Leaving Carolina (35 page)

So Trinity told Bart, and Bart told Luc. “I’m assuming you also told Bart the name of the doctor who made the diagnosis.”

“I may have, though I don’t recall his name. Dr. Die maybe?”

Demontia
for
dementia. Die
for
Dyer
.

“Piper, if I don’t get back to my sundae, Bart is gonna scarf it all down. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

Time to pay my ponytailed gardener a visit.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was Trinity who found the box?” Axel finally speaks.

I stare at where he’s pulling weeds in the flower bed, as he was doing when I found him here. In all that time, he looked around once—when I first appeared—and his face was impassive. What is it now?

“It didn’t seem important, since I thought the file for Uncle Obe’s will was the only one she’d seen, specifically the list of new beneficiaries.”

“Was that before or after you decided to personally make restitution and marked out her name?”

“Before.”

He looks over his shoulder. “Does she know the reason your uncle wanted to add her to his will?”

Does Axel? Has he put two and two together? “No.”

He returns to redistributing the dirt disturbed by the removal of weeds. “So what now?” Wiping his hands on his jeans, he stands. “And what are you going to do about this reporter who followed you to Pickwick?”

I curl my fingers into my palms to override the impulse to wipe the dirt from his jaw. “The reporter? Nothing. All she can say is that I’m a Pickwick and that for a while it appeared that Grant and I were thinking beyond a business relationship.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Meaning you no longer are?”

“He’s on his way back to Colorado.”

He cants his head. “That was a quick visit.”

“He
is
just my client, Axel, and he accepts that now.”

I wish he looked like he believed me—that his blue eyes would be Blue. “As for Uncle Obe’s will, we’re going forward with the plan to sell his assets and make restitution.”

“Under the guise of philanthropy.”

Guise
. I don’t like that word. “Where possible.”

“And hope Luc takes the threat of Antonio and Daisy seriously.”

“I’m banking on it.”

Axel wipes the moisture from his brow with a muscled forearm. “How much longer are you in Pickwick?”

“I’ve made arrangements to return to L.A. this coming Sunday.” Speaking it aloud almost takes my breath away. It seems that this time when I leave, I won’t mind taking some of the Pickwick dust with me, as Celine suggested. “But I will be back however often it takes to see this through.”

“Your uncle will appreciate that.”

Only my uncle?

Axel turns away. “It’s time for me to pick up Obe.”

That’s it? “Thank you.” I hope he’ll look back, but then he’s gone, and I miss his broad shoulders, rubber-banded hair, and even the hitch in his stride.

A
ny questions?” Uncle Obe peers at his family gathered in the library.

I’m proud of him. Everything is out in the open—Antonio and Daisy, his plan to contact them (if he ever gets past the rough-draft stage of the letter he’s writing), the liquidation of the estate, the plan to make restitution, and his dementia.

Throughout the telling, Artemis stood in the doorway, shaking his head and wrinkling his cruise-tanned brow. I didn’t achieve what he summoned me home to do, but I believe I did better. And the papers Uncle Obe had Artemis draw up this week empower me to see it through.

Devyn lifts her head from Uncle Obe’s shoulder. “Oh, Unc-Unc, I’m sorry your mind is going south.”

Exactly how he expressed it—going south like birds for the winter. Of course, Luc had to point out that
these
birds aren’t returning. Ever.

“But it’s great what you’re doing.” Devyn pats his jaw that I helped shave this morning in preparation for the Fourth of July celebration, where he’ll announce his plans for a new statue.

“Well, I don’t like it,” says Adele. “What’s done is done, and I say we move forward from here.”

Luc’s hand shoots up. “I agree.” He glances at Bart.

Bart shrugs and flops a hand into the air. “Bygones be bygones.”

His parents, Bartholomew and Belinda, also raise their hands, and the former says, “Amen to that.”

I glance at Bridget, but her arms are crossed over her chest as she stands on the lower rung of the book ladder. And Maggie?

