they’ll have to hunt around for another stick to club us with.”

  “Man, I’m strapped.” Jack shook his head. “Between the car payments and the house payments and the school nickel-and-diming us to death, it’s a struggle just to get food on the table and clothes on the kids’ backs.”

  “Any way we can stop this process? Anything a court can do?”

  “You’ve talked to that sorry excuse for a tax commissioner, I guess? What did he say?”

  Anger whistled through Ryan again. “Melton’s a smarmy jerk, all right. Said he had records to prove he’d mailed out notices that went ignored. Jack, we’ve got no notices. None. Murphy’s been bellyaching about this old tax debt, but every time I’d go to check, Melton would always say something like, ‘You’re square for now, Ryan.’”

  “You know, if Gramps had left a will, it would have had to go through probate and all the old debts would have been addressed then—”

  “Don’t go blaming Gramps, Jack. He didn’t leave a will because he knew it would all go to Mee-Maw anyway, which is what he wanted. He wanted her to have it.”

  “I’m not blaming— Okay, so I am,” Jack admitted. “Can we sell part of the land to raise the money?”

  “Sure…to Murphy. Nobody else has either the money or the credit. But, it’s worth a try…if Mee-Maw goes along with it.”

  They looked at each other. Nothing else to do but tell Mee-Maw…and Ryan knew it.

  He reached for the pull handle on the screen door. One thing was for certain: if Mee-Maw didn’t come up with some answers now, Ryan could pretty much guess what secrets she was bent on keeping.

  * * *

  MEE-MAW DID NOT take the news well.

  Her face sagged into wrinkles Ryan had not even realized were there. She slumped in her chair at the head of the table and buried her face in her hands.

  “Mee-Maw?” Ryan reached out a hand, lay it on Mee-Maw’s thin, bony shoulder. “I am so sorry.” Those words sounded about as adequate as a Band-Aid for a cancer tumor to Ryan.

  Her frame shook under his hand. He realized she was crying, and he had not a clue what to say or do. Jerking his head toward the bathroom, he muttered to Jack, “Get some tissue or something.”

  For once Jack didn’t argue. Ryan figured that he was as much undone by Mee-Maw’s grief as Ryan was.

  A moment later, Mee-Maw wrapped her fingers around the tissue Jack had shoved her way. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Mac paid that tax bill,” she whispered. Her voice grew stronger. “I know he did. I’m thinking that’s the one he had to pay in parts because that sorry Melton and the tax assessor had run up the fair market value on it. He had to, you see, to appeal it. And you can bet he did—he blasted that assessor’s board with both barrels, and the next year, our taxes were more reasonablelike. Mac figured Murphy was trying to run us out then. I got no use for that man—either Murphy or Melton.”

  Hope shot through Ryan. An appeal would mean that Gramps had to pay it—at least the part the assessor’s board had considered fair.

  “That might help, Mee-Maw. Do you have any proof of that? I’ve looked—”

  “You know how your granddaddy was, Ryan. He could make a rock grow, but when it came to paperwork…well, that was his weakness. He usually let me handle all of that part, but that one, he got so het up about, he took care of it. I don’t know where the papers on it would be if they’re not with the other tax papers.”

  Ryan blew out a breath. “Well, I’ll go through the files one more time just in case.”

  “What does Becca say?” Mee-Maw reached out a hand and folded it over Ryan’s. “She’s an investigator, knows about the law. Does she say that Murphy can do this?”

  Ryan bit his lip. He couldn’t answer for a long moment. “Mee-Maw…I don’t think we can count on Becca to help. At least, not in the short term.”

  Some of Mee-Maw’s spunk came back in her face. “Not count on her to help? What nonsense is this? Of course you can. She was helping this morning, with her daddy. In her own way, of course, thinkin’ that dragging J.T. in the middle of all this would solve our problems.”

  “It’s too complicated to explain—”

  “Don’t you go treatin’ me like I’m an imbecile. You should have already come to me with this tax business, and I would have given that good-for-nothin’ Melton a piece of my mind. So you tell me what this talk about Becca not helping is all about.”

  Ryan shoved his chair back from the table and walked over to the windows, his back to Jack and Mee-Maw. From his vantage point, he could see the barn where he and Becca had gotten closer. Pain ripped through him at the memory. She’d seemed so special, The One even.

  And it had all been a lie.

  “I found out that Becca had been investigating me for a lot longer than I thought—undercover, sort of. She’d passed herself off as a farmer’s daughter on an online community.”

  “That Internet thing you used to always get on at night?” Mee-Maw asked.

  At the same time, Jack said, “Internet? What? Some online-dating site?”

  Shame heated through Ryan. “It wasn’t an online-dating site. It was…just a group where you could talk. You know, to others going through the same thing, dealing with… Jack, it gets lonesome out here. You’re married so you’ve got somebody. But I—I’d just moved up here, didn’t know many people my own age, didn’t have time to spend with anybody if I did. The computer, well, it offered me a link. I didn’t feel so isolated.”

