The Cottage

by Michael Phillips

  “Right, Alonnah’s friend.”

  “It seems that he and your Rev. Yates are friends. Dickie was visiting him on Sunday afternoon two days ago, and Yates told him about disturbing rumors floating about. A town meeting was apparently planned for the next day—that was yesterday. A sixth sense told Dickie he should be there. So he returned to Whales Reef. That’s when he called me.”

  “A meeting about what?”

  “Hardy Tulloch and this Texan are stirring everyone up with promises of riches. They’re telling people that you and Miss Ford are taking advantage of them. They are threatening a lawsuit claiming that Miss Ford has violated the people’s rights.”

  “That’s preposterous!”

  “Perhaps, but he also claims to have new proof that Miss Ford’s inheritance is invalid.”

  “Hardy has been playing that card for a year,” said David, trying to stay calm, though his blood was rapidly reaching the boiling point. “What is this new proof?”

  “Apparently,” answered Jason, “the Texan has evidence—what he claims is ironclad proof—a letter from Ernest Tulloch cutting Brogan and his posterity off from all future claims to any part of the estate.”

  As they listened, David and Loni looked at each other in bewilderment.

  “Whether he is right or not,” Jason went on, “the whole island is in an uproar. There is a petition circulating demanding that Miss Ford relinquish her property ownership on the island or face legal action. The McLeod fellow has also promised five hundred pounds to every tenant of hers who signs whatever these papers are that he’s circulating.”

  “That’s bribery.”

  “Probably. But hard to prove.”

  “Are you saying there’s more than the petition?”

  “He has also drawn up actual lease agreements.”

  “That would seem to be getting the cart before the horse.”

  “I think his intent is to get people so prejudiced against Miss Ford and yourself that she will bow to the pressure and give in. I had hoped that Dickie could get his hands on one of the documents so that I could look it over. Unfortunately, we have not actually seen it. Meanwhile, Hardy Tulloch’s lawsuit contesting the probate findings has been filed in Edinburgh. Another town meeting is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. How soon can you get here?”

  “It’s too late to get a flight north tonight,” said David. “We’ll try to get the earliest possible flight to Aberdeen in the morning.”

  70

  The Town Square Again

  WHALES REEF

  Jimmy Joe McLeod—tycoon, oil magnate, and wheeler-dealer extraordinaire—was not a man who relished life’s simple rustic pleasures. He was a Ritz-Carlton and Four Seasons man. It was doubtful that he even knew what the 6 in Motel 6 originally stood for.

  The notion of spending a night in the Whales Fin Inn was not one that filled him with anticipation. In his youth, before oil had gripped him, he had done a stint as a used-car salesman. The lot motto had been We’ll stand on our heads for a deal! and Jimmy Joe never lost sight of the wisdom of that policy. It was in the same spirit of doing whatever he had to for the deal that he remained on the island after the tumultuous meeting in the town square on Monday. He was supremely confident in his down-home ability to win friends and influence people. If the promise of five hundred pounds was not enough, he would win the bumpkins over with good-ol’-boy backslapping joviality.

  For the rest of the afternoon, therefore, he had the fishermen at the harbor hanging on his every word for one story after another, giving them winks at his off-color jokes as if they had been friends for years. When an abrupt rain shower sent them running up the street to the inn about five, Jimmy Joe continued in his role of benefactor and raconteur, striding across the floor to Keith Kerr and calling out in a voice loud enough to be heard over the din, “Hey, partner—the beer and whisky and whatever else anyone hankers after for the rest of the afternoon and evening’s on me. You just keep the spigots flowing and the bottles uncorked and you and me’ll square up tomorrow.”

  Whoops and cheers spread through the common room. For the next hour Audney and Evanna could hardly keep up. The men of the village, most of whom were forced by constraints of finances to limit their intake to a pint every two or three days, seemed determined to make up for lost time and empty Keith’s casks of special brew before the night was out. With the supper hour approaching, and the village in a festive mood, Audney slipped out the back and ran to the Gordons to enlist Rakel’s help with the crowd at the pub.

