Sweetheart Deal

by Claire Matturro

  “What’s the county got to do with it?”

  “The resort wants to put in a big lodge and marina, with a fishing pier and boat docks and fancy hotel rooms, and a swanky restaurant, all that where our house and land is.”

  A resort? In Bugfest? I thought. Well, hell, they put Las Vegas in a desert and everybody knew how that worked out.

  “It’s all part of this planned development on the lake the county is putting in, damming up Sleepy Creek so that the little lake we’re on will be a real big lake. Our place, if you don’t recall it, being you been gone so long, is on that little lake Sleepy Creek made, right before it turns and goes on down to the Gulf of Mexico.”

  I nodded, a little geographically confused.

  “Least our place isn’t gonna be put under water when they dam up the creek and make the lake,” Jubal said. “All that will be on the north side of the lake, where the county is trying to gobble up the property, only a lot of folks aren’t happy to sell. They don’t want their homesteads being underwater so rich folks from Florida can go bass fishing.”

  While Jubal paused to breathe, Hank took over the talking.

  “’Cause the county is part of the project, that is, it’s the county that’s damming up the creek to make a twelve-hundred-acre lake, and then they’re going to use eminent domain to buy up all the land on the north side of the new lake. Those folks don’t even have lakefront property now, but they will when the project is done, but the county’s gonna take it from them now, so the appraisal will just show an old dirt farm, what is cheap. All because of that case out of the Supreme Court,” Hank said. “The one that lets private corporations use a government’s power of eminent domain.”

  “And pay us less, a whole bunch less, though the money’s not the point,” Jubal said. “You should hear what little they’re offering us, and telling us we don’t have any choice.”

  “The county said it was the fair market value, but I got a friend who is a real estate lawyer lady friend, and she says our place is worth twice that,” Hank said, and blushed again.

  Blushing and real estate lawyer lady friend probably had a connection, and, yeah, sales forced by eminent domain were legendary for cheap land grabs. Also, it being highly unlikely that Bugfest had two lady lawyers, I figured Hank’s friend might also be Bobby’s girlfriend’s mom and Dan’s new attorney. But right then, I had things other than small world, isn’t it? on my mind. I turned over what Jubal and Hank had told me, a few rotations in my head. So, reduced to the bottom line, the county commissioners were, in effect, proposing to steal Jubal’s land and hand it over to a private resort to build a lodge and a marina.

  While all this was terrible, I couldn’t help them. “If you have a lady friend who is a real estate lawyer, then you should be asking her questions.”

  “Oh, we tried, but she’s got a conflict of interest,” Hank said.

  Jubal made a small but audible rude noise, deep in his throat, and Hank turned and glared at his father.

  “Well, then—” I started to say something to smooth over the moment.

  “You being a lawyer and all, we figured you’d know that case, that United States Supreme Court case,” Hank said, turning back to me and smoothing things over all on his own.

  “Kelo v. City of New London, yes, I know of the case, of course,” I said, though what I didn’t know about it was equal to what I did. “But there has to be a public purpose before the county can take your land, and in New London, the city appointed a development group to acquire property and develop a riverfront residential and business complex to replace a…” I drifted to an early stop in my sentence when I realized that the word I was headed toward might insult Jubal and Hank. The Supreme Court had allowed the city’s appointed development group to take the landowners’ property through eminent domain because the property being taken was considered a blight.

  Was their hundred-and-thirty-five-year-old house a blight? Truth was, I didn’t have exacting standards in fifth grade, which was the last time I’d seen the place. But I stopped before I implied something rude about Jubal’s house. Taking a different tack, I said, “If your, er, friend has a conflict of interest, have you hired another attorney? One that specializes in land use issues?”

  “Well, yes and no. We’ve got an attorney, but he doesn’t specialize in much of anything except being front and center at J.B.’s Barbeque and singing off-key at the Trinity Church. Worse’n that, he’s not real optimistic we can fight the resort folks on this one since the county is a part of it,” Jubal said. “He says since the county commissioners voted to go in with the resort development group as a partner—”

  “The county approved the resort corporation as its development agent,” Hank said.

