Paradise County (28 page)
It could not mean anything good.
“I’m so glad you got my message!” Andrea exclaimed when Alex got her on the phone. “First off, I heard about Paul! That snake! That louse! That bitch Tara Gould! Are you devastated? Tell me you’re not!”
“I’m not,” Alex assured her, and it was true. Joe was in the office with her, his shoulders propped against the wall near the closed door while
she sat behind the desk. When he had asked if she wanted him to leave while she talked, she had shaken her head. If there was a new crisis, she might need moral support, and despite their current mutual antagonism she knew she could count on him to help her in any way he could. Her glance at him as Andrea mentioned Paul was strictly involuntary. He was a major part of the reason why Paul’s defection had ceased to be more than a tiny, fading sting, she knew.
Great sex kind of tended to eclipse the glow of so-so sex, Alex had discovered.
“I’m glad. Alex, I’m sorry, but I’ve got more bad news.”
“I guessed that. What is it now?” Her voice was resigned.
“We were contacted by a source at the newspaper: for the next few weeks they’re going to be running a series that they’re calling
The Fall of the House of Haywood.
It’s all about your father and his business, and—and what happened to him, and it. Alex, here’s the toughest part: they’re alleging he bribed public officials in several states to get the necessary permits to do business there. Our informant said that the DA’s office is investigating, and we’ve confirmed that with people we know over there.”
“Oh, no!” Alex felt her stomach lurch. “Andrea, it’s not true! Is it?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that the paper’s going with the story, and the DA’s office is taking it seriously. Alex, you don’t want to be here when this hits the fan. The firm’s gotten five calls from reporters just this morning asking for comments, and the story hasn’t even been published yet. They’ll be going after the human interest angle, too: you know, the billionaire’s beautiful daughter, and how she’s bearing up, that sort of thing. There are photographers hanging around your father’s house, and we’ve alerted Mercedes, who is already packing up to go spend some time with friends in London. My suggestion to you is this: Why don’t you stay where you are for a little while? You’re well out of it down there.”
Stay at Whistledown? Alex looked at Joe. He was unsmiling as he met her gaze. “For how long, do you think?”
“I don’t know. A few weeks? The series starts Wednesday, and we were told that it would run for a week, so I should think that by, say, the first of December you’ll be old news. Of course, the DA’s investigation is
ongoing, but that could last for a while. It’ll happen pretty much under the radar unless a grand jury is convened, or charges are filed against someone. Then you’ll probably want to lay low again, but that shouldn’t happen any time soon.”
Three weeks. Three weeks to do—what? Take a break from her real life, maybe. Spend more time coming to terms with her father’s loss in the place where he died. Let the gossip about Paul die down. Explore this thing she had going with Joe?
That last was the deciding factor, although she hated to admit it, even to herself. “I guess I could.”
“Listen, I hate to keep piling it on, but that brings me to another bit of bad news: If this charge holds up, the estate could be subject to any number of sanctions, including civil or criminal fines.”
“Oh, God.” Alex glanced up at Joe, who was frowning as he met her gaze. Obviously he had heard enough to understand that the news was not good.
“Well, worst-case scenario, at least you and Neely’ve still got your trust funds,” Andrea said in a bracing tone. “Even if you can’t touch them until you turn forty, they’re still there and they’re secure. And the estate will continue to pay your expenses until it’s settled, of course. Oh, by the way, did you give the guy down there notice?”
Funny to think that she had flown out of Philadelphia two days ago to do just that. Alex glanced at
the guy
again. She had thought it would be simple: just walk in, do the dirty deed, walk out again, do what she needed to do at Whistledown, and get on with her life.
What she hadn’t counted on was Joe.
“Actually, he’s being a little difficult. He says he’s got a contract,” Alex said, meeting his gaze. His eyes narrowed at her.
“Damn right I’m being difficult,” he said, divining the subject of their conversation and straightening away from the wall. “Let me talk to …”
Meanwhile, Andrea was saying in her ear. “Oh, God, is he there with you? Well, Mark’s in charge of …”
“Stop!” Alex said, to Joe, who was moving toward her with the clear intent of taking the receiver from her, and Andrea, who was equally
clearly getting ready to impart some information for her to pass on to Joe. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. Joe, you need to talk to Mark Hanigan. Andrea, tell Mark that Joe Welch will be contacting him shortly.”
Joe stopped, thrust his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and looked at her measuringly. Andrea trilled with delight.
“Joe? Is he cute? From the way you talk to him, he must be… .”
Alex interrupted before her friend could get going. “Andrea, there’s one more thing. When I looked over my father’s autopsy report, I don’t remember seeing anything about a blood alcohol level. I’m sure I would have noticed if anything like that had been in there. Could you check on that and let me know, please?”
“Sure.” Andrea’s voice was filled with compassion. She knew that Alex was having a hard time accepting that her father was a suicide. “I’ll have somebody get right on it.”
“Thanks.” Alex smiled, although, of course, Andrea couldn’t see. “If there’s nothing else, I really have to go. This is a borrowed phone.”
“No, that’s it. Sorry it had to be bad news. I’ll keep checking in. And I’ll let you know about the blood alcohol thing as soon as I find out.”
They said good-bye, and Alex hung up.
Joe was still standing in the middle of the room looking at her. His eyebrows lifted questioningly.
Alex sighed, her anger at him forgotten under the exigencies of the moment. “The bottom line is, you better start looking for another job.”
His expression softened as his gaze swept over her face. “That bad, huh? Come on, let me buy you breakfast and you can tell me what she said.”
