“Like a soldier, going to war,” Neil added sarcastically. “Go ahead, Jo. Die on that battlefield so that the rest of us may be saved.”
21
What about you, Grandmother?” Jo asked, ignoring her uncle’s sarcasm for the moment. “You’re the one who holds the majority. Why don’t you throw your weight Neil’s way, and then neither you nor I will be in danger?”
Gran was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke her eyes were distant and sad.
“In the history of this company,” she said, “I have never intervened, never interfered with the choices of the CEO. I have cast my vote in stockholders’ meetings, but otherwise I have kept myself far removed from the decision-making process. I cannot change that policy now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too hard to explain, Jo,” she said, focusing in on her granddaughter. “But I simply have to stand firm on this. In any event, I believe I have found another solution, one which will become clear tonight.”
“Hey, Granny!” a loud voice said suddenly from the doorway. “Somebody forgot to take out the trash!”
Jo’s cousin, Ian, stepped into the room with a laugh, making a flamboyant entrance, as usual. Dressed in black slacks, magenta sportscoat, and a wildly patterned shirt, he looked like an object lesson in which of this season’s designer fashions not to wear.
“Don’t call me Granny. You know I hate that.”
“But you love me!” he cackled, walking over to his grandmother and throwing his arms around her in an exaggerated hug. “You gorgeous babe, you.”
Eleanor clucked her tongue at him but smiled indulgently and gave into his hug. Somehow, Ian could always get away with things no one else ever could.
Ian stood up straight and fixed his eyes on Jo.
“Hey, cuz! Somebody call Sherlock Holmes and give him a magnifying glass. We’ve got ourselves a bona fide mystery on our hands! How are you, train bait?”
He came and kissed Jo wetly on the cheek before plopping down next to her, squeezing tightly between her and the arm of the couch.
“I’ve been better,” she replied, feeling the energy radiating from him like a pulse.
“Hey, what happened to you, Pop?” he asked, suddenly growing serious as he gestured toward Neil’s bleeding shin.
“We had an incident with the chandelier,” Eleanor answered for him. “Neil, my doctor is going to swing by on his way to the tennis courts in just a bit.”
“That must hurt,” Ian said.
“And, Ian, no one forgot ‘to take out the trash,’ as you put it,” Eleanor continued tiredly. “Consuela simply has to sweep up the broken glass.”
“No, not that trash,” he said. Then he pointed to the window, which looked out of the front of the house. Alexa’s mother and the mother’s boyfriend were standing there, obviously waiting for Alexa. “That trash!”
Ian laughed at his own joke, not even noticing that everyone else in the room was silent. Jo was angry on Alexa’s behalf, embarrassed for her family, and ashamed that Ian was a blood relative. She wasn’t sure where Alexa had gone or why they were waiting, but she could only hope that the girl hadn’t heard him.
“Hey, where’s Mom?” Ian asked, oblivious to the chill that had settled in the room. “I miss seeing the old bag rattling around the penthouse in Manhattan.”
“Your mother is probably out in the greenhouse,” Eleanor said coldly. “You are more than welcome to go and find her.”
“In a minute,” he replied. “First I want to know what we’re talking about here. Personally, I think it’s time to hire a private investigator to get to the bottom of this. Obviously, the cops involved are a bunch of goons who don’t know a crime scene from a Krispy Kreme.”
“Are we to assume that your own interview with the police went poorly?”
“Heck, no. The guy was a Vette-head. Asked me a couple questions about where was I on Wednesday at six PM and what was I doing. When I said I was in Hackensack buying a sixty-three split window, he went nuts. We talked cars the rest of the time.”
“A Vette-head?” his grandmother asked.
“Yeah, a Corvette aficionado. I spent all week trying to decide between the split window and a sixty-seven big block, but I went with the sixty-three in the end. It’s a beauty.”