  “And you told her what? What did you spill to her to get her interested in this case?” Jack’s words were hard.

  “Nothing! We didn’t even trade details we thought could identify each other. I thought I was so smart. She knew all along.”

  He turned back around. “Well, that’s water under the bridge. It’s over now, if there ever was anything beyond the investigation.”

  Jack looked as if he wanted to say something, but Mee-Maw cut him off.

  “Jack, you leave Ryan alone about this. Becca’s a good girl, and all she’s done is try to help. I truly believe that.”

  Jack protested anyway. “It’s not going to—”

  “Jack!” Mee-Maw shot back. “I mean it! This is still my house—for as long as I can keep it, anyway—and I ought to get some measure of respect.”

  But the bluster went out of Mee-Maw as quickly as it had come. She pursed her lips. “No use trying to pay a tax bill that’s already been paid. Even if we had the money, which we don’t, either they’ll say we hadn’t paid it again or they’ll just dream up another past-due tax debt. No
, sir. Not a bit of good in that. And there ain’t no stopping a sheriff’s sale once it goes to the paper—not unless the county’s got some mighty big egg on its face. So…”

  Her face grew even more troubled as she lapsed into silence.

  “I called a lawyer I know, but he said the sale pretty well couldn’t be stopped if the county had proof of proper notification,” Ryan told them.

  His cousin snorted. “Yeah, like any lawyer around here’s going up against the county.” Jack turned to Mee-Maw.

  “Mee-Maw…what if we tried it like this?” he asked. “What if we did try to strike a bargain with Murphy? It’s not like Gramps is around to complain—”

  She drew herself up to her full height. “Hush your mouth! Gramps would rather see this place go up in flames than save it thataway—and so would I. No, sir. I’ll have none of that. Besides, you can’t trust Murphy. Deal with the devil, that’s what you’d be doing.” Mee-Maw shook her head. “Only one thing to do. It might be too late, anyway. Plus…I gave him my word, and I do so hate to go back on it.”

  “Gave who your word, Mee-Maw?” Ryan asked.

  “J.T. I gave J.T. my word that nobody would come looking for him. That’s why I gave him that five thousand dollars…so he’d have a chance to get away.”

  * * *

  Sunny_76@yoohoomail.com: Ryan, you’re not answering your phone, you’re not answering my e-mails, you’re not giving me a chance to explain. So I’ve explained it all anyway in all the e-mails you’ve probably just deleted until I’m blue in the face. I know I made a mistake not telling you sooner. But, I swear, I didn’t know you were Rooster…not until the willow tree.

  I swear, Sunny and I are the same woman. The same person. There was no pretense.

  Just remember…you said you didn’t want to know. You said you didn’t want things to be spoiled. So…I tried not to spoil it. And I wound up making a horrid mess of things. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  BECCA YAWNED AND rubbed her eyes, which felt as if they had lids made of steel wool. Opening them, she saw the clock: 6:45 a.m. Friday. Auction day.

  Resolutely, she went back to tapping away on her keyboard. Since Ryan had stormed off Wednesday afternoon, she’d practically been welded to her laptop, trying one last ditch effort to turn up any electronic trail on the elusive J. T. Griggs. Behind her, the hotel room’s adjoining door opened, and her dad stuck his head in.

  “You decent? Got some coffee on?”

  “I haven’t been to bed, so, yeah, I’m as decent as anyone is after an all-nighter. As for the coffee, I think I drank the last of it at around four-thirty this morning.”

  “Becca! You swore you were going to bed ten minutes after I did, and that was at half past one.” The clank of glass and spoons and the rip of sugar packets signaled that her dad was taking care of the morning’s java jolt.

  She yawned again. “I know, but then I got a lead on a John Thomas Griggs in western Arkansas. For a while, I really thought I’d found him.”

  Her father swung a chair around and straddled it, resting his chin on the back. “Honey, you can’t get so emotionally involved in your cases. You’re going to hear a million sob stories, see a million wrongs done over the course of your life. That is, if you stay with the job.”

  His words brought her up short. She really looked at him now, met him eye to eye. “I figured after the hash I’d made out of this case, you’d be ready for me to do anything else.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t make a hash out of it. You came down here, verified there was fraud, found out the extent of that fraud, who was behind it and pretty much how it was done. You’ve also discovered a key witness. Ag-Sure is going to be very happy.”

  His words didn’t convince her. “None of that matters. Even with Mee-Maw’s information, we still can’t lay our hands on J.T. And without him, we can’t stop Murphy.”

  “Oh, we will. Just give it time. Murphy’s like those guys you hear about on TV, the ones who stumble out of a convenience-store robbery and they don’t know they’re shot? Well, Murphy has no clue just how over his scam is. Eventually Mrs. MacIntosh will get her farm back.”

