The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  She put down her coffee cup and gazed out the kitchen window. “You’re right. We need legal advice and I don’t know of anybody better to give it than Jackson Conner. It’s already nine o’clock and I imagine he has a room full of clients, but I’ll give it a try.” She pushed back her chair and headed toward the phone.

  Punching in Jackson Conner’s number, she covered the mouthpiece and said, “Probably he won’t be able to see us until the end of next week. Everybody has a tight schedule nowadays.”

  She turned back to the phone. “Hello, Mary Ann. This is Flora Tucker. Darcy and I have a problem and need to talk to Jackson as soon as possible. Do you think you can work us in on Monday possibly?”

  There was a short pause. Then, “Well, sure, we can come this morning, but I didn’t think . . . of course. We’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  She replaced the phone and turned to me, one eyebrow lifted. “Mary Ann said Jackson told her he would see us as soon as we could get there. What do you suppose that means?”

  I suppressed a grin. My suspicion was that the lawyer wanted to see my mother any time he had the chance. That was OK with me. He was a good, honest man and it would be nice for Mom to have an old friend she could talk to and confide in.

  “I think that means that somebody around here has some pull with Levi’s most popular lawyer,” I said.

  We didn’t get to Jackson Conner’s office in thirty minutes; it was more like forty-five. Mom came downstairs sporting a dark green velveteen pantsuit I had never seen before. She wore a trace of pink lipstick and had fluffed her naturally curly hair until it framed her face.

  In old jeans and sweatshirt, I didn’t look stylish but felt, oh so comfortable. However, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a small jab at my mother’s meticulous appearance.

  I feigned a huge sigh and looked at the clock. “Well, it seems that we are going to be a little late for that appointment. I hope Mr. Conner is not in conference with another client when we get there, and I do hope he appreciates that pretty green outfit.”

  Mom slipped into her coat and grinned. “I’m not worried.”

  Three other people waited in Jackson Conner’s outer office, but Mary Ann rose and beckoned us to follow her down the hall. She tapped lightly on a closed door before she opened it. Conner had been sitting behind a huge oak desk. He rose immediately and came toward us, hand outstretched first to Mom and then to me.

  “Flora, Darcy, it’s mighty good to see you. Come in and have a seat.”

  I glanced around. Jackson Conner’s office was a comfortable, masculine-looking room. The cedar paneling and dark leather furniture was like the man himself: solid, dependable, and attractive. What I remembered most from past visits was the scent of his cherry-flavored pipe tobacco. Although Jackson’s pipe lay unlit on his desk, that fragrance lingered.

  His hand rested lightly on Mom’s shoulder as he guided us toward our chairs. Then he rounded the big desk, sank down into the leather swivel chair behind it, and propped his elbows on the desktop. “Now, what can I do for you ladies today?”

  It took fifteen minutes for me to explain our bizarre situation. It took him twice that long to explain the nuances of the law to Mom and me.

  He steepled his fingers under his chin. “First of all, the law on inheritance of property is pretty clear cut. The legal heirs of the original owner of a piece of real estate have every right to that piece of property in a line of progression that goes from a husband or wife to children and on to grandchildren. If none of those exist, then the owner’s brothers and sisters and their heirs would inherit. That would be pretty simple in your case if everything was legal and recorded. This Cauldfell man owned the property originally. If he was, in fact, married to Grace for only a short period of time, and there were no children from this union, Grace would be the legitimate heir.” He frowned. “Of course, that all depends on being able to prove there actually was a marriage between the two.”

  I nodded. “Yes, and that’s one of the things that I haven’t yet been able to establish to my mother’s satisfaction, but I believe it must be true. I spent most of one day searching through records and newspapers, and it looks like there was a marriage.”

  Mom looked down at her hands. “I guess it’s a case of my mind realizing the facts say my mother was married before she married my father and my heart refusing to believe it’s true. It just seems disloyal to accept it.”

  “Let’s consider for a minute that it did indeed happen, and they were only married for a couple of months.”

  “Yes, we can assume that,” Mom said, “even though it makes my stomach twist up in knots.”

  I glanced up at the framed motto which had graced Jackson’s wall for as long as I could remember: “If God brought you to it, He will take you through it.” Was it God who had brought us to this dilemma? I fervently hoped that He would take us through it.

  “At any rate,” Jackson continued, “if this Eileen does prove to be the offspring of Cauldfell, she might very well be an heir, depending on when her grandmother was born. If that happened before he was married to Grace, then Eileen would be a primary heir. If it happened afterward, then Grace’s claim would come first.”

  He paused and picked up his pipe. “Do you ladies mind if I smoke?”

  We both shook our heads.

  “So, you’ve got a couple of problems here that are going to be hard to resolve because of the length of time involved, and because it can sometimes be really difficult to prove the authenticity of the birth certificate. Occasionally, in the past, doctors made our birth certificates on the information given to them by a member of the family. And there have been cases where that information was false.”

  Mom asked, “How can we prove what happened in the past if we have no way of knowing which documents are real?”

