Spring Tides

by Jill Allyson Keene

  She swallowed back the shaky voice as he walked onto the plank porch. His gray suit was bespoke. The pale blue tie matched his eyes perfectly. This, she knew, was by design. Gray hair at his temples showed age, but with it an air of distinction. She waited. He’d get to the point quick enough.

  “I’ve asked you to stop calling me that. My name is Charles. I think a more appropriate title would be Dad.”

  The hint of South in his voice gave him a genteel and kind air, which was a direct contradiction to his actual personality. This took most people quite a while to recognize. That made her father a very successful con man.

  “You’ll always be ‘Chuck’ to me. Just because you got a debutante pregnant twenty-eight years ago doesn’t make you anyone’s father. You were a stable boy grasping for a big payday, and simply because you’ve added some polish doesn’t make you any different now.” She shook her head. “Jesus, I hate clichés, and you, Chuck, are a giant cliché.” She clenched her fists. “I assume, since I haven’t seen you in almost two years, you are here to blackmail me again?”

  “Must you always go on the attack? Your mother forgave me. Why can’t you?”

  “Call it a character flaw.” She tried to sound strong, but he’d hit the right nerve. He always did. “You promised: stay away from Reggie.”

  The bastard smiled. “We’ll see.”

  She remained standing as her father took a seat in the rocker on the other side of the little porch.

  “Tell me what you want, then get lost.”

  “In my own time.” Chuck steepled his fingers. “I noticed your mother left today. Packed up with that mongrel of a lobster-man and took off for parts unknown.”

  “Mongrel?” She clenched her fists again, and then just as quickly forced herself to relax. He would not rattle her. “That’s hilarious coming from you.”

  “I can trace my lineage back to the Mayflower, young lady.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, who’d you pay to falsify those records? Anything to seem legit, huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh well, it really doesn’t matter.” She tried for breezy. “Really, Chuck, I’m busy. Just stop the con and bottom-line it for me.”

  “I asked where your mother went.” He took a cigar—probably a Cuban—from his inside jacket pocket.

  “I chose not to answer. Now, if you want cash, you need to make it quick. I’m running late for a meeting,” she lied.

  “I didn’t come back for money, sweetheart.” This was new. Her heart hammered in her chest. He was changing the game.

  “I came to congratulate you on your grandfather’s death.”

  “You can fake the Mayflower lineage but certainly not the good manners.” A breeze rolled in, but she refused to hug herself to ward off the chill. “It’s in poor taste to congratulate anyone for a death in the family. Reginald made sure Reggie and I weren’t part of his family.”

  The lawyer told her no one knew the true contents of the will yet, so she wasn’t particularly concerned. Chuck had tried to get more money from Reginald all those years ago and had come up dry. He moved on to Reggie at that point, coming in and out of their lives for whatever he could take her for.

  For a while, he had simply disappeared. She knew this had something to do with the second mortgage her mother had taken out on the cottage when she was thirteen. The minute she graduated from Brown, he’d started to hit her up for cash, this time promising to leave Reggie alone. She would pay anything for that, and he knew it. He thinks I’m going to be rich, she suddenly realized, and for the first time she smiled.

  “Rest assured, Chuck; Reginald didn’t leave me any money.”

  Her father shrugged, still holding the unlit cigar he seemed to be using as a prop. “That may or may not be true, but he was strange about family. He probably left your mother something.” He waited a beat before adding, “Either way, someone should convince her to contest the will. If she didn’t get her inheritance the first time, something tells me she’ll get paid eventually. The press would be more than sympathetic to her story, don’t you think? An unwed mother cast aside by her billionaire father almost thirty years ago and left out of the will. They’ll eat it up.” He grinned and then laughed outright. “You know who won’t find it so tasty? Your auntie Serena.”

  “And your play, Chuck?” She pushed down the nausea and the tears. He was despicable, and there was nothing she could do.

  “Oh, I’m just a concerned citizen. I want to see your mother get what she deserves is all.”

  “And if Reggie gets her share, you’ll come a calling for a piece.”

  “A significant piece, my darling daughter,” he confirmed. “I am, after all, family.”

  “And if Reggie doesn’t contest?”

  “Someone should alert the media a great injustice is being perpetuated by a member of the one percent. Your auntie Serena guards her reputation like the Hope Diamond. One potential flaw, and she will pay to make it all go away.”

