Hemlock Veils (18 page)

“That’s fine, Mr. Clayton. I accept.”

He, Arne, and Tony—who’d been quiet thus far—watched her. “Just like that?” Tony said.

“Yes.”

He looked back and forth between her and Mr. Clayton. “You…don’t want to read through it, talk more details on the agreement?”

“That would be fine, but my answer won’t change. It could need all new pipes and I’d still take it. Especially at that price.”

“And you…trust Mr. Clayton is being honest with you?”

She looked the man in the eyes, the man with a slight comb-over and pock-marked cheeks. “Do I have a reason not to?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then yes.” She found Mr. Clayton’s eyes, which appeared more attentive than they’d been in the past five minutes. “I trust you, Mr. Clayton.”

He barely nodded. “Very well. As far as earnest money—”

“There’s no need for that.” She swallowed hard at the way he narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry to interrupt again. You said you wanted this to be quick, and I don’t want to waste your time. I have the money. I’ll be paying upfront, right now.”

Tony and Mr. Clayton exchanged a look. “That’s fine,” he said. “Once the check clears—”

“That won’t be necessary either.” She opened the flap of her purse, pulling out the new envelope with the pressed money. “I will be paying in cash. And if it’s all right by you, Mr. Clayton, I’d rather not wait the five to seven days to close. If we can strike this deal, and you have the money in your hand today, I’d like to sign the Sales Agreement so I can get the title as soon as possible.”

He and Tony exchanged another look, and Mr. Clayton nodded. With a sigh of hesitation, Tony reached into his own briefcase, and Mr. Clayton looked back to Elizabeth. “I had Tony ready the Sales Agreement as well, for a case such as this. I also have the title and keys in hand.”

Elizabeth tried not to show the excitement that made her sit taller.

“Can I just…throw something out there?” Tony said, sliding the Sales Agreement—another four-page contract—to Elizabeth. “Ms. Ashton, Henry might be the one I look out for, but I’m here to answer any of
your
questions as well. I’ve seen situations like this end messily. To avoid the mess, I say wait it out and be patient. Have the home inspection, get an appraiser, make a proper written deal, and wait the seven days to close. That way, both your asses are covered.”

“You’re worried about the validity of the money, aren’t you, Mr. Collins?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. With a shifting jaw, he said quietly to Mr. Clayton, as though she wouldn’t be able to hear, “Henry, it’s illegal to discriminate based on a person’s gender. Now, I know you’ve always been more than logical when making business decisions, but this is just rash.”

“You think I’m making this deal because she’s a woman?” His voice wasn’t hushed like Tony’s.

“I think you’re making the deal because she’s an
attractive
woman.” He looked at Elizabeth, whose eyes narrowed. “No disrespect, Ms. Ashton.”

Mr. Clayton seemed unaffected. “I’m making this deal because Ms. Ashton and I don’t see eye-to-eye, and dealing with her gives me a headache, quite frankly. I’d like to make this as short as possible. For her sake and mine. That way we can move on with our lives.”

At least they saw eye-to-eye on
that
.

“The money, Henry…” His voice turned hushed and secretive again, his lips tight.

Mr. Clayton looked at Elizabeth, his eyes penetrating. “Ms. Ashton?”

She had already paper-clipped her money into ten $10,000 sections, and she pulled out two of those now, placing them before Mr. Clayton.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t feel good about this, Henry. What woman carries that kind of cash?”

“It’s no one’s business but my own how I handle my money, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Clayton and Elizabeth studied each other, a strange sort of trust passing between them. It was new, and though she still didn’t respect the man much, it felt nice. In that brief moment, she felt like his equal, rather than a peasant beneath his shoe. And though her next words brought the return of her shame, at least she could speak them with honesty. “The money is legal, Mr. Clayton.”

He nodded, looking down to the contracts. First, he signed the Disclosure Statement.

“Henry,” Tony said, flabbergasted. He looked as though he was refraining from snatching the pen out of Mr. Clayton’s hand. “I’ve never known you to be so reckless. Why?”

“Because, Tony,” Mr. Clayton said in a bored sigh, now signing the Sales Agreement. “Ms. Ashton is one of the most honest people I know, and if she says she’s good for it, I believe her. And because I trust her more than I trust you.”

