Legacy (44 page)

The dew-covered lawn at the front of Graybar's Castle was deserted, so I rode around to the back. There, not far from the rear entrance, a table had been set up at the edge of the grass. About fifteen men stood in small groups close by, watching what looked to be an argument between Sheriff Burnside and Steven Graybar.

One of the sheriffs men stepped forward and took my horse after I dismounted. Quickly I walked over to the table where the sheriff, a plain man, jug-eared and sandy-haired, who had been a carpenter until two years ago, was speaking with his usual forthright, no-nonsense firmness. ' . . . can't see how. The law is the law, and it says that all your father's money is now in the hands of the state.'

'But I've just told you that this money is mine. It has nothing to do with him.' Steven's face looked drawn, older by years than when I had last seen him. The eyes flickered when he saw me approach, and he nodded a greeting. But the sheriff was holding to his point.

'I know that's what you're tellin' me, but can you prove it? Seems to me this ain't the place to go takin' someone's word, especially in view of the circumstances we got here. If Brad Graybar managed to run off with two hundred thousand dollars that we know about, who's to say that he hasn't managed to get some of it back to you? Seems to me we can't have you biddin' with what might be some of those missin'..."

'But you can't prove this is anything but my money! You can't bar me from this sale without any evidence! I've as much right as anyone to be here and to bid as much as I've got.'

'I don't agree. I just don't see how I can allow . . .'

'Pardon me, sheriff,' I interrupted. 'I think I understand the drift of this conversation. Could you tell me how much money is involved here?'

'Why, yes, Miss Rawlings, it's sixty-five thous—'

His eyes blazing, Steven cut in. 'You can't tell her that! You're giving her an unfair advantage.'

'We'd all find out sooner or later, Steven,' I replied, surprised at the way I was able to keep my voice under control. 'I think it might settle things more rapidly then, sheriff, if I just opened the bidding at sixty-six thousand.'

Steven clamped his jaw tightly shut and turned away. How much easier it was, I thought, to deal with him out here, where there were other people around!

Sheriff Burnside let out his breath in a low whistle. 'Well, now, I guess that would do it, at that.' He tugged at one of his freckled ears, his lips pressed together as he thought some more. 'But all the same, Mr. Graybar, I'm going to have to investigate where you got that money. I'll want to see you right after we're through up here.'

Surprisingly, Steven simply nodded assent. He remained where he stood while the sheriff went over to the back door to speak with the auctioneer.

I found myself moving towards Steven. 'I hope you didn't think there was anything personal involved,' I began. 'It's just that I'm prepared to pay more than. . .'

'You don't have to apologize. You've always wanted the place, and so have I - not this goddamned castle of Brad's but the mountain. I don't blame you. But I do know this. You're making a mistake.' He stared out at the oak tree as he spoke, his features barely moving.

'Mistake?' I had to be careful, I told myself. I was not going to let him come close and try to manipulate me.

'With Justin McKay. You don't love him. I could see that the night you were with him in front of your house.'

I tried to find the right words to say, but the old familiar warmth was beginning to make itself felt. No! I had made my choice. 'I don't think that's your concern, Steven. Your opinion. . .'

'Doesn't count, I know. You've tried to make that clear. But you don't believe it. And sooner or later you'll see that Justin McKay isn't the paragon he pretends to be.'

'I'll thank you to keep your . . .'

'Come on, Catherine, you see it yourself, only you won't admit it. Something in you sees it. Why do you think you're holding back from him? You were that night, and I'll wager that you still are. Your own instincts tell you . . .'

'I've heard enough, Steven. You're impossible, and you're wrong.'

'We'll see about that,' he said laconically. Then he glanced at the crowd that was beginning to form at the rear entrance and around the auctioneer and Sheriff Burnside. 'I'm sure you'll pardon me if I don't accompany the inspection tour of the premises. Please feel free to join them if you're tired of my company.'

He strode away on to the lawn before I could reply, leaving me to join the inspection party. He still had the same outrageous confidence! As if he were able to read my thoughts! Well, he was not to change my decision no matter what he said. I would have a look at the house now. That would make Mrs. Jennings happy. Then when we came out for the bidding I would have the house . . .

I gave a last look around the side of the house for Billy Joe and Layton, but there was still no sign of either one. Well, it was barely seven. Layton had promised to be here at seven-fifteen, regardless. There was no point in worrying.

Inside the house the group moved rapidly from room to room, barely stopping to take in any of the details. I guessed this was to be expected. Those who were about to bid on the entire house and mountain were not likely to be influenced by the furniture or the woodwork. I scanned the faces, trying to decide who was here to bid, who was here out of curiosity, and who, as Billy Joe would have been, had he arrived on time, was here to guard the cash that the bidders had to have available to claim their purchase. There seemed to be only two bidders besides myself, judging from the cut of their clothes and their manner.

But then as we entered the basement, with its stores of preserved food, kerosene, and firewood, I recognized the disagreeable, thin-faced stare of Mr. Elliot, the Philadelphia banker.

