Authors: Felicia Mason
Hidden Riches (20 page)
Rollings leaned forward as if he was about to share a confidence, which was true. “And the best part,” he said, his voice a bit lower even though they remained the only two people in the office, “is the parents have no idea. The oldest one is JoJo's, the other two, the teenagers, belong to Marguerite.”
“Who is Marguerite?”
Rollings just managed to avoid rolling his eyes. “Delcine Futrell.”
“Oh,” Daughtry said. “I didn't know her well.” He shook his head. “But from what Deputy Howard told me and what was in his report, and in Eric's,” he said jerking his head toward the newspaper, “the relatives don't exactly get along.”
“No. They don't,” Rollings said. “And that just broke Ana Mae's heart.”
The two men fell silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts about life, death, and family. Then Sheriff Daughtry pushed aside the copy of the
Drapersville Times & Review.
Drapersville Times & Review.
“Well, no matter what they like or don't like about each other, we have to do something about this,” he said.
“We? I came to you for help. You are the law enforcement.”
Daughtry frowned as if to say, “Don't remind me.” But he instead replied, “And just how did this hair-brained idea get hatched?”
Rollings sighed.
Thanks to the junk man, Eddie Spencer, who was probably aided by Rosalee Jenkins, the details of the legacy quilt were in the newspaper story. He did not think he would break any client confidentiality by telling the sheriff about the quilt blocks.
Daughtry listened to the story and then shook his head. “You're right, that Lester is an idiot, and I don't appreciate you calling me one too, in case you think I was letting that slide.”
“Sorry about that,” Rollings said. “This has just all been so . . .”
“Idiotic?”
Everett grinned. “Something like that.”
“Well, tell you what. I'll get a man to sit there overnight so no treasure huntersârelatives, neighbors, or otherwiseâgo digging up the yard again.”
“With all due respect, I do not believe that one night of increased patrol is going to solve anything.”
“Yeah, I know,” Daughtry said. “That's why I'll keep a man out there for a bit. Until things die down and the relatives go home. Maybe until I can convince Eric Peters to write an article that clearly says there is no money to be found buried in Miss Futrell's yard or anybody else's.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Don't thank me,” Daughtry said, picking up the newspaper, then tossing it into the trash bin next to his desk. “I'm gonna be billing you and Eric Peters for the overtime.”
Later that evening at the bed-and-breakfast, Clayton pulled out several of the Zorin Corporation envelopes he'd taken from Ana Mae's house. Particularly interested in the annual report that had his sister's photo on the cover with the CEO, he wanted to know more about the company and Ana Mae's involvement in it.
When Archer came in an hour later, packages in both hands, Clayton looked up. “Hey there.”
“Hi, Clay. I found the best gallery ever. Who would have known that your little hamlet could produce this?”
From one of the shopping bags he whipped out a piece of abstract sculpture. “It's by a sculptor named Pablo Diego Muñoz. Wonderful stuff. I got a small piece for the beach house, too,” he added, unwrapping a second piece of art.
“I also got the artist's information and Web site. We should commission a piece,” Archer said.
He then pulled out a long beige cashmere scarf and draped it around Clayton's neck. “It's a little warm now, but this, my dear, will be perfect for those cool San Francisco nights.”
Clayton smiled his thanks and caressed the sumptuous fabric. “It's lovely.”
Archer kissed Clayton, then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “What has you so pensive?”
“I've been going through some of this Zorin Corporation stuff from Ana Mae's house.”
“So what kind of company is it?”
“Cleaning products,” Clayton said. “Apparently they supply a lot of businesses all across North America. And, according to this annual report,” he said, picking up the glossy publication that had Ana Mae's picture on the front, “they'll be branching out into the consumer market this year.”
Archer studied the cover of the booklet. “Is that Ana Mae and that crying man from her funeral?”
“Yep. And guess what other name I found in there?”
“Who?”
“That Fisher boy. Jeremy, the inventor.”
Archer was quiet for a moment. Then, “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Yep,” Clayton said. “I think Jeremy Fisher neglected to tell us something about Ana Mae's investment in his company.”
Rather than all of them calling David Bell at different times, Clayton and Archer decided to tell the girls about the discovery. Delcine would join them after checking out of her hotel. But on the drive from the bed-and-breakfast to Ana Mae's house, Archer bowed out of the meeting.
“This, as I said before, is something between you and your sisters,” he said. “I'll drop you off and then head back to the suite to get some work done.”
“Work?”
