A Place to Call Home (Harlequin Heartwarming) (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

B
RANDON
HADN
’
T
REALIZED
how tight his fists were until his knuckles started aching. He stood by his truck and sucked in a purposeful breath. In. Out. In again. Slow exhale.

Better. The idea that he’d let one cent of his money go to Richard Murphy’s lawyers...

No. Calm down. Think.

The vinyl seat crackled under him as he slammed the door with one hand and punched in Ryan MacIntosh’s number on his cell phone with the other.

“Ryan? You got a few minutes? If you do, I’m on the way over.”

His best friend didn’t hesitate. “Come on. Mee-Maw’s got lunch on the table and Becca can put out another plate. We’ve got Sean Courtland here, too, so we can all hear what he has to say about the investigation.”

Brandon didn’t know what cheered him up more. Was it the idea of Ryan’s grandmother’s legendary meals? Or the possibility that in the course of the dinner, Sean, the FBI agent who’d been investigating Murphy, might have news? Ostensibly, Sean was there to gather more information from one of the government’s star witnesses, Ryan’s grandmother. Sean, though, didn’t mind giving the latest to Brandon. Sean would wink and chalk it up to inter-agency cooperation.

During the ten minutes or so it took him to drive over to the MacIntosh farm, Brandon managed to gain a more positive attitude. Murphy was going down, and soon. Maybe Sean was there to tell them that the federal indictment, which had already dragged on for a couple of months without materializing, was about to be handed down.

Besides, Brandon could never come to the MacIntosh farm without remembering how Ryan and Becca, Ryan’s new wife, had finally put Murphy in the government’s crosshairs. And if that wasn’t cause to celebrate, he didn’t know what was.

The smell of country-fried steak and gravy enveloped him as Mee-Maw opened the door for him. Her lined face was wreathed in smiles.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite deputy! C’mon in, Brandon! We’ve got plenty. Wash up and go fix your plate.”

He heard the hubbub of conversation at the kitchen table as he scrubbed his hands in the bathroom sink.

If only I could wash away the memory of Penelope Langston defending her grandfather.
It just went to show that you couldn’t judge a person by how she looked, no matter how pretty.

Penelope’s dark eyes, snapping with fire, came back to him. She was as easy to read as a mood ring: when she was mad, her eyes went almost black. Otherwise they were warm and brown, like melted caramel.

At the table, Brandon pulled out a ladder-back chair and settled in it.

Becca grinned. “Now this is better than any lunch in town, isn’t it?” she asked as she passed him a bowl of creamed potatoes. “I swear, Mee-Maw’s cooking was half the reason I married Ryan.”

Brandon chuckled. He knew better than that. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Ryan was head over heels for Becca—and vice versa. He wondered if, when they had kids, the children would inherit Becca’s blond hair or Ryan’s red.

Sean Courtland lifted up a big fluffy biscuit and inspected it. “Ma’am, these are so good that I might have to report it as a gourmet gift. It’s lucky this is my day off and I’m not on duty.”

Mee-Maw beamed. “Aw, just a little something I threw together. Next time I’ll cook you some good fried chicken. Brandon, how’s your Uncle Jake doing?”

Brandon’s creamed potatoes suddenly looked a lot less appetizing. He pushed the food listlessly on his plate. “He’s okay, I guess. Same as always. Impatient to hear what the latest is on Murphy.”

Sean swallowed the bite of biscuit he’d just taken before answering. “U.S. attorney still wants more. You know these guys, they don’t indict anything less than a slam-dunk case. They don’t want to sully their conviction rate with a not-guilty verdict.”

“How much more do they need? I thought we’d given them enough for their slam-dunk conviction. If I can’t see Murphy go to jail for swindling Uncle Jake, I want to at least see the feds take him down for his crop insurance fraud.” Brandon set the gravy boat down harder than he should have, netting a scolding look from Mee-Maw. He double-checked to make sure no gravy had splashed on her tablecloth.

“Brandon’s right,” Ryan said. “They’ve got the crop insurance adjustor, they’ve got, what, two of the farmers who were conspiring with Murphy. They’ve got JT Griggs willing to testify that Murphy made him bring in the dodder vine with intent to defraud the government.”