  “Didn’t I jes’ say that?” Jubal asked.

  “Then the resort group has the county’s powers of eminent domain,” Hank said, ignoring his father. “And we are just sunk. They claim the public purpose will be the increased tax revenues to the county, and new jobs, and our lawyer says we’re gonna lose our place in the condemnation proceedings if we don’t just go ahead and sell now.”

  “Sure hope you didn’t pay much for that advice,” I said, though in truth it sounded about right, from what I could remember of the case. “Any chance of changing the county commissioners’ minds? Without the commissioners involving the county, the resort can’t use eminent domain.”

  “Commissioners were split right down the middle, even Stephen, for a long time, except for the guy from our district, he held out making up his mind for a while. What with him being the tiebreaker, he waffled this way and that,” Jubal said. “Lot of talk in the county against it, old-time folks don’t want us to get like Florida. You shoulda been there at the public hearing, you’d’ve been real proud of my boy here. Spoke up for all us country folks. But then there’s a lot of folks wanting this development, folks what can’t see past the notion of jobs and money they think the resort and the big lake will bring in.”

  Well, that was an old story, those who wanted to hold on to what was versus those who wanted something new. Everybody in the county could talk it to death if they wanted to, but I’d seen what had happened in Sarasota, and knew in the end there wasn’t any stopping the development. Hell, not even the sheer power of an epidemic of category 3 and 4 hurricanes several years in a row had slowed it down in coastal Florida. The baby boomers were retiring, and the cold, up North places were emptying out of their aging, pensioned-off citizens, and they, by God, didn’t want to live in the snow anymore, and were coming south in droves, looking for cheap real estate and mild winters.

  And people like Jubal and Hank were just in the way. And apparently more than half of the county commissioners had understood that.

  “Who was the tiebreaker,” I asked, “on the commission?”

  “I think he’s an old boyfriend of yours too, that Lonnie Ledbetter,” Jubal said.

  “Oh no, not a boyfriend of mine,” I said, maybe a bit too loud.

  “Well, that’s right, that’s right, he was a boyfriend of that girlfriend of yours, kinda off and on over the years, that Shalonda. That gal sure is a firecracker,” Jubal said. “You reckon it’s true what they say, that he wrote that song, ‘Sweetheart Deal,’ about her?” Then, not waiting for an answer, he shook his head. “Well, when nothing else worked out for him, he sure did hightail it home to her, anyways. But here’s the thing, that Lonnie’s a snake, a real snake to sell us out like that.”

  So, Shalonda and Lonnie had had something going? Later, I would have to ask Shalonda about this off-and-on thing with Lonnie. And about the song. But before I pondered Shalonda’s love life much, Jubal brought me back to the real point.

  “It’s just a real sorry story, a sure enough sad state of affairs when a company from up North can come down and take away a man’s own home place. One that’s been in the family for over a hundred and sixty-five years. A sorry, sorry story,” Jubal said.

  Yes, it was. But Patti Lea p
icked that minute to stick her head out the front door and positively glare at Jubal, Hank, and me. Given that she is usually both charming and polite, I figured she was pretty much at the end of her rope. Plus, having gotten the gist of it, I didn’t want to hear any more of Jubal’s sad story at the moment. I had my own, thank you. So, despite Hank’s green eyes, I piped up and said, “I’m sorry, but I think my sister-in-law needs some help.”

  “We thought you might have some ideas of what we can do to fight ’em, legal like, and all,” Jubal said.

  “I’m sorry, but I am really not licensed to practice law in Georgia,” I said, a little sternly, since the first time I had said this apparently went right over their heads.

  “Come on, Daddy, I told you—” Hank said.

  “Hush, son, I’m trying to pick this here young woman’s mind on something. See, Lilly Belle, what the lawyer in town told us was—”

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Daddy just thought you might could help us.” Hank looked me straight in the eyes, then ducked his head again.

