Slow Burn (13 page)

“There’s more,” he interrupted.

“Oh?”

“The attorney has photos of your father and other mementos that belonged to him.”

She nodded. “Okay, now I’m interested.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Roger Mackenna came armed with a .45 to the reading of the will.

He arrived at the prestigious law firm of Smith and Wesson twenty minutes before the scheduled appointment, but because it was the lunch hour and the area was filled with trendy, upscale bistros, he had to park three blocks from the square. He got out of the car, leaned against the door, and took one last drag of his cigarette. He’d smoked it down to the filter and could feel it burning his lips as he sucked the nicotine in. He tossed it away and immediately reached for another.

His head felt as though it were going to explode. He was in no condition to walk anywhere today, but he wasn’t about to miss this appointment even if he had to crawl to get there.

He had no one but himself to blame for his misery. Upon hearing the glorious news that his uncle had finally died, he’d cried out with joy and then proceeded to get roaring drunk. His private celebration lasted well into the middle of the night.

Walking in the heat and humidity was making him nauseated. He finally reached the square and would have cut across the park, but it was crowded with office workers taking in the sun while they ate their packed lunches.

By the time he stopped in front of the attorney’s office building he was exhausted, out of breath, and coated with a clammy sweat. He was anxious to get inside. Pulling the door open, he rushed in. He felt a blast of cold air brush his face a scant second before the alarm sounded. The noise was surprisingly dignified. It wasn’t a loud, piercing siren, but a quiet and steady pulsating beep like a heart monitor.

Two armed guards rushed toward him from opposite corridors. Like a jackal, he snarled at them and tried to bluff his way past. The ploy didn’t work, and he was given the choice of either leaving the premises or handing over his weapon.

He pulled the gun out of his vest pocket and gave it to the guard standing directly in front of him.

The man glanced down at the weapon, and said, “Is this loaded?”

“Of course it’s loaded,” Roger snapped. “Why would I carry an empty gun?”

“Did you realize you failed to put the safety on?” he asked as he lifted the gun to show Roger and then flipped the lever. “You wouldn’t want this to go off accidentally, now would you?”

Roger didn’t answer. The guard on his left drew his attention when he said, “Sir, do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?”

“I most certainly do,” he answered indignantly. It was a lie. He’d gotten the gun from his brother Ewan for protection. Ewan kept an arsenal of weapons and didn’t mind making a temporary loan. “I’ll want that gun back when I leave.”

They didn’t ask his permission when they patted him down to make sure the gun was the only weapon he was carrying. Roger was outraged. He was a multimillionaire now and should not be treated this way.

“Do you know who I am?”

He assumed they didn’t when neither one of them answered. They stepped out of the way and let him go forward.

He was fuming as he stormed across the tile floor toward the receptionist. He practically shouted his full name so the guards would be sure to hear.

The receptionist asked him to wait while she called upstairs to announce him.

“Mr. Smith’s assistant, Terrance, will be right down to escort you to his offices,” she said.

Roger didn’t have to wait long. He looked up to the top of the winding staircase just as a young man appeared on the landing. He was elegantly dressed in a spotless dark suit, crisp white shirt, and tie. He neither introduced himself nor shook Roger’s hand. He simply said, “Mr. MacKenna, if you’ll follow me please.”

He followed the assistant up the stairs and down a corridor and was shown into the attorney’s spacious outer office. The carpet was thick, the furniture was plush, and the paintings on the walls appeared to be originals.

The place reeked of money, and Roger was impressed. Though he’d never met his uncle’s attorney, he used his first name when he asked, “Where’s Anderson?”

“Mr. Smith will be here momentarily. May I offer you something to drink while you wait?”

Roger ordered bourbon straight up, and as the assistant was leaving to fetch it, he called out, “And bring the bottle. My brothers and I will want to . . .” He caught himself before he said “celebrate” and substituted “toast our uncle.”

Bryce was shown into the office a few minutes later. He spotted the tray on the coffee table and immediately helped himself to a drink. There was an ice bucket, but he didn’t bother. He took a long gulp, expelled a sigh, and finally acknowledged his brother’s presence.

They had not seen each other in over six months, and Roger was shocked at the change. The flesh seemed to hang from Bryce’s body. A mannequin had more fat than his brother. His eyes had a yellow tinge to them, and his skin was pasty.
Cirrhosis,
Roger thought.
Up close and personal.

“It’s been a long time,” Roger said.

“Yes,” Bryce agreed. “When was that?”

“Uncle MacKenna’s birthday bash.”

“Ah, that’s right.”

“How are you feeling, Bryce?”

His brother immediately went on the defensive. “I’m feeling fine. Why would you ask me that? Don’t I look fine?”

