On the Corner of Hope and Main

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Why is he so hell-bent on your property?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever had a geological evaluation?”

  “No.”

  “It might be something to think about.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  Bernadine studied her silently. “Do you need your salary increased, Marie? I can raise it a bit if that will help.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t necessary.”

  Bernadine sensed there was something Marie wasn’t sharing. She wanted to ask why she hadn’t paid her taxes, but that was too personal a question. They’d had issues before, specifically when she’d tried to warn Marie off Leo, and she didn’t want them on the outs with each other ever again. “Will you let me look into the evaluation? If Leo knows something about your land that we don’t, we need to find out what it is. I’ll use town money.”

  “Okay.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Leo pissed off the wrong person a little while ago.” And she related what she knew about the gasoline incident.

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,” Marie said bitterly.

  “I agree.” Silence settled between them for a moment while Bernadine again wondered how Marie had gotten into such financial straits. “How do you want me to handle the tax payment and when?”

  Marie opened her purse and took out some papers. “Here’s what’s owed and the due date. If you could make the check out to the state, that would be fine.” Unshed tears stood in her eyes and her voice was soft. “I can’t believe I’m having to do this.”

  “We all need help sometimes, Marie.”

  “If it was for something unexpected, yes, but this isn’t that. I caused this mess by being stupid.”

  She was silent for a moment, then confessed, “I have a gambling problem.”

  It was the last thing Bernadine expected to hear.

  “I’ve lost a ton of money this year and like everyone else with the addiction, I figured if I kept playing, I’d hit the jackpot and make myself whole again.”

  “Oh, Marie.”

  “I know. I’ve gone through my pension, my savings. I’ve nothing left, Bernadine.”

  Her heart ached.

  “I did have enough sense to join Gamblers Anonymous, and it’s helping me get my mind right, but in the meantime, I’m broke, and I refuse to let Leo take advantage of it.”

  “Don’t worry. I have your back. Good to know you’re seeking help.”

  “Smartest thing I’ve done. You’ll keep this between us? Gen’s the only other person who knows. She’s the one who convinced me to get help.”

  “Of course. No one needs to know. I’ll take care of the taxes, so don’t worry about that. You concentrate on getting well.”

  Marie pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  After Marie’s departure, Bernadine sat in the silence and realized you never knew what people had going on behind the curtains of their lives. She knew Marie enjoyed going to Vegas, but that she had a gambling problem never crossed her mind. Thank god for Genevieve. Bernadine also sent up a thank-you for being blessed with the money she’d gotten in her divorce settlement. It allowed her to help in ways that mattered, and Marie’s issue definitely qualified. Using the information on Marie’s paperwork as a guide, she wrote out the check for the taxes and stuck it in an envelope. She’d drop it off at the Franklin post office before going home at the end of the day. Even though Lily July was Marie’s goddaughter, Bernadine didn’t plan to share any of what was discussed. A promise was a promise. If Marie wanted Lily to know, Marie would tell her.

  Chapter

  6

  Riley had a problem. To realize his dream of becoming Henry Adams’s mayor, he needed money. There were billboards to erect, yard signs to order, flyers featuring his likeness to distribute, and coffee klatches to hold. Between his tips, small salary, and the occasional five-dollar bills discreetly stolen from the salon’s cash drawer, he’d barely managed to scrape together enough to buy an old car. His bank account couldn’t afford campaign costs. What little extra he had went to food and to the State of Kansas as restitution for having helped himself to Genevieve’s trust fund before she walked out on him and their marriage. He still thought the settlement unfair, but it beat being thrown in jail. Life would be different were he still Cletus’s owner. Scarsdale was probably rich as Midas, enjoying fancy cars, five-star hotels, and expensive vacations, while Riley was stuck in Henry Adams trying to make ends meet. The only viable option was to throw in with Leo Brown, who had both the cash and clout. Granted, in the scheme of things, Brown wasn’t well liked and probably viewed Riley as just another dumb country hick easily manipulated, but he’d been underestimated before.