  By evening’s end, Jimmy Joe was on a first-name basis with half the men of the village, and they were all on a first-name basis with him. Whatever reservations they might have had about the petition and Letters of Intent were washed away by the amber liquid flowing freely from the pub’s four taps. When Jimmy Joe climbed slowly to his room a little after eleven, the ample fish supper and three quarts of beer he had enjoyed over the course of the afternoon and evening sent him into a sleep deeper than he had thought would be possible on a bed a foot shorter than his massive frame.

  He awoke with the touch of a headache, came downstairs to a breakfast prepared at Audney’s hand, and started the day off with an entire pot of coffee. He rose at length and announced to anyone who cared to listen that he would be in Lerwick for the rest of the day and Tuesday night but would return for the next day’s meeting to collect the letters and petitions. He was shrewd enough to know when not to overplay his hand. He had created enough buzz already. It was time to let the leaven do its work, or as the fellow said, let the crawdad stew simmer a spell. His absence would create more talk, speculation, and increase yet further the groundswell of approbation in his favor.

  Meanwhile, Hardy was laying low. He knew that not everyone on the island was his fan. He was also astute enough to realize that Jimmy Joe had done his work well. He was making a hit in the village. Hardy could see that it was time for him to take a backseat and let the Texan play out what he called their ace-high straight. He had urged Jimmy Joe to strike while the iron was hot and collect the petition and letters on Tuesday. They needed to get the thing done before David returned. Loyalty to the so-called chief was so high that David remained the wild card. They needed to move quickly before he could interfere.

  The Texan insisted that the extra day’s wait would tilt the island’s mood from mere assent to eagerness. Allowing a hint of concern to spread lest Jimmy Joe withdraw his offer would create a stampede once he returned. “After forty-eight hours, son,” he had said, “they’ll be clamoring to give me whatever I want. I been ropin’ cattle like this for more years than I can count. All part of the game. You gotta let all the parts of the sting play out. Trust me—they’ll fall into our laps.”

  Jimmy Joe’s words were prophetic. By Wednesday morning, when he did not appear on the first two ferries from the mainland, a restlessness began to spread through the village that maybe he had changed his mind. When he drove off the ferry in his huge black Range Rover shortly after one o’clock, the running, cheering crowd following him to the square was made up of more than two hundred people.

  An hour and a half later, the entire village was gathered at the monument. Jimmy Joe and Hardy were still seated in the Whales Fin Inn with thirty or forty men clustered around them and crowding all the way to the four walls, drawn as much by the thought of more free beer as by any new information to be gained from what they were saying. At ten till the hour, Jimmy Joe drained what remained in his glass and rose.

  Time to buy me an island! he said to himself.

  For one of the few times in his life feeling dwarfed by another man, and also unaccustomed to someone other than himself occupying the limelight, Hardy followed the wide-brimmed white hat from the inn. Side by side the two Goliaths crossed the street through the boisterous throng to the center of the square.

  Jimmy Joe jumped onto the bench, took off his hat, and waved effusively to the crowd. Thunderous applause and cheers told him all he needed to know.
>
  “Howdy again!” he called. “Thanks for the welcome. You all’s going to make a Shetlander out of me yet!”

  If possible the cheering grew louder.

  “All right, then,” said Jimmy Joe as the noise gradually quieted. “I got my checkbook with me and I’m fixin’ to write checks to anyone ready with their signed letters and who has signed the petition Hardy’s been circulating. This here’s going to take us a spell. So if you’ll just bring your letters up, we’ll let your friend Hardy collect them. Then I’ll go back to the hotel yonder and start writing checks. But remember, they won’t be any good until we got the Ford gal lassoed, as we say. And if anyone hasn’t put your John Henry on your letter or the petition yet, Hardy’s got ’em right here and there ain’t no time like the present.”

