Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "Who are you?" he asked. His voice came out gruff. He didn't want to be found. He wanted to be left alone.

  "I'm Erika St. James."

  The name meant nothing to him. Aristocratic as it sounded, she hadn't said it as if it should be recognizable to him. "Do I know you?"

  "No." She shook her head. Wispy curls were caught and kissed by the wind. Michael frowned at the thought of how that hair would feel. "I sent you three telegrams about your grandfather."

  Michael didn't move, but he eyed her closely. So she'd sent the telegrams. "You've got the wrong guy. I haven't got a grandfather"

  "You're Michael Lawrence?"

  He nodded.

  "Carlton Lipton-Graves told me you were his grandson."

  "Not to my knowledge." He shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. Both his sets of grandparents were dead. He'd never known any of them. He squinted. What was she doing here? She knew his name. Why did she think this Carlton was related to him?

  Her eyes captured his attention. They were brown, huge, and fringed by dark lashes. He wanted to keep looking into them, but forced himself to look away.

  "You didn't read the telegrams?" she asked.

  "I have no use for telegrams, newspapers, TV, telephones, or fax machines, for that matter. Whatever you've come here for, I'm sorry it was a wasted trip. Good day, Ms. St. James."

  He went back to his position against the crate, closing his eyes, dismissing her. She didn't leave. He would have heard her footsteps on the boardwalk. What was she waiting for? He opened his eyes. She was standing in the same position, her hands on her hips, her breasts rising and falling with controlled breathing. From his position on the wooden wharf his gaze was drawn to her.

  "Is there something else you have to say?"

  "Yes. . .no," she corrected.

  "Then have a nice trip back to the city."

  She turned away, then stopped. Michael could see her hands curl into tight balls. Every line of her body was stiff as she stood still. A moment later she looked back at him. He thought she was about to say something, but changed her mind. She turned again, starting up the slight incline that led back to his cabin and eventually to the road. Michael watched the sway of her hips as she moved away from him. It had been a long time, he thought since he'd wanted a woman, but God, he could want her. Closing his eyes, he shifted his body to relieve some of the tightness in his loins and went back to himself.

  He should have asked how she knew his name, and why she thought his grandfather was still alive, but he hadn't. He didn't want to. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Since he'd come here he wanted only solitude, and up to now he'd had it. When the telegrams arrived he'd thought they were from his office or his mother, or Malick, his old friend. Only they knew where he'd gone when he left the city. He'd dropped the telegrams in the drawer with the unopened letters he'd received shortly after coming here. He wasn't going back then, and he wasn't going back now. No telegram would get him off this mountain. And no long-legged temptress with teasing hair and a mouth made for kissing could do it either.

  ***

  Erika turned back and checked over her shoulder. Thank God she'd known he was older than that picture Carlton had shown her. The album was full of pictures of Michael at various stages of his growth and development. She'd gone through the whole album before embarking on this trip. Carlton had captured the high points of a man's life to this point: his school days, sporting events, graduations, law school acceptance—a mini-world inside the plastic sleeves of a hundred-page book.

  Michael, she estimated from the pictures, must be in his mid-thirties. Most of the pictures had him smiling, candid shots that he may not have been aware were being taken, some full facial composites. He’d appeared as a happy man. But the person sitting at the end of the pier was only a ghost of the one incased in plastic protectors.

  He fascinated her. He hadn't moved. She knew he could still see her, yet his gaze was as fixed as if he was the only person on earth. He'd made her angry. She had nearly told him right then and there about Carlton. Before the words tumbled out she'd caught herself, thought better of it. She remembered her mother telling her that her father was dead. She hadn't thought to soften the blow. She'd just blurted out the words. "He's dead. Your father's dead." They'd hit her like sharp rocks.

