“We certainly work to make it a haven,” Amanda replied. “A port to ride out the worst of the storm. Our goal is to provide our guests with a place where they can learn to be self-sufficient and eventually move on with their own lives, hopefully away from their abusers.”
“What about Sheila? Is she a resident or an employee?” I asked.
“Sheila’s a special case. She came to us first as a guest, but she’s been such a help. She’s stayed longer than most because of her daughter. Nine months already.”
“Do you get many kids here?”
“Usually only briefly. When women leave with their children, we try to get them settled quickly with family members. It’s better for everyone concerned. Sheila’s family is way down in the south of England and she doesn’t want to drag Nora away from everything she knows. Once school’s out for the year we’ll see what happens, but for now, we’re lucky to have her. Sheila’s often the first one new guests confide in. She’s walked the path they’re on and they feel comfortable with her.”
Amanda moved around the room straightening the chair cushions and gathering up a couple of abandoned coffee mugs. A loud knock at the door made both of us jump. Amanda handed me the coffee mugs. “Would you mind taking those to the kitchen,” she said as she went to answer the summons. I did as she asked but loitered in the passageway, curious to know if this was the arrival of the dreaded landlord.
I caught a brief glimpse of a tall, thin man with a pinched face as Amanda ushered him into the front room. His eyes were hard and humorless. I didn’t envy Amanda that conversation.
Back in the kitchen I handed Sheila the cups and she returned a quick smile. “Was that Urquhart?” she asked softly.
“Severe-looking man? Looks like he could spit nails?”
Sheila grimaced. “That’s the one.” She placed the used cups in the sink and returned to open the kitchen door. We could hear the voices down the hall, though initially the conversation was indistinct. Sheila placed another mug of tea on the table in front of me and sat down, raising a finger to her lips. I wouldn’t have eavesdropped myself, but I wasn’t about to stop Sheila from doing so.
We sat in silence for several minutes as the voices grew louder. I wondered if I should slip out the back, but I hadn’t said goodbye to Amanda and felt awkward just leaving.
“But you’ve only just sprung this move on us,” Amanda insisted, no longer speaking in hushed tones. “We need more time. The board of trustees has to vote and if they don’t approve, you still have to make a good-faith effort to find an alternate location.”
“You are lucky in this day and age to be given a building rent free anywhere in the city limits, Ms. Forrester,” Urquhart insisted, his voice rising to meet hers. “Schedule a board meeting as soon as possible and let’s get on with the vote.”
“We can’t schedule anything yet,” Amanda challenged. “Not while we’re in the process of replacing a board member.”
“We can manage with just five members,” Urquhart insisted. “Or if you like, I can replace Chris right away. I know just the man.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Sheila murmured from across the table.
“Too late,” Amanda shot back. “I’ve already offered the position to someone.”
“Who?” Urquhart demanded.
“I’ll forward the details to you, but she’s perfect. Has plenty of experience with nonprofit boards and she’s a businesswoman.”
“Fine, but she won’t be eligible to vote on this issue,” Urquhart snapped. “We need to vote quickly. I’ll expect to hear from you with a meeting time and place in the next twenty-four hours.”
The door to the sitting room flew open and Sheila and I simultaneously sat back in our seats at the kitchen table, looking as nonchalant as we could manage. Urquhart never even looked our way. He simply strode down the hall and slammed the front door behind him. Amanda joined the two of us, her skin looking a bit more like milk now than cream.
“I suppose you heard all that?” she said.
“A word here and there,” I admitted.
Amanda rested her head in her hand. “Things just seem to be going from bad to worse.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but Reverend Craig mentioned you were having some problems with your landlord. Can he really force you to move if you don’t want to?” I asked.
“Under the terms of Urquhart’s agreement with Moureen Templeton, he’s committed to providing the Shepherd’s Rest with a ‘suitable’ building for a period of twenty-five years, rent free.”
“Wow, that’s a heck of a deal. How did she manage that?”
“She never said, but best I could figure, she took advantage of her husband’s connections to Urquhart. They were old friends, and according to Moureen they had some shady business dealings that they wouldn’t have wanted to become public knowledge.”
“And Moureen Templeton used that information”—I started to say to blackmail, but went with—“as leverage to get Urquhart to agree to the deal she wanted.”
Amanda inclined her head. “That’s what I think. Moureen was shrewd. She always said, ‘Never let emotions clutter your thinking about money.’ This arrangement has been a great thing for the Rest, but unfortunately, over the past two years the value of the property has skyrocketed. Urquhart’s no fool. He can make a killing renting this place to someone else. So he wants to move the Rest to this ghastly property he owns over on the Campbell Road, and since he gets to determine the ‘suitability’ of the building, we’re essentially screwed.”
“Is there no way to contest his decision under the terms of the lease?”
“We could sue him, but that’s a joke. We could never afford that. The other option is to push him to propose a different building, but if he doesn’t have one available, we’re stuck either taking the first one, or renting on the open market. Of course, we can’t afford to rent on the open market, so there we are.”
“What about the new board member?” I asked. “Any help there?”