“I’m glad to know you had a successful car-buying venture while I was busy nearly getting myself killed,” Jo said, knowing she sounded cranky and tired. Ian usually had that effect on her.
Suddenly, he stood and began pacing as he spoke.
“Right, right. Okay, so let’s think about that. What is it the cops are always looking for on TV? Motive, means, and opportunity? Well, a lot of us have motive, if your dad is to be believed, and I suppose we’ve got means, considering that all it took was the push of a hand. That leaves opportunity. I was in Hackensack. Dad was at a business dinner. Now, if we can just eliminate ten or twenty other people in the company, we’ll be doing great.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Ian,” Eleanor said. “It doesn’t become you.”
“Was I being sarcastic?” he stopped and asked no one in particular, putting one finger to his chin. “Is that how it sounded? I was going more for irony. I’ll have to try harder next time.”
As he had so many times before, Jo could tell that Ian was getting himself worked up. In a way, he was just like his mother. Both of them reacted to stress by becoming agitated and antagonistic.
“You always do this, Ian,” Jo said to him, her own frustration suddenly nearing the breaking point. “Just stop it.”
He paused again, but before he could reply, the chimes rang at the front door. They all turned to look, and a moment later, two more people walked into the room: Helen and Kent Tulip.
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Ian said.
Just one big happy family.
Alexa felt bad leaving before she had a chance to do anything about Winnie and what she’d seen last night. But her mom and Rick were ready to go, so Alexa guessed that she’d have to wait until she returned, later tonight, to pursue it.
What she’d really like to do was just forget it and not say anything to anybody. But what had happened was just too weird. As nice as Winnie seemed, she had obviously been up to no good, crawling in a window and fooling around with a medicine cabinet. The old lady needed to know.
For a while today, Alexa thought she had figured it out. She nonchalantly asked the old lady if she had diabetes, wondering if the Pixie Stix powder had been put into the pills as some kind of cruel trick to kick up her blood sugar. But the answer had been no. She did have several health issues, but that diabetes wasn’t one of them.
Alexa reached her bedroom and grabbed her purse, checking her reflection in the mirror. She knew if she told the truth, she’d be busted. And she couldn’t have that. What if, like her mom had said, they told her “that’s it, you’re outta here”?
Running a brush through her short hair, Alexa realized that maybe there was another way to do this. Maybe somehow she could keep an eye on the guest house tonight, and if she saw Winnie sneaking out again, this time she could take action. She could tell Jo’s bodyguard that someone was sneaking around in the backyard and then he would call security to check it out.
That sounded good. Alexa was actually glad now that her mom was bringing her back here to sleep tonight. Happily, she put down her hairbrush, went down the stairs, out the door, and the long way around to the front, where her mom and Uncle Rick were waiting for her.
At least now she had a plan.
“Excuse us, everyone, but we need to have a private conversation,” Jo announced suddenly at the sight of her parents.
Not only had her father refused to talk further to her the day before, but she hadn’t even spoken to her mother since she learned about their deal with Bradford to marry her. Right now, Jo didn’t care what kind of maneuvers they pulled, she wasn’t going to listen to anything but the truth, anything but an apology. She had never stood up t
o her mother before, but today, right now, that was going to change.
“Outside,” Jo said, standing and marching from the room, despite her awkward cast. She didn’t wait for a reply, but simply walked through the house avoiding the foyer completely, out the back door, and across the lawn to the French garden. The thought of being indoors for one more minute was utterly claustrophobic.
The French garden was one of Jo’s favorite places on the whole estate. Set far back from the house, it featured a winding pathway that meandered among fountains and flowers, with stone benches set at various points alongside the path. Not much was blooming this early in the year, but that didn’t matter. What Jo was looking for now was privacy.
Pushing open the gate, Jo took a glance behind her to see that both parents had, indeed, followed her from the house, as had her bodyguard. Once inside the garden, she walked more slowly until the others caught up. Then, in single file, she led them toward the butterfly area, where two twisted willow benches sat across from each other. Silently, Jo sat on one and waited as her parents sat on the other. The bodyguard remained standing at a discreet distance.