Was he daring him to tell the truth? “I heard . . .”

“What? What did you hear?”

“Vanessa mentioned you weren’t feeling up to par.”

“My wife doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

Roger shrugged. If Bryce didn’t want to admit his liver was going south, he wouldn’t argue with him. “Has she moved out yet? Last time we talked you told me she was threatening to leave you.”

Bryce poured another drink before answering. “Separate bedrooms, separate lives,” he said. “But don’t you worry about Vanessa. She hasn’t been deprived. Somebody’s been seeing to her needs for several months now. Oh, she doesn’t think I know about him, but I can hear her on the phone late at night planning where they’ll meet next. Can’t say I blame her.” He added, “It seems to work for us. The fact is, we’re both too lazy to change anything, and if she left, she couldn’t nag me to stop drinking, could she?”

“If she’s still trying to get you to stop, she must still care about you.”

“She loves me in her own sick, twisted way,” he said. “What about you, Roger? How are you doing?”

“I’ve got big plans,” he said. “Investments,” he added with a nod and hoped that Bryce wouldn’t want to know the details. He was making it up as he went along. “I’m going to make some changes in my life.”

His brother didn’t seem interested in hearing about his future. “Have you talked to Ewan lately?”

“I spoke to him briefly a while back,” he said. He didn’t mention that he’d met him in a bar to get a gun from him. Bryce was always so superior, and Roger knew his older brother would look down his nose at him if he heard about the gun, and an argument would be inevitable. Bryce was a drunk, but he was still snooty.

“What’s he been up to?” he asked. He didn’t really care. He was simply filling time until the attorney got the show on the road.

“He didn’t volunteer any personal news.”

“Is he still body building?”

“I didn’t ask. I would assume so.”

“Speak of the devil.”

The brothers turned in unison as Ewan walked in. Bryce greeted him by raising his glass.

Roger thought Ewan looked more fit than ever. He sported a deep tan that came from his sun worshipping hours at the club. From the waist down, he was trim, but his chest and upper arms were huge. He was still lifting weights all right.

The youngest wasn’t dressed appropriately, though. He wore khaki pants that appeared to have been purchased at one of those mall chains and a short-sleeve knit shirt that looked like it had been glued to his chest. Ewan had never wanted to grow up. He obviously had loved his college days so much, he continued to dress like a frat boy.

Roger wondered if he still played Jell-O shot games with his juvenile buddies but didn’t ask. The least little thing set Ewan off, and Roger wasn’t in the mood to put up with his temper today.

Ewan managed to be civil for about thirty seconds. “Nice to see both of you again.” And before Bryce or Roger had a chance to respond, Ewan wrinkled his nose and said, “Which one of you stinks?”

“That would be Roger,” Bryce said.

Before Roger could protest, Bryce continued, “It’s the nicotine oozing through your pores and the smoke all over your clothes. You really ought to give up that filthy habit.”

And the gloves came off.

Vanessa walked into the middle of the fray. Dressed in a pale gray silk pantsuit, she was a statuesque woman who was accustomed to turning heads when she entered a room. She wore her raven black hair swept back into a chignon, as only a woman confident in her beauty could. “Isn’t this a lovely family reunion,” she said sarcastically. She quickly separated herself from the brothers, looked at her watch, and said, “We’re all here. Where’s the attorney?”

Bryce checked the time and said, “We’ve got ten more minutes until one.”

She tried to open the door to the inner office. It was locked.

“Apparently he doesn’t want us rifling through his files,” she said.

“We shouldn’t have to wait. This is outrageous,” Roger muttered. “This outfit isn’t going to be handling my share of the money, I promise you that.”

“How much do you think there is?” Bryce asked.

“Millions,” Roger answered.

“That doesn’t answer the question. How many millions?” Ewan wanted to know.

“I’m guessing sixty million,” Bryce said.

“That’s a high estimate,” Ewan said.

“Guessing is rather pointless,” Vanessa interjected.

Ewan glared at her. “Why are you here?”

“You two have never gotten along, have you?” Roger said. He sounded like he’d just figured that out.

“That’s soft-pedaling the truth,” Ewan responded. “I detest her. Her holier-than-thou attitude. She’s a snob, and I have no use for her.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” she responded.

“I repeat, why are you here?” Ewan asked again.

“Bryce and I both received letters.”

“And you couldn’t ride with your husband?” he asked.

“I had a meeting with the art council. It was cultural, so of course you wouldn’t understand.”

Her condescension infuriated him. He turned to Bryce and said, “How in God’s name do you stand her?”

Bryce smiled at his wife. “The question should be, how does she stand me?”