  Michael had made her angry enough, but she held her tongue. Since he hadn't read the telegrams, he didn't know. Obviously, there was bad blood between Carlton and his grandson. Denying that he existed was only a defense mechanism. It was probably tied to the reason he was hiding out at this place. She'd wondered what he was doing here during her drive into the Maryland mountains. She hadn't thought to ask the attorney about it after the will was read. She was too stunned. First she'd found out Carlton had a grandson, and on the heels of that she'd been confounded by the terms of his will.

  Still, no one deserved to hear of the death of a loved one without concern for its impact. There would be time for that later. It wouldn't be dark for another four hours. She had made a reservation at the only motel she'd seen in the last seventy miles. She had some time, but not that much. It had taken longer to negotiate the narrow, winding curves to find him than she expected. She didn't relish the idea of driving down this mountain without the benefit of daylight. Once she'd talked to Michael, she could go back there and spend the night before driving back to Philadelphia.

  She had hopes of him returning with her, but now that she'd come up against his hard exterior she knew he'd need time to get used to the idea. Hadn't the general store owner, where she'd stopped to ask directions, told her he came in to pick up food, spoke sparingly, and kept to himself? She could see how his attitude could put people off.

  His look reminded her of the old mountain men—dark, unkempt beard, broad shoulders that spoke of hard work despite the heavy, plaid jacket he wore. His denim-clad legs were long, and she couldn't help notice the strength of his thighs. Still he looked thin and worn. His hair was long, and his clothes were covered with paint, oil, and something else she didn't want to define. Yet his eyes made her breath catch. Deep set and ringed with signs of lack of sleep, they were light brown mirrors that spoke of great pain. It was probably his eyes that pulled at her compassion. They also stirred passion in her. She had no doubt of that. After Bill’s treatment of her, she’d had nothing to do with a man for a long time, even if she wanted to.

  And right now she didn’t want to.

  Erika looked at the cabin as it came into view. She glanced at the clear, blue sky and took a great gulp of clean, mountain air into her lungs. When she was in grade school she'd dreamed of living in a cabin like the pilgrims did, fishing in the nearby stream and cooking her own food. This place seemed to have everything her youthful mind had thought of. Then she got closer, and her dream shattered. It looked as rustic as Michael did, made of logs and covered with a rusty tin roof. She wondered if it leaked during rainstorms, and was glad she wouldn't be here to find out. The perimeter of the small structure was cluttered with old tires and junked auto parts. She wondered how long they had been there, since the only vehicle in the area was her Bronco. Everything had a rusty, discarded look about it as if things were dead, things with no hope of returning to useful life. Weeds overran the path to the door. What could have happened to Michael Lawrence to bring him to this kind of life?

  At the Bronco she picked up her phone from the front seat and dialed the office.

  "Erika, thank God it's you," Jeff Rivers, her chief financial officer, greeted her after his secretary put her through.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked, climbing into the seat.

  "For the time being. The stock market closed at three, so nothing more can be done until Monday."

  "How was activity?"

  "If I said brisk I'd be putting it mildly," he told her.

  "It will calm down, Jeff. The market needs to get used to the idea of me sitting in the CEO's chair."

  "You've been in that chair for over a ye
ar now."

  "That was in a temporary capacity. The market knew Carlton was a rock I could lean on."

  “But you weren’t leaning on him.”

  “They didn’t know that and this activity is their nervousness. It will pass,” Erika said.

  "I think we still need to keep an eye on this." Jeff was his normal cautious self. But in this instance Erika agreed with him.

  "Let’s make sure we do. We don't want any surprises."

  Erika could almost see the financially savvy brain spinning in Jeff's head.

  "I'll get to work on it. Meanwhile, what did you find out about Michael Lawrence?"

  Erika took a deep breath and turned to look back toward the lake. She couldn't see Michael from where she sat, but she assumed he was in the same position he'd been in minutes ago. The news of Carlton's grandson had gone through corporate headquarters like a tornado over flat ground. Morale dipped to an all time low, and she was responsible for raising it.

