Belle Pointe

by Karen Young

  She gestured to a sheaf of paperwork on the top of her desk. “As you see. Hello, Anne.” With a tip of her chin, she indicated the settee against the wall to her left. “Sit down. Would you like tea, coffee? I think Miriam has lemonade, too. It’s so warm outside and early for it, too.”

  “Nothing for me,” Anne said politely. “But thank you.”

  “You feeling all right, Ma?” She gave an irritated click of her tongue. “Why is everyone so concerned about my health lately? Yes, I’m fine.” She glanced at his knee. “I could ask the same of you. How’s that knee?”

  “I think I’ll keep it,” Buck said.

  Her tight smile was for Anne. “You should have heard the jokes he made when he was ten.”

  “Jeff Foxworthy he isn’t,” Anne said.

  “Ma, we’ve got a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “I may or I may not. It depends on the questions.”

  He had the original of a 1975 contract rolled up in his hand. Leaning forward from the settee, he pushed it toward her on the desk. Ten minutes ago, he’d have demanded an explanation outright. Now that he’d observed her obviously in pain, some of the steam had gone out of him. “Do you remember this document, Ma?”

  She donned reading glasses and glanced at the heading. “It appears to be an old contract with Wilson Enterprises and Belle Pointe.”

  “Which you signed.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Apparently. I don’t recall.”

  “I was wondering why Dad didn’t sign it.”

  “The same reason he didn’t sign any number of business documents. He was far more interested in papers generated by his friends in academia.”

  “Did you have power of attorney?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you ask for any guidance when negotiating the terms of the contract?” He hurried on when her eyes flashed with indignation. “I’m not suggesting you needed help, but the terms are pretty one-sided, to say the least. Wilson over-charged Belle Pointe for almost ten years, starting with this contract.”

  “Why are you concerning yourself with this, Buck? Until recently, your baseball career consumed your life. You neglected to show any interest in the business affairs of Belle Pointe. I find your curiosity unseemly now.”

  “I think we both know why I didn’t show much interest in the business affairs of Belle Pointe or any other aspect,” he said in a neutral tone. He didn’t want to fight with her now. “But whether I did or not, this contract was costly and inefficient. It amounts to highway robbery. You’ll note that as of the date of this contract Jim Bob Baker became a new partner at Wilson’s. Ma…” his tone dropped to an even quieter level “…the really weird thing is that the contract was rescinded in 1985 on the Monday following Baker’s death.”

  “What are you suggesting?” she demanded coldly. The hand she brought up to her throat was not quite steady. Lined with a tracery of blue veins, it looked very fragile and showed her age more than her face. How had he not noticed that before today?

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m asking if you can explain what to anybody is a questionable business agreement.”

  “What does it matter?” she asked wearily. “It was so long ago.” She moved to collect some of the papers on her desk and shuffled them. Reaching for a clip, she pinned them, moved them aside and picked up another bunch. “I have a lot to do, Buck. I need to get back to it.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, Ma,” he said quietly. “I’ll be glad to take a lot of that stuff off your hands.”

  She instantly straightened up in her chair. “I’m perfectly capable of handling paperwork. You volunteered to see to the crops, nothing else.”

  Buck didn’t dispute what she said. Both knew he’d told her up front that he intended to have access to all aspects of Belle Pointe, books, crop management, employees, everything. He was troubled that she was stonewalling.

  From the moment they’d entered the office, Anne had watched Victoria’s attitude grow more and more uneasy. This was Buck’s business, but it was difficult to sit still while his mother grew steadily more tense. Perhaps even afraid. Why? Of what?

  Buck settled back on the couch. “I went to see Joel Tanner today,” he said quietly.

  “I assumed that was how you came into a copy of the contract,” Victoria said. “I hope you didn’t burden him with your suspicions.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned being suspicious, just curious,” Buck said.

  “Joel is in a delicate position.”