  He rose from the rocker and placed the cigar back in his pocket. His fingers reminded her of a spider’s legs. Finally, he sauntered up to her, inches from her face. He used those long, nasty fingers to reach for her throat, squeezed. “It will be easy for you to make your mother see reason. Word is, the will reading is coming up.” He squeezed a bit harder, finally released her, and then kissed her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She didn’t move until after she’d watched him walk all the way down her lane to the center of town, take a left on Main Street, and then disappear. She lowered herself to her chair and let the tears come.

  Chapter Six

  She looked like she was about to face a firing squad.

  Finn couldn’t help but stare at Beverly Winslow as she sat in his conference room waiting for the will reading. She was a rusted Tin Man, careful to make no sudden moves. “Would you like some water or coffee?”

  “No, thank you; your assistant already asked.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to go over before the rest of the group arrives?” He thought she looked lovely but fragile. Less like the Amazon goddess he’d been having fantasies about since they met and more like an ethereal mermaid. Dark circles marked under her eyes, and he wished he hadn’t been the one who put them there. He didn’t agree with what Reginald had done, but he was bound to finish the job for his late client.

  She closed her eyes, rubbed one temple with an index finger. “I just want this to be over so I can pretend it never happened.”

  He still hadn’t figured out this woman. Most people would take the money and run. “I know we just met, Ms. Winslow, but you can trust me,” he said. “Many people even think I’m a good lawyer.”

  His joke drew a small smile from her. “From what I’ve heard about Reginald, I’m sure he picked the best. This may be difficult for you to understand, but I don’t want or need the money.”

  “No, it’s not difficult. I’ve done my research. You graduated high school early, put yourself through college and graduate school, earning multiple degrees. You are the youngest female ship captain in all of Massachusetts. You don’t strike me as someone who needs help making her way. Given the fact Reginald disowned your mother, I can understand your reticence completely. I just wasn’t expecting it. Most people would want the money.”

  “If you get it, then why am I here?”

  “That isn’t my call and, unfortunately, I must fulfill my client’s wishes. After you’ve heard everything, if you still want to refuse the inheritance, I’ll do my best to make it happen quickly.”

  She smiled at him, and he felt his body warm. Jesus, she was beautiful. He told himself to put a lock on it. He was her attorney.

  “Thank you, Mr. Callahan.”

  “Call me Finn.”

  “Same goes for me, use my first name. I’m not a formal person.”

  He nodded and rose when he heard the knock at the door. Lara let herself in.“Hello, sweetheart,” she purred.

  Before he could stop her, she sauntered
into the conference room. He cleared his throat. “Lara, I’m with a client. How did you get past Julie?” He bit back an oath. When would she get the picture? Lara perched on the edge of the table. “Your assistant was on the phone, so I let myself in. I wanted to see if you were free to discuss a case?”

  “I’m not,” he answered. “Lara Pell, this is Beverly Winslow.” Beverly rose and shook Lara’s hand. “Ms. Winslow, Lara is another attorney in the building.”

  Beverly sat back down. “Nice to meet you.”

  Lara eyed her. “You’re in excellent hands, if you’re Finn’s client. He can do no wrong.”

  He almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he led Lara to the door. “Why don’t you ask Sullivan on the third floor?” he suggested. “I’m afraid I won’t be available for some time.” He nodded his good-bye and closed the door before Lara could embarrass him further.

  “Sorry about that,” he said after returning to his side of the desk.

  “No worries. That was some pretty pout she gave you when you said no.”

  He laughed. “You couldn’t say that better. She doesn’t take ‘no’ well, which makes her an excellent lawyer but a complicated ex-girlfriend.”

  “Seems to me relationships of any kind are complicated, whether there’s an ‘ex’ in front of it or not.”

  This was interesting. “You don’t do relationships?”

  “I don’t do complicated.”

  “No grand romances in your life then?”

  “Are you cross-examining me about my love life?”

  Was he? He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested. But there were laws regarding conflict of interest. “I apologize if I gave that impression. I was caught up in the conversation. ‘No complications’ sounds intriguing.”

  “It works for some.” Her answer was noncommittal. He wanted to delve into that response.

  The intercom buzzed an interruption, and Jules announced the arrival of Serena and her family.

  “Unfortunately, the next hour won’t be free of complications.” He pressed the intercom. “Send them in, please, Jules.”

  When Serena, John, and their two children entered the conference room, each was dressed in black. Pearls for Serena and her daughter. School ties for the men. They all looked respectful and appropriate. Knowing Serena was inventorying the silverware when he’d last left her, the public display of mourning was off-putting.

  His client stood, smoothed her red suit jacket, and pulled back her shoulders. She looked magnificent, a queen ready for her subjects. He saw her hands shaking. She folded them in front of her torso while he made the introductions.