  “I’d have to do some research, think about it,” I said before I could shut myself up.

  “Then you’ll take our case?” Hank said, and watched me with big, bright little-boy eyes in a big grown man’s face.

  “No. I’m not licensed to practice in Georgia. I might have mentioned that already? But when I get back to my office in Sarasota, I can do some research, pull some things together and mail them to you. Then you can take them to your attorney here or, perhaps, find another attorney.”

  “See there, son.” Jubal poked Hank in the arm. “I told you she’d help us. You being her first boyfriend and all.”

  “How’s it coming with the house?” Hank asked. “It must be bad the way Patti Lea looked.”

  “It’s horrible,” I said, too weary to wordsmith the view from inside. “We have so much trash to throw out, and then there’s some good family furniture, antiques, even stuff my grandmother’s mother had, that needs to be brought out in the yard and cleaned, and…” I drifted off, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue.

  “Lord, then, gal, let me get in there right now. I can lift and tote and clean with the best of ’em,” Jubal said, and started jogging toward the front door.

  I had to jump to catch him. “I don’t think now is the time to interrupt Patti Lea,” I said, and literally put my hand out on his chest to stop his forward motion.

  “Well, I betcha you ask her, she’d be glad to have me come on in and help out.”

  “I can help you with the house too,” Hank said to me. Then he turned to his father. “Let them catch their breath, okay? We’ll make plans to come back later.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I mean, on the later part.”

  Hank turned back to me and grinned. “I teach shop over at the high school. And history. And coach the wrestling team.”

  Wrestling and history, a classic Southern combination, I thought, like whiskey and hunting, remembering my own history teacher had his greater fame as the wrestling coach. But what I said was “So, you’re a teacher.” I wondered why in the hell I was smiling at him. “You’ve done well for yourself, then.”

  Hank turned a bright red I wouldn’t have thought humanly possible, and then grinned. “Yes, ma’am. And I can round up a few of those big old sixteen-year-olds off the wrestling team, and we can surely tote anything anywhere you want it toted.”

  It was, frankly, the best offer I’d had since landing back in Bugfest. Teenage wrestling students, I thought, would be efficient with the heavy furniture, and had good immune systems to fight off the plague germs in the dust and mold. Of course, Patti Lea was dead-set against outsiders getting a look at the inside of the house.

  “Better let me talk to Dan and Patti Lea,” I said.

  “I hear you on that,” Hank said.

  “He’s a great teacher. Them boys love him, and they’d do just about anything for Hank.” Jubal turned to Hank, then back to me. “Hank never did marry. Dan says you didn’t either. Hank’s a real forward thinker, talked me into getting that hybrid pickup over there, and got him the first dang Prius hybrid in town, and he’s got him a real nice place of his own, just down from my house, the one been in the family—”

  “Dad,” Hank said, in a tone that highlighted his red face.

  “All I’m saying is that Hank’s got him a nice house, a good job, and no wife.”

  “I’m engaged,” I lied, knowing my devoted lover, Philip, would agree if he were not five hours away up to his chin in legal details preparing to defend his Cary Grant–like client from commercial spying charges of a grave criminal nature.

  “Where’s your ring?” Jubal asked, not so easy to throw off the hunt.

  “Didn’t want to hurt it or lose it, cleaning up this mess.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Hank said, and grinned at me.

  “Well, you just let us know. And me and Hank and some of his boys will be right here to help you. I can do it today, but Hank here has got to get back to school, he’s just off on a lunch break. I work part-time over to the Tru Blue Drugstore now that I got too long in the tooth to keep logging. You need anything, I’ll get you my store discount.”

  After I watched them drive off, I dashed for Dan’s house to shower, check in with Bonita, and eat.

  Country singers like to sing about being down to their last bottom dollar, or their last bottle of wine. But what had me worried was how quickly I was getting down to my last box of Save the Forest Organic Trail Mix Bars.

  chapter 13

  Well, it’s all right. It’s noon, and I’ve got two more bottles of kefir.

