Leaving Carolina (30 page)

Fifty thousand dollars won’t go
that
far.

She grabs me and hugs me so tight my ribs creak. “This has been some day. Know what I’m goin’ to do after work?” She jumps up. “I’m gonna get me one of them expensive ice creams where they mix in gummy bears and Oreo cookies on a marble slab.”

Gummy bears and Oreo cookies?

“Normally I treat myself only once a month, and I’ve already had mine for the month—” She gasps. “That reminds me. When I was at the ice cream shop last week, a lady there was askin’ about you.”

A distant alarm goes off. “Someone who lives in Pickwick?”

“If she does, I haven’t seen her before. She also had one of those accents like they got up north. You know where they say ‘pok’ for park,’ like the Kennedys.”

The alarm is no longer distant. “A New England accent?”

“I think so.”

Could it be Janet Farr, or is this coincidence?
Lord, please let it be coincidence
. “Who was she asking about me?”

“Me. Said she’d heard I’d been hired on at the Pickwick mansion. Was real friendlylike. Even paid for my ice cream.”

Not coincidence. “What did she ask about me?”

“Oh, like why did you leave Pickwick, why are you back, why did you change your name to Wick, are you datin’ anyone. That kind of stuff.”

I feel each beat of my heart. “What did you tell her?”

“Mostly that I didn’t know, though I did say that your uncle had surgery and you were helpin’ him to get back on his feet.”

Fairly benign. “Have you seen her since?” At the shake of her head, I ask, “Did she mention her name?”

“Just her first: Jane.” She frowns. “Or maybe it was Janet.” She shrugs. “One or the other.”

Actually, both. Janet Farr, who tried to get information out of Celine about me, and Jane Farredy, who wrote the article questioning Grant’s sexuality, are undoubtedly the same. And she’s in Pickwick—or
was
.

“So you wanna join me for an ice cream, Piper?”

I shake my head. “Thank you, but maybe another time. I need to talk to Axel.”

Her eyes flick to the box. “You aren’t goin’ to press charges, are you?”

“No, I’m sure Uncle Obe asked him to bring the box here to keep an eye on it.”

“You could be right.” She flounces to the door.

“Trinity?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s keep the matter of my uncle’s will just between us, hmm?”

Her face grows serious. “You can count on me.”

Can I? Not that I think she would intentionally blab. “And if you run into Janet or Jane again, would you let me know?”

“I sure will.”

“Also, I may be here awhile, so would you check on Uncle Obe in case he wakes up and needs something?”

“You bet.”

I hear her break into song as she heads down the hill.

Janet Farr/Jane Farredy, what besides my connection to the Pickwicks and my Southern roots are you trying to dig up? My scandalous Lady Godiva ride?
Of course, now that Grant is dating someone else, maybe she’s moved on. Yes, I’m going to hang my hat on that. I have to because my plate is too full as it is.

I retrieve the list of beneficiaries and focus on the dollar amount beside Trinity’s name. At one point it was twenty-five thousand, then thirty, now fifty. How did Uncle Obe arrive at that number? More, how can I stand by and let him pay my debt?

Blowing a breath up my face, I look up. “Lord, this is going to hurt.”

A
xel’s back. Unfortunately, as absorbed as I was in the contents of the box, I didn’t hear him drive up.

I start to rise from the desk, but when the floor creaks a second time as he walks down the hallway, I fold my hands atop the folder that contains documentation of Uncle Obe’s assets, one of which was more than a little eyeopening. When Axel heads into the bedroom across the hall, it’s obvious he’s unaware of my presence.

I draw a breath to announce myself, but he halts, turns, and locks eyes with me. And I feel as guilty as a thief with a hand stuck in a victim’s pocket.

He scans his desk, the orderliness of which has been overturned. “I see.”

I lift my chin. “So do I.”

He steps into the room. “I’m surprised.”

