Читать книгу Blue Ridge Hideaway - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

WITH THE FIRE roaring nearby, a whisper of heat coming from the floor vents and her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee which Bret had refilled twice, Dorie felt a subtle hint of encouragement seep into her bones. Tension eased from her shoulders. She let out a long breath and took an even longer one deep into her lungs.

As her body let go of some of the day’s anxiety, she made a thoughtful appraisal of Bret Donovan that went beyond his obvious good looks. He had been attentive and responsive to her story. Perhaps, she almost allowed herself to believe, even a bit sympathetic. Could she conclude now that he was nothing like his father and would do the honorable thing and make amends for what Clancy had done to her?

A few minutes ago she’d paused in relating the events which had led her to Clancy more than three months ago. She waited for Bret to respond to what he’d learned so far.

He set his coffee mug on the table. “So this company you sold the rights to, this Family Picnic Company, was your principal livelihood?” he said.

“That’s right. And along with my partner, we made a decent living.”

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you sell your half to your partner?”

“I had to. I needed money.”

She didn’t elaborate about the small cottage her mother had left her when she ran off. He didn’t need to know that. The simple two-bedroom house wasn’t worth much, but Dorie was determined not to sell it. So she told him how she and her friend had started the Family Picnic Company to cater to people who wanted to host outdoor events, barbecues and such. She would hitch a wagon that carried ribs and all the makings of her secret sauce and baked beans behind her Ranger. Her partner would tow the funnel-cake-and-candy-apple cart, and they would set up anywhere folks wanted to treat friends and family to an outdoor party. Once word got around, she was busy almost every weekend.

Other than admitting she needed money, she hadn’t given Bret specific details explaining why she’d been forced to sell her only means of support. When she’d gone to work for Clancy a few months ago, she hadn’t even told him that crucial bit of information, and he hadn’t asked. Now, even if she told them, she doubted the heartless father and his ex-cop son would understand her need to pay the fees of the high-priced attorney she’d hired to defend her brother. Especially since her brother had been accused, wrongfully she believed, of participating in a shooting. The money she’d gotten from the sale of her share of the picnic company had gone to the firm of Hawkes, Schreiber and Bolger, and more was owed now.

Maybe Bret wouldn’t ask her why she needed the money. The honorable thing would be to just give her the five thousand dollars and send her down the mountain. Maybe he even had the cash squirreled away at The Crooked Spruce. The outpost was so remote, there would be little danger of theft. And a lot of people didn’t trust the bank anymore. If Bret didn’t have the cash, she’d take a check. Once she was gone, he could get Clancy to pay the money back any way he could.

“You must have needed money pretty badly to take that step,” Bret said.

“I did,” she said. “I sold my share of the business because I owed money and was obligated to pay it.” She speared Clancy with a telling look. “That’s what honest people do when they have a debt.”

He stared at the ceiling.

“Now I need what you owe me, Clancy.” Especially since I’ve found out that my financial responsibility to Jack’s defense is just beginning.

Bret sat across the picnic table from her. He put his elbows on the top and leaned forward. Those soft nut-brown eyes, which had captured her imagination an hour ago, now seemed capable of reading her thoughts. She looked down, avoiding his gaze. She’d never been in trouble with the law, but still, after what Jack had been through, she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable under a cop’s intense scrutiny.

“So how does all this lead up to you getting a job working with my father?” he asked.

She focused on Clancy. His hands were clasped on the tabletop. His attention could have been fixed on the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers. Since he wasn’t looking at her, maybe he was finally embarrassed about how he’d misled her. Or maybe he was trying to figure out another plan to get away with cheating her.

“You know your father owned the Crab Trap, a bar on Winston Beach?” she said to Bret.

He admitted that he was aware of his father’s business venture. “I never saw the place for myself,” he said. “For the short time my dad owned it, I was—” he stopped, glanced at his father “—I was indisposed for a while and couldn’t visit him.”

The vagueness of his answer registered as a tingle of alarm down Dorie’s spine. Maybe the ex-cop had some secrets of his own. “I had been in there a time or two after Clancy bought it,” she said. “The Crab Trap catered to a local crowd, people who had been around Winston Beach for a long time.”

“So not your typical tourist types?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not. The Trap was filled with old-timers, bikers and roughnecks, mostly.”

Bret smiled. “And one Dorinda Howe.”

“I wasn’t a regular. But the day after I sold my business, I drove by the place and saw a help-wanted sign in the window. Being unemployed at the time, I went in and applied for the waitress job.”

Clancy finally raised his head to stare at his son. “Which I gave her because of the generous nature of my character.”

Bret frowned. “Right. Go on, Dorie.”

“Oh, that much is the truth, minus the generous nature part. He gave me the job.”

“I sure did,” Clancy said. “I figured she could make the Trap the place to go for barbeque in the area, plus clean up the image a bit. A win-win for both of us.”

Dorie frowned. “But what Clancy isn’t telling you is that he had the Crab Trap up for sale at the time, which totally affected my job security. But that was okay. He had a right to sell it. Only thing is, he didn’t own the building. He was only leasing it, so he didn’t have much real property to sell. He was trying to find a buyer for his license, the equipment, which basically included the beer taps, furniture, grills and deep fryers.” She leveled an icy stare at Clancy. “And, what he calls the goodwill he’d established by running the place.”