  After ending his shift at the salon, he called the number on Brown’s card and was pleased to be invited to his mansion to talk. On the drive over, his old car with its bald tires and dying carburetor sputtered and protested the entire way, but it got him there. He parked and stepped out, taking a moment to enviously survey the grand mansion that looked so out of place against the open Kansas countryside. It was all fancy brick and windows, and he couldn’t imagine how much it must have cost to build, let alone have it moved from Franklin. A few yards away stood the old Stillwell place with its sagging roof and plywood-covered windows. Compared to the grandeur of the mansion, it looked even sadder. Deciding not to worry about the oil spots his car would leave in the driveway, he walked to the door.

  He was ushered inside by a middle-aged, red-haired white woman in a blue uniform. “Good evening, Mr. Curry. Please, let me take your jacket.”

  Riley handed it over, all the while marveling at the grand foyer with its high ceilings and fancy staircase. It reminded him of Eustacia Pennymaker’s place in Texas. Thinking of her, he wondered if she’d help finance his campaign. Like Genevieve, she’d walked out on him, too. The answer was probably no, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Follow me, please.”

  He was led into a large sitting room dominated by a sparkling white marble fireplace. There was an expensive-looking brown leather love seat, chairs in blues and greens, and lamps with crystal bases. Painted landscapes of mountains and ocean that probably cost more than he’d make in five years graced the soft gray walls.

  She gestured him to one of the chairs. “Have a seat. Mr. Brown will be right with you.”

  Left alone, he looked around and imagined what it would be like to have so much wealth that you never had to worry about things like aging cars or a place to live. You could have more than one good suit and lots of fancy shoes. It was a lifestyle he’d aspired to for as long as he could remember but it had always remained beyond his reach.

  Brown came in a short time later, dressed in a black cashmere crew neck and pressed khakis. On his feet were the costly loafers he seemed to favor. “How are you, Mr. Curry?” He extended a welcoming hand that showed off the gold diamond-edged watch on his wrist.

  Riley dragged his attention from the timepiece and stood to accept the handshake. “Doing okay. How about you?”

  The quick clasp of hands ended, and Brown said, “I’m okay, too. I was just getting ready to have some dinner. Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Would you care to join me?”

  Reining in his eagerness, Riley replied as casually as he could manage, “If I won’t be imposing.”

  “Oh, course not. Come with me. It’s not very chilly, so let’s eat in the solarium.”

  Riley had no idea what a solarium was but stood and followed. As he was led through the sprawling house, there was more artwork and fine furniture. They passed a room filled with bookcases, one that was set up as a theater, and another with a large pool table in the center.

  Brown asked, “Do you play pool?”

  Riley told the truth for once. “No.”

  The journey continued past a life-size
Samurai soldier decked out in red and black armor, then an all-white kitchen that was the biggest he’d ever seen, then down a hallway into a huge room with walls and ceiling made of glass. The enormous floor-to-ceiling panes, set between polished beams of reddish wood, were so clean they were rendered invisible. He could see for miles across the open plains. Riley had been impressed by Eustacia’s spacious Texas home, but Brown lived on an even higher level.

  Behind him, Brown said, “Spectacular view, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” It was something.

  “If I decide to stick around, I may put in some tennis courts and a pool in the spring.”

  Riley didn’t swim or play tennis either, but he approved of the man’s vision. He wanted to ask what would make him stay or leave but held on to the question.

  A few yards to the right was a double-wide trailer and to the left the Stillwell barns. They were in even worse condition than the tumbledown house.

  Brown said, “I’ll be having those eyesores removed as soon as possible. I won’t be doing any farming. Not really my thing.” He smiled, so Riley did, too.

  “Mine either.”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of the uniformed red-haired woman pushing a four-wheeled metal cart. On it were polished silver domes covering what he assumed was their meal, along with silverware, glasses, and a pitcher of water.

  “Our dinner,” Brown confirmed, sounding pleased, and directed Riley to the marble table and leather chairs set against one of the glass walls. “Hope you like lobster.”