Wait. He trusted her? What about her troublesome past, how he worried it might follow her here, and how suspicious his eyes had been? He slid the papers to her, and as she reached for them, her hands trembled. She would have bet her blood pressure was through the roof. She took a deep, inconspicuous breath. He passed her his gold pen; it was warm from his hand.

Touching the fine point to the paper, on the line for the buyer to sign, she eased another exhalation from her chest. The pen shook. Mr. Vanderzee, Willem, his blood, the locket, Juan, the hospital: it all ran through her mind. This wasn’t her money, no matter how much Mr. Vanderzee told her so.

“Is everything all right, Ms. Ashton?” Mr. Clayton asked, bringing her out of the spiral in her mind. She met his eyes. “I’m not wrong about trusting you, am I?”

“No, Mr. Clayton.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Thoughts of the house settled upon her. Then the forest around it, calling to her. “There’s no problem.” With that, she signed both contracts, too quickly for her to object yet carefully enough that the signatures looked like her own.

Tony threw up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t advise you.”

Though Mr. Clayton’s eyes locked with Elizabeth’s, he clenched his teeth at Tony’s words. Perhaps he hated him in the way he hated her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Tony pull something else from his briefcase. “The title,” he said with a sigh. “Please sign it, Ms. Ashton, and we’ll get it changed to your name within a couple of days.”

She did, and then Mr. Clayton took a key ring with a single brass-colored key on it from the inside chest pocket of his jacket. The key appeared as old as the cottage. He handed it to her and it came alive in her hand. “As far as the bakery,” he said. “You can pay for the lease a year at a time for thirty-six hundred, or on a month-by-month basis at three-hundred per month. That’s nine dollars per square foot.”

Sensing Mr. Clayton’s impatience, she quickly counted $3,600 and handed it to him. They signed another form. He gave her the same silver keys he’d unlocked the door with. Tony signed the forms as well.

Again Mr. Clayton’s eyes locked with hers. Later, when she was alone, she would attempt to decipher what she saw in them. “I need a moment alone with Ms. Ashton,” he said, never looking at Arne or Tony. They both stood, and when Arne did, he took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it. He smiled the smile she loved, his eyes twinkling. “Our new neighbor,” he said in his passionate voice. She smiled in return.

“Ms. Ashton,” Tony said. “It was a pleasure, I hope.” He eyed Mr. Clayton from the side. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the city, where I have real issues waiting.” He shook his head and was gone without a goodbye to his faithful client, Henry Clayton.

When he and Arne left, Mr. Clayton leaned forward on his elbows, removed his reading glasses, and stared into her eyes. Her chest fluttered, making her swallow hard. A strand of his hair fell over his forehead, and she tucked her own behind her ear. It was still wet. “I know you were out alone last night.”

She blinked. “How—?”

“I heard from someone.”

She barely nodded. Eustace, of course.

“Why? Why go out alone?” She didn’t know if she was wrong for sensing desperation in his voice rather than anger.

“I like to walk alone.”

“At night? Here, in the ominous forest?”

“I don’t…view it as ominous, Mr. Clayton.”

With a shifting jaw, he sighed through his nose.

“I didn’t walk into the forest.”

“It doesn’t matter. You were at the edge.”

“Is that a problem?” She became defensive, against her every will not to.

“Yes,” he answered curtly.

“Why?”

“You have a car. Use it. You will not go out alone at night, and
especially
not in the forest. That’s the other part of our deal, the part I couldn’t put in writing. If you want the house, that’s the condition. If you can’t agree to it, I’ll call Tony and have him shred the contracts now.”

“There’s no need for that, Mr. Clayton.”

“Then do we have a deal?”

She eyed him warily, studied the way his eyes smoldered. They held a depth, one that was ever so familiar. “Yes,” she hardly managed, dying a little inside. She pulled her brow together in response to the way such a restriction shackled her. “I won’t go out at night by myself.”

He reached his large hand toward her, and hesitantly, she took it. His shake was firm and his palm warm. Her hand appeared lost within his. “If there’s one thing I know about you,” he said, “it’s that you’ll stay true to your word, Ms. Ashton. I trust you’ll take this handshake as a binding contract.”