Archer glanced at him. “Yeah, that lawyerly stuff I've been neglecting for shopping, reading . . . and you.”
Even though he did not want to voice the suggestion for fear Archer might actually take him up on it, Clayton bit back his reservations and made the offer that he knew needed to be made.
“You can head home if you'd like,” he said. “Winslow left to head back to D.C. There's no reason you need to hang around Drapersville.”
“Oh, really?”
Clayton didn't know quite what to make of the tone of Archer's question. Was it sardonic? Or was it just a question that Clayton managed to read far more into than actually existed?
“Clay, I'm here in North Carolina because you're here. You just lost your sister. I'm not going anywhere until you do.”
The joy that filled Clayton could only be described as rainbows and fairy tales, the stuff of good dreams and happily ever afters with the one you loved.
“Thank you.”
The simple expression of gratitude seemed all he could manage at the moment.
Archer took Clayton's left hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. “Besides,” he added, “there is no way I would leave you alone and defenseless against that idiot brother-in-law of yours.”
Clayton chuckled. “Lester is as much your brother-in-law as mine.”
“Don't give him to me. I'd rather adopt dull and dour Winslow.”
“You know,” Clayton said, as Archer turned onto Ana Mae's street, “there is definitely something going on with them.”
“With JoJo and Lester?”
“Well, yeah, them too,” Clayton said. “But I was referring to Marguerite and Winslow. I think they're having money trouble. I overheard Winslow on the phone at the funeral home.”
“You and her husband are the only two people who call her that, you know?”
Clayton shrugged as he undid his seat belt. “Who am I to deny someone the right to call themselves whatever they want?”
“Touché,” Archer said, as Clayton opened his door. “Call me.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Archer tooted the horn as he pulled away. Clayton walked up the driveway to the house with a big smile on his face. Whatever had been bothering Archer these last few months seemed to have resolved itself.
North Carolina had been on Clayton's most loathsome list for so long that he found it on this side of surreal that this place where he'd been shunned was the same place that was restoring energy into his relationship.
He glanced to the sky, mostly clear and blue with a few fluffy clouds languidly drifting by.
“Thanks, Ana Mae.”
“Hey, guys,” Clayton said, greeting his sisters and Lester when he came through the side door and into the kitchen at Ana Mae's house.
“Hi, Clay,” JoJo said. “The water is on for tea, and I just made a pot of coffee.”
The women sat at the table, Delcine with her hands around a coffee mug and JoJo with coffee and a generous slice of pound cake.
“Thanks,” he said. He sent a chin-up nod toward Lester, who stood near the refrigerator. Lester nodded back. There were never many words between the two men.
Clayton wasn't happy to see Lester there with Delcine and JoJo. He thought it would just be the siblings going over things. A glance at Delcine, who was scowling in Lester's direction, confirmed for Clayton that she had been under the same impression.
Lester seemed incapable of detecting nuances, particularly the kind directed toward him. Winslow had left for home. Why couldn't Lester take the next flight back to Vegas?
But Clayton knew the answer to that. It was because millions of dollars were at stake and Lester intended to claim what he considered was “his share.” Resigned to the fact that his obnoxious brother-in-law would be with them, Clayton took a seat at the kitchen table after making a cup of tea.
“So, what exactly is this Zorin Corporation?” JoJo asked.
Clayton explained what he'd read in the company's annual reports. He pulled out his mobile phone and typed in a few things. A moment later, the company's Internet site popped up.
“Listen to this,” he said. “The Zorin Corporation, based in Columbus, Ohio, in the United States, is the leading manufacturer and distributor of innovative solutions for businesses and industries.”
Lester, leaning against the refrigerator, tapped a cigarette from his ever-present pack. “What does all that bullshit mean?”
“Don't smoke in the house, Lester,” JoJo said.
“Do not smoke in this house,” Delcine said at the exact same time.
Lester scowled at the two women, then tucked the cigarette behind his ear.
Clayton turned and held the phone out so Lester could see the image displayed on the screen in high definition.
“Cleaning supplies,” he said. “The company makes and sells cleaning supplies.”
“So?”
Clayton was about to answer when JoJo stood up.
“Hon,” she said, walking over to her husband. She placed a hand on his paunchy stomach. “I think we're low on beer. Can you make a run over to the Walmart to get some?”
The fate of running out of that essential had Lester erect and looking alarmed. He yanked open the fridge door.
“Shit,” he said. “You're right.”
Moving as fast as any of them had seen him go since the day Everett Rollings said Ana Mae had left three point eight million dollars, Lester was making tracks to the door.
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