  71

  Confrontation

  As Jimmy Joe was still talking, a great bustling surged forward. Hardy was nearly overrun with outstretched hands holding the papers they had been given on Monday.

  Hardy jumped down and had gathered perhaps the first fifty letters, villagers around him clamoring to sign the petition as well, which now ran to five pages of signatures, when from the rear of the crowd a gradual quiet began to spread from the street.

  The throng split like the parting of the Red Sea. As the dividing of the crowd moved toward them, Jimmy Joe and Hardy looked up to see a man and a woman walking toward them through the sea of expectant faces. Whisperings now filled the square.

  ———

  The four-seater plane David had chartered from Aberdeen to Sumburg had left Loni so sick she was still pale. The wind was fierce, and she was not only sick but terrified in the tiny plane from takeoff to touchdown. Maddy, on the other hand, enjoyed the rough-and-tumble flight immensely.

  Minutes after landing they were speeding out of the airport in David’s car. Except for two brief stops en route for Loni to gag beside the road, David drove from the airport to the ferry landing faster than he ever had in his life, making the three o’clock ferry by seconds. Now it was Maddy who was glad to get out and make the crossing on the deck of the small craft. The madcap drive through the Shetland capital on the wrong side of the road had proven more frightening for her than the hour-long flight.

  None of the villagers saw them drive from the ferry into the village. Everyone was at the town square. They shared the ferry with one other car, however, whose driver David did not recognize. Caught up in the rush of the events that followed, he soon forgot the man altogether.

  As they arrived at the center of town, few took notice of the second American woman climbing out of the backseat of David’s car any more than they did the other stranger, who drove into their midst from the ferry shortly thereafter. Remaining beside David’s car, Maddy was quickly swallowed by the crowd speaking in what to her ears sounded like gibberish.

  Around the square, reactions to the sight of the two were mixed. So prejudiced against Loni by this time from Jimmy Joe’s manipulative narrative, amid the exclamations of surprise were scattered boos and grumblings.

  David and Loni stopped in front of the bench. They stared up at the two big men. Thunderclouds gathered across Hardy’s brow. If Jimmy Joe was flummoxed by their unexpected appearance, he did not let it show.

  The staring contest did not last long. Ignoring her queasy stomach, Loni was the first to speak. “What is all this?” she said.

  “It ain’t none o’ yer—” began Hardy. He was instantly silenced by a grip from the Texan’s massive hand on his arm like the bite of a horse.

  “How do, Miss Ford,” said Jimmy Joe. “Nice to see you again, though you’re appearing a mite green around the gills.”

  “Never mind how I look,” said Loni. “I want to know what’s going on here.”

  Jimmy Joe’s eyes flitted toward the cylindrical tube she carried in one hand with a slight premonition.

  “What’s going on is that these good folks don’t much like the way you’ve been conducting things. They think they’ll be better off renting their homes and businesses from me.”

  “That may be, but it is of no consequence. I already told you that I have no intention of selling.”

  “You might not have a say in the matter. When this petition is presented to a judge, he’s likely to agree with these poor folk that you are using your position to violate their rights. Judges don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

  “What petition?”

  “Show her, Hardy.”

  With a smirk of satisfaction, Hardy handed her the papers. Loni glanced over them briefly, then passed them to David.

  “What lies have you been telling them, Mr. McLeod?” said Loni, her face slowly taking on a shade of crimson. “How did you coerce them to sign these?”

  “Just the truth, Miss Ford. Most of them have also signed Letters of Intent to lease from me as soon as you either agree to sell or step down, or find your inheritance taken from you. And at far better terms than they are receiving at present.”

  As they were speaking, Odara Innes made her way forward. Approaching David, she quietly handed him one of the Letters of Intent . . . unsigned.

  David looked it over and then walked back to his car, where Maddy still stood. “See what you can make of this,” he said, handing her the paper.

