by Jacie Floyd
Something going on there .
Dad hadn’t mentioned it, but then, he hadn’t been one to gossip. Sharing information, sure. Keeping her up-to-date on everyone’s coming and goings, absolutely. But spreading unconfirmed details about his friends, or even confirmed details he thought might hurt them? Nope. He kept that stuff to himself.
As it had off and on all day, Liam’s comment about Dad’s “lady friend” sprang to mind. She’d considered each of the single women at the wake and tried to picture her by Dad’s side. None of the possibilities seemed likely.
If that tidbit were true, why hadn’t ten or twelve locals tried to share the juicy scoop with her today? All the town’s biggest gossips had been on hand for the funeral, burial, and wake, and no one had whispered a word about a girlfriend. Except for Liam. The least likely source of gossip in the whole town. Weird that he’d been the one to mention it. He knew too well what it felt like to have his life’s secrets wagged about by vicious tongues.
A bump in the living room grabbed her attention. Leaving the sumptuous new kitchen— what had Dad been thinking to remodel so extravagantly? The man didn’t even cook ! —she stopped in the living room’s arched doorway. With her face crumpled in sorrow, Barb sat on the good sofa holding her parents’ wedding photo.
With reluctant sympathy, Jillian went straight to her. “I’m sure this is hard for you. You were such a good friend to them both.”
The older woman gave a guilty start, like she’d been caught stealing the silverware. The framed photograph dropped to the floor. She picked it up and returned it to the end table, then tucked in her lips, thinning them to a narrow line. “Such a sweet lady. Your mother and I were on dozens of school projects together when you and Grady were young, you know. She was a great support through my divorce.”
“I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember that year when I was fourteen and Mother was first diagnosed. You were frequently sitting with her when I came home from school.”
“And later, Bert and I served on the Town Council together.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “We butted heads most of the time, but in the end, we agreed on what needed to be done.”
Behind the flawless makeup, hair, and forceful personality, the woman looked lost and forlorn. Despite the hard time Barb had been giving her all day, Jillian reached out to pat the councilwoman’s hand. “He frequently mentioned you. I know he admired your outspokenness and devotion to the town.”
Moisture filled Barb’s eyes, and Jillian wasn’t sure she could hold back her own tears. Damn Grady for taking off without her.
Barb sniffed and lifted her chin. “He’ll be missed by everyone, not just me.”
“And not because he employed half the town.” Jillian’s pride for her father welled up. “He hunted, fished, or played golf with most of them, too. In his speech, Mick called him a ‘man of the people.’ He really was that. Friendly and generous with his time and money.”
“Too generous, if you ask me.”
A flare of outrage stiffened Jillian’s spine. “How can you say that? Almost everyone in Sunnyside benefitted from his generosity. Everyone counted on him to be the first one to send a gift, lend a hand, make a donation, or offer a scholarship. He didn’t just squirrel his money away or rub it in everyone’s noses.”
Barb’s mouth disappeared in a tight, disapproving line again. “Foolishness, mostly. He liked to pretend he was the grand benefactor with bottomless resources. And in the end, what good did it do him?”
“I’d like to think he died happily. Too soon, but honorably and with no regrets.”
“You left years ago and never looked back. What do you know about the way he lived or died? Or the struggles he faced in the last twelve years? You weren’t here.” A shadow of regret passed over the councilwoman’s face as the reproach hung in the air between them.
The accusation stung like a slap in the face. “Struggles? How was he struggling? I saw him several times a year, talked to him at least twice a week, and he never mentioned any struggles.”
Barb glared her disapproval, stood, and headed for the kitchen. “If he didn’t want you to know, it’s not for me to say.”
“Tell me what you’re talking about!”
Shrugging into her coat, Barb’s complexion had turned ashen. “Keep your precious memories another day. You’ll find out soon enough.”