At the mention of JT’s name, Sean frowned. “JT has a credibility issue, guys, and you know it. He’s served time. I think he’s telling the truth, the U.S. attorney thinks he is...but will the jury? And so that’s why they want more guys to plead out and agree to testify against Murphy. It will happen. The big news I wanted to tell you—Becca, you’ll really get excited about this—we’ve run down the guy who attacked Becca in her motel room. And his shyster lawyer is about to sign off on a plea agreement.”

“So that’s another nail in Murphy’s coffin?” Brandon’s appetite came back with renewed gusto. “The guy is willing to say Murphy put him up to it?”

“Well, no,” Sean conceded. “He’s saying it was the brainstorm of that other farmer, Tate. But if we put pressure on Tate, then Tate will roll over on Murphy.”

Brandon chewed on the steak as he considered this and decided, if it wasn’t perfect, at least it was a move in the right direction. “That will complicate Murphy’s legal woes. Hey, did you guys know Penelope Langston is Murphy’s granddaughter?”

Becca’s and Ryan’s mouths dropped open, but Brandon noted Sean didn’t look as surprised.

“Yeah. We’d come up on that in our investigation. She’s some sort of artist, I think, from Oregon, but she’d been living in New York. Apparently she came down here to offer moral support.”

“She’s willing to offer him more than moral support. She had the nerve to offer to sell me the land—Uncle Jake’s land, mind you—to raise money for Murphy.” Brandon took a swig of iced tea that did nothing to cool off his temper.

“She said that?” Becca’s eyes rounded. “That’s... that’s brassy.”

“Well, she didn’t exactly put it that way. She’s a sculptor, and she had this big sale for, I kid you not, three pieces of stainless steel welded together, but it fell through. So now she needs money. I just didn’t want any of my money ending up in Richard Murphy’s hands. When she wouldn’t agree to that stipulation, I told her no. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

Ryan nodded as he passed the tall pitcher of iced tea to Becca. “Sounds like you can wait her out, then. If she needs money, then maybe you can pick up the land in a foreclosure deal.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Brandon agreed. “It galls me to even think about Uncle Jake being forced to sell to Murphy in the first place.”

“I’m still working with the state’s revenue department on that, Brandon,” Becca said. “They’re saying now that the forced sales of both this property and your uncle’s might not be legal. So Uncle Jake might get the land after all.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Brandon rubbed his hands together.

“If the title’s in question...” Sean trailed off in thought.

“Yeah?” Brandon prompted.

“Well, I was thinking of adverse possession. If the title’s in question, and you cultivate the land for seven years, it’s yours anyway.”

“You mean, just act like it’s mine and it turns into my land?”

“Yeah. The key is the action has to be hostile, without permission from the landowner, but the landowner in turn has to not put a stop to it. The law says that if the landowner doesn’t care about someone else improving or cultivating land, the land should belong to the one making the investment of money and labor. Of course, seven years is a long time to wait.”

“Maybe by then Penelope Langston will be gone,” Brandon said.

Mee-Maw cleared her throat, and the group of them turned toward her at the head of the table.

“Mee-Maw? You have something on your mind?” Ryan asked.

Ryan’s grandmother tore at a biscuit in her fingers, shredding it absentmindedly. “I remember that girl. Not well, mind you. She hasn’t been around here in years. Why, I guess she was seven or eight the last time she came to visit. That little one—Penelope, you say? Not big as a minute, and always drawing. I kept her some, that last time, because of course the likes of Murphy couldn’t be bothered with entertaining his granddaughter. She had a good heart, was right faithful about helping me nurse a calf and see to the chickens.”

“So what are you trying to say, Mee-Maw?” Brandon asked. “That she can’t have grown up to be like Murphy if she was willing to help you bottle-feed a calf?”

Mee-Maw stretched out a gnarled finger and shook it in Brandon’s direction. “Young man, people aren’t always what they seem at first blush. Yes, sir, most times they are, and you best not expect much more out of ’em, but people’s hearts don’t change. I expect it’s Penelope’s heart that’s telling her to look after her grandfather, even if he is a black-hearted crook. I’d be more worried about her if she didn’t have some speck of caring for the man. So don’t you be too hard on her.”

Brandon took the chastisement on the chin. But he reserved judgment. How could anyone be fooled by the likes of Richard Murphy?

CHAPTER SIX

“
G
RANDPA
!
No! What do you think you’re doing?”

Just inside Grandpa Murphy’s kitchen door, Penelope made a grab for the glazed doughnut in her grandfather’s hand. Grandpa Murphy snatched it back just out of her reach, a scowl on his face.

