More Than Great Riches (4 page)

No sweat. The Davises won’t mind picking up the boys. I’ve hauled their kids all over town
many times.

She had rewarded Leif’s kindness today with the silent treatment most of the way back from
Boston. She groped for something—anything—to say. Did Luke hurt his ankle?

For the first time since she met him, Leif smiled. That smile transformed his whole face.
His eyes crinkled and deep creases in his cheeks bracketed his mouth. He was gorgeous when
he smiled.

It’s just a slight sprain. Luke is always among the walking wounded. He’s a disaster
magnet.

She heard the pride and affection in his voice as he talked about the boy.

How about Mark?

Mark is so well coordinated, I have to wonder how those two could possibly be brothers.

Tracy tried to think of something else to say, but she was wrung dry. She needed to stop
for groceries, but there was no way she would ask Leif for another favor today. Maybe
Maggie could take her to the store in the morning.

She was lost in her thoughts until Leif brought the car to a stop in her driveway. She
managed to dredge up her good manners. Thanks so much for taking me to the hospital.
Seeing Jeff in that condition was hard to take, but ... She had to admit it. But having
you there helped a lot.

Any time, he offered.

His gaze fastened on her face. Was he trying to read her mind? That relentless stare was
like an X-ray.

And he didn’t rush away. He waited while she picked up the mail and unlocked the front
door. She waved as he pulled away and then stood watching as his SUV disappeared. She
should be relieved that she was finally out of the clutches of the law, but she felt a
small twinge of regret. There was something about Leif Ericson. He radiated an aura of
strength and dependability. She hoped his children knew how lucky they were.

But she would be making a serious mistake to lean on the police chief. His chivalry today
was out of his concern for Jeff. Jeff’s sister was an entirely different matter. To Leif,
Tracy Dixon was just another face on a Wanted poster.

Maggie Scalia sat sipping a cup of coffee at the kitchen table while Tracy stowed away her
groceries. Last night, in spite of her exhaustion, Tracy had scrubbed the kitchen clean.
The shabby curtains needed to be replaced, but that would have to wait. She hoped her old
friend would ignore the layers of dust throughout the rest of the house. She vowed to
spend the next few days scouring the place from top to bottom.

A visit with Maggie always lifted her spirits. Standing six foot tall with a head of
flaming red hair and a temper to match, Maggie proudly lived up to her nickname, The
Towering Inferno. With Tracy standing just five foot four, the townspeople labeled them
Mutt and Jeff.

They had done a lot of reminiscing as they made the round trip to the grocery store. Tracy
found herself smiling at some of those memories.

For a brief moment at the store, she experienced the eerie sensation that she was being
followed. But Maggie’s chatter brushed away the cobwebs of paranoia. If someone was
watching her, it had to be one of Leif Ericson’s men waiting to see what she planned to
steal next.

Have you called your mother yet? Maggie asked.

Tracy closed the refrigerator and leaned against the door. I called her last night. She’s
so upset about Jeff, she wants to get on a plane and come right home. But Aunt Grace is
having triple bypass surgery. I convinced Mom to stay there and take care of her sister.
We can all pray for Jeff wherever we are, but the only humans who can do anything for him
are the doctors.

With the groceries in place, Tracy poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the
table.

Maggie eyed her curiously. There’s something else bothering you.

Maggie knew her too well. Tracy hated to unload her troubles on her friend, but the
problems were coming thick and fast. She waved at the thick wad of letters and bills
tucked haphazardly into a paper napkin holder.

Maggie, I’m really scared. I looked through all these utility bills—the electric, the gas,
the phone, the water. They all show the amount of the charges, but they are marked ‘Do Not
Pay.’ Jeff must have some kind of automatic payment system with the bank.

Maggie raised an eyebrow. That doesn’t sound too scary.

I wish. I’m sure Jeff thought he had taken care of everything, so he ignored the bills as
they came in. Tracy picked up one of the papers, holding it by two fingers as though it
were in danger of bursting into flame. This arrived yesterday. She pushed an official
looking notice across the table. It was a communication from the town of Allerton.

Maggie studied the notice and then looked up in shock. His property taxes! They’re
supposed to be paid quarterly, but he hasn’t made a payment for over a year!

Tracy heaved a deep sigh. If I know Jeff, he never even looked at the tax bills. He just
stuffed the notices here with the other bills and forgot about them.

Maggie jumped up and paced a circle around the room. Tracy, you know the town can seize
the house and put it up for auction if the property taxes aren’t paid.

A sharp stab of pain told Tracy her headache was coming back. I know, Mag, but what can I
do? I don’t have five thousand dollars, and that’s miles over the limit on my credit card.
I can check Jeff’s bank statements. He might have enough money in his savings account to
pay these taxes. But even then, I can’t touch his accounts while he’s in a coma.