  Jackson patted Mom’s hand. “Because it happened so long ago, it may be difficult. I’ll do a little investigating, but what we may have to do is file a petition with the court to determine ownership of the land. That would involve a lot of time and a lot of people, that is, assuming we can find enough people who recall hearing things from parents or grandparents.” He nodded his head. “Yes, that might work.”

  Jackson puffed on his pipe. “But, you see, we’re talking about events that happened almost a century ago and there may not be much in the way of written records. So many who might have known something about the case have died or moved away.”

  I shifted in my chair. “We realize we are sort of groping in the dark. We thought we might find some answers in Granny Grace’s journal but it was stolen.”

  His blue eyes sharpened. “You don’t say.”

  Reluctantly, I told him about the theft which happened during Eileen’s visit.

  “You see Mr. Jackson, that journal of Granny Grace’s may possibly help us understand what’s going on now, nearly a hundred years after it was written. And the gun…well, surely the gun and marriage certificate and journal are tied together in this strange tale,” His pipe had grown cold while I talked. He tapped the ashes out in the glass tray on his desk.

  Mom fidgeted. “What do you think, Jackson?”

  He shrugged. “Somebody didn’t want you to see what was in that journal so whatever it is must be important. But the fact that Flora and her immediate ancestors have been paying taxes on that land and have been using it for several years is a point in your favor, unless, of course, the information in the journal flatly contradicts everything you believe about the land.”

  He turned to my mother. “You have been using that land in some manner for the last several years, haven’t you, Flora?”

  “Yes, most of it I’ve been renting to the Staffords and Bruce Dowell for pasture.”

  “Let me do a little research and we’ll see what we can find out. In the meantime, Darcy, you might tie in to your information sources and see what you can find out about this Eileen. Seems mighty odd to me that nobody knew anything about her and then she
shows up just when that piece of land is getting to be in high demand.”

  I nodded. “I’ll let you know, Mr. Conner.”

  He blew a perfect smoke ring toward the ceiling and turned toward my mother. His voice lost none of its brusqueness as he said, “I was considering, Flora, that you and I might go over to that new restaurant on Highway 94 on Sunday evening and give it a try. What do you think?”

  Mom blushed like a school girl. She glanced at me, smiled, and looked back at Jackson. “I think that’s a mighty fine idea.”

  On that surprising note, we all rose to our feet.

  Jackson walked with us to the door of his outer office. “And I’ll try to study the law on real estate a little bit more between now and then. If we’re lucky, I might even have some information for you by that time.”

  We shook hands all around then Mom and I strode past the waiting people and climbed into my red Ford Escape.

  Chapter 13

  I felt more secure, knowing that our problems were in the hands of a competent lawyer. I even dared hope Eileen had given up on her quest for land so it was with a sense of surprise two days after our visit with Jackson Conner that I put the telephone receiver back in its cradle and turned to face my mother. “That was Eileen Simmons,” I said.

  Mom slid a pan of cornbread into the oven and straightened up. “Eileen? Didn’t she say enough already?”

  “She wants me to meet her at Dilly’s for lunch.” The hands of the kitchen clock pointed to 11:45.

  Mom frowned. “Lunch will be on the table here in about twenty minutes. If you want to go talk to that woman, why not wait ’til after you eat? Did she say what this is all about?”

  “Of course! The land and her dear departed ancestor. She said she thought maybe we could make some sort of deal. She said she thinks we should be friends because we are very nearly kin.” I shuddered.

  Mom actually stamped her foot. “I wish she would quit saying that. We certainly are not related to that Markham Cauldfell. Just forget her call, Darcy, and maybe if we ignore her, she’ll go away.”

  I went to the hall closet for my coat. “She doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I think I’ll meet her just because I’m curious about her incredible story. Remember, we have the advantage of having talked to Jackson Conner,” I said over my shoulder.

  “It gives me a good feeling to know just where we stand legally. Jackson is in our corner, however this turns out,” Mom said.

  Yes, Jackson Conner and Mom were certainly in the same corner. Were things getting serious with those two? I waved at her and walked out to my Ford Escape.

  Eileen Simmons could surely have picked a better day for meeting me at Dilly’s. The lunch crowd was larger than usual because of the roast beef special. People were waiting to be seated, but when I stepped inside, Eileen stood up and waved at me from a booth halfway down the wall. I wove in and out between arriving and departing customers and Tony, who was going from kitchen to tables at a brisk trot.

  Eileen’s shiny black hair was done up in a twist. Dangling earrings brushed against her face. Her large, brown leather purse sat beside her on the bench. “Sorry about the crowd,” she said as I slid into the seat across from her. “This place must have good food.”

  “It does,” I said.

  “I haven’t ordered yet. Would you like to eat? My treat.”

  “No, just coffee. Mom will have lunch waiting for me when I get back home. Feel free to order whatever you’d like,” I said.

  Tony arrived with menus.

  “I want your roast beef special,” Eileen said. “And black coffee.”

  I handed him my menu. “Just coffee for me, Tony. Make mine black too.”

  Eileen and I stared across the table at each other. “Have you thought any more about those papers I brought you?” she asked.

  Had I? I hadn’t thought about much else. Well, yes, I had . . . the intruder and the visit from the man wanting to buy our land, and the information from Jackson Conner. I nodded.

