Penelope sank into one of the dinette chairs and propped her forehead in the palm of her hand, elbow on the table. “It’s okay, Mom. We weren’t going to accomplish any peace treaty if you hadn’t hung up, so don’t worry about it.”
She heard her mother’s long sigh.
“Penelope—”
“Mom, believe it or not, your hanging up on me is the least of my problems right now, okay? I have a horrid headache. Brandon
Wilkes is tearing down my fence, and—” What else was there to say? Something straight out of a pity party about how even her cat refused to listen to her?
“Your fence? He’s taking down your fence? Along your property line?”
“Well, he has always maintained there is no property line there, because he swears that Grandpa Murphy conspired in some way to force the land sale to begin with. Something about taxes and the tax commissioner. Oh, Mom, I don’t know! He hates Grandpa Murphy and won’t listen to reason.”
Her mother chuckled drily. “Hmm. Seems to be the standard reaction to my father’s shenanigans.”
Penelope’s stomach growled, forestalling the protest she was going to make. She looked up at the clock. It was after two o’clock, no wonder she had a headache. Rising to her feet, she started poking through the cabinets and the fridge for something quick.
“Penelope? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m here. I’m trying to score some lunch, that’s all. I had the pig to deal with, which got in my yard because Brandon took the fence down, and then I—” She paused, thinking about Brandon’s kiss.
“Then what?” Her mother waited a beat. “That’s when you discovered the fence?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” Whole-wheat bread, brown mustard, some of the sliced turkey breast, romaine and tomatoes she’d bought during her last grocery-store run. The phone still pressed to her ear, she pulled a butter knife out of the drawer.
“So you’ve confronted him about it?”
“Brandon? Oh, yeah.” Back at the table, Penelope started assembling her sandwich, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. “He says it’s to make it easier to cultivate the fields. One big field would be easier than two, and all that.”
“Well...” Her mother clucked sympathetically. “He’s right about that. With two small fields, you spend half your time turning the tractor around and the other half on the road getting the tractor back and forth between the fields.”
“Oh, Mom! You’re not siding with him on this, are you? I mean, you’re the one who always warns home owners to never let fences on property lines become compromised.”
“You have a plat, right? Showing the boundaries? And a rental agreement describing how he can use the land?”
“Uh, not exactly. I mean, I have a verbal one. Don’t start. I know I should have one in writing.” She didn’t want to confess to her mother that she’d let Brandon use the land for free. At the time, she’d bought into Brandon’s pitiful-uncle story, but maybe that whole thing was just an act.
“Well, get one, dear,” her mother said crisply. “In writing. And put in it that, at the expiration of the agreement, he has to restore the fence at his cost, and back to the original land line. Put in there as well that if it has to be resurveyed, he pays for those costs, too. If you want, fax a copy of the plats to me, and I’ll draw one up.”
For a moment, Penelope was tempted to refuse. But it was a sensible plan, and the best way to handle it. Her mother had expertise she didn’t have, expertise that would cost her dearly if she went to an attorney here.
And if Brandon didn’t want to sign the agreement, she’d have him prosecuted for trespassing.
“Okay. I’ll fax up a copy of my deed. It will be easier than the plat, and it will have the boundaries on it,” Penelope told her.
“Good. Now, about your grandfather.”
“Mom, could we please—”
“I want to say my piece so my conscience will be clear. I’ll have warned you the best I can, and I won’t say another word.”
“Mom, please—”
“There are things about your grandfather you don’t know, things that I didn’t tell you about when you were younger, because...” Her mother exhaled. “I don’t know why, exactly. He wasn’t really a problem when you were little because we were so far away, and far be it for my father to trouble himself to come see us. And then, well, he married that woman.”
“Mom, you don’t have to worry about Eileen. She left him when he lost everything this summer.”
“Par for the course with that family. They were crooks from the word go, even if they did clean up well. I didn’t care if my father remarried. That wasn’t the point. Your grandmother had made her own life with us, and she was happy—far, far happier than she’d ever been with him. He’s...your grandfather—”
“Mom!” Penelope interrupted more sharply than she’d intended, but it did the trick.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to hear this. To hear how you couldn’t get along with Grandpa Murphy. I can get along with him and that’s all I need to know.”
“Oh, but Penelope, you can’t. You may think you can, but it’s because he’s arranging things. Manipulating circumstances.”
Penelope could visualize her mother’s face, knitted with concern. She knew that expression. She’d been treated to it whenever she did something her mother thought was a poor choice—changing her major to art, going on to art school for her master’s, living on a shoestring in first L.A. and then New York.
Oh, and don’t forget the biggie: buying this land.
“Your grandfather can get nasty when he doesn’t get his way, honey. I don’t want to see you hurt, that’s all. All these years, I didn’t want you to know what a...”
Penelope waited for her mom to supply the insult of her choice. When the word didn’t come, Penelope prompted. “What a what he was?”
“He’s very cunning. Very slick. He’s done things.”
“What things, Mom? Tell me, if they’re so awful.”