“Oh, please. Your self-loathing became tiresome years ago,” Ewan scoffed.

Vanessa was saved from having to listen to any more of Ewan’s sarcastic drivel when the door swung open and Anderson Smith, trailed by his assistant, swept into the room.

The attorney’s manner was as smooth as alabaster. Without saying a word, he demanded attention, and he got it. He introduced himself and Terrance and shook hands with each one, starting with Vanessa.

He was an older gentleman and quite charismatic. She watched him work his magic on the brothers and was both fascinated and amused, for they were suddenly all on their best behavior.

Terrance unlocked the door, and one by one they filed into the inner sanctum.

Roger spotted the video equipment and asked, “What’s all this for? Are we going to see a movie?”

“I wouldn’t call it a movie,” Anderson responded. “Please make yourselves comfortable. We’ll begin in just a few minutes.”

“Why can’t we start now?” Ewan asked.

Anderson walked to the office door and was pulling it closed when he answered, “Not everyone is here yet.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Dylan made certain they weren’t being followed, and when they were closing in on Savannah, he left the highway and took less-traveled roads into the city.

He got lost in no time at all, but because he was a Buchanan male, he wasn’t about to admit it or ask for directions. Kate was filling him in on some historical facts about Charleston’s sister city and wasn’t paying attention to the route he was taking.

“Savannah’s called the jewel of the south,” she said. “But you probably already knew that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Sure I am. You’re a jewel.”

“No, Savannah’s the jewel.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But so are you, Pickle.”

She gave up trying to educate him, picked up her BlackBerry, and checked for any new messages.

Dylan still hadn’t gotten his bearings. He was certain he’d passed the very same park a couple of times now. He kept driving west. Several blocks later he stopped to let some jaywalkers cross in front of him and happened to look at the number on the door across the street.

Son of a gun, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

The attorney’s office was on the perimeter of a large square that surrounded a shaded park. In the center was a monument to one of the South’s revered statesmen, who stood perched on a tall pedestal looking down on the sidewalks and park benches scattered about. Ancient oaks dripping with moss provided shade.

All of the buildings butted up against one another and were once the grand homes of Savannah’s finest citizens. Some were still residences, but others had been renovated and converted and now fit into the urban mixture of offices and galleries and restaurants.

Dylan got lucky again when a car pulled out of a prime parking spot near the corner. He backed into the space, put the car in park, and said, “All right.”

“We’re here?” She looked startled.

“Yes, we’re here,” he said. “We made good time.”

She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “We’re twenty minutes early.”

“It’s closer to fifteen minutes.” He unsnapped his seat belt and tried to open the door.

She grabbed his arm. “I don’t want to get there early.” She sounded apprehensive now.

“Sure, okay. We won’t be early.” He reached for the door again.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I made a quick call first? I need to talk to Haley about ribbon. It won’t take long.”

“No problem. While you’re doing that, I’ll check in with Nate.”

Kate was suddenly feeling nervous. She couldn’t remember Haley’s phone number and had to look it up on her BlackBerry.

Haley’s assistant answered and explained that she had left for a luncheon appointment. Kate left the message that she would be unavailable for a few hours but that she would call Haley later that afternoon.

Dylan got hold of Nate right away. It was a one-sided conversation, and Kate had to wait until he’d flipped his cell phone closed to find out anything.

“Did he have any news?” she asked.

“Some.” He didn’t expound.

Dylan got out of the car, grabbed his suit jacket from the backseat, and put it on so his gun would be concealed, then he went around the car and opened her door.

He was acting like a bodyguard, she thought. He was watching the street when he said, “You stay close to me.” It wasn’t a suggestion but an order.

“I plan to,” she said. She gathered her things, stuffed them into her purse, and took his hand.

They crossed the street and walked around the corner. Kate did not want to think about where they were headed. The notion to bolt was gaining momentum. She needed to stall—to give herself a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She glanced at the park across the street and blurted out, “Look at the park. Isn’t it lovely? Did you know that there are over twenty squares in Savannah? All have parks in the center.” She stopped and said, “This one is my favorite.”

Dylan seemed more interested in the people and the cars. He was subtle about it, but he was making certain that his body protected hers as they walked along.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She deliberately slowed the pace. “We’re building a park like that in Silver Springs.”

He glanced over his shoulder, nodded, and said, “I noticed it on our way to the police station.”

She walked even more slowly. “And we have three more in the works. They’re going to be interconnected when they’re finished. The buildings aren’t on this grand scale, of course.”

Kate saw the door with the names Smith and Wesson engraved on a plaque directly ahead of her, and stopped. “Let’s go sit on the park bench for a little while.”

“No.”

“We still have fifteen minutes.”