  “He’s a lawyer. They live for delicate positions. And as Whitaker legal counsel, he was obliged to answer a few questions. He wasn’t happy. I eventually convinced him that I was within my legal rights as a Whitaker to ask whatever I damn well pleased.”

  She lowered the papers and looked directly at him. “What questions?”

  “I wanted to know why he hadn’t advised against signing a contract that gave Wilson—and Baker as a new partner—a license to steal from us.”

  “Why do you keep harping on that, Buck?” She tore her reading glasses off and tossed them on the desk. “What possible relevance does an ancient contract have to do with anything today?”

  “My question exactly.” Buck stood up and Anne thought with relief that he was done. As she started to get to her feet, with one hand he motioned for her to stay. “Ma, a six-year-old can see there’s a connection between Baker becoming a partner at the gin and the lucrative contract he negotiated with Belle Pointe. He dies on Friday and on the following Monday the contract is renegotiated. I hate what I’m thinking here, but it makes his accidental death look not so accidental.”

  Victoria was now on her feet. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “It’s not only the link between his death and the contract that worries me,” Buck said, pushing on. “I’ve never mentioned what I’m going to say now to anybody but Anne and Pearce,” he said, letting his tone go even more gentle as his mother’s agitation grew. “I overheard Pearce and Jim Bob arguing the night before the hunt.”

  “I know this,” Victoria said in an unsteady voice. “Pearce told me. If you think you’re revealing something ugly about your brother that will discredit him, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “It wasn’t only about the contract that they argued, Ma. It was about you.”

  Victoria sat down abruptly, her hand at her throat as if she couldn’t breathe. Anne leaped up, thinking she was near collapsing. “Victoria, are you all right?”

  “I’d like a drink of water,” Victoria said in a weak voice.

  “Yes, I’ll get it.” With a severe look at Buck, Anne rushed out.

  Buck was on his way around the desk, when Victoria put up an imperious hand. “Wait,” she ordered in a clear voice. Buck realized she wasn’t anywhere near collapse.

  “What did you hear?” she asked when Anne was safely out of earshot.

  “Not much. At least, not much that made sense. Just that it was a threat. He said if he told what he knew, you would get the punishment you deserve.”

  “Did you tell your father what you heard?”

  “Dad? No. I didn’t tell anyone until now, not even Anne.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Even though I hadn’t a clue what it meant, I had some idea that it might damage your reputation, Ma. Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be anything good.”

  “I don’t want to speak of this again, Buck. I have only your word for it that anything of the sort happened between Jim Bob and Pearce. Now, please leave me. You’ve created enough havoc for one day.”

  Again, Buck ignored her and pushed on. “You said Pearce confided in you about his argument with Jim Bob that night. Did he tell you that Jim Bob had threatened you personally? Do you know what it meant?”

  She swiveled away from him in her chair, her chin set stubbornly. “I’ve said all I intend to say.”

  He studied the back of her as she faced the window, head and shoulders ramrod-straight. Whether
she admitted it or not, Buck felt sure she knew what Baker’s threat meant. “I’m going to find out, Ma. I believe that man’s death was no accident. I believe that fire last night was meant to keep Anne away from the archives because of what she might uncover. And I believe it’s all related.”

  Anne rushed in carrying a bottle of water, breathless from taking the stairs at a run. “Is she all right?” she asked Buck.

  Catching her arm, Buck prevented her from going to his mother. “She’s recovered,” he said dryly. He took the bottled water from her and set it on the desk, then nudged Anne toward the door. Just before closing it, he looked back at Victoria, who still faced the window. “We’ll talk later, Ma.”

  Anne managed to contain herself until they were on their way downstairs. Then she lit into Buck. “That was awful! That was horrible! She’s your mother. How could you?”

  “I guess it was pretty pathetic, wasn’t it?” He looked around for a sign of life in the house, but saw nothing and no one. “But you and Paige almost died in that fire, Anne. As long as the people who know aren’t talking, I don’t see how we’ll get to the bottom of this without ruffling a few feathers.”

  “You didn’t just ruffle your mother’s feathers, Buck. You nearly gave her a heart attack.”