Amanda flushed. “I’m afraid I was bluffing. We’ve been looking for a new board member, and Reverend Craig had a suggestion, but I hadn’t asked yet.” Amanda looked across the table at me. “You wouldn’t consider it, would you?”
“Me?” I leaned back, surprised. “No offense, but we’ve only just met.”
“I know, but Reverend Craig thought you’d be a great fit, you’re familiar with charity boards and well, frankly, we could use another woman on deck. I know you’re probably insanely busy, but would you consider it? We don’t meet that often, and it is a good cause.” Amanda and Sheila sat watching me hopefully.
I sat there feeling a bit like I’d just fallen down the rabbit hole. I came to do a good deed with my fleeces, and before I could catch my breath I was being recruited to sit on the board of the shelter. It was sudden, but I had to admit I already felt drawn to the Rest by an invisible thread that linked me to my mother and my own passion for the underdog in any given fight. Not only that, Reverend Craig wanted me to help his friends, and for his sake I was willing to try. “I’m not sure I can help,” I said finally, “but if you’re willing to take a chance on me, I’ll give it a go.”
“Thank you.” Amanda exhaled all at once. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. Urquhart seems to think he can keep you from voting, but I don’t think he can. I’ll check and make sure one way or the other.”
Amanda was a fighter. I admired that. I studied her face carefully. I generally had a reliable instinct about people—a subconscious resonance born of years of capturing the good, the bad, and the ugly in telling portraits. Finding and reflecting the inner person was what made those pictures noteworthy, and it often paid off in my assessment of people. I closed my eyes for a moment and let Amanda’s three-word snapshot bubble to the surface; practical, nurturing, afraid. Why afraid? If I was goi
ng to help her, that was something I’d need to discover for myself.
Chapter 4
As I pulled back through the yard at the Glen in the late afternoon, Brenna rushed out from the office and flagged me down. I couldn’t help scowling. What was she doing here? Hadn’t we made it clear that we could manage without her interference?
I rolled down the window as I slowed to a stop beside her.
She looked less put together than usual. Her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail and there was a smudge of mascara under one of her wide, dark eyes. “Have you seen Grant?” she asked tensely.
“Not since yesterday. Why? Has he run away from home?”
Brenna did not look amused. “I figured he snuck off down here, but Cam’s not around either.”
“Is Grant’s car at the Larches?”
Brenna thought for a moment. “Yes, it was on the drive.”
“There you go. He can’t have gone far.” He’s probably hiding from you, I thought.
Brenna’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you don’t know where he is?”
I raised my right hand and said, “I solemnly swear I am not hiding the fugitive. He probably just needed”—I was about to say a bit of peace, but settled for—“a bit of time on his own.”
“What if he’s hurt? He hates to take it easy, but he’s still getting bouts of dizziness. He could’ve fallen somewhere.” Brenna looked up at the waterfall tumbling down the rocky slope that rose up behind the distillery, her eyes darting anxiously across the jagged rocks.
I hated to admit it, but she had a point. Grant probably shouldn’t be too far from home alone. I was about to relent and fetch Liam to conduct a search when we heard the sound of an old truck rattling into the yard behind us. Cam was at the wheel and Grant sat in the passenger seat. Brenna ran to the truck and launched herself at Grant as he stepped out, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce embrace.
“I was so worried,” she chided. “You could’ve at least left a note.”
“I told Louisa where I was going,” Grant replied calmly. “Didn’t you check with her?”
Brenna’s lips compressed into a grim line. Had she neglected to ask Louisa, or had Louisa purposely omitted to disclose what she knew?
I turned off Hope’s engine and climbed out to join the others.
“We just took a wee drive up to Rory Hendricks’ place,” Cam said. “Nowt too stressful, lass, I promise.”
“How’d it go?” I asked, ignoring Brenna’s efforts to steer Grant to her waiting vehicle.
“Surprisingly well,” he replied, sounding more cheerful than he had in weeks. “We took along a couple of samples of the kind of thing we were contemplating and he seemed to think it wouldn’t be a problem. He asked about the design and I told him that was his department. We were simply looking for something evocative of our whisky and its roots.”
“So he agreed to do it?”
“He said he’ll bring us a couple of sample flasks to look at next week, see if we like ’em,” Cam chimed in. “Give us a chance to get ’em vetted and such.”
Brenna looked confused. “You’re changing the Abbey Glen bottle?”
“No, just commissioning a special edition ceramic bottle,” Grant said. “It’ll be a joint project between the Glen and Rory Hendricks from the Rebels.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be making business decisions.”
“Wasn’t my decision, it was my partner’s,” Grant replied. “I simply agreed that it was a good idea.”
It was nice to hear Grant expressing his support. He hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic when we last spoke, but the idea must have grown on him. I also couldn’t help registering that he wasn’t sharing his business plans with Brenna.
“Dr. Arya says you should still be resting,” Brenna insisted. “You don’t want to risk any lasting complications.” She stressed the final two words with a meaningful look at Grant.
“My faculties will return or they won’t,” Grant snapped. “Sitting around and contemplating my navel all day won’t make it any better or worse. And yes,” he added at Brenna’s sideways look, “they know. Cam and Abi are like family and they’re in this with me for better or worse.”