As Barb’s taillights disappeared down the drive, Jillian blinked. She hadn’t been back a full day yet and there’d already been too much drama. Now that she was finally alone, the reality left something to be desired. She’d lived in Sunnyside for eighteen years of her life, but she’d never felt so isolated.
In the frantic hubbub of New York, people surrounded her the livelong day. And nighttime, too. She shared an apartment with her friend Lance, which meant she rarely had the place to herself. He and his eight-year-old daughter were constantly in and out.
She could do with a little dose of Lance’s clear-thinking right now. Checking her phone, she saw that she’d missed several calls from him.
The rain had stopped, so she grabbed a jacket off a peg by the back door where their old dog Ziggy’s leash still hung. The loyal sheltie had died during the summer, and as much as Dad missed the pet, he hadn’t had the heart to replace him. Jillian understood his reluctance, but she would have welcomed the comfort of a furry friend tonight.
With a fresh-brewed cup of tea in hand, she took a heaping serving of Betty Sherwood’s two-thousand-calorie-a-bowl macaroni and cheese and her phone onto the deck. With her feet up, she called Lance and got him on the first ring.
“How you doing, girl?” he asked in a sympathetic voice. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t go to Sunnyside with you.”
Relief oozed through her at the sound of his voice. “We already discussed that. You had other commitments, and it felt right to return on my own.”
“This has got to be the end of a long-ass day for you.”
“God, yes. Too many emotions to sort out. It’s great to be back; it’s terrible to be back. I love these people; I detest these people. The link here is my father, and he’s gone.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t believe that he’s gone.”
“He was a terrific guy. He made me feel like family when he visited you.”
“Everyone loved him...”
“But…? I hear a contradiction coming.”
“I kept getting weird vibes all day. I guess they’re all struggling with the loss. They’re a little uncomfortable around me. Don’t know what to do or say. Don’t know what I’ll do or say. Everyone kept asking me how long I’d be staying.”
He chuckled. “I was wondering the same thing.”
“There’s a lot to be settled with my father’s estate, but I’m sure he has everything squared away. He was always super-organized.” But they’d both thought he’d live a lot longer, and he’d have time to prepare her to accept the responsibilities he’d leave behind. “It won’t be settled overnight, but I imagine all I have to do is sign some papers and get the ball rolling.”
“And then you’ll be an heiress!”
She frowned into her tea. “You know I don’t care about that.”
“Says the girl who’s had everything she ever wanted her whole life.” Lance’s gentle mockery hit home.
“That isn’t true.” Her words lacked conviction. “Is it?” She rubbed her forehead to ward off the migraine threatening to return. “After I left home, he subsidized my income, but I didn’t live lavishly.”
“What? You don’t consider this place lavish?” She heard the wry smile in his voice. When Lance’s daughter, Kaylee, stayed over, she took Lance’s room, and he slept on a pull-out couch in the living room.
“Yeah, but you pay half the rent, or I couldn’t afford to live there without your brilliant money management skills.” As her accountant, he did his best to keep her on budget.
“You could if you didn’t have an addiction to expensive boots and weren�
�t trying to open the world’s finest restaurant.”
“Guilty on both counts.”
“He helped you with the financing for the restaurant, too, didn’t he?”
“As an investment.” Or so he said. Guilt ate at her about that, but she wouldn’t have had enough money without accepting some backing from him.
And she hadn’t asked him for it. Exactly.
He’d offered. Kind of. “If he hadn’t helped, it would have taken me longer to make the dream come true, but I would have managed. Eventually.”
“I know. You’ll be an amazing success and get out from under Terrance the Tyrant’s thumb.”
“He’s not that bad.” He was worse. Her current Executive Chef expected her to work herself into the ground, create fabulous new recipes, put on a happy face for their diners, and not take any credit for their success. Typical of male chef de cuisines everywhere. An attitude that had fueled her desire to rule her own kitchen her way.
“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know better. Or tell me something more interesting instead. Have you seen the hot ex-boyfriend?”