  “She was fudging.”

  Anne stared at him, dimly aware that her mouth was hanging open. “Have you forgotten? I was there. I saw how her hands shook.”

  “It was an act, a way to get you out of her office so you wouldn’t hear any more.”

  Anne was ready with more outrage, but after a moment considering it, she realized that Victoria was capable of just such a ploy. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack,” he said. “Which reminds me. I think she’s sick. When we first got to her office, she was leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed. I know what someone looks like when they’re in pain and she was definitely in pain.”

  “Do you think she’s seriously ill?”

  “I don’t know and we won’t either until she’s ready to tell us. I plan to ask Miriam, first chance I get. She’ll know.” With a hand under her elbow, he guided her across the foyer to the front door. “Here’s the interesting part. She wanted to know if I’d told Dad about the argument between Pearce and Jim Bob. Makes me think she and Dad may have had a conversation about it.”

  “Wow, wouldn’t you like to have been a fly on the wall for that one,” Anne said, big-eyed at the thought.

  “You don’t know how much,” he said.

  Just then, the front door burst open and Paige dashed inside, narrowly avoiding a crash when Buck put out his hands and caught her.

  “Whoa! The fire was at the Spectator, little girl.” Holding her by the arms, he looked at her pink T-shirt and skintight jeans. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “Let me go put on my Goth stuff,” Paige said cheekily. “You’ll probably recognize me then. Hi, Aunt Anne.”

  “Cute T-shirt,” Anne said, guessing that the very unoriginal outfit was part of the precocious teen’s punishment. Overall, she appeared amazingly normal, including her naturally dark hair with most of the neon-orange tint gone.

  “I could use some help here, Paige!” Outside, Claire was struggling up the steps carrying a cardboard box. “Go back to the car and get the other.”

  “Oh, I forgot!” Paige dashed out to the car and returned with another box. “Jack Breedlove campaign stuff,” she explained to Buck and Anne. “We’re gonna be volunteers in his campaign. It’s neat! My dad is gonna go ballistic.”

  Claire met Anne’s eyes and muttered, “Now there’s an understatement.”

  Buck took the box from Claire. “Where d’you want these?”

  “All the way upstairs in my bedroom, which is not the master bedroom. Show him, Paige. And thanks, Buck. If I left them lying around in plain sight, they could very well go the way of the Spectator archives.”

  With a grim smile, Buck said, “Hold that thought. When I get back, that’s what I want to talk about.”

  Claire waited until Paige was out of earshot. “Did Buck tell you I’ve filed for a divorce?”

  “Yes. You’re making so many personal changes I can’t keep up.”

  “I haven’t told Paige yet, so don’t mention it.” She made a face. “I know I should have, but she was in such a good mood I hated to throw a damper on it, but I’ll have to say something before Pearce comes home tonight.”

  Anne marveled at the difference in Claire. There was a glow about her. She looked younger, almost like Paige’s older sister instead of her mother. “I wish you well, Claire. A divorce is a big step, especially with a child involved. If I can do anything…help in any way, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Thank you,” Claire whispered, squeezing Anne’s hand.

  Buck spoke coming down the stairs. “Did you say you’d seen Jack today?”

  “Yes, remember, he wanted to question Paige.” She looked at Anne. “He mentioned you were supposed to drop by and give a statement, too, Anne.”

  She gave a squeak of dismay. “I completely forgot. Buck, we need to do that now.”

  “Wait, first let me fill you in.” Claire moved to the third step of the stairs and sat down. “Jack doesn’t have any leads on who might have started the fire, but he told me how it was started. It appears that the arsonist didn’t know there was anybody inside. He’d made a sort of wick by soaking a piece of rope in something flammable. When it reached the area where the accelerant had been poured, it ignited. Jack said it was pretty primitive, but it worked. It gave him time to get out and, unfortunately, time for Paige and Anne to get in.”

  Buck was frowning before she finished. “How did the arsonist get in a locked building in the first place?”

