by Jacquie Gee
I leave it alone, stuck on something else. "I thought Mom was peculiarly full of hate today." I look back through the window at her sitting in her chair. It’s not like Mom to hate anyone. “Why didn’t someone call me?” I stare in Aunt Penny’s avoiding-me eyes. “Why, didn’t you let me know? I might have been able to do something before it was too late.”
“Like what? Come up with two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
“Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Why so much?”
“Your mother had to take out a loan recently, to meet the lighting upgrades demanded by your ex-fiancé on the property around the bridge.”
“Is that where those new light posts came from.” I look around.
“Well, they certainly weren’t your mother’s idea.”
“And all LED lighting, inside. Was that his doing, too?”
She nods. “He had the inspector come out and deem the place a danger. Claimed the wiring wasn’t up to code. He threatened to have us shut down if we didn’t rewire the entire premises, so your mother complied to get him off her back. She said, ‘The place could use an update anyway.’ She was convinced if she did it, he'd leave her alone. But it was only the first of many attempts to shut us down since. And now he's gone and damaged the bridge, or so we all suspect."
“How long has this been going on?”
“About a year-an-a-half or so.”
“This is harassment. You know that, right?”
“Well, we hadn’t thought it was that until now.”
“Aunt Penny, you should have called me. We should have retained a lawyer.”
She looks slowly up. “What good does that do in a town bought off by a mayor and his lawyer-slash-realtor-king father.” She stares.
She has a point. They’ve too much power. But still, she should have called.
“At any rate, I didn’t call, so here we are. I just thought you should know there’s a history before you go walk into that bee’s nest over there.” She jerks her head toward the Williams’ bank.
I blink. “What do you mean, a history?” I sense there’s more.
Aunt Penny rolls her hands, squeezing them tight. She parts her lips but cannot speak for a moment. “I’ve never broken your mother’s trust before.” She looks to me then back through the window, guilt consuming her face. “Your father…” she begins, her words stilted. “He, um… he got himself in some trouble along the way.”
I frown.
“With a couple of men up in Coldwater. Your father was a closet gambler—” She swallows the words down. “Not many people knew, except for a few townspeople and your mother and I.” She looks ashamed to be telling me this. “He used to gamble with men from the States, in the back room of some seedy bar up in Coldwater. One night he got in over his head, had too much to drink, and gambled the farm away, so to speak. The bridge, the house, the land around it, everything. Everything your great grandfather amassed and your grandfather left him. When it was all said, and done, he tried to beg it back but failed. He had forty-eight hours to come up with the money, or see all he owned taken away—and possibly lose his life.
He had no choice. He went to Bertram.”
“Williams?”
Aunt Penny nods. “He tried to arrange a quick loan. Bertram was aware of your father’s obsessions and refused, but instead, arranged for him to enter another deal.” Aunt Penny studies her feet, then slowly looks up. “That’s where your ex-fiancé's father came in. Bertram knew Jefferies was looking for property to subdivide, and your father had a lot of it. Together they convinced your dad to sever his land to meet his debts. Jefferies would gladly take it off his hands, and pay him handsomely for it, and your Dad could use the money to get himself out of trouble, and Bertram would be awarded a small cut, for putting the deal together. He would take a prime piece of land up on the bluffs to build a new home on, and your father would award the all the land along the South side of the river, and the rest of the bluffs, to Jebson Jefferies' father."
A storm brews in my gut.
"Reluctantly, your father agreed. They took his land and paid his debt, and he was never the same afterward."
"So, Dad owned the land around the bluffs?"
“Before that, yes. Your father owned the whole South end of Heartland Cove."
A cold shudder threads through me.
“After that night, he was left with only the house, the bridge and a little bit of land around its footings. The Jefferies and Williams' controlled the rest. As the story goes, somewhere along the line, Jefferies double crossed Bertram, too, leaving him only the land beneath the house up there on the ridge.” She points. "But it was hard to feel sorry for them. Vera, being Vera, spread the gossip of it around the town. Your mother and she have suffered bad blood ever since. Some say that’s why your father ended up going to the river that day—”
“What day?”
She whirls around, looking ghostly like she’s said too much.
“What day?” I pressure her. Rain beats down heavy over our heads.
“I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this.”
“But you’re going to anyway—”
“Very well,” she sighs. “Your father did not die of a heart attack.” She twists her fingers. “Your father drowned himself in the river shortly after that night.”
“He what?” I stagger backward.
“I’m sorry.” Aunt Penny’s voice becomes a breath. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
“My father committed suicide?”
Aunt Penny nods. She purses her lips and reaches for me as I fall back against the outside wall. “You have to understand.” She rubs my arm. “Your father was full of pride. He was also full of shame. He loved your mother and you, very dearly. He would never have left the two of you like this if he’d been thinking straight—”
“But he wasn’t, wasn’t he?” I look to her, gasping back the sobs that rise in my throat. “Did Vera spread this rumor too?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge. It’s been a town secret. After your father died, though, she was the first one over to your place with muffins, which your mother promptly refused. She tried to explain how she and Bertram had also fallen prey to the hands of Jefferies empire over the years, and been taken advantage of as well as your father in this dirty deal, that she and your mother had suffered the same fate, but your mother would have no part of it. The nerve of that woman.” Aunt Penny looks up, anger in her eyes. “That’s what started the feud between them, which has never ended.”
