by Paula Boyd
“Look over this over tonight,” Grant said, “and get back to us tomorrow if possible on whether you want to go ahead with Waverman. We have to do the work, and the sooner the better, but ultimately, it’s up to you on who does it.”
I knew what they were thinking, so I said it for them. “You’re right. If I hadn’t met Waverman this morning I would have simply signed off on it and we’d be good to go. But I did meet him, and my gut tells me giving him free reign is a bad plan. I told him I wanted to meet with him in the next day or two so he could bring me up to speed on the details. He got kind of all choked up about it.”
Ed and Grant looked at each other.
“Oh, for godsake. He called and whined to you, didn’t he?” I waved a hand. “Don’t even answer that. I know he did. Well, here’s the deal. Either he puts on his big boy pants and plays nice—and gets paid lots of money for it—or I’ll find someone who will.”
“That’s the thing, there really isn’t anyone else in this area,” Grant said.
“So? If he doesn’t want the work, I’ll call my geologist friend in Denver.” I saw their skepticism. “Doctor Deb Luchsinger, PhD.” Yes, it’s redundant, but I was making my own point. “She works for a big firm in Golden. She’s also a university professor and has a string of other credentials longer than your arm. She gave me a crash course on the ins, and mostly outs, of the situation, which is why I knew enough to talk to Waverman this morning—and why he didn’t like it.”
Now, all of that was true, but what was also true was that Deb was scheduled to be out of the country on a big project for the next couple of months and the best she could promise was a weekend trip before she left and phone support.
Since Ed and Grant were pondering what to say, I saved them the trouble. “I’ll call Waverman this afternoon and set an appointment for tomorrow if possible.” Grant started to interrupt. “I know you are my environmental attorney and all decisions go through you. This is about me understanding what I’ve gotten myself into, and am ultimately responsible for, as well as making sure the good doctor and I share the same level of care and concern for things being done properly. Is there a problem with that?”
“Several,” Grant said. “Just know that if you can’t smooth things over with Waverman, we’re going to lose a lot of time and may have regulatory compliance complications if we have to find another consultant.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “It would be best if I was present for the meeting.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m going to address this head on. The power struggle ends right here. He’ll either see the light—and dollar signs—or his pride will make him shoot himself in the foot. Whatever the case, we won’t be playing games or making you the referee.”
Ed sighed.
Grant chuckled. “I like you, Jolene. You say it like it is and are very clear on where you stand. Straightforward and matter-of-fact.”
Ed ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Don’t piss off Waverman. We need him. At least for now. And under no circumstances are you to talk to regulators or anyone else you don’t know. Ask questions of Waverman, but nothing more. Don’t threaten him and don’t hand him his manhood on a platter.”
Me? Why would he even suggest such a thing? Okay, we all know why. “Duly noted, Ed,” I said. “I shall do my best to make nice.”
They both shook their heads—and not in a hopeful way—but dropped the subject and moved on to the status of the plastics factory that had produced the toxic waste.
The good news, if you could call it that, was that the sale of the company had been put on hold until the environmental liability issues had been sorted out. Since the buyer had already invested significant resources in developing the buy-out plan, not to mention several hundred thousand dollars in an escrow account that didn’t have a pertinent escape clause, the sale would eventually go through. There were some potential ways that could happen sooner rather than later, but they spared me the hows and whys, which I was good with. I wasn’t compelled to know the details of that situation or be involved as I was with the land at the ranch. A potential reason for that popped into my head, but I did not like the way it was sounding and squashed it like a bug.
Ed pulled another thick envelope from the stack and opened the flap. “We made summaries of the various aspects of the estate that should give you a basic foundation of what all there is to deal with. Most of it will continue to function as it has been, however, you will need to take possession of the primary residence immediately or designate a property manager to act on your behalf as a temporary measure. Stipulations of the estate.”
Before I could close my sagging jaw enough to utter, “Say what?” he slid the contents of the envelope onto the table. Papers, business cards, keys with tags attached, credit cards, checkbooks and banded packets of hundred-dollar bills spread out before me. “Everything is fairly self-explanatory. You have checkbooks, credit cards and cash for personal use and for ranch expenses. Both credit cards are automatically paid through the checking accounts so you don’t have to worry about any of that. You have all the paperwork and bank statements showing the transfers into your name. There are savings and investment accounts as well that we’ll go over later.”
Before I could articulate my shock, Grant pointed to the business cards. “You have private contact information for both of us. If you have a question or concern, call us directly. No one else in the office, including Sheila at the front desk, is authorized to give you any information.” He saw my questioning look and answered it. “It’s for your protection. We have had others do some work on various aspects of the estate, but no one has access to all the files, particularly the asset and financial records.”
“What? Why?” I managed to utter.
Ed stared at me. “You really don’t remember what we discussed before, do you?”
Obviously not. “I was in shock, okay?”
“This is an extensive estate, Jolene,” Grant said. “And that generally means that all kinds of people come out of the woodwork wanting a piece of it. Given the circumstances of the situation, there’s been a great deal of interest. However, we’ve managed to limit the information that’s been in the papers and news sources.”