  “The lock on the front door was pretty flimsy. Jack said it was easily jimmied open.”

  “Jimmied open?” Buck looked at Anne. “You would have arrived after that. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Frankly, no. The door was wide open and I could smell smoke. I didn’t think about it. I just ran inside to see if I could save anything.”

  “Me, for instance,” Paige said, appearing at the top of the stairs.

  Buck looked up at her. “I’ve got the same question for you. How did you get inside to leave the journals?”

  “I had a key, but I didn’t need it because the door wasn’t locked. Which I now know was because the guy who set the fire left it unlocked.” She gave Anne an apologetic look. “I just thought your dad forgot to lock up when he left.”

  Buck was looking at her. “You had a key.”

  “Well, duh. Everybody who works there knows Mr. Marsh has a spare hanging on a nail, so that afternoon when I left, I just took it with me because I knew I’d need a way to get inside later that night to leave the journals.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Claire said, looking at Anne and Buck. “She needs a firmer hand. And you’re absolutely right. Jack deals with a lot of adolescent mischief. When she made her statement, even he was impressed by her audacity.”

  “I couldn’t think of any other way to get those journals to Anne,” Paige said. “And it would’ve worked, too, if there hadn’t been a fire.”

  “We have a saying in baseball,” Buck said. “We would’ve won the game if the other team hadn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ignore him.” Anne sent Buck a speaking look.

  He grinned and chucked Paige beneath her chin. “I’ve got another question for you, brat. Just how did you manage to get your hands on those journals? They’ve been missing for years. Nobody, not even your grandmother, knew where they were.”

  “Simple,” Paige said, brightening. “They were in the secret hidey hole.”

  Buck gave a surprised laugh. “I forgot all about it. How’d you find it, Paige?”

  “I used to spend a lot of time in the attic,” she said, with a quick look at her mother. “And one day I was just fooling around and I found it. It was really nea
t the way it was designed. Anyway, when Gran would go on a tear or Dad started yelling, I’d just go in there and you couldn’t hear anything.” She shrugged. “So…like, forever I’ve known the journals were in there. I was just not much interested in reading them until I started working with Anne in the archives.”

  Anne’s expression was thoughtful. “I assume there’s a secret room in this house, which doesn’t surprise me. Many antebellum houses have one. But wouldn’t everybody know about it? And Victoria didn’t know where the journals were. Wouldn’t she have looked there, first thing?”

  “Actually, Ma might not know,” Buck said. “It’s a room behind a room that opens with a concealed spring lock. It’s incredible that Paige figured it out. And its purpose is just what the name implies, a hiding place for runaway slaves. Dad told me about it when I was around eight years old and he swore me to secrecy. I never told anybody and it’s been years since I thought about it.”

  “But wouldn’t John have told his wife?” Anne asked.

  “He didn’t tell Pearce,” Buck said. “I know that, because we were in the original room many times as kids, but it was plain to me that he didn’t know about the secret panel that led to the hidey hole. So it’s possible Dad didn’t tell her. As to why he didn’t tell either of them, I don’t have a clue.”

  “How odd,” Anne murmured. It was inconceivable to her that the life John Whitaker lived with Victoria was so void of intimacy. With only their relationship to influence him, it was no wonder Buck’s image of marriage was skewed.

  “That still doesn’t shed any light on why the journals were hidden away instead of being in the library where a cabinet was built especially for them,” Anne said.

  “Reading them may explain that.” Buck took her arm and steered her toward the door. “Meanwhile, Claire, you might want to go upstairs and check on Ma. You were right thinking she could be sick.” He told her about seeing Victoria looking ill and in pain. “If she won’t talk, see if you can get anything out of Miriam and call me.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Good. And now I’m taking my wife home.”

  They weren’t able to go straight home. There was still Anne’s statement about the fire to be given to Jack Breedlove, which took another hour. The pavement glistened from a light drizzle when they finally headed for the lodge. By then, both were more than ready to call it a day.