“I don’t know, Uncle Obe,” Maggie says. “I understand your reasoning and that it’s the right thing to do, but I worry about…” Her gaze flicks to her daughter. “I believe Piper has the ability to make the best of a bad situation, but this could open a can of worms that some of us aren’t prepared to deal with.”

Devyn sits tall on the arm of Uncle Obe’s chair. “If you’re talking about me, I did just turn twelve, so I can handle it. In fact—” She whips her head around and pins Uncle Obe with her eyes. “I think you should forget about prettying it all up, no offense to Miss Piper. Come clean and be done with it.”

“Devyn!” Adele screeches. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, child. You shouldn’t even be here.”

The hurt that fastens onto the girl’s face stirs resentment in me.
Be a peacemaker. Peace. Maker
.

“I think Devyn may be right,” Axel says from somewhere behind me.

I momentarily close my eyes at the sound of his voice, which has been mostly absent for the past six days as we’ve avoided each other.

“This isn’t a game,” he continues. “It’s life, and it ought to be accorded the respect it’s due, beginning with honesty.”

If only it were that easy…

Gasping like a fish on the rocks, Adele stares at him. I’m sure
she’s tempted to give him a verbal smack, but it’s Maggie she turns on. “Do something about your daughter, Magdalene. Send her outside or sit her in front of a television while we discuss what is only fit for adults to discuss.”

Maggie is ten feet from me, sitting beside her mother on the sofa, but I feel her anger. “If Devyn wants to stay, then—”

“Shouldn’t this just be family, Obadiah?” Uncle Bartholomew glares at Axel.

Uncle Obe raises a hand to calm the seething masses. “As far as I’m concerned, Axel
is
family, and he’s as welcome here as the rest of you—including my great-niece.” He pats Devyn’s shoulder.

There is gnashing of teeth, but no one else protests.

“So that’s the plan,” Uncle Obe concludes.

“Fine,” Luc says. “Let’s take a vote. All in favor of leaving the estate intact, raise your hand.” He thrusts his into the air, as does Adele, Bartholomew, Belinda, and Bart, though the latter with what appears to be flagging enthusiasm.

Uncle Obe clears his throat. “I’m sorry if you misunderstand, Luc, but this is not a… a…” He squeezes his eyes closed. “… democracy I’m simply doing you the courtesy of making you aware of what I
am
doing.”

Luc’s color brightens. “You’re making a mistake. Now I don’t want to have to—”

“And I don’t want to have to threaten my own family.” My uncle sits forward, causing Devyn to adjust her seat on the chair’s arm. “But either you nip in the bud any thought of having me declared mentally incompetent, Lucas Lee Pickwick, or I’ll write you out of my will.”

“But if you aren’t competent—”

“I am, as proven by tests run this week.”

It’s true. Though I didn’t tell Uncle Obe about my run-in with Luc on Sunday, I strongly advised him to return to Dr. Dyer and undergo further testing as a precaution against any attempts to contest his mental competence now or later. He said he wanted to discuss it with Axel and would get back to me. To my surprise, that same day he agreed. The results arrived yesterday, and they showed a decline since the initial testing, but the doctor and his colleagues feel that Uncle Obe is still capable of making decisions about his affairs.

After much exchanging of glances between those who have grudgingly lowered their hands, Uncle Obe says, “Thank you all for coming. Now I need to get ready for the celebration.”

Devyn slips off the chair arm, leans in, whispers something that makes him smile, and then hurries to where her mother is waiting. “I’ll see you at the parade,” she says to me as she and Maggie leave the library.

I still can’t believe that the one thing I wanted to avoid will soon come to pass. “I’ll see you there.”

Bart is the last of my Pickwick relatives to exit the library, but no sooner does he leave than my uncle calls to him. He ducks his head back in. “Uncle Obe?”

“I have something for you.” He motions my cousin forward.