Maggie was determined to find a solution. She made another circle around the kitchen. What
about your mother?

Mom’s living on a small inheritance from my grandparents, but that’s all the money she has
until she’s eligible for social security.

There has to be some way you can legally get access to Jeff’s money. Maggie sat down at
the table again, chewing on her lip. Why don’t you ask Keith?

Speechless, Tracy could only stare at her.

Keith would know what to do, Maggie insisted.

Keith Bradford! Tracy groaned. Please tell me you’re kidding. Can’t you see his knife
still sticking out of my back?

That’s just the point, Maggie said triumphantly. You’d have to pay another lawyer, but
Keith owes you—big time. He knows how to obtain power of attorney or whatever authority
you need.

I would have to be at the end of my rope to ask Keith Bradford for the time of day.
But I am at the end of my rope and barely hanging onto the last threads.

 
****

Leif pulled a chair up to Lucille’s desk and waited for her to finish her phone call. She
was trying to soothe an irate citizen whose garbage had not been picked up. The problem
should have been reported to the town hall, but the residents of Allerton considered
Lucille the town’s central information guru. Leif wondered when the local school kids
would start phoning in their homework questions.

Yes, Leland? She looked up, pushing back the earphones on her headset.

Lucille was not a gossip, but she knew everything that had ever happened in Allerton. He
had to talk fast to catch her between calls. Tell me about Tracy Dixon.

Lucille frowned, bringing more creases to her wrinkled cheeks. I suppose you’ve been
listening to all those rumors.

Leif nodded. So give me the facts.

Well, about that shoplifting charge ...

The phone rang and Leif ground his teeth with impatience while Lucille dispatched an
officer to round up a stray cow.

 Lucille finished her call and continued her story. When Tracy was a senior in high
school, she was checking out at one of those music stores in Brockton. The clerk put her
purchases in a bag, but the manager noticed several CD’s sticking out of her jacket
pocket. He stopped her and held her until the police came. Tracy swore she had no idea how
the CD’s got into her pocket, but she couldn’t convince the store manager, the police or
the judge. The juvenile court sentenced her to two weeks of community service.

Did you believe her? Leif considered Lucille a sharp judge of character.

Tracy Dixon wouldn’t steal a postage stamp. That sneaky Skip Martin was in the shop with
her. You can bet he was the one who slipped those CD’s into Tracy’s pocket. But the police
had already decided that Tracy was the culprit. They never even bothered to question Skip.

The phone rang again and Leif sat back with a groan. At this rate it he’d need a week to
get the details of Tracy’s past.

Lucille dealt with two more phone calls before she continued. And those rumors you’ve
heard about Tracy’s character are all Keith Bradford’s doing. Did you know Tracy and Keith
were engaged to be married?

Keith Bradford, the state representative? Bradford was Allerton’s leading citizen.

Lucille nodded. Tracy was in college when he put the ring on her finger. Keith was on the
town’s board of selectmen at the time, but he decided to run for the state legislature.
Naturally Tracy became his strongest supporter. She spent every spare minute working for
his campaign—calling voters, putting up posters, stuffing envelopes, you name it.

But the minute Keith won the election, he dumped Tracy. Everyone thought he was a heel for
breaking the engagement, so he started dropping hints that Tracy had been involved in some
shady activities in the past. He pretended that he was too much of a gentleman to reveal
her deep, dark secrets, but he let everyone know that a woman of Tracy’s character wasn’t
an appropriate wife for a state representative.

Did Tracy deny the rumors?

She challenged him to tell the world one single thing she had done, but Keith was a smart
politician. His only answer was that knowing smirk.

Leif still wasn’t convinced that Tracy was an innocent lamb. Bradford must have known
something. So you think there was nothing to the rumors Bradford was spreading?

I don’t believe a word of it. But people love a scandal, and there were plenty of folks
who jumped on Keith’s bandwagon. But the final blow for Tracy was when the announcement
came out in the paper that Keith was marrying Louise Lawrence, the governor’s daughter.

Louise Bradford is the governor’s daughter? Leif was caught off balance. He still had a
lot to learn about the good citizens of Allerton.

Lucille nodded. Louise is a lovely person, but all Keith cares about is her political
connections. Anyway, a week before Keith’s wedding, Tracy packed her bags and moved to New
York.

So what about this latest business with Ronda Starr?

If Tracy said she wasn’t involved, she wasn’t involved.