  “Eventually! She’s eighty-four years old, Dad! When I went out there to talk to her, after Ryan called to tell me what she knew about J.T., she looked so worn out, so frail.”

  She tried not to think about how Ryan had looked the last time she’d seen him. When she’d gone to Jack’s to talk to Mee-Maw, Ryan had been stone-faced. His cool politeness hurt worse than if he’d yelled at her. He’d made it a point not to touch her, not to sit anywhere near her. He’d just shown her to the kitchen table, said, “I’ll let you two talk,” and then he’d stomped out the screen door.

  Mee-Maw hadn’t been able to tell her much, just that she’d sent J.T. off with the five thousand dollars and a note to some Arkansas friends to find him a safe place to work.

  Calls and legwork had developed that J.T. had bounced around Arkansas, doing work for a succession of old-time farmers, moving on before too many questions could be asked.

  Nobody seemed to know where he might be now.

  “Mrs. MacIntosh could have put an end to all this months ago, before it even started, Becca. You know that. People make choices, and when they do, they choose the consequences.”

  She harrumphed. “Or the consequences choose them.”

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She let out a long, despairing breath. “Today’s the sale. Barring a miracle, Mee-Maw’s going to be saying goodbye to the only home she’s known for nearly sixty years.”

  “Becca, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t pin all your hopes on J.T. Don’t think you can save the world single-handedly. You remind me—”

  “I know. Too much of Aunt Mala.”

  “No.” He shook his head, cupped her cheek. “Too much of the me I used to be.”

  “Oh, Dad…”

  Now tears thickened in her throat. She couldn’t get over the pride she saw in his eyes—pride mingled with concern and worry.

  Before she could speak, her cell phone buzzed. She yanked it up. “Yes?”

  “Found him!” the Little Rock detective told her. “On a farm, working for room and board. It was a friend of a friend of a friend kinda deal. I swear, if I’m ever on the lam, I’ll know to use the Old Coots’ Farm Underground.”

  * * *

  RYAN THOUGHT he’d prepared himself.

  But when that gavel came down and the auctioneer yodeled, “Sold!” all Ryan wanted to do was upchuck what little breakfast he’d managed to get down.

  Mee-Maw had insisted on coming here today, though he’d asked her not to. Being present for this was like watching an execution of an innocent man. He’d wanted to scream, “No! Don’t! Stop!”

  But he’d known all that would have done was make him look like a crazy man.

  The auctioneer tuned up for the next poor soul’s property. Ryan turned, pushing his way through the crowd, Mee-Maw by his side.

  Then Becca was there. Ryan’s heart almost forgot about the betrayal, the lies, and all he could do was marvel at how beautiful she was.

  He willed his heart to behave and to listen impassively at her news.

  “We found him! We found J.T.!” she told him. “He’s on a plane heading for Savannah now. My dad’s rented a car to go pick him up. And we’ve got the feds involved now, too—”

  “Oh, honey. Bless you.” Mee-Maw stretched out a hand and patted Becca on the shoulder. “You don’t look like you’ve had a wink of sleep. But I’m afraid…well, honey, it’s too late. Murphy just made the final bid on the farm.”

  Becca staggered at the news. Without thinking, Ryan reached out and braced her.
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  “I—the auction—” Becca’s words were lost in the din of the crowd.

  For a moment, her pain was so much that Ryan wanted to fold her up in his arms, tell her it would be all right.

  But then he thought about Murphy, busy now with the paperwork on the farm Gramps had sacrificed so much for, and he realized it wouldn’t be all right. It would never be all right.

  “I have to get Mee-Maw somewhere. This day has been too much for her,” he said.

  The crowd around them suddenly fell silent and parted. Murphy came out of the cleared path. He stopped in front of Mee-Maw, gazed coolly at Ryan and Becca.

  “Ma’am. I wish I could extend you a bit more time, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t be good business practice. You’ll need to gather up what personal items aren’t included in the foreclosure and be out by the close of business tomorrow.”

  Ryan moved to deck the sanctimonious jerk, but Mee-Maw tightened her grip on his arm.

  “Come a little closer?” she asked, cupping her free hand around her ear. “I didn’t hear what you said?”

  So Murphy obliged, stepped forward and started to repeat the despicable order even louder.

  But he didn’t get three words out before Mee-Maw spat in Murphy’s big, round face.

  Then she shook off Ryan’s arm and strode off purposefully for the truck.

  * * *

  “THIS IS HOW I make my clothes, young man! If I don’t take this, I won’t have a stitch to wear, and I don’t see how you can get any more ‘personal’ than that!” Mee-Maw railed at the foreman Murphy had sent to oversee the eviction.

  “Ma’am…” The man shot a look of pure misery at Ryan, and then back at Mee-Maw.

  But he didn’t relinquish the hold he had on the battered old Singer. He cleared his throat. “I’m just doing my job. Murphy’s list says nothing but clothing and personal items—”

  “This sewing machine has been in my family for nigh over fifty years—I made my babies’ clothes on it—”