  No one at Graves Enterprises knew Carlton had a grandson, and they were naturally nervous to suddenly find he held their fates in his hands. They looked to her to protect them.

  "So far I haven't been able to talk to him," she went on to explain. "He didn't read any of the telegrams I sent."

  "Does he even know Carlton is dead?"

  He doesn't even know Carlton’s his grandfather, she thought, but didn't say. "I don't think so."

  Jeff let out a long breath. Erika could hear it through the cellular instrument. "I don't envy you."

  "How long do you expect to be there?"

  "I figure I'll wait around and talk to him, then spend the night at a motel where I made a reservation. In the morning I'll drive home."

  "If I find out anything else, I'll leave a message on your answering machine."

  "Thanks, Jeff."

  Erika pushed the off button and dropped the phone in her pocket. Someone was trying to unseat her, gain control of Graves Enterprises by a hostile takeover, and they hadn't been able to find out who or why. Jeff Rivers was a good man, and she knew he was loyal. If anyone could find the true culprit, it was Jeff.

  Carlton had left Michael and her more than enough stock for control of the business, but someone coming in could ruin her plans, force a seat on the board and, with enough influence and charisma, sway the other board members.

  Erika was confident in her position at Graves. She knew what she was doing. Carlton had taught her the business from the ground up, but his death, a possible stock problem, an unexpected grandson, and the morale issue, were more problems than she wanted to deal with all at once.

  Erika wished she were at the office helping Jeff. There had to be something she could do. They should be searching out this problem together. Graves Enterprises was her company. Yet Carlton had forced her to come up this mountain and talk to his grandson.

  Erika shivered. Without heat, it was cold in the Bronco. Maybe she'd wait in the cabin. Michael needed time to think about why she'd come looking for him. He'd know she hadn't left if he didn't hear the Bronco motor start up and the sound die away in a fading Doppler effect. When he came in, she'd tell him. In the meantime she was starving. Maybe she'd fix him something to eat. She'd promised the general store owner she'd deliver his groceries. She hoped he wouldn't mind her sharing some of them with him.

  Erika got two heavy bags from the back of the truck and elbowed the cabin door open. She stopped suddenly, stepping backward and propping her shoulder against the doorjamb as she tried desperately to hold onto the bags. Breath left her body. The place was filthy. The main room of the cabin was littered with dirty clothes and the remnants of food in various stages of decay. Erika wrinkled her nose as the odor of filth and sweat assaulted her.

  "Oh my God!" she gasped, grateful it was too cold for flies.

  The urge to turn and run gripped her. Waiting in the truck seemed infinitely more appealing. Then she remembered Carlton. Michael was his grandson, and she'd made a solemn promise to comply with his wishes. From what she could see, after a five minute conversation with Michael Lawrence, he needed family support. At the moment she was as close to family as he could get. She was obligated to Carlton to at least tell Michael about his grandfather’s death -- maybe even his life if he was truly unaware of his parentage. She also needed his help to carry out Carlton's wishes.

  Erika hoisted the bags a little higher and went inside. How could he live in this filth? The place had two rooms. There was an area that served as a kitchen and another with a sofa she would have called a living room, except no living creature should enter it. Along one wall was an open door. An unmade bed sat inside.

  Pushing aside the debris, she set the bags on the kitchen table—if it could be called that. It was four feet square, and every inch of it was covered with some kind of crud. Erika frowned, refusing to even think of what it could be. Two spindle-back chairs sat on one side of it. All the spindles were missing from one, and only two remained in the second. Their seats were both covered with a sticky goo.

  She tried to remember how long Carlton had said Michael had been on this mountain. Hadn't he ever cleaned this place? She went about opening the two windows in the main room and the front and back doors. She didn't enter the bedroom. Cold air swept through the place, ridding it of some of the smell.