Jo was determined not to make this any easier for them than it ought to be. Beyond all the talk of attempted murder and corporate maneuvers and share distributions remained the simple fact that Kent and Helen Tulip had tried to buy a husband for their daughter while employing all manner of deception in order to do so. Jo didn’t know how their relationship was ever going to heal from that—not that it had been all that great in the first place.
“Where do I even begin?” Jo asked finally.
“I know you’re upset with us,” her mother said. “And rightfully so. A lot has happened, a lot has been…learned.”
“Like the fact that the two of you paid Bradford to marry me?”
Helen looked away, obviously at a loss for words—not a common occurrence by any means.
“Does it help to know that your mother and I were both deeply fond of Bradford?” Kent said. “We had ulterior motives, yes, but it’s not like we just picked some stranger off the street. We chose him very carefully, Jo. We would have cared for him like a son.”
Jo tore a leaf from a nearby geranium and pressed her thumbnail against it, forming little half moons all along the edges.
“Daddy, there is nothing either one of you could say to me that would justify what the two of you did. Nothing. Don’t even try.”
They sat there together silently, the only sound that of the rustling leaves in the trees and one lone bobwhite in the distance. There was so much Jo wanted to say, but she couldn’t seem to form the words.
“I don’t know how you two sleep at night,” she said finally. “Or look at yourselves in the mirror in the morning.”
“We did what we felt like we had to do at the time,” Helen said. “But we are sorry, if that helps.”
“Sorry because of what you did, or sorry because you got caught?”
“Don’t be disrespectful, Jo,” Helen said sharply. “We are still your parents.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I still want to be your daughter.”
Even as she said it, Jo feel a brief, hot flash of shame. Maybe she was on the verge of pushing it too far. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“I know you think our motives were pure greed, Jo,” her father said, “but there was much more to it than that.”
“Oh?”
“You’re not really a part of the business world, so I don’t expect you to understand. But when a company gets to be the size of Bosworth Industries, it practically takes on a life of its own. Do you even comprehend the scope of what we’re talking about?”
He scooted forward and counted on his fingers as he talked.
“We’ve got upwards of forty thousand employees, with nineteen separate corporate divisions, each with its own independent management. At any point in time, we have more than two thousand projects or business ventures going on worldwide.”
Jo listened to his statistics, genuinely surprised. She knew the company was big, but she didn’t know it was that big.
“We’ve bought and sold many subsidiaries,” he continued, “grown and expanded and adapted with the times, survived and thrived and pushed the envelope in many ways. We have grown tremendously while still remaining a good, solid company, thanks in large part to my leadership. But if Eleanor had died with you still single, forcing your shares to be diverted to some stupid charitable trust, then who knows what might’ve happened?”
“So basically it was worth destroying my future to save your lousy job?”
Kent shook his head vehemently.
“It’s not just my job or our own personal fortune that would be at risk, Jo. It’s everyone who owns shares of Bosworth, who works for Bosworth, who deals with Bosworth. By trying to arrange your marriage, we were acting in the best interests of everyone involved.”
He sure sounded convincing.
Then again, a person didn’t get to be the top dog in a company that size without learning how to make themselves come out smelling like a rose.
“You were acting in the best interests of everyone involved,” Jo repeated softly. “Everyone except me.”
To think that her parents could actually justify their behavior this way simply boggled her mind. Had they really convinced themselves that buying Bradford, manipulating their daughter, and forcing a wedding was somehow justified in light of the greater good?
“Oh, good grief, Jo,” Helen snapped, “it’s not like we tried to marry you off to a robber baron or a criminal or some kind of beast. Bradford is a handsome, capable, intelligent man, and he would have made a good husband. From what I understand, he even grew quite fond of you.”