“I don’t want to. I know he’s my father, but he can be a horrible, horrible man. I honestly don’t even like to remember it. And he’s got you so charmed that you’re never going to believe it anyway, are you? Not until you see what he really is.”
A long moment of silence stretched out. Penelope looked down at her uneaten sandwich and pushed it away. “Maybe he’s changed?” she offered.
“For your sake, Penelope, I hope so. I hope so. Listen, I’ve got to go. I love you, and I’m glad you’re coming home for Trent’s wedding. I could use some help on it. Jill’s mom has got a to-do list a mile long. She’s even got a seating chart she’s working on. A seating chart! Oh, well, I know how she feels. When you get married, I’ll want the perfect wedding for you. I love you, honey. I don’t always tell you that, but I do. And I...I hope I’m wrong about your grandfather. Maybe he has changed.”
Were tears clogging her mother’s throat? Penelope didn’t get a chance to ask, because her mom clicked off a second later.
* * *
A MOCKINGBIRD SASSED somewhere high in a poplar tree above Brandon’s head, and a squirrel jumped from branch to branch in an oak tree. Other than that, it was preternaturally quiet in the wake of Penelope’s abrupt departure.
Boundaries. It all came down to boundaries. He gazed at the fence dispassionately and thought about Robert Frost’s poem about good fences making good neighbors. How good a neighbor had he been to Penelope?
And why, since she was a Murphy, did it matter to him?
But it did. He’d wanted to go after her, put his arms around her and comfort her, swear that no one would intrude on her space again if he could help it. He’d stood there, though, feet nailed to the ground.
Should he put the fence back up? Or t
ake it down? She hadn’t said one way or the other. He’d hurt her and, beyond the obvious breach of trust, he’d hurt her in some deep way he couldn’t understand.
His cell phone rang, and he snatched it out of his pocket, irritated.
“Brandon?” his uncle asked.
Oh, boy. Now, as if he didn’t feel enough of a total heel, Uncle Jake was going to get in on the act.
“Yes, sir?”
“If you’re at a stopping point on your so-called sneak attack on that there fence, Becca MacIntosh has some news for you. She’s up here, wants to talk.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BECCA WAS WAITING for him on the swing that hung from the old pecan tree. Brandon saw that Uncle Jake had gone all-out, with his best pitcher full of ice water and real glasses on the rickety table between the swing and the glider.
“You look plenty hot and tired,” Becca said by way of greeting. “Can I interest you in a glass of your uncle’s ice water?”
“I believe you can,” Brandon said. He crossed over to the pitcher and poured himself a tall, cold glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uncle Jake leaning back in the glider.
“Good of you to come join us,” his uncle said with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. “I know you been busy the whole day on that fence.”
Brandon didn’t respond right away, just took another swallow of water. Bringing the glass down from his mouth, he realized his uncle was still waiting for his reply.
“Yes, sir,” he said simply.
“Don’t know why you’re fooling with that thing anyway,” Uncle Jake went on, “not with us needing to get that winter wheat in the ground and them strawberry plants in, too. Time’d be better spent on planting, not tearing down a fence that wasn’t bothering nobody.”
“Uncle Jake, you know planting will go a lot quicker if I don’t have to contend with that fence.”
“Right, right, especially if you have to stop twice a day to help me get the hogs back in their pen after they’ve wandered off into Penelope’s yard.”
Brandon’s suspicion that Uncle Jake had sent Geraldine on a mission was confirmed by the glint in the old man’s eyes. He knew he could expect the hogs to be out every day until he settled this fence business once and for all.
Before he could say anything, though, Uncle Jake posed one more observation. “I guess you did get permission from Penelope before you started vandalizing her property, what with you being a sheriff’s deputy and knowing the law and whatnot.”
Brandon looked over at Becca, who was trying in vain not to laugh at Uncle Jake’s doggedness.
“She knows,” he said, not elaborating.
“Well, now, that’s good, that’s real good.” Uncle Jake took a swig of his water and beamed at first Brandon and then Becca. “I knew my nephew wasn’t the trespassing type. Don’t know why I spent the morning worrying about it. Guess we can concentrate on what news you’ve brought us, Becca.”
Becca set her glass down on the table. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”
“Bad,” Brandon said.
“Good,” his uncle said at the same time. He grinned up at Brandon. “Makes the medicine go down.”
Becca laughed. “I suppose, since you fellows can’t seem to agree, I get to choose which I tell you first. Brandon, do sit down. It will take a while.”
Brandon hesitated, then dropped into the glider beside his uncle.
When he had settled, Becca said, “Good news first. I’m with your uncle—it does make the medicine go down. I got confirmation today, this very morning, that the Georgia Department of Revenue is starting an official investigation into the billing and collecting practices of Melton, our fine and oh-so-scrupulous tax commissioner. And the investigation will go back several years to cover the time span where you were double-billed, Uncle Jake. Melton’s in some mighty hot water.”
Uncle Jake let out a whoop. “Now if that don’t prove what I always say, what goes around comes around! Becca, if you weren’t a married woman—and to that big, strappin’ Ryan MacIntosh—I’d kiss you!”
She grinned. “It’s like any present, sir—it’s the thought that counts.”