  “If you refuse to acknowledge the people’s wishes,” Jimmy Joe was saying to Loni, “we now have proof that invalidates your claim to the Tulloch title entirely. You can save the time and expense of a protracted court battle by stepping down, turning the estate over to the rightful heir, or selling the island to me. Those are your only choices, Miss Ford. It’s what the people want . . . ain’t it, folks?” he added loudly, turning and gesturing to the crowd.

  A subdued clamor of nods and yeas and a few shouts acknowledged that he still had a good many people on his side. Seeing David and Loni in person, however, made it more difficult to believe that they would lie to them.

  “What kind of proof?” asked Loni.

  “This letter from old Ernest Tulloch himself,” replied Jimmy Joe with swagger in his tone. “Have a look.”

  Loni took the letter from his hand, withdrew the single sheet from its envelope, and read it. David returned and stood beside her.

  “This is very interesting,” said Loni slowly. “If I might ask . . . how did you come by this? Did you break into the Cottage? Because that happens to be against the law.”

  “The door wasna locked,” blundered Hardy.

  “Shut up, Tulloch, you fool!” spat Jimmy Joe.

  “More interesting than the fact that you broke into the Cottage,” said Loni, “is that I happen to have a copy of a letter also from Ernest Tulloch that directly refutes everything in this one. David, would you mind getting my journal with that carbon of Ernest’s letter in it from the car?”

  David hurried through the crowd again and quickly returned. Loni opened the book and withdrew a folded sheet.

  “I have here a carbon copy of a genuine letter from Ernest Tulloch,” she said, “the original of which he sent to the U.S. I found it in his study. Since the letters he sent to his son after his move to the United States would no longer be in the Shetlands at all after being sent, it is obvious to me, having read many letters from Ernest Tulloch to his firstborn, that you have produced a forgery.”

  “That’s a mighty serious charge, Miss Ford. If you will just compare the handwriting—”

  “And forgery with intent to defraud is a serious crime, Mr. McLeod. David, if you will take this letter and keep it safe as evidence,” she said, handing him Jimmy Joe’s suspicious letter.

  “Hey, hold on a minute, little lady—that’s mine!”

  “Yours, Mr. McLeod? That seems rather an audacious claim for someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar. If you all would care to hear Ernest Tulloch’s actual words to his son, Brogan—and I could produce several that express essentially the same thought—let me just read a brief portion. Let’s see . . . yes, here it is.” She turned to the cr
owd and raised her voice:

  “Let me reiterate,” she read loudly, “my abiding affection for you, dear son, and my promise that your inheritance or any part of it remains yours any time you wish it. I have spoken with your brother and can assure you that Wallace, too, is anxious to share the estate with you, even to relinquish the future lairdship to you at my death if such should become your wish. Though such a change would not go down well with his wife, we have already suffered enough from that quarter to include that in our considerations. Wallace and I both understand and respect your decision to remain where you are and to leave things as they presently stand. Know, however, that you will always be in my heart, as I know you are in Wallace’s.”

  By now, as if hearing a voice from the grave, stone silence had settled over the crowded square of listeners. Ernest’s own words instantly put to rest the myriad rumors regarding the relationship between the Auld Tulloch and his eldest son that had been fueling gossip on the island for three generations.

  Loni’s voice stopped. She glanced up and saw Maddy approaching.

  Still standing on his perch, the Texan recognized her. He began to sense that things might be going south.

  “Loni,” said Maddy, “this Letter of Intent is one of the most devious documents I have ever seen. The lower rent clause is binding only for three months, at which time the owner may set rent at any level he wishes. There are no limits or safeguards. Rents are payable on the first of every month with a grace period of three days. After that, tenants can be evicted without cause. These documents give the people no legal rights, no legal recourse against eviction. He could empty the island four months after taking ownership.”

  “Okay—thanks, Maddy.”

  72

  Secret Plans

  Loni took several steps toward the bench. “Get out of my way, Hardy,” she said. “I need to talk to the people.”