“And we’d like to keep it that way,” Ed added, unsubtly referring to the earlier “Jolene said” situations. “Don’t talk to anyone without talking to us first. Better yet, just don’t talk to anyone or volunteer any information of any kind.”
Why was getting so pushy about it? Maybe even paranoid. “I don’t understand. I know there’s the oil and gas on the property and the plastics factory is an asset, but I thought the debts, liabilities and environmental money pit kind of trumped everything. I thought the pluses and minuses pretty much cancelled each other out and there wouldn’t be much of anything left.” I shrugged. “I guess I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
“It is,” the Vanderhorns said in unison.
Ed slid a thick stack of papers toward me. “These are the estate documents. You saw them before. I suggest you take another look. There are detailed reports of the assets and holdings and very specific instructions and requirements for each.”
I felt my face scrunch up as if in pain, which I was no doubt going to be in mere seconds. “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me what those are about now and I’m probably not going to like them.”
“The directions are explicit and the most immediate requirement is in regard to the ranch property,” Ed said. “You have to be occupying the house within fifteen days of the reading the will. There’s some flexibility on what that means, but in general, you need to start moving your things in tomorrow.”
My heard dropped into my stomach and I don’t even know why. “Tomorrow? You’re kidding, right?” He wasn’t and I knew it. “Why do I have to live there? I don’t want to live there. Hell, I don’t even want to go look around there.”
“It’s a very nice house,” Grant said. “The lower level is totally renovated. Vi
rtually brand new. There’s still some remodeling to do on the upper level if you prefer to put your personal touches on it.”
“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to use to lure me in?”
Grant smiled. “You’ll have a large office to work out of with new furniture and equipment, computer, printer and high speed internet. You should have everything you need.”
Oh, I doubted that. What I needed was to wake up back in my old real world where things made sense.
“I’ll meet you there in the morning and go over some of the options.”
“Once again, I’m guessing there isn’t much choice involved here.”
“See you at the house at ten?”
I stood and gathered up the papers and packets. “Make it eleven.”
Chapter 8
“What took you so long!” Lucille shrieked, lurching up in the bed.
I had only taken one step into her room and was highly tempted not to take two, however, we all know that I did. “Hello, Mother. Good to see you too. I had a fine trip, thank you for asking. It’s been just a peachy day.”
“Don’t you try to pretend you’re just getting into town, missy. I know good and well you’ve been here since last night, and now here it is nearly six o’clock. You come dragging in at the end of the day after all the doctors and office people have already scattered like cockroaches. It’ll be like pulling teeth to get my release papers signed today. I just should have called you and told you to get up here, but no, I was being thoughtful and patient, and now look where it got me.”
I’d known this was coming, I’d just made myself not think about it or I wouldn’t have been able to show up at all. And, considering the day I’d already had, it t was pretty amazing that I was remaining even semi-calm—or even standing upright—under this latest onslaught.
As I walked over to the bed, I realized that Mother Dearest was fully dressed in a dark purple track suit. Before I could completely register my shock about that, I also noticed that she was not alone.
A woman with wavy silver hair and along flowing skirt stood over by the window. In spite of her hair color, she was probably about my age. She was also doing her best to ignore the unfortunate family drama unfolding before her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said to the woman. “I didn’t know Mother had company. I’ll come back later.”
“No!’ Lucille yelled. “Don’t you dare leave!”
The woman walked toward me, a smile twinkling in her eyes and what looked like a clear crystal hanging around her neck. “I’m Melody Nichols.”
I introduced myself as well, although it was clearly superfluous with Lucille’s running dialogue in the background about my daughterly ungratefulness and her resulting motherly martyrdom. “Nice to meet you, Melody,” I said. “Do you work here or are you a hostage?”
Melody laughed. “My mother, Doris, is in the room at the end of the hall.”
Lucille scooted around and swung her legs off the side of the bed.
I sucked in my breath and grabbed for her arm before she tried to stand and fell in a heap on the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Let go of me!” Lucille said, swatting my hands away. “You tell her, Melody. You tell her I’m okay and I can go home right now. I could run up and down these halls if I wanted to.”
“Well, maybe not run.” Melody looked at Lucille and then me. “But yes, she’s doing very well, much better than would be traditionally be expected.”
I glared at my Mother. “That’s sure not the news I’ve been getting from the doctor or the therapists here. In fact, they told me you’d gone backward and would probably need to stay an extra week.”
“Backwards my hind foot,” Lucille said, scowling. “Ever since Melody started working on me, I’ve gotten better by the second. Why, I’ve even felt my bones growing back together. I’m going to get out of here faster than anybody ever has.”
Melody answered the obvious questions. “I do energetic healing,” she said, holding up her hands. “There are many names for it.”
I nodded. “Me too. What I don’t get is why she’s letting you.”