My heart swelled at his words. Even Cam stood a bit straighter and looked a tad misty. “Brenna, we won’t let him overdo it, but he needs to start transitioning back to work for his own sanity,” I said, feeling slightly more charitable.
“You mean instead of being stuck up at the house with his overprotective fiancée?” Brenna challenged.
The words hung in the air like a fog that snaked its way into my brain. Cam looked nearly as shocked as I did, but he recovered his wits more quickly. “Ye dinnae say, lad.” He looked back and forth between Grant and me. “Congratulations,” he added after a slight but noticeable pause, before turning to shake Grant’s hand.
I took a deep breath and put on the best face I could muster under the circumstances. “I’m happy for you both,” I said.
“When’s the big day?” Cam asked to fill the uncomfortable pause that ensued.
“Early days yet,” Grant muttered.
I studied Grant’s face carefully. I’d bet money that the marriage conversation had been had but not finalized. Maybe Brenna had jumped the gun and Grant was too polite to contradict her in front of others, or maybe she was trying to force his hand. Either way, it was an effective conversation killer.
* * *
—
I bolted from the Glen as quickly as I could without looking too suspicious. Ben had named the house he left me the Haven, and so it was, especially today. I needed to retreat from the world to my own peaceful harbor and regroup. I turned Liam loose with his sheepy pals in the home pasture, poured myself a large whisky, and slumped into a wicker lounger in the sunroom. I lay there looking up through the glass to the gray sky above. The news had hit me like a physical blow. Was it my competitive self that was stunned that I’d lost the battle already, or was it genuine grief? More than that, was I imagining Grant’s reluctance? I didn’t think so, but was he reluctant to marry Brenna, or simply reluctant to disclose the news in front of me? Only he knew that.
I swigged down half of the whisky in one go and pulled out my phone. I texted Louisa with the news. I’d need some intelligence from her to put all of this into perspective. If anyone knew what was going on over there, it would be her. I immediately received a wide-eyed emoji and a question mark in return. There would be words between Grant and Brenna on the way home, I was sure of it. At least Louisa’s radar would be up when they arrived back.
While I waited for a response, I scanned my emails and saw a note from Amanda that a board meeting had been scheduled for tomorrow evening in the downstairs classroom at Woolies. I added it to my calendar and took another drink. They weren’t wasting any time, and that Urquhart bloke was oddly keen to get moving. Oddities intrigued me, and at the moment I needed something odd to distract me from what was happening with Grant and Brenna.
A project. I pulled myself up in the chair and searched the name Richard Urquhart on my phone. A photo popped up and I got a better look at his face. Dark, piercing eyes looked out from under full, low-hanging eyebrows. Black hair slicked back on the sides. He squinted at the camera as if trying to gauge the intentions of the photographer. His lips were thin, giving him a rigid look, shuttered and aloof. It wasn’t a nice face, but then again, solicitors were seldom nice people in my experience. This one was trying to worm his way out of an unwanted contract by putting the shelter and its residents in an untenable position. He was a bully. Sophisticated and well-dressed, but a bully nonetheless. I hated bullies—always had. And I wasn’t planning to go into battle with this one unarmed.
I took a screenshot of the image on my phone and sent it to Patrick along with the name and a request for info about Urquhart and his relat
ionship with the Templetons. As a former investigative journalist, Patrick always had a contact or two up his sleeve useful for rooting out tidbits of information. But if that didn’t work, he was a gifted hacker in his own right and could usually find a back way in. Those questionably legal skills were the main reason the Times had decided he’d become a liability and moved him over to soft news, where he was assigned to the Food and Wine section of the paper. Funnily enough, in a demotion of sorts he’d found his calling. Actually more of a siren song. The lure of a fine wine and whisky.
I heard the jingle of the bell on the side gate, installed to warn of ovine escapes, but before I could get up to check, Katherine let herself in.
“Rang at the front door. Didn’t get an answer so I took a chance,” she said.
“Grab a glass and pull up a chair.”
Katherine went through to the kitchen and returned with a glass. She pulled up a chair and took a swig of the new amber-colored Abbey Glen Ruby, a deep madeira casked whisky that would hit the shelves in the fall. “Gorgeous,” she sighed as she leaned back in the lounger next to mine and contemplated the lavender-tinged hills that ringed the valley around us and kept us cloistered in this ancient and bewitching place.
“Tough day?” I asked.
“Just spent the last four hours up to my biceps inside a sheep trying to deliver two breech lambs.”
“Success?”
“Mmm. Mother and babies doing well. My arm not so much.” Katherine placed her glass on the table next to her and began to rub her rapidly bruising arm. She looked sideways at me. “You look like you’ve had a bit of a day, too.”
“Just tired.” I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject of Brenna and Grant so I sidestepped to a happier engagement. “How are the wedding arrangements going?”
“Bridesmaid dresses actually arrived yesterday. Not as bad as I feared.” Katherine took another swig. “Then again, considering how long Fiona and I have been friends, they could’ve been better.”
Died in the Wool Page 4