Clancy put one finger in the air. “That’s right. Goodwill. It’s not easy to put a price on that.”

“But you did,” Dorie said. “You put a price of twenty thousand on it.”

Bret’s eyes widened. “Jeez, Pop, I only lent you three thousand to start up that business last year. Did you get twenty grand for it?”

“Of course not. That was just my asking price.” Clancy’s eyebrows came together in an insolent gesture. “I ended up getting only fifteen thousand.”

Dorie could sense the wheels turning in Bret’s head. After pausing a moment, he said, “And out of that fifteen thousand, you owed me three and Dorie five?” At least Bret was remembering his math correctly.

“And I earned every cent of it,” she said. “Your father never would have sold the Crab Trap if I hadn’t come in there and made a deal with him to turn it into a presentable establishment that would appeal to buyers.”

“What exactly did you do?” Bret asked.

“A whole lot more than any other so-called waitress would have done. I used my special recipes to bring in crowds. I changed the advertising so he’d attract a better clientele, revised the menu to include healthier food and kids’ meals. Handed out coupons all over the area so we’d attract the few tourists who actually stopped on Winston Beach.”

She looked at Clancy and was gratified to see that he was listening and didn’t appear ready to argue. “Basically I was his nutritionist, marketer and public relations department. In addition to all that, I scrubbed years’ worth of old grease off the walls,” she added.

“You did all that for a waitress’s salary?” Bret said.

“No. I’m not that gullible. What I asked in return was a regular job as the waitress with salary and tips, and a percentage of the selling price up to five thousand dollars. Clancy and I agreed that he would keep anything over five grand. At that time, five thousand was what I needed.”

“Okay. Sounds fair enough,” Bret said. “Did you get this agreement in writing?”

She fished in the pocket of the jacket beside her on the bench and produced a wrinkled envelope. After removing a one-page document which she smoothed over the surface of the table, she said, “Check it out for yourself.” She pointed to the financial terms and then to her signature and Clancy’s at the bottom. “We both signed it.”

Bret studied the paper and then looked at his father. “That’s your handwriting, Pop,” he said. “This isn’t the fanciest contract in the world, but I think it would hold up in court.”

Clancy crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the side of what’s right. Did Dorie fulfill her part of this contract like she says?”

Clancy stubbornly stared into space for several uncomfortable seconds before finally, almost negligibly, nodding his head. It wasn’t a definitive admission, but he wasn’t denying Dorie’s story.

“Her contribution helped you sell the place?”

“I suppose.”

“You know darned well it did,” she said.

Bret shrugged. “Then you owe her, Pop. And you owe me three grand. That was the deal we made when I lent you the money.” He waited for his father’s reaction, and when the old guy didn’t so much as blink, he said, “And funny thing, Pop, when you arrived here, I asked you about the Crab Trap and you told me there had been a kitchen fire and you lost everything.”

“I might have said that,” Clancy mumbled. “But I was just stalling for time before I paid you back.”

Bret looked down as if he was used to this kind of scenario from his father. “You’ve got the money, right? I mean you obviously didn’t have it in your pocket a few minutes ago when Dorie asked for it, but you’ve got it somewhere, don’t you?”

Clancy stared blankly.

Dorie bit her bottom lip and tried not to squirm. What would she do if Clancy didn’t have the money? There was no doubt he was a weasel, but even a weasel couldn’t lose fifteen thousand dollars in a little over a week. Could he?

“Pop?”

Bret’s gaze zeroed in on his father’s eyes under the ledge of Clancy’s bushy white brows. Clancy shifted away from his son’s stare.

“The money’s in your room, isn’t it?” Bret said. “Or safely in a bank somewhere?”

Tense seconds ticked by until Clancy fisted his hands and made a sound between a moan and a snarl. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“I had it for a while.”

Skepticism etched itself in creases around Bret’s eyes. “How long is a while? And what happened to it?”

“I didn’t come straight here after leaving Winston Beach,” he said.

“Where did you go?” Bret’s voice reflected uncertainty, as if he expected the ceiling to suddenly cave in on them. As if he’d experienced other symbolic ceilings caving in during his lifetime. “Pop?”

“I was trying to turn that money into a whole lot more,” Clancy said. “I was hoping to give you that three grand with interest.”

“Where did you go?” Bret asked again. This time the words seemed ground out of some dark place inside his memory.

“I drove up to Mountain City, West Virginia, for a few days.”

“Mountain City?” Bret closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why did you go there?”

Dorie leaned forward, trying to read both men’s faces. “I know exactly why he went there, Bret, and so do you.”

Bret hammered his fist on the table. “Good grief, Pop. You lost that money gambling!”

“I figured I could turn that fifteen grand into five times that much. I’ve always been lucky....”

“You’ve never been lucky with dice!”

“That’s not true. Why, lots of times I’ve...”

“How much?” Bret asked. “How much have you got left?”