Brandon barely heard the exchange. Unlike his uncle, he was reserving judgment. It was one thing for the crooked tax commissioner to finally get his comeuppance, but did that help Brandon get his uncle’s land back? Becca had, after all, mentioned bad news.
“Okay, so that’s the good news,” he told her.
“Brandon, that ain’t good news, that’s great news! I told that sapsucker Melton that he’d be sorry, and I’ll bet he’s sorry now.” Uncle Jake offered up his glass to Becca, who fetched her glass and clinked it against his.
Sobering, she settled back in the swing. “All right, Brandon, I know you’re fit to be tied, wanting to know what the bad news is. So here goes.”
Brandon bit a knuckle as he waited on her.
She didn’t dally around. “First of all, you know how long I’ve been hot-sticking these guys with the revenue department. Since the sheriff’s sale that forced Mee-Maw out of her house. It wasn’t until after the second auction, the one where Murphy’s creditors liquidated everything and I was able to buy back Mee-Maw’s farm—”
“And Penelope was able to outbid me for Uncle Jake’s,” Brandon interjected.
“Yes, and Penelope was able to outbid you, that’s right.” Becca nodded. “At that point, I finally got hold of someone who would actually listen to me. Today, when I talked with him and he told me about the investigation, he said that if the state was able to prove Murphy and Melton colluded in order to force Mee-Maw’s place into a sheriff’s sale, then the sale would be considered null and void. Mee-Maw would get her land back.”
“But you bought—”
Becca smiled. “I know. That was my first question, how do I get my money back? My guy at the revenue department said I’d basically have to go back to Murphy’s creditors and prove that the land shouldn’t have been included in Murphy’s assets. With the state voiding the sale, the creditors would be forced to refund me that money.”
“But that’s great news, Becca!” Brandon leaped to his feet and began to pace. His brain whirred as he tried to figure out what could be so awful in that.
“Yeah. For me.”
Brandon turned back to face her at the bleak note in her voice. “But don’t you see? This is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to Penelope. The land, Uncle Jake’s land, should never have been auctioned to begin with, because it was never Murphy’s. So the land will go back to Uncle Jake. Penelope can sue to get her money from Murphy’s creditors.”
“Brandon. I think you’d better sit back down,” Becca warned him.
He dropped back into his seat. “What?”
“The reason Mee-Maw can get her land back is that it was originally sold at a sheriff’s sale, right? And the state is saying that the county possibly sold it wrongfully, as there was no tax debt to be satisfied. It never should have been sold to begin with.”
“Right,” Brandon said. “Just like—”
“Your uncle’s sale was different. His wasn’t a sheriff’s sale. It was a private sale. The state’s position, even if it is proved that Murphy and Melton colluded and conspired, is that the state didn’t force Uncle Jake to sell to Murphy.”
Brandon gaped in disbelief. “It sure was a forced sale! If he hadn’t sold half his farm to Murphy, the county would have taken his entire place. That’s the only reason he did agree to it. He would have never sold if he hadn’t been facing a sheriff’s sale!”
Becca looked miserable. “I know. I’ve begged and pleaded, but the state says their hands are tied.” She leaned forward and took Uncle Jake’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry, sir. It just doesn’t seem right that I’ll get my money back, eventually
anyway, and you don’t get your land back.”
“Tell me that I’m not hearing this right. Tell me that Murphy’s not going to win again because he managed to squeeze Uncle Jake into agreeing to a private sale.” Brandon waited for Becca’s answer, and when she shook her head, he groaned. “They can’t do this! They cannot do this!” He was up again, on his feet, pacing.
“I’m sorry, Brandon.”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
Becca pursed her lips. “Not much, but you do have a couple of consolation prizes.”
Brandon collapsed back into the glider beside his uncle. He pressed the glass of water against his forehead. It did nothing to cool the boiling anger churning away inside him. “So?”
“If the state convicts Melton, the district attorney here could indict Murphy on extortion charges,” Becca told him.
“Right.” Brandon kicked at a pebble at his feet. “Like our sorry D.A. is going to go to the trouble of presenting a grand jury with extortion charges on a guy who’s facing a federal indictment. That’ll happen when pigs fly.”
“Now, hold on, Brandon.” Uncle Jake patted Brandon’s arm. “She said we had a couple of options.”
“The other possibility is that, if Melton gets convicted, you guys could sue Murphy in civil court. A jury might agree with you that it was Murphy’s conspiracy with Melton that netted him the land at such a cheap price.” Becca shrugged. “Not a great option, but it could be done.”
Brandon considered it. “Murphy wouldn’t have to be convicted as well?” he asked. “Because you know the D.A.’s not going to bother with indicting him on state charges as long as the feds are interested in Murphy. And for all my complaining, I can see his point. It’s not worth the cost to the taxpayers if Murphy’s going to be locked up anyway, even if it is some country-club federal prison.”
“From what my guy with the state said, no, Murphy wouldn’t even have to be indicted,” Becca said. “As long as the state lays out a strong case—and Melton is convicted—then you can sue for recourse in civil court.”
A Place to Call Home (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 13