“Briefly.” She pictured Liam’s head bent over hers, the concern in his eyes, but she blinked him away. “He came to offer his condolences.”
“Sounds civilized. I was expecting more fireworks.”
“I had enough drama for today without adding that, thank you very much.” She’d called Lance to get a dose of normal. Talking about Sunnyside wasn’t going to cut it. “Is Kaylee coming over this weekend?” Conversation about Lance’s adorable daughter was always a welcome subject.
Jillian remained on the deck long after the conversation ended, dreading the move inside the empty house. The crystal-clear night held a bright harvest moon that illuminated the backyard pool and beyond. Wet leaves, over-ripe pumpkins, and a bushel of apples someone had left by the back door scented the late autumn air. But mostly it smelled like home.
How many times had she sat on this deck, giggling with her friends, making out with Liam, or grilling burgers with her parents? Life had been so good. So easy. With the self-absorption of a teenager, she’d expected things to go on the same way forever. But they hadn’t. She’d cried many tears in this same spot for her sweet, charming mother, and now she cried them for her dear, larger-than-life father.
Exhausted from the release of emotion after a long, difficult day, she dozed. When she awoke with a start, a truck engine roared to life and a wool stadium blanket had been draped over her. Surging to the railing, she watched a white Ram truck back down the long drive. The headlights blinked off and on before it pulled onto the road in an old familiar signal.
Liam.
Her hand covered her heart, touched that he’d been here to check on her. Relieved that she hadn’t been forced to speak to him again.
Chapter Three
Dumfounded, Jillian blinked and stared at her father’s oldest friend and adviser the next afternoon. “His businesses were what?”
Mick leaned forward, clasping his hands on the stack of folders that dominated his desk. “On the verge of bankruptcy.”
“Bankruptcy.” Repeating the ugly word in a monotone, she could hardly grasp the meaning. Certainly not in relation to her father. He was Sunnyside’s wealthiest man. Always had been. He owned half the town. Employed half the residents. “The lumberyard? Car dealership? Insurance agency? The—” Her voice trailed off as her mind grappled to complete the list. “The farm store? The dance studio?”
“Technically, the businesses aren’t all bankrupt. Some of them are scraping by. Like the day care and the bakery.” He rolled his hand to signify a continuing list. “But he was self-funding most of the others. That couldn’t have gone on much longer with the amount of personal money he had left.”
Too many thoughts swirled through her head to pin any of them down. The most basic ones took precedence. “How? Why?”
Mick removed his glasses and scrubbed his hand across his face. “He loved this town, but it’s shrinking, not growing. I advised him against subsidizing them, but he wouldn’t let any of the businesses close or lay-off any employees.”
“Did he know it was this bad?”
The lawyer slumped in his chair. “We talked about it regularly, but last week, we went through it all again. Looking for something… someway… for him to keep it going. He decided to hang on until the end of the year, and reassess, but the worry was taking its toll. I was afraid…” Mick’s lips pressed together, and he shook his head. “It was a lot of pressure. I worry that’s what caused his heart to fail.”
“Was that the official cause of death?”
“I haven’t got the certificate but combined with his less than healthy diet and lack of exercise, I wouldn’t be surprised if stress played a role.”
“I’ll talk to Zach about Dad’s overall medical condition, but was there anything about him that suggested he was overwhelmed?”
“Besides his financial statement? Not really. You know Bert. When we talked on Monday, he just shrugged and said things had a way of working out.”
“He always believed that.” She pinched her bottom lip while absorbing this latest bombshell. “I get that the businesses are going broke, but what about the physical properties? Don’t the land and structures have value of their own?”
“In theory, but who would buy them? More people are moving out of Sunnyside than in.” He handed her a sheaf of papers. “Here’s Marcus’s most recent financial report.”