  Erika had left home at sunrise. She'd had an almost inedible tuna sandwich and a cup of oily coffee at a truck stop, her only meal of the day. Facing her was a teeth-gnashing trip to the motel. She wasn't about to do it on an empty stomach. Despite the state of the place, she was still hungry.

  Wrinkling her nose, she picked up one of the open containers of old food between two fingers. Holding it out in front of her, she went to the trash basket. It was overfilled with garbage. Dropping the container inside, she pulled the plastic bag up and tied the ends before going in search of a replacement. She found a dust-encrusted box of bags under the sink. With her face in a perpetual frown, she went about picking up the containers of decayed food and dropping them in the trash. She couldn't cook, let alone eat, in a kitchen this dirty.

  Starting with the open containers of food, she raked each of them into the trash bin. When she finished the kitchen area she continued, searching for more trash in other areas of the single room. Returning to the kitchen she stacked the full trash bag next to the other one. Then she attacked the kitchen, washing dishes, wiping down counters and scrubbing the table and chairs. Why she was doing this, she didn't know. Something seemed to drive her. Carlton had been more than a friend. He'd treated her like a granddaughter, and she looked on him as a relative. From the way people treated her at the funeral and afterward, she knew they saw her as a part of his family, too. Erika wiped moisture away from her eyes. Carlton was her final link to a loved one. Accepting that she was alone in the world was taking a toll.

  Erika scrubbed harder at the stain on the table. She called it therapy. In the week since the funeral she'd been too busy writing notes and seeing to Carlton's affairs. The long drive had afforded her some time alone, time to think—until she started the ascent to the cabin. Now she needed to be unemotional when she talked to Carlton's grandson. She couldn't show her grief or loss. She couldn't dissolve into the tears that had been close to the surface of her emotions since she'd been called back from California. Keeping her hands busy was a way of controlling her thoughts.

  Memories of Carlton came to her, anyway. For twenty-six years they'd shared a friendship that transcended their races. He'd been more a parent to her than her own mother. He'd taught her, consoled her, and praised her accomplishments. The only secret he'd kept from her was about Michael and the contents of his will. How was she to know he'd left her a fortune, but she'd only get it if she and Michael could work together?

  Time passed and Michael did not return to the cabin. Hunger overcame Erika. She went through the bags the grocer had given her. Everything was in a can or a box, except for the two steaks and four sweet potatoes he'd thrown in with a wicked wink w
hen she'd offered to deliver the food. Obviously, Michael never had visitors, and the old man in the store was surely matchmaking. Little did he know she wasn't there due to any romantic interest in the man she'd found by the water's edge.

  She tried the gas stove but it didn't work. She could hear it, but nothing came through. She was sure nothing worked properly here. Did Michael ever make himself a meal? The open cans she'd picked up looked as if he'd eaten directly from them. Well, not today, she thought. Pulling the stove units free, she dropped them in the pan of soapy water she'd changed three times in her effort to make the place habitable. Ten minutes later she used a pipe cleaner to free them of the dirt preventing the gas from flowing properly.

  By the time the kitchen was spotless Erika's stomach growled with anticipated hunger. She ached for the microwave oven sitting among the possessions she'd stored when she left California. With it she could have a meal cooked in minutes. As it was, instead of baking the potatoes, she cut them up and dropped them in boiling water. When they were nearly done, she put the steaks on, prepared broccoli, and brewed a pot of decaf coffee. From the look of Michael's eyes, he didn't need caffeine.

  Using chipped plates and silverware that must have been forged in a munitions plant, Erika set the table. Michael had yet to make an appearance, but it was time to eat now. She would wait no longer. If she wanted to get down the mountain by nightfall she'd have to leave within the next hour. Smoothing her hair back, she turned toward the door. She'd go get him.

  As she reached the door Michael came through it, practically bumping into her. Surprise registered in his eyes. Erika jumped back and her heart thudded and breath left her. She gasped, filling her lungs with air a moment later.