Chains

by Tymber Dalton

  “I…” Shit. “I’ve got a show. I’m here the next two weekends.”

  “Drive back. Leave the RV parked there and come stay with us. Booger misses Chewi anyway, I think.”

  Their bulldog had been enamored with Chewi from the first time they met. Love at first lick.

  “Okay.” She eyed a group of people approaching her tent. “Listen, I need to go. I’ve got customers coming. Please call the guy back for me and tell him I’ll call him tonight and talk to him. And yes, you can give him my number. The earliest I can get down there is Monday night.”

  “Will do.”

  She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket. She didn’t want to think about this right now. She didn’t want to break down crying here.

  Stuffing her emotions into her pocket as well, she forced a cheery smile as a group of several women gathered around her display.

  “Afternoon, m’ladies. Lovely day, ’tis not?”

  * * * *

  It was when Rebecca was packing at the end of the day that she remembered what she’d struggled so hard not to think about all day.

  Her uncle.

  Dammit.

  Eliza had texted her the attorney’s info. After packing and returning to the RV, she grabbed a quick shower. With Chewi curled up on the sofa next to her, she called the man.

  “Hi, Mr. Payne? This is Rebecca Hames. My friend Eliza said you’re my uncle’s attorney.”

  “Yes, she explained you were out of town. I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news…”

  By the time she got off the phone with Ed Payne nearly an hour later, she had a page of notes typed on her iPad and felt both stunned and emotionally drained. Yes, her uncle had left everything to her. The property, his bank accounts, she was listed on his insurance as the beneficiary, his military benefits—everything.

  The attorney said that while the house was hoarded, it wasn’t a worst-case scenario. He had friends who ran a disaster recovery business, and one of them had gone in wearing protective gear to assess the house. He’d located where her uncle had kept bank statements and other records in a desk in the living room. The last bank statement listed accumulated balances of over one hundred and ninety thousand dollars, and there would be a life insurance policy to file a claim on as well for over two hundred thousand dollars, in addition to a few other things, like a retirement portfolio account.

  And then there was the property.

  The estimate for clean-up would be around ten thousand dollars, give or take, or she could agree to a film crew documenting the process and the production company would cover much of the expenses. But that the clean-up couldn’t go forward without her there to look at stuff to see what she wanted kept or salvaged from the property.

  Not only did she now have a chunk of property tying her down, she was financially secure—really secure—for the first time in her adult life.

  The retirement account and other things would have to go through probate, but since her uncle had put her name on the bank accounts and on the property, which he owned free and clear, she could access those at any time.

  She stared at Chewi. “Guess you can keep eating the good kibble, buddy.”

  He sniffed at her without raising his head.

  * * * *

  After Rebecca made herself a cup of chamomile tea to calm her nerves, she made the call she really dreaded—to her father. She had completely brainfarted on calling him earlier, between trying to run her booth at the show and deal with the emotional blow.

  “Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?”

  “I have some bad news for you, Dad.” She gave him the short version, the little that she knew.

  He went silent for so long she had to look to see if the call had dropped.

  “You still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding somber. “Sorry. I guess I always thought we’d reconcile.” Her father was the youngest brother. The last time Jackson had seen his two brothers was at their mother’s funeral twenty years earlier. Their father had died the year before her.

  Rebecca had been old enough to drive and still visit her uncle, but back then his house, while looking like a bachelor lived there, hadn’t been hoarded. Yes, he’d had lots of stuff stacked in the spare bedrooms, but nothing like the attorney had described to her on the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Why did the attorney contact you, again?”

  She took a deep breath. “I guess I’m his heir. He left everything to me.”

  He laughed. “Good for you, sweetheart. He always did like you better than Tom’s kids. Said you were down-to-earth and fun to have as a niece.”

  “You’re…not mad, are you?”

  “Mad? Why would I be mad?” He sounded genuinely confused.

  “It’s a lot of…it’s a lot.”

  “Sweetheart, after what you’ve been through, consider this your winning lotto ticket. Enjoy it. Go back to school and get another degree. Buy a new RV. Get Chewi some new duds. How is my granddog, anyway?”

  She reached out and stroked his head. “He’s already demanding quarters upgrades.”

  “Maybe now you can afford to buy him those ‘minuns’ he’s been wanting so he can finally take over the world.”

  Now she laughed. Her parents had bought into the storytelling about Chewi and his plans for world ‘dominayshun’ and played along. It didn’t hurt that Chewi was almost like a ventriloquist dog with his facial expressions and reactions to them.

  “Maybe.”

  “Look, I’ll call Tom for you. When are you heading down there?”

  “Monday. Eliza said I can stay with them. I’m going to drive the Toad and leave the RV parked here. I have to be back by early next Friday morning for the weekend. Two more weekends here, then I have two weeks off until the next event. I’ll drive the RV down then, if there’s still stuff to do.”

  “If you need any help, call me.”

  “Do I…I mean, do I have a service or a funeral or something?”

  “What did his will say?”

  “I didn’t think to ask that. The lawyer said he specified he wanted to be cremated, but other than that, I don’t know.”