  I sang this to myself, over and over, as I waited for Patti’s percolator to perk some coffee. My cell phone peeped, and I picked it up.

  “I do not like this situation at all.”

  “Dr. Hodo?”

  “Dr. Weinstein is adamant about keeping the Thorazine dose the same, and refuses to accept me as Willette’s psychiatrist.”

  “Dan will have power of attorney or a guardianship shortly, I’ll have him speak to Dr. Weinstein, and put you down as her official physician. And take Dr. Weinstein off the case.”

  “Speak to Simon McDowell too,” Dr. Hodo said.

  “That gold-clad guy? What good would that do?”

  “Simon runs a tight ship over there at the hospital.”

  “He does?” I didn’t try to hide my surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He’s turned that place around since he came on board last year. It’s showing a profit for the first time since I’ve been licensed.”

  Ah, showing a profit was hardly the same thing as providing quality medical care, I thought, but decided in the interest of diplomacy not to say so. Showing a profit usually meant turning away sick people without insurance. Rather than comment on the ailing health-care system in our country, I stated the obvious closer to home.

  “Willette needs to wake up, and eat, and tell us what happened.”

  “I’m aware of that. You mentioned your theory before. We are working toward the same goal here. But there are medical protocols. And until I have authority as her physician, I will not try to overrule Dr. Weinstein.”

  I blurted out an inelegant “Yeah, but,” when Dr. Hodo cut me off. “Lilly, I don’t need to explain the law to you. You need to get that power of attorney and straighten things out with Simon. I’ll be back in touch.” With that, he said good-bye and hung up.

  Damn. Dan already had that hearing set before Judge Parker, but maybe Dr. Hodo was right about speaking with Simon McDowell. After all, if you want something done right, and you can’t do it yourself, go all the way to the top person in charge—a lesson honed by living in a world of incompetence. So thinking, I called the hospital administrator, the overly solicitous Simon McDowell, at the number he’d scribbled on his card, and I told him once more that I would personally guarantee paying for my mother’s psychiatric evaluation, and the family wanted Dr. Hodo in charge of Willette,
and blah blah blah.

  I had to question the man’s good taste when he asked if I’d come by and sign paperwork to that effect, especially the part where I guaranteed payment, and oh, by the way, would I like to go to dinner with him?

  chapter 14

  My spine jolted a bit as my little Honda Civic jarred along at a brisk pace over a corrugated dirt road, while Shalonda sang a song I’d never heard before but might have liked if my mind wasn’t filled with my own chorus of hurry, hurry.

  Boom, crash, and we sailed up in the air a tad much for normal bodily comfort after I hit a deep wash in the road.

  “White girl, ’less you planning on junking this baby car and paying for me to see a chiropractor, you might want to slow it down.”

  Slowing down was not something I had any interest in.

  Catching the heretofore unknown Judge Parker was something I was interested in. I needed to cross paths with the good judge away from the courthouse, as if by accident, in a social setting, where I wouldn’t come across as a pushy outsider, heathen lawyer from Florida, but as a dutiful daughter, seeking the man’s kind help in a family matter.

  And Judge Parker was at Demetrious’s barn, checking up on his mule, a dainty little female named Faith. I knew this because Shalonda had told me so, back in the hospital, just moments before I dragged her out of there and we got into the Civic to hurl ourselves toward Judge Parker’s last known destination.

  As soon as Shalonda had mentioned that visiting-his-mule thing, it had hit me: the perfect plan. Shalonda and Demetrious could introduce me to the judge, say great things about me, allude to the tragedy of my poor mother and her legal limbo and the resulting stalemate with the law and the hospital. Then I’d charm the judge while he was petting his mule, and wheedle him into signing an order appointing Dan as Willette’s legal guardian. I had a nice, clean copy of the order sitting on the backseat of my car.