“Penny-girl! It’ll be all right—I’ll take an extra insulin shot. No big deal.”

But Penelope closed the gap between them, confiscated the doughnut and the eleven still in the box. “I’ll just go put this in my car where they won’t tempt you. Grandpa, you know you’ve been having trouble with your sugar levels. You have to—”

“Have absolutely no fun, that’s what I have to do. Penny-girl, what’s one little ol’ doughnut when I might be behind bars soon? They’re circling in for the kill, the lot of ’em.”

Penelope wrapped her arm around her grandfather’s too-big middle and gave him an encouraging hug. “You are not supposed to be worrying, remember? You told me the doctor said that stress complicated regulating your blood-sugar levels. Those lawyers of yours will do their job. There is such a thing as reasonable doubt and innocent before proven guilty.”

Grandpa Murphy hugged her back. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Sorry I’m such a sourpuss, girl.”

Penelope felt a tug on the box in her hand. Grandpa stepped back, a doughnut triumphantly in his grasp and took a quick bite out of it.

“You are absolutely incorrigible, did you know that? Who brought you those doughnuts, anyway? Now we’ve got to fuss with the test strips and check to see how much insulin you need, and you’ll probably need a shot.”

He waved away her concerns and took another bite. “And you tell me not to worry. You’re a fine one to be talking. I bought my own doughnuts, thank you very much. Sit down here at the table. You know how many years I wanted you around so I could have the pleasure of you just dropping in for an unexpected visit?”

His words blew away her aggravation. In the scheme of things, what was one doughnut as long as she could make sure his blood sugar was okay before she left? She’d missed him for so long. If only her mother could have gotten along with Grandpa Murphy. If only Mom had given him a chance.

They sat down at Grandpa Murphy’s kitchen table and she watched as he savored the doughnut, licking the last of the glaze off his fingertips. “Bum pancreas. Don’t ever let your pancreas go to pot, girl. Worst thing in the world.”

“Well, not the worst, surely.”

“No, I’d guess federal prison is worse.”

Penelope’s heart squeezed in her chest. “Your lawyers will help you, Grandpa. You’re not going to prison. You didn’t do anything wrong, right? They don’t put innocent people in prison.”

“They do if they’re out for blood. And they are out for blood—mine. If they’ll believe that JT, a farmhand with no high school degree, somebody who’s been in the clink before, I don’t have a chance. I might as well eat that whole box of doughnuts.”

“Are we feeling sorry for ourselves today?” Penelope met his eyes pointedly.

Grandpa Murphy’s mouth pulled down even more, but then he lifted his chin. “Forget them. I’m not going to let them get me down. Cheer me up, Penelope, tell me something to get my mind off my troubles.”

“Uh...” She thought about the reason she’d come over, to ask about Brandon Wilkes’s intense hatred of her grandfather.

“That sculpture you’re working on. You got started on it yet?”

Ouch. Another tender point. She hadn’t intended on telling him about the cancelled commission. “Well. About that. I’ve had a bit of a setback. The company has changed its mind.”

“About buying it? Just as well you hadn’t got started on it then. Tell ’em to go jump in a lake somewhere. Bad break for you, Penny-girl, but I’ll bet you’ll get everything figured out. You’re a Murphy, after all, and Murphys land on their feet.”

She reached over and patted his hand. “I’m still going to do it. Don’t worry. I’m not giving up yet. But thanks, Grandpa, for not going all ballistic on me. Mom would have insisted I turn everything back over to the bank, pack up and come home.”

“Your mother is nothing if she’s not a Chicken Little. Always in an uproar about something.” He leaned back in his chair, the back of it creaking under his weight. “So what are your plans? You have enough money to make it?”

“I’m...I’m not sure. Haven’t landed on my feet yet, but I’m working on it.” She tried to inject a cheerful, confident note in her voice.

“I might have just the thing for you, then. If you don’t need that entire tract of land, you interested in selling part of it?”

She cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “Is it something in the air?”

“What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated. “Brandon Wilkes came—”

Grandpa Murphy scowled and banged a fist on the table.

Penelope laughed uneasily. “I take it you don’t have any more warm, fuzzy feelings for him than he does for you.”