  Again, tamping down his excitement, Riley nodded. He’d only had lobster a few times in his life, and not even Eustacia served it at home. He wondered if Brown ate this extravagantly all the time. If the man was trying to impress him, he’d succeeded.

  The lobster was served with little fingerling potatoes, tossed with what tasted like olive oil—which he didn’t like—and a salad with tomatoes and cukes. He didn’t care for salads either but planned to eat everything because tuna and crackers awaited him at home.

  Once they began eating, Brown asked, “So, Mr. Curry. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “My campaign,” Riley said, diving into the meal while trying not to talk with his mouth full. “I’m not as financially set as I’d hoped and was interested in maybe taking you up on your generous offer of assistance.”

  “Ah.” For a few long moments, Brown said nothing more, and Riley did his best not to squirm under his silent scrutiny. “What do you see as the foundation of your campaign?”

  “Security. Henry Adams will never have another assassin if I’m elected.”

  “I remember you saying that. A noble focus.”

  Riley beamed.

  “And in exchange for my assistance?”

  Riley stilled. Looking into Brown’s watchful eyes made him feel like prey, but he did his best not to show it. “What would you like?”

  “Being able to run the campaign the way I think it should be run. Tapping people to be on the team I believe would be beneficial.”

  “Like who?”

  “Maybe Al Stillwell and a few of the farmers. Bernadine holds sway in the town core. Targeting outside voters will be the way to go.”

  To Riley the plan made sense. He also didn’t want to be bogged down with the day-to-day minutiae of running the less glamorous aspects of the campaign. Having someone else handling details like scheduling and paperwork freed him to spend his time making appearances, shaking hands, and kissing babies. “Do you think you can get me on TV?”

  “Possibly. What will be some of your other platforms?”

  “Do you think I’ll need something besides security?”

  “I do. Maybe something that speaks to the needs of those who live outside of the town’s core. After all, there are more of them than there are those kissing up to Bernadine. And we can also play to those men who may not want to vote for a woman. Stoking the gender divide could work in our favor.”

  Riley agreed. “Can I think about all this for a couple of days and get back to you?”

  “Sure, and in the meantime, I’ll think about what kind of financial assistance I can offer and how much.”

  Riley liked the sound of that.

  The end of the discussion coincided with the end of the meal and Brown stood.

  Riley did, too.

  “Time for my after-dinner cognac. I’ll be in touch. The maid will show you out.” Brown exited the room.

  Riley was stunned by the abrupt departure but had no time to contemplate his dismissal because the maid appeared with his jacket and led him back through the mansion to the front door. A blink later he was outside in the rising dusk of the evening. Getting into his old car, he started it up and backed down the snowy white driveway. He felt good about the meeting but couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just made a deal with the devil.

  Inside, Leo, seated in his den, sipped his evening cognac and thought about Riley Curry. He obviously didn’t have a dime to his name, so saying he found himself not as financially set as he’d hoped was laughable. Leo had seen the envious eyes on his watch and the wonder on his face as they walked through the house. The man was a delusional boob, but for the time being, he’d be his boob.

  The maid entered. “There’s a Mr. Al Stillwell here to see you.”

  Leo didn’t want to be bothered, but the man was another necessary component. “Put him in the solarium. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Leo let him wait a full fifteen minutes before getting up to join him.

  “Big Al. How are you?”

  They shared a shake. Al was six feet three and his strong grip made Leo wince inwardly but he didn’t show it. “How can I help you?”

  “Want to talk to you about leasing my land back.”

  Leo scanned the determined dark eyes and the firmly set jaw with its sparse graying beard. Hoping to put him off, Leo said, “I’m not sure I can lease foreclosed property.”

  “You can. I asked the bank.”

  Caught off guard and needing a moment to regain his footing, Leo said, “How about we sit and talk for a minute.”

  Stillwell’s attention was focused on the barns visible through the windows. “I’ll stand. You had me wait fifteen minutes, so I figure you’re busy and need to get back to whatever you were doing.” He swung his attention to Leo, who was so thrown off by the icy regard, he instinctively shrank back. Stillwell showed a tight smug smile and turned back to the view.