'Well, Mr. Elliot, I had thought Philadelphia Federal had given up speculation in Grampian.'

'We look for good investments wherever we can find them, Miss Rawlings.' He returned his gaze to the heavy oak ceiling timbers, clearly indicating that he wished no further conversation.

My sentiments exactly, I thought. But if Elliot liked what he saw, and if he had brought the cash to outbid me ... I went upstairs to see if Layton had arrived.

With relief I saw both Layton and Billy Joe waiting for me out on the back lawn.

Billy Joe made his apologies for being late. He had been up all night, he said. He had found Red Campbell. Just the mention of that name left me shaken, but quickly I pulled myself together.

'You can tell me all about it after the sale, Billy Joe, because there's no time now. We have to get more cash up here, and quickly.' I explained to Layton that a banker was here, a man who had opposed me in the past.

He lofted his eyebrows. 'You think we'll need the full hundred and fifty?' That was the amount the bank was authorized to lend me.

I nodded. 'It's not worth taking the risk. You can leave what you've brought with me.'

So down the hill they both went. It was a three-mile ride to the bank. With luck they would be back in less than a half hour.

Fifteen minutes later the small crowd had assembled again in the back and the sheriff was rapping his gavel on the table to bring the group to order. After taking a few more minutes to read the official proclamation of the sale with the terms and conditions of the auction, he turned the gavel over to Ulys Muskie, the local auctioneer. Ulys turned his old bloodhound eyes on us. 'Howdy, folks. Remember, raise your hands to bid - no other signals. And I've got a bid of sixty-six thousand to start.'

A ripple of surprise went through the crowd when they heard that the starting figure was so high, but Ulys paid them no heed. 'So, sixty-six. Now, who'll give me seventy, who'll give me seventy?'

There was silence for a moment. Then to my right, about twenty feet away, I saw Mr. Elliot raise his hand.

At seventy-five, no one was bidding but Elliot and me. We went steadily upward.

'Ninety. Who'll give me ninety-two?'

At one hundred thousand I hesitated, but then I went on. Layton was sure to be back with the rest of the money.

Around us the crowd buzzed each time a new bid was made, especially if the rise was greater or less than the one that had just been made.

At one hundred and ten, I saw Layton ride around the corner of the house. He nodded a 'yes' to me as he reined to a stop.

'One hundred twenty,' I said.

A small cheer went up from the crowd, which by this time had decided that they wanted me to win the contest. Elliot gave them an icy stare.

He held up his hand.

His words were precise, every syllable clipped. 'One hundred fifty-five thousand.'

I felt as though I had been struck on the back of the head. 'No!' I gasped. 'He can't have . . . Layton . . .'

Layton looked helplessly at Elliot and then at me as he hurried to my side. 'That's five thousand more than what we've got, Miss Rawlings. I've got a few hundred of my own with me, and you're welcome to that, but five thousand . . .' His brow furrowed in concern as he shook his head.

How could this be happening? Absurdly, the thought crossed my mind that one hundred and fifty-five thousand was really too much for an out-of-town bank to pay for an investment like this, especially since the bank could not hope to develop it into real estate of any value without my cooperation. No one would build up here these days without a gas line, and I controlled the gas company. I could see to it that a gas line for Legacy was never put in. But what good did that do me?

'One hundred fifty-five. Who'll give me one sixty?' Ulys was speaking more slowly now, the only hint of reaction he showed to my obvious distress at what had happened. Around me the crowd murmurs had died down. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting, expectant, sensing that the end was near.

'One fifty-five. Who'll give me one fifty-eight?'

'Who is that old bastard?' Steven's voice came from behind me. 'What the hell does he want with this place?'

I whispered the words. 'He's a Philadelphia banker. He tried to stop me before. Philadelphia First was the only bank that wouldn't continue Father's loans, and this man's the one who made the refusal. And now he's doing it again,' I said, my voice beginning to break.

'But why?'

'One fifty-eight, gimme fifty-eight. Who'll give me fifty- eight?'

'I don't know why, I tell you! I just don't understand what he's . . .' The tears came up in a blur and I could not finish.

'Going once at one fifty-five. Are you all through, fifty-five? Fifty-eight, do I hear fifty-eight?'

'Bid one sixty.' Steven gripped my arm, hard. 'Do you hear me? Bid one sixty.'

Disbelief and happiness flooded through me all at once for a moment. Steven was going to help! But then, just as suddenly, came the realization that I could not accept. I bit my lip, wanting to cry with frustration.

'Didn't you hear me? Goddamn it, bid! One sixty!'

'I can't, Steven! I haven't got it!' Lord, how it hurt to do this. 'I can't take a gift from you!'

'Goin' twice, now, goin' twice, one fifty-five, are you done?'

It's a loan, you stubborn fool! I'll be charging you interest!'

'Steven, it can't change anything! I'm still . . . '

He whirled me around to face him, his dark eyes cold and intent, his voice low and hard.

'I'm not asking you to change. Go on and bid now. It's better that you have it than him! Don't you see that? Now bid!'