“Busybody deputy. It was him and Ryan MacIntosh and that Becca Reynolds MacIntosh hooked up with—all of them got me in this jam I’m in. They’d like nothing more than to see me rot behind bars, Penelope. You stay away from them.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve not been the one looking for Brandon, that’s for sure.” The dark expression on Brandon’s good-looking face came back fresh and clear. He’d been so self-righteous about the whole thing, as though there were no doubt that her grandfather had orchestrated the loss of his uncle’s land.

He really believed it, too. Penelope had seen the way his expression had softened when he talked about his uncle, had seen pain in his eyes. That pain had driven her here, to be sure that she wasn’t profiting off something that hadn’t been on the up-and-up.

“Grandpa Murphy?” Penelope struggled to couch the question in a nonaccusatory way. “About how you got the Wilkes property...”

Grandpa’s lips thinned. “Told you, girl. I told you all that when I first called you about the banks calling in all my notes and my entire place going on the auction block. Lousy banks, getting all my money. I got the land when Jake Wilkes’s old tax debt finally caught up with him. A man doesn’t think he has to pay taxes and then makes up all kinds of stories about how he paid it. Well, why can’t he produce proof, I say?”

“Brandon said there were other—”

“You listening to that Brandon Wilkes? You believe that lug of a deputy over me? Your own flesh and blood?” he thundered, his face turning purple.

Penelope held up a hand. “Whoa, calm down, Grandpa. Of course I believe you. I wanted to be sure, that’s all.”

She could see a storm of emotions swirl over him, but finally his expression settled into an uneasy calm. “Yeah. Yeah. That Brandon can spin a sad tale, that’s for sure. I can see why you felt the need to ask, although, I can’t lie. It cuts that you doubted me, your own grandfather.”

“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I meant...I wasn’t questioning...well, I guess I was, wasn’t I?” Penelope chuckled, but that didn’t ease the tension.

“It’s okay, Penelope. I understand. But listen, about your money problems.”

The abrupt shift in topic confused her for a moment. “That’s okay, Grandpa, I’ll figure—”

“No, no. I want to hook you up with some people, some folks who will give you good money for your land. They’ve been after it for a while. Before the banks started calling in their notes, I was about to sell the land you’ve got now to these people.”

“If they wanted the land, why didn’t they bid against me at the auction?”

“Didn’t know about it. It all happened so fast. Penny-girl, I hope you never have to see all you worked for being bid off on the auction block. It’s a horrible thing.”

She wrapped her fingers around his again and squeezed. The twist of his lips reminded her of Brandon’s when he’d tried to explain his uncle’s loss. “I feel really awful, Grandpa, that I managed to profit off your misfortune.”

He pulled his hand from hers and pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “Well, if I had to lose it all, I’m glad some of it went to you. That’s why I told you. You’re family, Penny-girl, and I knew you’d want to help out. I knew you wouldn’t want to see everything I’d worked for gone.”

“I do want to help.” Penelope dropped her gaze from him and busied herself with straightening her grandfather’s bottles of medicine in the center of the kitchen table. Did he have to take so much?

“Then talk to these people. They have this solid-waste facility company, based out of Florida. They do all this gee-whiz stuff to garbage and recycle it, all with robots and stuff. Hardly a human hand touches it.”

“Solid waste?” Penelope set down the bottle in her hand. “Oh, Grandpa, I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like—”

“It’s all real, what do you call it? Green? Keeps it out of landfills and stuff. I figured that’d be right up your alley, Penny-girl, as big on the environment as you are. And these guys are so hot for it that they’re willing to pay three times the market value. Why do you think I didn’t tell ’em about the auction? I figured you and me, we could sell it together.” He leaned forward in his chair, his face alight with excitement. “And then...well, no lie, Penny, I need every dime I can get for those vultures I call lawyers. I can’t face going to jail. You said you wanted to help me.”

Penelope struggled for the words to tell him no without hurting him. Solid waste? A company that, from the sound of it, used hardly any employees?

“Don’t say no. If you can’t say yes right now, say you’ll think about it, okay? Don’t say no,” Grandpa Murphy urged her. “Just think about it. There’s no rush. No rush at all.”

“I offered to sell to Brandon,” she confessed.

Again he slammed a hand down on the table. With visible effort, he reined his temper back in. “He can’t beat this deal, Penny-girl. And remember, you can’t trust him. Not one whit. He’s the reason I’m in this mess to begin with.”