Bart’s face brightens as he hurries across the library. “I’m honored, Uncle.” He halts before the desk and gives his shirt a tug, as if preparing to receive an award.

Uncle Obe opens a drawer and pulls out something I haven’t
seen in weeks. “Funny thing”—he turns the binocular-eyed object in his hands—“but I found these here in the library last week.”

Bart stiffens a moment before his shoulders slump, as if in preparation to receive a prison sentence.

Though I did put the night-vision goggles in the drawer, I didn’t say anything to Uncle Obe about that night. Did Axel? I look around, and he shakes his head. Hmm. Words may elude my uncle from time to time, but he’s definitely not in the dark.

“Don’t know where they came from,” he continues, “but they immediately made me think of you.”

I hear Bart swallow, a gulp so cartoonish I would laugh if not that I feel for him.

“Here.” Uncle Obe extends the goggles across the desk. “I know you like gadgets. Maybe you can find a use for them.”

Bart takes the goggles from him. “Th-thank you, Uncle Obe.”

“You’re welcome.”

Turning, Bart frowns at me. I shake my head, as does Axel. Suddenly animated, my cousin hurries from the library.

I look at Uncle Obe, who just smiles.

“I’ll pick up Piper and you at six,” Axel says.

“That’ll be good.” Uncle Obe nods.

Then it’s just me and my uncle, but before I can ask about the goggles, he says, “He’s a fine man. A pity you’re going back to Los Angeles.”

Despite the obvious tension between Axel and me, he’s still trying to match us. “It is where I live, Uncle Obe.”

“Yes, but this is
home
.” Using his cane, he levers up and comes
around the desk. “And you’re going to miss us more than you realize. But at least you’ll be coming back from time to time.”

And maybe not only when necessary.

Uncle Obe halts before me. “Do you think our meeting went well?”

“I do, and if Luc and the others have an ounce of logic, they’ll back down.”

He chuckles. “I’ve got them by their belt loops.” He hooks an arm through mine and we exit the library. “Have you spoken to Trinity’s grandmother yet?”

I didn’t intend to tell him about that. However, when Trinity reminded me of my promise yesterday in hopes my support of her innocence would clear the way for her to attend the parade with her grandmother’s blessing, he overheard. Thus, I spilled on everything, including the discovery of the box.

Once his anger resolved, he said my peace of mind would be better served by simply telling the truth. I know he’s right, but I also know that the chances of Trinity and her grandmother keeping quiet about my Lady Godiva ride are slim.

I shouldn’t care what anyone thinks of me, especially since Janet Farr/Jane Farredy has returned to Colorado, according to Grant, but I do. And, of course, if my scandalous ride were to come to light, it could still reflect poorly on Grant.

“Have you spoken to her?” Uncle Obe prompts.

“Not yet, but I’ll talk to her tomorrow before I leave Pickwick.”

“That’s cutting it close. Of course, that probably suits you fine should Mrs. Templeton not take kindly to your
opinion
about her granddaughter’s Lady Godiva impersonation.”

Exactly.

We halt before Uncle Obe’s bedroom, and when he looks at me, his eyes are intense beneath silvered eyebrows. “Peace of m-mind is what I’m looking for, Piper, especially as I don’t have much looking forward to look forward to.” He squeezes my forearm. “Though I’m willing to give this philanthropy idea a try, I can’t help but think Devyn has it right.”

Neither can I. I lay a hand over his and return the squeeze. “It will all work out.” I only wish I believed God would work it for the good of those who love Him…

Uncle Obe stares at me and then chuckles. “That Devyn. She reminds me of you when you were a girl. No airs or pretensions. Just who you see is who you get.”

Which is no longer true of me.

He nods. “Real. I like that.”

I wish there were a place for that in my world, but being real is akin to exposing one’s underbelly in a den of predators. You don’t get out alive.

Which wouldn’t be an issue if you stayed out of the den in the first place
.