Dylan didn’t know what was going on in her mind, but he wasn’t about to stand on the sidewalk and argue with her. She obviously needed a few minutes to calm down, and then maybe she would tell him what was bothering her.

“Okay, we won’t be early. We’ll find someplace to wait.”

Relieved, she said, “Thank you.” She looked around and spotted a coffee shop catty-corner to the law firm. “Would you like to get some coffee? I’m sure they have iced tea, too.”

A few minutes later they were seated at a tiny round table in the back of the coffee shop. There wasn’t any air-conditioning, and both front and back doors were wide open. Two ceiling fans were going full speed. Both made a clicking noise that sounded like fingers snapping.

“It’s lunchtime,” she said. “We were lucky to get a table.”

“It’s hot in here. That’s why we got a table. Look around. We’re the only ones here.”

“We could find somewhere else if the heat bothers you.”

“I’m good.”

Kate waited until the waitress had left with their iced-tea orders to ask, “What did Nate have to say?”

“They still can’t find Carl. The case is building against him.”

“How so?”

“He’s in trouble with the IRS.”

“Are you serious?”

“I never joke about the IRS. He’s in trouble,” he repeated.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Back taxes.”

“But he’s . . .”

“What?”

“Rich. He inherited a fortune.”

“If he did, he’s gone through it.”

“I’m stunned.”

“He never said anything to you about money worries?”

“Good heavens, no. Carl is every inch the southern gentleman,” she explained. “And southern gentlemen never ever discuss money problems. It would be . . . unseemly.”

“Is that part of the southern gentleman code?”

He was teasing, but she was serious when she answered. “Yes, it is. Being a gentleman is serious business here.”

The waitress had eyes for Dylan only as she placed the iced tea on the table. Kate thanked her anyway, took a sip of the cold drink, and said, “I can’t figure this out. Poor Carl, bless his heart. He’s always trying to help others.”

“How does he help?”

“He gives lavish parties to promote the arts. And he’s helped promote my company, too.”

“He asked you to bring those gift baskets to his party, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. He thought it would be good promotion. Oh, I see that look in your eyes. Dylan, Carl was trying to help. I’m telling you, he’s a good man. He wanted to buy into my company. I’m sure he thought I needed financial assistance, and of course he couldn’t talk about it . . . so he offered to be a partner. If he had such terrible money problems, where would he get the money to help me?”

“When did he try to buy into your company? For God’s sake, Kate, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“When?” he repeated.

“Over a year ago.”

Dylan checked the time, pulled his wallet out, and put money on the table. “Drink up. We have to get going.”

“We’ve still got time,” she said. “What else did Nate tell you?”

“He’s doing a background check on your relatives, and I had hoped he’d have something for me by now.”

“But no such luck?”

“Not yet. He got pulled into a meeting, but he has people working on it.”

“We’ll be finding out about them soon enough.” Too soon, she thought. Why, oh, why had she agreed to come to Savannah? Guilt, she decided. Isabel and Kiera had guilted her into coming.

“I don’t like walking in blind. I want to know what I’m dealing with. You understand?”

Oh, boy, did she. “Yes.”

“You’re dreading it.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?” And when she didn’t immediately answer, he asked, “Why are you so worried?”

“I’m not worried,” she said. “I just hope . . .”

“Yes?”

She guessed there really wasn’t any reason not to tell him. He already knew about her financial situation and her mother’s devastating business and personal decisions. “I hope this meeting isn’t another surprise my mother left behind. I don’t think I could take another . . . disappointment.”

“Why do you think that’s a possibility? Seems pretty remote to me. You told me your mother never mentioned her husband’s relatives,” he reminded her.

“The letter . . . by special messenger . . . it started me thinking. Mother might have borrowed money from this uncle and now the estate wants it paid back.”

He looked at her a long minute and then asked, “How long are you going to stay mad at her?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”

“Yeah, right.”

She bristled. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“No, you’re not. I guess you’re just not ready to say it, so how about I say it for you? You’re furious with her.”

Her spine stiffened. The defiance didn’t last long. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she couldn’t stop them. She’d already cried in front of him once; she wasn’t about to do it again.

“Yes, I’m angry,” she said, her voice shaking. “She lied about everything, and she left a mess.”

He put his hand on top of hers. “Ah, Katie. It’s not about the money.”

She pulled her hand away. “Oh? Then what is it about?”

“Your mother got sick, and she died, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, and stood. “So maybe you ought to think about forgiving her.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him his amateur analysis was way off, but something stopped her. What if there was a germ of truth in what he was saying? Was she using anger to shield herself from the pain of losing her mother?

He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Pickle. Time to meet the relatives.”