Lucille snapped her head toward me. “What are you talking about, Jolene? You most certainly do not do what Melody does and I don’t know why on earth you’d claim you do. You have never ever said one word to me about anything like this to me and you sure didn’t do what she did when I was hurt before.”
“Actually, I did, you just didn’t know it.”
“I most certainly would have known!” She scowled. “I don’t know why on earth you’re saying such things, Jolene.”
I understood her dismay. There were many, many topics I did not attempt to discuss with my mother—one of many things I’d learned about the hard way. Not that we’d ever had meaningful conversations, but with the recent string of fatal fiascos, our interactions had been more like dialogue from COPS or Court TV. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mother. Lately that’s because all we talk about are the details of a felony you’re plotting or one you’ve already committed and are trying to find a way out of.”
Lucille sucked in her breath. “Now that is just a plain hateful thing to say, missy. I certainly did not ask to be blown to smithereens.”
“She was a little hesitant to try the energy work at first,” Melody said, shifting things back to the previous—and hopefully less contentious—topic. “But when she saw how quickly my mother was healing, she ‘wanted in on the action,’ to use her words.”
“Yes, those would be her words.” I ignored Lucille’s glare. “I’m really glad you were willing to do it.” I heard a noise at the door and turned as another woman peeked in.
She had short blond hair and wore green scrubs. “We need to take care of some things in the hallway and need you to stay inside the room for a few minutes,” she said, then pulled the door closed.
Lucille crossed her arms. “Well, there goes another one.”
“What do you mean, Mother?”
“They make us stay in our rooms when they move the bodies out.”
Her matter-of-fact delivery was somehow more disconcerting that her usual hysterics and I hurried to the door. Melody followed. I cracked the door open so we could see out, and within just a few seconds, a sheet-draped gurney whizzed past.
“Those are the people from the funeral home,” Lucille said, having snuck up behind us. “I guess you’ll believe me now.”
I eased the door shut and glanced at my mother, resisting the urge to grab her arm and offer support.
Lucille obviously didn’t need my help and proved it by walking slowly but smoothly back toward the bed, looking more like she has a sore toe than a recently remanufactured leg. “I tried to follow them the first time, but they caught me.” She stopped at a chair beside the bed and eased herself down into it. “There’s no need anyway since they’re already dead. It’s what happens beforehand that’s the problem.”
It probably wasn’t that unusual for people to die in these kinds of facilities, but I had to admit that the circumstantial evidence seemed to support Lucille’s allegation that this was not a statistically healthy place to hang out. However, as we all know, my mother has a long history of distorting facts, not to mention just plain lying. Still, things didn’t feel right to me either.
Melody’s eyes were sort of glazed over, apparently even more disconcerted by the event than I was. “This could be very upsetting for my mother and I need to go check on her,” she said. “But I would like to talk more about this…and some feelings I’m picking up.”
As Melody left, I took a quick look up and down the hallway. I could see the nurses’ station, but couldn’t tell if anyone was there. In fact, I didn’t see anyone anywhere. Even though dealing with death was just a part of the job, most people probably preferred to avoid it as much as possible. I sure did.
Lucille clicked her nails on the arm of the chair. “I really do need to have my nails done. It’s just a thousand wonders they didn’
t get blown off when I went flying through the air out at the cabin. Still, they need to be filled in and painted. And my hair, well, I am tired of having to fix it myself every day. I’ll be glad to get these things taken care of. I’m sure Tina will get me in tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Tina. Tina Hull, the new beauty operator in town. Well, she doesn’t like to be called that, says she’s a stylist and colorist, which I suppose is true since she’s the one who changed my color and gave me this new high fashion cut. Of course, it’s just a mess now with me being shut up in here where I can’t get it fixed.”
Even before she wound up in here, I hadn’t seen any dramatic difference in her haircut. I would, however, agree about the color change. The new pinkish hue was hard to miss. It actually made me a little wistful for her old Frivolous Fawn rinse. Again, not that I was stupid enough to say so.
“Tina’s from New York and has a swanky salon, all done up in black and white, very sophisticated. She’s in the know on all the latest styles and such. When she heard what happened, she came right over and fixed my hair for me right here. Of course, the way things go in this place she’d have to do it every single day, so she said she’d work me in whenever I could get to her shop.”
I closed the door then grabbed a chair and pulled it near hers. “We need to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about, Jolene,” Lucille said. “It’s really very simple. I am going to put on my good clothes, gather up my things and we are going to walk out the door. If you will not help me then I will call a cab. One way or another, I will be in my own bed tonight. I have had enough of this and I am leaving. Do you understand?”
I did—and didn’t. Sure, papers could be signed—or not—and we could leave. But there were so many technicalities, not the least of which was her wellbeing. Yes, she looked to be doing incredibly well, but I didn’t want to risk her undoing the surgical fix or creating new problems. Also, there was the pesky little detail of what I was going to do with her when I got her home. I certainly hadn’t even thought about that, much less prepared for it. And what home? I’d been ordered to The Big House to live by tomorrow and I couldn’t leave her in her house alone. This was all happening way too fast.