She nodded, and still he held her hand. For the briefest instant, her chest heated in the exhilarating way she’d rarely felt, but he pulled his hand away quickly and stood, making her forget about it. She stood, too, again with difficulty. “Mr. Clayton, may I ask
how
you know that about me?”

“Aside from the comments from Frank Vanderzee?”

Her eyes widened. “You called Mr. Vanderzee?”

“I had to get a reference.”

“And,” she started, swallowing. She folded her arms, attempting casualness. “What did he say?”

“You’re getting the house and bakery, Ms. Ashton. What do you think?”

Flabbergasted, she looked to the side.

“Does that surprise you?”

Her eyes shot to his. “No, I just…Well, yes. I didn’t think he was very fond of me.”

“On the contrary. He had nothing but good words. More of his direct ones were that I would be a fool not to allow this. That you were the most trustworthy person he’s ever had the privilege to know—his…Everything Girl, I believe he put it.”

Her eyes warmed and she looked away, attempting to keep it inside like she always did. In that instant, she felt even more undeserving of this fresh start than she had before.

“But,” he said, bringing her attention back to him. “It wasn’t Frank who convinced me. He only confirmed what I already knew. I may not like you, and vice versa, but you’re not the only one who’s a good judge of character. So don’t make me regret my decision.”

She didn’t understand, not about his sudden trust in her
or
about Mr. Vanderzee. And she couldn’t help her mind from slipping back to the dark night of her brother’s death.

Mr. Clayton began to leave, interrupting her memory just briefly. He paused halfway out the door, the rain raging. “And Ms. Ashton? Welcome to Hemlock Veils.”

***

Elizabeth rode the escalator from the underground garage at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. She’d been here once before with Willem—three years ago, on one of his sober days. She had wanted to take him somewhere upbeat for dinner, somewhere with a cheerful atmosphere. She knew it would be, too, just from seeing the vibrant blue-and-silver lights from the underground. They had admired the artwork while on that very escalator, and when they reached the top, the warm nighttime air had been buzzing with life. A stone gazebo stood at the top and, true to its name, a mariachi band played a festive tune. A few people even danced around it and Willem had laughed. As far as Elizabeth could recall, it was the last time she’d heard that throaty laugh.

Now, when reaching the warmer-than-usual midnight air atop the underground and seeing that once beautiful stone gazebo, she loathed this place, and would from here on out. This place that was usually crawling with people was dead in the early, dark hours of the morning. This place with artwork-patterned concrete and happy memories would change Elizabeth forever, would label her a dishonest, disloyal, pathetic human being.

Two dark figures stood in the gazebo, huddled and backlit by a single street lamp. She approached with heavy feet. Her stomach began to rise again, but she swallowed and forced bravery. For Willem. For the men who wanted him dead.

Withdrawing the money had been easier than she’d expected. At her meeting that afternoon with Mr. Fluckiger, he hadn’t even batted an eye when she requested the withdrawal. Inside she panicked, but on the outside she acted as the cool, stiff businesswoman Mr. Vanderzee always requested she be. She had it all planned out. Over the coming months, she would slowly refill Mr. Vanderzee’s third account with her own income and Mr. Vanderzee would be none the wiser. It had stupid written all over it, and she deserved to be put away. In fact, she expected it, mentally prepared herself for it. In some ways, going to prison would be best. That way, her internal commitment to remove herself from Willem’s life after tonight would be easier to keep.

She recognized Willem as the hunched figure in the gazebo. They turned to her and he released a nervous breath, running a hand over his head that still managed to glisten. “Beth, I knew you’d come.” He turned to the Hispanic man who looked more like a boy than a man, head shaved and mustache thin. “I told you she’d come.”

Elizabeth took the steps that put her under the gazebo’s roof. Her hands were in her sweater pockets and her hood over her head. She sweltered inside it, yet felt too exposed. “Why this place?” she asked, directing her question at the man she assumed was Juan. “Why here?”

Juan shrugged, lifting his chin. He wore a white t-shirt and black baggy pants, and above his ear a tattoo she couldn’t decipher. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I know my man, Will, loves it here.” He wrapped his arm around Willem, making him cower. “Ain’t that right, Will? Good memories with your sis?”