I wish his eyes were Blue. Though I knew it wouldn’t look good if he found me here, adding to the bad impression made when I didn’t refute that his prosthetic bothers me, I didn’t want to turn my discovery into a game. Me and my high ideals.

“Of course”—his nostrils flare—“all that’s missing are night-vision goggles.”

That stings. “I am not like Bart or Luc.”

“No.” He pushes aside the scattered folders, places his palms on the desk, and leans in. “Where they failed, you succeeded. You’re entirely different, Piper
Wick
.“

I tense from the roots of my hair to my toes.
What would Piper advise?
That I measure my words. I point to the folders. “This is not what I came for.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I came for—” How could I forget? I jerk my hands up and examine my wrists and lower arms. Still no angry rash. Maybe I am immune. Wait! The itch is back.

I shove the chair back. “I need your lotion.”

“What?”

I thrust my arms out to reveal skin ripe for ruin. “I got into poison ivy, which is
your
fault for not keeping that bloodsucker out of the daisies.”

I almost feel sorry for Axel, who has to edit the accusation on his face to make room for confusion.

I come around the desk. “Uncle Obe said you have a lotion that removes the oils.”

“It’s in the kitchen. What happened to your nose?”

The scratch. “I think it brushed against the ivy when I sniffed the daisies. It started itching—” Like it is now. I rub it with the back of my hand. “Do you mind?”

Shortly I stand before the kitchen sink, rubbing the lotion into my hands, lower arms, and nose. “It’s probably too late. It’s been over two hours.”

“As long as you catch it within the first few hours, it usually works.” Axel reaches past me and turns on the faucet. “Okay, rinse.”

“Shouldn’t I leave it on awhile?”

“It only takes a couple of minutes.”

To be certain, I rub another minute before sticking my hands under the cool water.

Axel hands me a towel, and as I pat my skin, he leans back against the counter. “Let’s talk about what you were doing in my office.”

I step to the small table and take a chair. When he remains standing, I grudgingly concede the advantage to him. “I didn’t come looking for those papers. And, yes, I went through them.” Should I mention Trinity found them? No, it’s an unnecessary detail that would only muddy the water. “You know what’s in there, don’t you?”

“From what your uncle has shared with me, I have a good idea.”

I press my shoulders back. “Who, besides you, knows of his dementia?”

“His pastor, Artemis, and now you.”

“What about Maggie and Bridget?”

“I don’t think their brothers have mentioned their suspicions to them.”

I frown. “Where did their suspicions come from?”

“The medication your uncle started taking after his diagnosis. It slows the advance of the disease.” He leans farther back and puts his prosthetic ankle over the other. “The day Obe called the family together to discuss his will and before they arrived, I was in his hospital room with him. The doctor asked if Obe was taking any
medications. Shortly after your uncle gave him the name of the one for dementia, I stepped out of the room. And into Luc. My guess is he was there awhile.”

Good ol’ Luc.

“Are you going to tell Luc so he can try to take away your uncle’s right to do with his money as he wishes, thereby preserving the family’s inheritance
and
their secrets? Including yours?”

I can’t believe he thinks so low of me. I stand. “Obviously I’ve made a bad impression on you. Though I don’t like that my uncle’s plan to make restitution could lead to embarrassing revelations, I would never take this to Luc.” I raise my chin higher. “But even if he did get ahold of that box, I don’t believe it can be proven that Uncle Obe is yet at a place where he’s incapable of making sound decisions.”

“Your cousin would try. If there’s a hole he can crawl through, he will, and I don’t want your uncle to be deluged with lawyers, tests, the media.”

“Neither do I, which is why I’ve been looking over his assets.”

Cynicism crimps Axel’s mouth.

I scowl. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt him.”

“I’d like to believe you.”

“And I’d like to think you’re part of the solution!”

“Which is?”

“I—” I roll my eyes. “I don’t have it all worked out, but let me show you.”