  Her eyebrows drew down. “Well?”

  Tony brought our coffee and saved me from answering. “Roast beef special for you, Ma’am, coming up in a minute,” he said to Eileen. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Look, Eileen, I don’t know what to tell you. Mom and I have consulted a lawyer—”

  She seemed surprised. “You did?”

  “Certainly. Surely you have done the same.”

  She gulped her coffee, said, “Whew!” and fanned her mouth. “Hot.”

  “You said maybe we could make a deal. What do you have in mind?”

  She shifted in her seat and fiddled with her coffee cup. “Not actually a deal, Darcy, but a hope that we can come to an understanding. You will have to admit that I’ve got a pretty good claim on that land. And I won’t quit. I know where I stand and that land, the part that old Markham had, that is mine.”

  I felt heat rise up my neck, but before I could answer, Tony appeared again with Eileen’s roast beef and a message for me. “Somebody over at the door is wanting to talk to you, Darcy,” he said.

  I turned around and tried to see past the crowd of people. “Who? And why don’t they just come on over?”

  “He said it was private. He asked if you’d go talk to him.”

  Strange request but maybe it was important. “Okay. Be right back, Eileen.”

  She grinned. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I threaded my way around Tony’s customers until I got the front door of Dilly’s cafe. The bench by the door was crowded with people waiting for an empty table. Nobody seemed interested in my presence except for one or two people I knew. Pat Harris, Mom’s friend and secretary of the Goshen Cemetery board, smiled and waved.

  “OK, where is he?” I asked as Tony bustled past.

  He scanned the faces of those seated and shrugged. “If that don’t beat all. He’s not here.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know . . . little short guy, needed a haircut. Hair stuck out under his ball cap. I didn’t notice what he was wearing, Darcy. I’m kind of busy here.”

  I slowly walked back to Eileen. Why would somebody want to talk to me and not come to the table? And how did he know I was here? The only people who knew I was coming were Mom and Eileen.

  I slid into the booth and stared at the woman across from me. “Good beef, Darcy,” she said, chewing busily. “You should have some.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want anything but coffee. Did you tell someone you were meeting me?”

  She looked up. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “Because no one knew I was here. No one but my mother and you.”

  “Maybe somebody called your house and she told them.”

  “Sure. It could have happened. Maybe.”

  “The coffee is good too, Darcy. Better drink yours before it gets cold.”

  I turned my half full cup around in its saucer. Something was not right. Who was the man who had wanted to talk to me? What caused him to leave?

  I pointed to my cup as Tony bustled past with his Pyrex pot. “Could I have more coffee please?”

  “Sure thing,” he said. As he started to pour, one of the departing customers bumped against him. His pot rammed my cup, pushing it against Eileen’s cup and sloshing coffee onto the table.

  “Watch what you’re doing!” Eileen snapped, snatching her napkin and dabbing at the spill.

  “Sorry,” Tony muttered. He grabbed a cloth from his apron, moved our cups out of the spill and cleaned up the mess then he moved the cups back in front of us and left.

  Eileen snorted. “Clumsy man.”

  “It actually wasn’t Tony’s fault,” I said. “Somebody bumped him.”

  “Well, he should have been more careful.” She popped the last bit of beef into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and drained her coffee cup.

  “So, Darcy, what do you think about the documents I brought to you and your mother? Are you willing to deed the land to me?”


  This woman’s manner so rankled me that I had a tough time controlling my voice. “If the land is yours already, Eileen, do I need to deed it to you?”

  “Just to be sure there is no question farther on down the line, I think that might be a wise thing to do.” She squinted and leaned toward me. “You look a little pale, Darcy. Are you feeling well?”

  That took me by surprise. “Of course I do. I don’t feel pale. Why should I?”

  “If you aren’t going to talk sense about a deed, you might as well go home,” she said.

  That floored me. “Look, Eileen, it was your idea to meet me here and I was hoping you’d have some light to shed on this strange story of yours but you haven’t said one thing that was worth my time and effort in coming.”

  She picked up her purse and scooted toward the edge of her seat. “Well, do what you like. I’m leaving.”

  She had started to rise when she grabbed her throat and gasped. Her face looked flushed and her lips pulled back against her teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  She coughed into her napkin. “No. I don’t feel well. I’ve gotta get out of here.” She struggled to her feet and reeled toward the door.

  Eileen lurched past Tony, bumping into him and sloshing more coffee from his pot. She staggered toward the door, knocking people out of the way as she ran.

  “Wait!” I called. I slid from the booth and hurried after her. As I reached the door, I saw Eileen totter and lurch into the seat of a green Chevrolet truck parked at the curb. The man at the wheel wore a ball cap, hair sticking out from under it in all directions. I ran toward the truck but with a squeal of tires, it sped away.

  The truck’s license plate was smudged with mud and unreadable. I stood on the curb, staring after it. What was the meaning of this? Eileen was decidedly ill but why? Was it something in the roast beef she had eaten? We both had drunk coffee so if anything in Dilly’s had made her sick, it must have been the roast beef. Other diners in the café had not been affected by eating the food.