  “Okay, then ask the lawyer first. I don’t mean to sound cold about this, but Tom and I weren’t close to him. He made it pretty clear the last time we saw him that he didn’t want anything to do with us personally.”

  “Why? I’ve never asked that, but I want to know.”

  He let out a sigh. “Tom and I were pissed off at him for not being there more for Dad and Mom while Dad was sick. The cancer first hit him ten years before it finally killed him. All the stuff we did to help them, we both felt Jack could have taken more of an active role in their care than he did. He was still in the military, but he was stationed at MacDill then. He could have come down and helped some. And when he retired, he hardly helped at all. According to him, Dad was pissed off at him for joining the military and said he didn’t want Jack around.”

  “I thought Grandpa was in the army back in World War II?”

  “He was. Which was why he was so adamant about none of us joining. He wouldn’t talk about it with us. He wanted us to go to college and get degrees, and Jackson enrolled after graduating from high school without talking to Mom and Dad first.

  “No offense, but it sounds like a stupid thing to split a family over.”

  “It was, in retrospect. Tom and I were younger, and yes, we were trying to stay on Dad’s good side because we were teenagers. And then Jackson was gone for years, hardly any contact until he was back in Florida again near retirement. Tom and I tried to talk to him, to get him to put it behind him and be an active part of the family, but he had pulled away, too.”

  “That’s really sad.”

  “It is.” He let out a sigh. “That’s why I’m glad you kept us posted about what was going on with Sam when you divorced him. You didn’t pull away from us.”

  She didn’t want to think abo
ut Sam. “He’s in the past.”

  “You can’t fool me. I know that’s why you decided to go on the road. You have a degree in accounting. You could have settled down into a great job in Sarasota, or even up in Tampa or St. Pete. You ran far and fast once you were free of that bastard.”

  “Yeah,” she quietly said. “I can’t deny that.”

  “Well, look at it this way,” her dad said. “You get another chance to start over and do whatever you want. Either fix the house up and live there, or sell it and use the money, anything. It’s all up to you.”

  After a brief chat with her mom, Rebecca ended the call and stared down at Chewi.

  “I guess if we had a house, you would have a place to let your minuns sleep.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her.

  I need you to buy me minuns first.

  She stroked his head. “Maybe I should use that money to buy me some psychotherapy.”

  It couldn’t hurt.

  Chapter Four

  Early Monday morning, Rebecca packed up her jewelry supplies, a bag of clothes, Chewi’s stuff, and notified the RV park office she likely wouldn’t be back until late Thursday or early Friday. She left her cell number and Eliza’s number with them, and slipped the manager an extra forty bucks to keep an eye on the RV for her. After setting up the Android cellular tablet she only used for ringing credit card sales and as a GPS unit for driving, she set off for Florida.

  It was late Monday afternoon when she pulled into Eliza and Rusty’s driveway. Eliza emerged from the house, hurrying over to her for a long, strong hug.

  They were interrupted by an irritated grumble from the passenger seat.

  Chewi, slowly wagging his tail, was still held back by his safety harness that kept him tethered to the seat.

  “Hey, Chewi,” Eliza said, walking around to free him. “Did you take over the world yet?”

  He greeted her with eager face licks and a faster beat of his tail.

  “He only loves you for the good nommies,” Rebecca teased. “Remember that.”

  “Yeah, these damn doggy dictators are fickle beasts.” She set him down, holding onto his leash while he sniffed around. “Can I help you unload?”

  “No, I’ll get it in a little while. Right now, I just want to relax.”

  They went inside, where Booger, a fifty-pound Old English bulldog whose real name was Boo, eagerly greeted her long-lost four-legged friend.

  Chewi responded by trying to hump the much taller dog.

  Eliza sadly shook her head. “He still doesn’t remember he’s neutered and she’s spayed, does he?”

  “Sure he does,” Rebecca called out as she headed for the bathroom. “It’s totally safe sex he’s after. He’s no dummy.”

  * * * *

  They were sitting at the dining room table and talking while waiting on the attorney to arrive when Rebecca finally asked the question. “Any news on you-know-who?”

  “Wow. I’m impressed. You went nearly a whole hour without stressing out over Sam.”

  “Sorry. I’m paranoid.”

  “Don’t be.” She started to say something else when they heard a car in the drive. “That must be Ed Payne. Hold that thought.”

  She got up and let the attorney in. An older man, he wore a suit and tie and carried a laptop bag. Rebecca thought it was a little odd when Eliza greeted him with a warm hug. Rebecca stood when Eliza led him over to the table and made the introductions.

  “Rusty and I know Ed,” Eliza explained. “He’s a friend of ours.”

  “Ah.”

  As they settled in at the table and he pulled his laptop out, he said, “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.”

  “As we discussed on the phone, I signed the paperwork allowing the Medical Examiner’s office to release your uncle’s body to the mortuary. I didn’t know what kind of urn you wanted, but we can go pick that out tomorrow.”

  She nodded, trying to take everything in.

  He pushed a set of keys across the table to her. “We checked these. They unlock the front and back doors to the house, his truck, and locks on the barn and storage sheds behind the house.”

  “How bad is it?” she asked. “The house.”