Columns of red swam in front of her eyes. She scanned the first few pages. Her gaze lingered on one big-figure item that had been nagging her. “Why did Dad spend all this money on a new kitchen he didn’t want or need?”
“Old man Snyder’s construction company couldn’t pay Bert money that was owed. So, Bert agreed to accept the remodel as payment.”
“Then why did he owe eighty-thousand dollars for it?”
“Materials, mostly. Granite, appliances, flooring, lighting. Everyone expected Bert to buy the best. And all those purchases helped the other businesses out.”
“On paper, maybe.” Her head felt numb. Her fingertips, too. She wanted a drink of water but didn’t think she could lift the glass. It was a stunning life moment, to find out everything she thought was true turned out to be fiction. Now, she understood why Barb had accused her father of being too generous. Jillian could almost resent the town for expecting so much from him. But… Hadn’t she done the same? “He gave me money for my restaurant.” Shame burned her cheeks as she looked up from the sheet. “Why do that when he was nearly broke?”
“You needed it to get your loan.” Mick’s shrug said that explained it all. “He wanted you to have some money from him before it was gone.”
When had her father ever denied her anything? When had she ever thought he couldn’t afford to? How self-centered had she been? Way back in the very dark corners of her mind, she’d been considering the best way to utilize her upcoming inheritance in her new venture. And now she recognized the selfishness of that. She grabbed a tissue from the box on Mick’s desk. Wiping her eyes, she flipped through the report.
“Here’s one that looks profitable. What’s this?” She squinted to get the name right. “The Kitty Kat Club? I can’t place it.”
“I guess Bert didn’t tell you about that one.” Mick cleared his throat and squirmed. “When he bought it, the place was hemorrhaging money. He hired a new manager, changed the name, made some other updates, and boy, it’s been a real winner. I was skeptical, but to tell you the truth, he’d be in much worse financial shape without it.”
Finally , some good news. “What is it? Where is it? Is it a bar? Or a restaurant?” Wouldn’t that be ironic? Or convenient. A restaurant was the one business she understood.
“It’s the old strip club.”
If a head could actually explode, hers would have. “That tacky old place out on the highway? The one with Live! Nude! Girls! in neon lights?” Her fingers mimicked flashing signs with each word.
Mick meekly nodded. “Bert didn’t think you’d approve.”
“Oh, dear God! I own a strip club? How—” Her tongue stumbled over finding a word bad enough to describe it until the floodgate opened and they started spilling out! “—awful! Sexist! Degrading!” In the food world where female chefs had to fight and claw their way up the ladder for recognition and respect, she’d developed a reputation as a fierce women’s rights advocate. Equal rights. Feminism. Whatever term covered it these days, she wore the label proudly. And now she was profiting off the exploitation of women? Unthinkable.
Wincing, she dropped her head into her hands. If word of this got out in her professional world, she’d be mocked mercilessly. Discredited, if not completely ruined. “This can’t be true!”
“You can’t afford for it not to be.”
Staring at Mitch, her stomach turned over. “You want me to set aside my principles for financial convenience?”
Ever the realist, the lawyer gave it to her straight. “Principles don’t put food on the table or pay the bills.”
“I’m able to eat and pay my bills just fine, thank you, without selling my principles.”
“For how long? And what about Sunnyside? The town and its citizens aren’t quite so lucky.”
And how was that her problem? The question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but the answer immediately followed. Her father’s finances and the towns were entwined like a pile of spaghetti on a plate. It was one thing for her to prance on back to New York without a second glance, but another thing to know she carried the welfare of all her father’s employees on her back. And the town they lived in. She pressed fingertips to her temples. Surely there was a reasonable resolution for the situation.
Not that she didn’t have every confidence in Marcus, the seventy-plus accountant who’d been doing her father’s books for the past forty years, but maybe he and Mick weren’t quite as market-savvy as Lance. She really wouldn’t make any decisions until he’d looked over the mess, checked the figures, and ran all the numbers.