No wonder that woman’s always hated me. No wonder she was there the only day I screwed up. Standing, taking photos of the bridge aflame, and me being stuffed in the back of a police car, even though it had nothing to do with me.
I shake the memory from my head and take in a breath, struggling hard to collect my thoughts.
“So, you see,” Aunt Penny continues. “You’re the most unlikely candidate to be asking Vera Williams’ for a favor. That’s why your Mother was so upset.”
“I understand but, the way I see it, I’m the perfect candidate, that woman owes me more than just a favor.” I clench my teeth and turn to walk away.
“Don’t be surprised if you approach her and she refuses you outright!” Aunt Penny calls after me through the rain. “Whatever happens to the bridge, there’ll always be a bank—”
“But there might not always be a Mrs. Vera Williams.” I turn, fists clenched at my sides, then storm on.
Chapter 38
“Mrs. Williams!” I spot her on the sidewalk outside of the bank and chase after her, my shoes sloshing in the rain. I don't have an umbrella, not even a hood to pull over my head, but I don't care. Anger heats me from the inside out, and I need to talk to her. The sidewalks run like rivers; the rain is pelting so hard. “Mrs. Williams!” I shout, coming up from behind. “Mrs. Williams, stop!”
She turns and scowls at me, plump and dry as toast under her mega-sized umbrella. “What i
s it? What do you want? Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?”
“This won’t take but a minute.” I brush the teaming rain from my eyes. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”
“A favor? Me?”
“Yes.” I put it plainly. “I was wondering if you’d mind taking some pictures?” Rain drips off my nose as I shiver.
“Pictures of what?” She snarls up her nose and looks down it like I’m some sort of vermin—like I’ve no right to be asking her for anything. I can only imagine what’s going through her gossiping little head. Well, newsflash Vera, baby, I’ve got a juicy piece of gossip at my disposal, thanks.
“Men. Naked men,” I say.
“I beg your pardon. What?” Her eyes pop.
“Half-naked ones, I should say. I want you to take pictures of some men for me. In the buff. For a good cause.”
Mrs. Williams gasps and draws back. “What would make you think I’d want to take that kind of pictures, for you or anyone else?” She plumps out her bottom lip. “You have some nerve, I must say, turning up in this town and carrying on about such things. You and your crazy, innovative, New York way of thinking. I heard all about your ridiculous plans to add a marshmallow dunk tank to the festival! Among other things.” Her eyes dance like lightning over my rain-soaked skin, then narrow. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”
“A concerned citizen. Doing all I can to save the bridge—”
“Huh!” she scoffs. “The only thing you’re concerned about is yourselves, you and your mother,” she snorts, then adds below her breath. “Concerned citizens don’t go around making trouble for neighbors.” She turns her back.
“What trouble have I ever caused?”
She slinks slowly back around. “I think you know full well about the trouble.” She narrows a judgmental gaze at me. “You know very well what trouble you caused.” She raises her brows. “Your mother’s lucky you didn’t end up in jail.”
“Still angry you couldn’t arrange that?” Rain rivers down my face.
She gasps and drops back, then darts forward with the full force of a pit bull attack. “Listen to me, Missy. You may be able to play your mother like a fiddle, but I am not her.” She pokes her chest. “I will not stand by and watch you carry on with all this festival nonsense you’re cooking up, pumping the people of this town up with false hope, including your poor, daft, mother.
“My mother is neither poor nor daft.”
“She has to be, to believe she can save that bridge. This whole exercise is futile. That bridge is going to be torn down by order of the Ministry, and there’s nothing you, nor I, nor the rest of us can do about it! Now, I suggest you take you and your pornographic idea of taking half-naked photographs and head on back to New York!” She whirls around and stalks away.
“That’s where you’re wrong!” I holler after her. “That’s where you and I differ! I’m not afraid to go after what I want. And I refuse to give up on what is mine. Whether it comes to bridges or affairs of the heart, I’m not willing to turn a blind eye while it all falls apart!”
Mrs. Williams cranks around. She stares at me with questioning eyes; she knows I’m not just talking about the town.
“I know about Mr. Williams not sleeping at home.” I swagger toward, sopping wet, but I don’t care. The look in her eyes tells me I’ve got her on the ropes. She knows I know something I shouldn’t. “I know where he’s been sleeping and with who. And I’ve been thinking, that might make a pretty good story for the paper, don’t you? Or maybe I'll just use your methods and spread it all over town." I show her with my fingers.
“How dare you!”
“How dare you!” I bark back toward her. “You’ve treated my mother and me like garbage for years. At least my mother could keep her man.”
She gulps. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, I do." I close in. "You see, the first night I arrived, I got locked out of the house, so rather than wake Mom, I took a room at the inn, right next to your lovely husband, it turns out.” I raise a brow. "It wasn't a quiet night." I press at her with my gaze.