He follows me back to his office, where I open the assets folder. “Earlier today Uncle Obe and I discussed his son and daughter, and he decided to make things right with them before he passes away.”

“Just like that?”

I look up and realize we’re side by side. I should have felt that. I do now. “No, not
just like that
. Maggie and Devyn dropped by, and it was obvious they’d had a disagreement.”

“They’ve been butting heads recently.”

Who is this man? And how is he so plugged into my family? Er, the Pickwicks. “Then you know Devyn is pressuring my cousin to reveal who her father is.”

“Yes.”

“And you know this how?”

“They’ve shared their frustrations with me.”

“Why?”

“I’m a good listener.”

I recall his exchange with Bridget in the garden when I felt the creep of jealousy. “Are you Bridget’s confidant as well?”

“To a lesser degree. She’s shut herself up since her husband’s death, but from time to time she likes to talk.”

“Is that all?” I can’t believe I said that.

Axel smiles. “You’re asking if she and I are involved?”

“No!”

“Liar.”

I throw my hands up. “Let’s get back on track here.”

“Sure, but to clear the air, Bridget and I are not involved.”

I drop my chin for fear my relief will show, which could prove precarious now that Grant is no longer between us. “Anyway, Uncle Obe told Maggie that the longer she put off telling Devyn about her father, the more resentment there would be. Then he quoted Scripture about concealing sin. I think that’s when he realized he needs to make peace with his children now.”

“I hope he goes through with it. He’s talked about contacting them, but he always concludes it’s better to imagine they would be receptive to reconciliation than to have it disproved.” Axel looks at the folders. “Tell me about your solution.”

I open the one that contains the will. “The current will remains in effect.” Feeling tension rise off him, I hurry on. “With two additions: Uncle Obe’s son and daughter.”

“What about those he wants to add as beneficiaries?”

“Just as he has decided to reconnect with Antonio and Daisy prior to his passing, he wants to make amends to the others now-Well, in the near future.”

His tension eases slightly. “You do realize that means selling the estate.”

“That’s what I thought, but maybe not.” I slide the list of assets in front of him. “A good deal of the restitution can be made without affecting his ability to remain in his home, at least for a while. There’s not much liquidity, but he has assets separate from the mansion and acreage that can be sold for a decent amount, especially in Pickwick’s current market.”

I run a finger down the list and hesitate as I did when I first saw the name of the property at Promenade Place, where I grew up—the eyeopener. As the date of acquisition coincides with the date the bank auctioned it out from under my mom, it’s obvious Uncle Obe was our knight in shining armor. And I wouldn’t be surprised if we lived there rent-free during our last years in Pickwick.

“According to current market values, this house should sell for nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Then there’s the old movie theater on the square. Last year, the pharmacy opposite it sold for
three hundred and fifty thousand dollars—and it’s half the square footage of the theater.”

“That’s where Maggie’s auction house is located.”

I look up. “In the theater?”

He nods. “I don’t know the terms of the lease that Artemis drew up, but it could be a problem.”

It could, and I certainly don’t want to cause Maggie any problems. See—trying to keep the peace. “Well, there are other assets, so we may not have to rock that boat.” Big “maybe” as the theater is a large chunk. I trail my finger past items that will bring in far less but add up nicely. “There’s the antique farm equipment.” I glance at Axel. “Presumably in the barn by the pond.”

“Yes.”

“Most of it won’t bring much, but three of the tractors are highly sought-after collectibles.” I turn the page. “There are the books in the library—some rare first-print editions that could easily go for thousands each. And these are only the ones Uncle Obe listed as assets. There are probably more.”

“I assume you plan on enlisting Maggie’s help. She’s good at getting top dollar for other people’s castoffs, and I believe your uncle would approve.”

I hadn’t considered that, but it would be nice to have an expert on board with a stake in getting the best for all concerned. Of course, if the theater does have to be sold, that could get sticky. I straighten. “I’ll talk to her.”