Clancy turned his palms up on the table as if he somehow expected riches to fall into them. “I have...well, I had fifty-two bucks.”

Dorie stood, marched around the table and loomed over him. But at only five feet three inches, her looming capabilities were limited. Still, she was gratified when he cringed.

“Fifty-two dollars?” she said, pulling the bills he’d given her earlier from her pocket. “This fifty-two dollars? This is all that’s left of fifteen thousand?”

He stared at the table. “’Fraid so. I had living expenses for that week, too. Hotels and meals...”

Her entire body tensed before a trembling began in her legs and worked its way through her. She closed her eyes, fighting the desire to strike out physically at the man whose face swam before her, but what good would that do? She’d only end up in the same sort of place she’d visited two days ago when she met with her brother in a dank, gray-walled prison room.

She pictured Jack’s face now and drew strength from the past. Since their father, a shiftless man with no ambition, had left them after Jack was born, Dorie had always been the rational child, the dependable one. Their mother stuck around until Dorie was legally an adult, and then she saw her chance and left. After that, Jack had counted on Dorie. And he needed her now more than ever.

In the visitor’s room at the Broad Creek Correctional Facility, Jack had sat across from her, his hands folded, his gaze imploring her. “What do you mean he’s gone?” he’d asked when she’d given him the bad news about their funds being missing.

“He just up and left after he signed the papers on the Crab Trap.”

“But that’s your money. You earned it!”

“I know, Jack, and I’ve spent the last five days trying to find out where he might have gone.”

His fingers tightened until his knuckles turned white. “And did you? Find out, I mean.”

“I think so. I hope so.” She’d explained about locating one of the regulars from the Crab Trap who’d spent long hours talking to Clancy about whatever old guys reminisced over. He’d been reluctant to tell her what she wanted to know, but finally relented when she made him see that Clancy had treated her unfairly.

He’d told her that Clancy had talked about going to the mountains to find someone he knew. He remembered Clancy mentioning a place called The Crooked Spruce in the Blue Ridge chain. So Dorie had searched for The Crooked Spruce on Google, and come up with one reference only. Somebody had applied for a vendor’s license for a new business in western North Carolina.

After visiting with Jack and reassuring him that she would do whatever she could to get his defense rolling again, she’d packed a bag and headed for the mountains hoping to surprise Clancy at his hideout.

Now, even though she’d found him, she’d hit an even more impenetrable stone wall. She opened her eyes to erase the image of Jack’s face—desperate, sad, knowing she was his only hope. It wasn’t fair. Just because Jack had gotten into a few scrapes, the police seemed to believe he was guilty of shooting and killing a convenience store clerk in Winston Beach. But he’d been almost as much of a victim as the clerk had. Dorie knew that. She believed his story. He was only sixteen years old, her baby brother. She’d taken care of him all his life. She wouldn’t stop now.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and fixed Clancy with her iciest stare. “You’re going to get the money,” she said. “You’re going to pay me what you owe me. I need that money.”

The only sound that registered in her brain was her own heartbeat, pumping blood furiously through her veins. She’d never known she could feel such animosity toward another human being.

Clancy didn’t blink, but she knew he was aware just how fragile her emotions were at this moment, just how close to the edge of rational behavior she felt and how precarious his situation was. He swallowed and ran a finger inside the ribbed neckline of his T-shirt. “It may take a while...” he said.

“I don’t have a while. And I’m not kidding. I’m not leaving here without five grand.”

Clancy darted a look at his son who’d remained silent. And then the old guy sort of smiled, attempting some of that charm he’d used to sucker her into revitalizing his restaurant. “Bret?” Despite his silly grin, his voice quivered on the brink of panic. “Don’t let her near the fireplace poker.”

Bret stretched out his leg, rubbed a hand over his thigh and winced. “I don’t know as I could stop her, Pop.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “How would I get my money that way? I’m just going to haunt you and threaten you and make your life miserable until I get every last cent.”

Clancy turned his hands up on the table. “I don’t know how...”

Bret rose slowly, as if even that simple movement pained him. He took a few steps toward a doorway that led from the room. “Pop, can I see you in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing.” Clancy stood and strode after his son, moving so fast that Dorie could only conclude that he was grateful to be anywhere but in the same room as her.

“Don’t even think about going out a back door,” she called after him. “You won’t get very far in the dark on this mountain. And I can run faster than you.”

Bret stood in the entry, his hand on the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back.”

She believed him. In fact, she was dangerously close to putting too much faith in this younger Donovan. He had that kind of face a person could trust, though she saw now that it wasn’t a perfect face. His complexion was ruddy from mountain winds. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from the accumulation of his life experiences, many of which Dorie suspected had been hard, especially knowing his father. Strangely, these imperfections only gave a sense of solid strength to him she could identify with.

She could imagine him assuming a commanding stance whether he was talking with his father or a suspect. Yes, with his legs braced, his shoulders back and his penetrating gaze on a person’s face, he could convince anyone to do the right thing. At least Dorie hoped so.

“We’ll be back,” Bret said. He watched his father slink into the kitchen. “And then I may just turn him over to you and a couple of hungry black bears.”