“We didn’t see you doing any better on your own,” Kent added. “It’s not like you had any other prospects, and living there in that small town, who knew if you’d ever find anyone? By hooking you up with Bradford, we were doing you a favor.”
Tears filled Jo’s eyes, blurring her vision.
“Why didn’t you just come to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Instead of perpetuating this incredible hoax, why didn’t you just tell me the truth? We all thought Gran was going to die after the stroke. I would’ve understood your concerns about the company if I had known about the trust.”
Her parents looked at each other, all sorts of silent communications passing between them.
“And what would you have done, Jo?” Kent asked. “We know you. You’re very stubborn, and when it comes down to it, you really don’t care all that much about Bosworth Industries. Be honest. If we had asked you to get married for the sake of the company, you would have laughed us out of town. Your mother and I did what we had to do in the way that we had to do it. We had no choice.”
“Oh, you had a choice,” she replied. Jo looked at her parents, really looked at them, and wondered if she’d ever be able to forgive them.
“Look, we’re sorry for the way things worked out,” Helen said, “and even sorrier that Bradford ended up reneging on our arrangement. But we’ve got a bigger problem now. I think you need to get over all of this so we can concentrate on what’s more important. Saving your life.”
“Does that mean you’re going to side with Uncle Neil so that whoever’s trying to kill me no longer has a motive? That might save my life.”
Kent didn’t reply, but the expression on his face told her all she needed to know. He wasn’t going to budge.
Jo stood, suddenly done with them and this entire conversation.
“Fine. I can take care of myself.”
She turned and walked away, but as she went, her mother called after her.
“Just don’t marry Danny Watkins, whatever you do.”
Jo froze and then slowly turned around. It had grown fully dark now, though the garden was well illuminated with spot lighting.
“What?”
“I’m begging you, Jo,” Helen said, standing and coming to her. “Don’t marry Danny. Y
ou told me a few weeks ago that the two of you had fallen in love but that he went off to Europe without you. Let him stay gone, let him pursue his dreams by himself. He’s not the man for you. He never was and he never will be. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he ended up getting fired and coming home with his tail between his legs. He’s simply not good enough for you. We both know you can do better.”
Jo was enraged. Incensed. Closer than she’d ever been in her entire life to punching someone. Danny wasn’t good enough? Danny was one of the best people she had ever known!
“This conversation is over,” Jo said, unwilling even to dignify her mother’s words with a response.
Then she spun on her heel and walked away, knowing that if it were humanly possible, right now steam would be shooting out of her ears.
Alexa was devastated.
According to Dr. Stebbins’ secretary, the only rehab places with an available bed were either not covered by Medicaid or too far away. There was a place in Delaware, which was only a few hours’ drive, but they didn’t expect to have any openings for a couple of days.
“They’re going to let me know as soon as something opens up,” the woman said. “It could be tomorrow, but more likely Monday or Tuesday.”
“Okay. Let me know when you hear from them,” Alexa said, giving the woman Rick’s cell phone number so she could call tomorrow if they got that lucky.
She thanked the woman and hung up. All she wanted was to get her mom some help, but right now everything seemed to be going wrong.
Alexa walked back into the main part of the restaurant, catching Uncle Rick’s eye as she approached their table. With a slight shake of her head, she told him all she could say right now, that it hadn’t worked out yet. In response, he looked genuinely disappointed and, most of all, sad. Just the way she felt.
Sliding into the booth across from them, Alexa hoped that the soup she’d ordered might wake up her appetite. She was feeling terrible, especially because her mother seemed to be going to pieces as the day wore on—becoming jittery and irritable and withdrawn, not to mention chain-smoking constantly. Alexa had seen her mom rooting frantically through her own suitcase and her purse more than once, sliding her fingers along the bottom of each pocket, and Alexa had a feeling that she was just hoping to run across some forgotten pill.
Elementary, My Dear Watkins Page 26