The phone rang again and Leif got to his feet. Thanks, Lucille. I get the picture. He
turned back to his office, trying to absorb all these new details. Normally he had
complete faith in Lucille’s judgment, but he tended to believe in the old adage, where
there’s smoke, there’s fire. And there was enough smoke swirling around Tracy Dixon to
signal a four-alarm blaze. Her murky past sounded like the perfect background for an
accessory to Rick Timmons and the theft of Ronda Starr’s jewelry.

****

Tracy stood at the door to Keith Bradford’s law office without making a move to ring the
bell. The old colonial house was still Keith’s home, but he had added a side entrance for
his office. A small brass plate on the door stated, Keith A. Bradford, Attorney at Law.
She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a flashing neon sign proclaiming, Keith A.
Bradford, Distinguished State Representative.

And then it came again—that eerie sensation that sent prickles down her spine. She was
being watched—someone was following her. Heart pounding, she spun around, but the ghosts
had vanished. All she could see was a group of children, laughing and shouting as they
played tag on the village green. Yes, she really was paranoid.

Every muscle in her body knotted with tension. Facing Keith again was going to be torture,
but Maggie hadn’t given her a choice. Maggie made the appointment for her and then
insisted on driving her into town.

Tracy had not packed much of a wardrobe for her trip home, but her dark plaid skirt and
navy blazer looked reasonably business-like. Go ahead. Ring the bell. Let’s get this over
with.

A pretty little blond answered the buzzer. Her heavy eye makeup gave her the appearance of
a startled raccoon. Miss Dixon, she said politely. Please come in. Mr. Bradford will be
with you in just a minute.

The receptionist returned to her desk where the nameplate read Susan Collins. The waiting
room was furnished in Early American style, attractive, but unpretentious. Tracy sank into
a comfortable chair. Her nerves were jangling, but she tried to project an aura of ease
and confidence. As she reached for a magazine, Keith made his appearance.

Tracy, it’s so good to see you again. He oozed the famous Bradford charm from every pore.
He hadn’t changed much over the past three years. Keith was still a handsome man although
his sandy hair was getting a little thinner and his waistline a little thicker.

As Tracy stood, he came across the room, clearly intending to give her a hug. She quickly
extended her hand, limiting him to a cool handshake, but he took a little too long to
release his grasp.

Come in, come in, he urged. Tracy bristled at the possessive touch of his hand on her back
as he guided her into his office.

He took his seat behind a large mahogany desk and waved her to the chair opposite him.
It’s been a long time. You’re looking great. His eyes appraised every detail of her
appearance.

Thank you. Tracy gritted her teeth. This meeting was supposed to be strictly impersonal.
Stalling a moment to gather her wits, she gazed around the office. Typical Keith—an
impressive assortment of framed degrees and certificates on the paneled walls and rows of
bookshelves crammed with heavy legal tomes.

Now, what can I do for you? His smile was almost a leer.

She reached across the desk to place the tax notice in front of him. I’m sure you know
about Jeff’s accident. He’s in the burn center at Mass. General. He’s so badly burned that
they have to keep him in a coma for weeks. I’ve looked through his bank statements. Jeff
has enough money in his savings to pay these taxes, but I need some authority to access
his account.

To Tracy’s relief, Keith’s manner became all business. That shouldn’t be a problem, he
said confidently. We’ll petition the probate court to have you named as conservator of
your brother’s assets. That will give you responsibility for managing his assets and using
them for his benefit.

He turned to the filing cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a printed document. We can
take care of the application right now.

It took just a few minutes to fill in the blanks on the form. Tracy felt the knots of
tension beginning to unravel. The taxes are so long overdue, I’m really afraid that the
town will take his house. How long will it take for the judge to approve my petition?

Keith steepled his hands and peered over them, his face solemn. Well, there’s some red
tape involved. It might take several weeks. But the judge will appoint a temporary
conservator, someone the judge knows and trusts, to deal with Jeff’s immediate needs.
He’ll also appoint a guardian ad litem to conduct a full investigation of your
qualifications. The judge won’t appoint you as conservator until the guardian ad litem
makes his report, either recommending your appointment or not.

Tracy’s anxiety level shot up to the top of the meter. With her reputation, a judge would
never consider approving her petition to handle her brother’s money. What happens if the
guardian doesn’t recommend my appointment?

Keith didn’t appear concerned. Well, the immediate problem is payment of the property
taxes. The temporary conservator can take care of that. Then it will be time to address
the matter of your appointment to take over as conservator.

 How can I find out who has been named temporary conservator? He’ll need to see the tax
bill right away.

I should know within a week. And then Keith’s all-business demeanor disappeared. He was
Prince Charming again. His voice took on an intimate tone. Maybe the judge will appoint me
temporary conservator. We could spend some quality time together reviewing Jeff’s
situation. He emphasized the word quality with a suggestive lift of an eyebrow.