  Leo gathered himself. “If we’re going to talk about a land lease, I’ll need something from you first.”

  “Which is what?”

  “I’m Curry’s campaign manager. I’d like to set up a few meetings with him and some of the local farmers.”

  “Riley’s got about as much chance of winning as a field rat outrunning a combine. Why are you really here, Brown?”

  The intense eyes almost made Leo spill his guts then and there, but he reminded himself he’d made a living staring down Saudi princes and captains of industry far tougher and more powerful than this bedraggled Henry Adams farmer. “I’m here to throw a monkey wrench in Bernadine’s well-run world, that’s all, and I think you’d like to join me.” Leo had been in Henry Adams during Odessa Stillwell’s reign of terror and knew she’d be cooling her murderous heels in jail for the rest of her days.

  He added, “Remember, Saint Bernadine is the one responsible for you losing your land to the bank. We can talk about a lease agreement down the road, but for now, I need you to set up a meet with the farmers.” Truthfully, poor business practices were the reasons Stillwell lost his land, but pointing that out wouldn’t bring him on board. Stillwell had been one of the staunchest supporters of the pipeline Bernadine helped kill, and he had direct access to the farmers Leo needed to further the plans of Mega Seed and Salem Oil’s partnership. His cooperation was crucial, at least for now.

  “Then draw up something in writing. My help, for the lease.”

  Leo stiffened.

  �
��This isn’t Riley you’re dealing with,” Stillwell reminded him. “You don’t get something for nothing from me. My people farmed this land for seventy-five years. The soil is in my blood and I want it back.”

  Leo hadn’t anticipated Stillwell being so formidable. No, he wasn’t Curry. “Okay. Set up the meet, and after, we’ll sign the agreement.”

  “Good, but if you try and screw me, you’ll have more to deal with than gasoline in your fancy car.” He paused as if letting that sink in. “I’ll show myself out.”

  Watching the big man exit, Leo told himself he wasn’t shaking, but he was.

  BACK IN TOWN, Dads Incorporated, the support group made up of the fathers of Henry Adams, was holding its monthly meeting in Trent’s basement. Because Barrett knew Sheila’s run for mayor would likely be a topic of discussion, he’d tried to talk himself out of attending, but decided to go. Their collective advice about problems he’d had as both a husband and father had been helpful in the past, even though he’d balked at hearing it.

  When he arrived, most of the others were there. Thinking he’d be roasted for having been upstaged by his wife, Barrett prepared for the potshots, but the men simply greeted him with friendly nods and that was that. Grateful, he helped himself to snacks and a beverage and sat down.

  As the meeting began, the first item on the agenda was the trip to Fort Leavenworth to view the Buffalo Soldier Monument. The Dads did a getaway weekend with the sons once a quarter and had attended ball games, comic cons, and rodeos. At last month’s meeting they’d set a tentative date for the monument trip, so Trent asked, “Is anyone unable to go?” Everyone seemed good with the date, so he continued, “I’ll have Lily make our travel arrangements. Who’s willing to bunk with Wyatt and Lucas?” Gemma Dahl was a single parent, so the Dads always made sure someone took her boys under their wing.

  “They can hang with me,” Bobby Douglas offered. “I like them both.”

  “Thanks.” Trent looked over at Mal. “Are you coming with us?”

  “Sure, if it’s okay with the group.”

  Mal was slowly reestablishing his status in the community. Like everyone else in town, Barrett hadn’t been happy with his embezzlement, particularly because of the terrible example it set for their sons. Luis spoke for them all when he got in Mal’s face about the theft at a meeting over the summer. Mal, playing the victim, stormed out. He eventually came to his senses and did a townwide apology tour to beg forgiveness for his larcenous actions. Currently, he was on better terms with his friends, families, and the kids who’d looked up to him, but still wasn’t trusted enough to handle the register or the books at the Dog.