A
lex, meet Homer Gibson. Homer here is the owner and chief chef, and he cooks up the meanest sausage gravy and biscuits you’ve ever eaten in your life. If you’re thinking eggs, he makes some pretty fair eggs, too. Every bigwig who passes through this area stops in at the Dixie Inn for breakfast.”
What Alex was thinking was that she didn’t feel like eating anything, much less something as revolting as sausage gravy and biscuits, but she had let Joe talk her into breakfast—he had pointed out with perfect truth that, with the electricity still off, there was nothing fit to eat at Whistledown—and she smiled politely and shook hands as Joe introduced her. Gibson led them to a table in one of the small dining rooms. He was half a head shorter than Joe, bald and stocky, with a florid round face and a beaming smile. A white chef’s apron was tied around his middle over a white dress shirt and black pants. Various other diners were scattered throughout the converted house’s four downstairs rooms, most of whom could be seen sitting at their respective tables through the open doors that connected one room to another. All of them appeared to know Joe, and either waved or called out to him as he passed.
“Hey, Joe!”
“You all ready for the game Saturday? UK, baby!”
“I saw Eli hit a three four times in practice last week. You tell that boy I said he’s gettin’ good!”
“Sue got that invoice ready for me yet?”
Joe replied to their greetings and various remarks with answering waves and a laughing word or two, but kept on walking. Alex guessed that, living in a town like this, you learned early on that if you stopped to talk to everyone you knew every time you saw them, you wouldn’t have time to do much else.
When they reached their table, a four-top with a clear plastic sheet over a white tablecloth, Homer pulled out her chair and put a menu on the table in front of her. Alex thanked him with a smile and sat down. The table was positioned in front of a large, multi-paned window overlooking a garden area that featured a currently leafless elm and an empty concrete birdbath.
“I heard you were just at Whistledown for the one weekend?” Homer’s intonation made it a question. Alex’s faint surprise that he knew even that much about her comings and goings must have been apparent in her expression, because Joe chuckled as he sat down opposite her.
“Everybody knows everybody else’s business around here,” he told her. “Nothing’s sacred, believe me.”
“Isn’t that the truth? We’re all the nosiest bunch you’ll ever meet,” Homer agreed, while Mabel appeared with two glasses of water and stood to one side with her pad and pencil ready, nodding.
“We—my sister and I—will probably be staying a little longer than that, maybe a week or two.”
“You’re here in the rainy season,” Homer said, shaking his head at her. “You really oughta see this place in the spring. Or the summer. The summer’s somethin’ to see around here, too.”
“I’ve been here in the summer. You’re right, it’s beautiful.” When she’d quarreled with her father. The thought brought a now-familiar ache with it.
“Well, I’ll let you all get on with what you came here for. It was nice
making your acquaintance, Miss Haywood. Mabel here will take your order when you’re ready. Joe, I’m cookin’ up that bean soup you like today, and corn bread, if you want to come back for lunch.” Homer turned away with a wave, heading toward the back of the house where, presumably, the kitchen was housed.
“Sounds good. I might have to do it, if my electricity doesn’t come back on,” Joe called after him. “See ya, Homer.”
“Want me to give you all a few minutes, Joe?” Mabel asked.
Joe looked inquiringly at Alex. Having scanned the brief menu while Joe and Homer were talking, she was ready to order, and said so.
“I’ll have toast and coffee, please.”
Joe looked at her like he wanted to comment on her order. He didn’t, switching his attention to Mabel instead.
“You want your usual?” she asked.
“Yeah, thanks, Mabel.”
Mabel nodded and left.
Joe took a sip of water and looked at Alex. “Want to tell me all about it?”
Alex smiled at him a little wryly. “What are you, my father confessor?”
“Something like that.”
She told him the whole story. By the time she was finished, their food had arrived, and Joe was tucking into a breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausages with gravy and hash browns and toast with enthusiasm. She watched him eat with some fascination. He was a big man, but that was a lot of food.
“So they think he bribed some public officials, huh?” he asked.
Alex nodded. The knot in her stomach that had formed on hearing of the latest scandal involving her family was beginning to ease. She didn’t know whether to attribute it to the slice of toast and jam she was nibbling, or to the fact that she had shared her troubles with Joe.
She suspected it was the latter.
“You know, whether he did or didn’t, it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Alex looked at him in surprise. “Of course it does. He’s my father.”
He gave her a level look. “He’s dead, Alex. You need to start letting him go.”
She put down her slice of toast, suddenly no longer even slightly hungry. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, it’s not easy for me to say. But it’s what you need to do. Look at you: you’ve lost, what, ten pounds since he died? I saw you at the funeral, remember.” This was in response to her surprised look. His gaze touched on the still largely intact plate of toast. “You’re not eating. Are you sleeping?”
Alex hesitated. Then she admitted, “If I remember to take my sleeping pill.”
The look he gave her told her what he thought of that. “Do you think he’d want you to grieve this way? He loved you, remember. He’d want you to be strong, to take care of yourself, to have a good life.”
A lump formed in her throat. “I know he would, but …”
He met her gaze and apparently realized that he’d said as much as she could stand to hear, because his expression changed from serious to something less intense as he looked down at her plate significantly. “You can start by eating that damned toast. It’s been driving me crazy, watching you nibble a crust here and nibble a crust there. Eat a piece, for God’s sake.”
The lump in her throat receded as Alex looked over at his plate in turn. “If I ate as much as you, I’d get fat.”
“Honey, you have a long way to go before you have to worry about getting fat.”
Hearing him call her honey in that slow drawl of his brought up all kinds of memories that she didn’t want to think about at the moment. Her eyes met his, and she knew from the expression in them that he was remembering the same thing.
“Can I get you all some more coffee, Joe?” Mabel was back, with a pot of coffee. Joe nodded, and she refilled both their cups before leaving.