Vera gasps.
It's not altogether true, but she'll never go to Ava Simmons for verification, and expose herself to such humiliation.
"Why, that little—" Vera turns wicked eyes in the hotel's direction. "Yes, I know she sounded very young."
Vera cranks around "Don't you dare—"
“Dare, what? Do what you did to my mother?" I narrow my gaze.
Vera's lips wobble. She shifts back on my heels. “I’ll have you know, I’ve kept your mother’s biggest secret.”
“That must be killing you.” I fold my arms across my chest and stare into her eyes, no longer caring about the cold rain, my inner fire keeping me warm. I’ve never seen Mrs. Williams in such a state. Every fiber of her being shaking.
“Now, can I count on you for some photos to raise money to save the bridge, or do you want me to let the Ladies’ Auxiliary Club know what’s been going on when they assemble for cards at Aunt Penny’s Friday night?”
Mrs. Williams draws in a sharp breath. She presses a hand to her chest like she’s having pain, and fans the other in front of her face. “I can’t believe you. Your mother was a God-fearing woman—”
“Which is more than she could say for you, right, Mrs. Williams?”
“I’ll have you know I go to church every Sunday.”
“And well you should, considering the things you’ve done.”
She gulps.
“Did you even wait for my father’s body to get cold before you made trouble for my mother? And yet, here you are, blaming me for the trouble.”
“You wanna lay blame, try looking in your own backyard.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It wasn’t Bertram and me who ruined your mother. In fact, my Bertram tried his best to save your mother’s home. You want to know the source of all the trouble for both our families, check out the one you nearly married into!” She grits her teeth and turns her back and charges up the sidewalk, leaving me standing in a shroud of confusion, drowning in the rain.
My own backyard? Laying blame? Nothing to do with Bert and her? The one you nearly married into?
“Vera, wait!” I race up the sidewalk after her. “Vera!” She ignores me and disappears through the door of William’s Bank and Loan.
Chapter 39
“You can’t go in there! You don’t have an appointment!” Jebson’s private secretary tries to stop me as I storm toward his private office. She scuttles after me, arms flailing, but I’m already through the door.
“Becca.” Jebson’s head shoots up. “What a pleasant surprise.” He slides back from his desk. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting you. Most of my visitors’ book appointments these days.” He looks like a rat caught in a cage, pinned in behind his grandiose carved wooden desk, his jaw slack and shaky. He nods to his secretary-dog, calling her off. “I’ll take it from here,” he says.
“I tried to stop her, sir, honest I did,” she blurts, and scuttles from the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Are you having fun, Jebson?” My hands pinch my hips. “You and all your lies?”
He stretches back, ever the cat. “I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Because you can't remember which lies you've told and which ones you haven't, you’ve told so many lies in your life?"
He gets up, circles his desk, and sits on the front of it, cross-legged. “Is this personal, Becca?”
“When hasn’t it been personal?”
“Either we’re gonna have a conversation, or you’re going to keep talking in riddles. Which is it?” He crosses his arms.
“All right then,” I cross mine as well. “Were you or were you not involved in my mother losing our house?” I narrow my eyes to slits.
He sighs, then puffs his cheeks out, as they glow red. “Becca, Becca,” he
tuts. “I cannot help the faults of your dead father.” He stands and moves toward me.
“Stop it. Stop it right now.” I put out my arms. “You do not get to blame this on my Dad.”
“Who else is there to blame? He’s the one who left her penniless.”
“I’ve got a different take on that story. It seems he had some help.”
“Really? Who helped him, me?”
“No. Your father. Or rather he helped himself.”
“Those are pretty big accusations from a pretty small girl.”
“Yeah, well, when it’s the truth, size doesn’t matter.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Whatever.” He tosses up a hand and turns away.
“Your father stole land from my father years ago, and now you’re trying to steal the rest.”
“Give it up, Becca. Your mother’s the owner of a beat up old bridge, she can’t afford to fix, and you’re trying to take it out on everyone else.”
“A beat up old bridge you’re just dying to get your hands on, aren’t you? What’s the real reason for that?”
“It’s not me, Becca. It’s the Ministry.”
“Right, the Ministry.” I scorch him with a look. “It’s not like you and your father don’t stand to profit big from the takeover of my mother’s land, just like you did when you killed Francis Drury for his.”
“Now you stop right there!” He charges toward me.
“What have I hit a nerve?” I stand up to him, and he backs down. “I know what this is, Jebson,” I whisper in his ear. “And you’re not gonna get away with it. Not as long as I live and breathe.” I turn to leave.
“I’d be careful if I, were you?”
“Was that a threat?” I turn back.
He leans against his desk and crosses his arms.
I start for the door, and he lunges forward, grabbing my arm. “Look, Becca—”
“Don’t, look Becca, me.” I yank my arm from his hand. “Don’t even try to lie your way out of this, Jebson. I know you too well for that. I know about the little vein that pops out on your forehead every time you’re untrue.” My eyes travel to the spot. “I know you better than you do.”