  “Honestly, I’ve seen worse. Unfortunately, the biological issue is that…well, at least the air conditioner was running in the house. Of course, the carpeting and furniture in the room he was found in should definitely be removed. The rest of the house is cluttered, but there was a sort of order about it, if that makes sense? It’s not like he was collecting garbage. My friend said your uncle was a middle-of-the-road hoarder. He was functional, and even his personal bedroom was fairly clear of items, but he was using the house for storage.”

  “Should I just have an estate sale and be done with it?”

  “Not until some cleaning and decontamination are done, no.”

  Eliza squeezed her hand. “I think what he’s trying to say in a roundabout way is that when you have a body locked up for a couple of weeks in a house, you get bugs.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

  “So then what do I do?”

  He explained that nothing could happen until she signed a contract with the cleaning service anyway. But they had recommended renting a couple of portable storage units and putting them on the property so that the cleaning team could get the house cleared out. Then she could go through those items and decide what to keep and what to sell.

  “I don’t even have a house of my own,” she said.

  “You do now,” Eliza quipped.

  He had her sign paperwork, and gave her checkbooks and other paperwork she’d need that they’d retrieved from her uncle’s desk. Ed also confirmed he’d go with her in the morning, first to the bank, to get her access to the accounts, then to file the probate papers, followed by the mortuary, and a final stop at the house to meet with one of the members of the clean-up company.

  Rebecca had to cram a lot into a few days. She wanted to spend Thursday night in her own bed, if possible, and would be driving back down to Florida either late Sunday or early Monday morning, depending on how she felt, to get more done.

  But it overwhelmed her.

  By the time Ed left an hour later, Rebecca felt drained.

  Eliza noticed. “Let’s go out to eat. Our treat. Pizza.”

  “I really want to go out to Uncle Jack’s place and get a look at it.”

  “We’ll do that after the Barbarian gets home.” That was Eliza’s nickname for her husband, Rusty. “Then dinner.”

  When Rusty arrived, the three of them drove, with Rebecca navigating from the backseat, out to her uncle’s house.

  They pulled up to the house. In the tall grass, Rebecca spotted plenty of places where it had been recently trampled, car tracks, and she could only imagine the sight of the ME’s van and deputies and other official vehicles parked there Saturday.

  “You all right?” Eliza asked.

  “Yeah. I want to see it now so it doesn’t slam me in the gut tomorrow.” She got out and went to the truck first. Nothing special about it, other than it needed to be washed. The Ford was about fifteen years old.

  Also with her name in addition to her uncle’s on the registration and title. He seemed to be a man who thought ahead to save her aggravation.

  She unlocked it and got in, relieved to see it didn’t look any worse on the inside than any average car. No piles of junk in the cab or in the bed under the topper. Just a small toolbox behind the seat.

  It started on the first try, much to her relief.

  “Know anyone who wants to buy a truck?” she asked.

  “Don’t be so fast to sell it,” Rusty told her. “You might need it. Looks like it has a welded frame trailer hitch on it that’s gotten a lot of use.”

  True. It seemed like she remembered her uncle had a trailer for his tractor and for taking stuff to swap meets. If she sold the truck, she’d have no way of getting the
trailer and tractor to their new owners.

  Then again, she might need the tractor for the property.

  She was just getting out of the truck when two guys walked up the driveway. She’d spotted them emerging from the house next door a moment earlier and wondered if they were the ones who’d discovered her uncle’s body.

  Eliza cocked her head quizzically as she studied the two men, but she didn’t say anything when they walked up.

  Before Rebecca could question her friend, one of the men, a cutie with blue eyes and wavy, dark-blond hair, spoke up. “Hi. I’m Toby Sorto. This is my partner, Logan Benford. We live next door.” He stuck a hand out.

  She shook with him. “Rebecca Hames. Jackson was my uncle.”

  “Okay,” Logan said. “Ed stopped by and gave us a heads-up yesterday that you might be coming by soon. Your uncle’s attorney. We’re casual acquaintances with him. We have several mutual friends. We told him we’d keep an eye on the property and call him if we saw anything suspicious.” Logan had short, dark-brown hair and an intense hazel gaze. They were both hunks.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

  Eliza had cocked her head the other way, as if puzzling something, then looked like she made the connection. “Ah. That’s where I know you both from. The Suncoast Society munch.”

  Rebecca swiveled her head and glared at her friend.

  But apparently Toby was tracking. “Yes, I was trying to think where I knew you from, too. That’s it.”

  Eliza smiled at Rebecca. “They’re in the lifestyle. We’ve seen them around. Not in a while, though. Glad to see you again.”

  “I’m guessing,” Logan said, “that Rebecca is aware of what that means.”

  “Yes.” Eliza hooked an arm through hers. “Bestie’s been on the road a few years, though. She’s sort of lost touch with the locals. This is my friend who makes the chainmaille collars and jewelry.”

  “Ah!” Toby said. “Okay, yes. You’re the one from Chewi Chains.”

  “That’s me.” Chewi the dog had been named after her business, which she’d named because of her love for the Star Wars character. Eliza was her local pimp, keeping the BDSM club Venture stocked with items and business cards.