  “Serena and John Hamilton, this is Beverly Winslow. Beverly, these are their children, John and Amanda.” Beverly inclined her head. No one reached to shake hands.

  Serena raised an eyebrow and, saying nothing, stared down her nose at her red suit. Beverly stared right back.

  He covered his smile with a cough. “Well, then, if no one objects, we can begin. Please, everyone, be seated.” Serena and her family took their seats across from his client. A united front he believed they’d rehearsed to look intimidating. If she was still nervous, he didn’t see it.

  He took his seat at the head of the conference table.

  “The pertinent sections of the will are in the folders in front of you. There are parts of the will that Reginald requested Ms. Winslow hear alone, at which point you will be asked to leave. We will begin with the bequest to Serena Hamilton.” He drew a breath. This part was not going to be fun.

  “In accordance with Reginald’s final wishes, Serena will receive an allowance from the Winslow Foundation for her charitable works. This allowance will cover her expenses—to be submitted monthly. Reginald also provided a fund for your housing costs. Additionally, a lump sum of twenty million dollars is bequeathed to you.”

  A small gasp escaped her lips. “He put me on an allowance? What about John?” Serena asked. “What about the company?”

  “I will read Reginald’s words verbatim. They should explain everything.” He glanced at his client. She held her hands tightly folded on the table staring straight ahead.

  “To my daughter Serena and her family, I leave twenty million dollars and a generous allowance. Serena is aware this is a consequence for her actions, which I will not explain here. To my grandchildren, John Jr. and Amanda, I leave each of you ten million dollars, accessible only after your twenty-fifth birthdays and your graduations from an accredited institution of higher learning. To my son-in-law, John Hamilton, I authorize the transfer of one hundred thousand shares of Winslow Holdings stock into his retirement portfolio. Additionally, John Hamilton will retain his position on the board of directors of Winslow Holdings for one calendar year. The newly appointed president and CEO will make any changes necessary at that time.”

  “Who is the new president?” Serena asked, her normally refined voice shrill.

  “I am getting to that,” Finn said with more patience than he felt. “It should answer any questions.” Oh boy. Here it comes.

  “Finally, to my granddaughter Beverly Regina Winslow, I bequeath the rest of my estate in its entirety. Beverly Regina Winslow will be named president and CEO of Winslow Holdings upon her acceptance of this bequest. Additionally, all property—including the compound in Maine, chalet in Switzerland, penthouse in Boston, and all manner of transportation owned by me—will transfer to her. This includes the Winslow Holdings jet.”

  Serena lowered her head and then raised ice blue eyes in Beverly’s direction. “This is unacceptable. I will contest. You don’t possess the necessary credentials to run my father’s company. You will ruin our name.”

  “I don’t want any of it,” Bev whispered.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Serena clapped back.

  “Don’t judge me by you.”

  Serena stood. “How dare you?”

  Finn cleared his throat. “I need to continue reading the will.”

  “Fine,” Serena bit out and sat back down.

  Face ashen, Beverly nodded.

  “Beverly Regina Winslow is required to perform her duties as heir apparent to the Winslow name for one calendar year, during which time she is subject to requirements set forth in the attached Exhibit A. If Ms. Winslow refuses the inheritance, it shall immediately transfer to my daughter Regina Meredith Winslow, and John Hamilton shall be named CEO.”

  “If you don’t want it, prove it,” Serena challenged. “Refuse the inheritance. Obviously my father gave my sister the money to clear his conscience for disowning her. John will be able to run Winslow Holdings, and we won’t suffer your inexperience.”

  “Ms. Winslow is required by law to hear all of the terms of the will before she is allowed to take any action. At this point, I must ask the Hamilton family to exit.”

  The entire family rose in unison, Amanda and John Jr. each on their phones immediately. They’d grown up with enormous wealth. Their lives probably wouldn’t change much either way. They strode from the room, but Serena suddenly stopped and pivoted. “Make the right choice for the Winslow name, young lady. You aren’t up to this.” She glanced at Finn. “I’ll expect a call from you in the morning.”

  “I am Beverly Winslow’s attorney for the time being, not yours,” Finn said. “I don’t answer to you.”

  Serena sniffed and walked out.

  He turned to his client. If possible, she was more pale now than when he’d read Reginald’s bequest. “Do you need a moment? Would you like a coffee now?”

  Her sea-witch eyes stared at him with a glazed look of shock. Finally, she whispered, “I need a minute, thanks. Where is the restroom?”

  He led her to the hallway and showed her the door. “I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.” She walked with jerky steps to the restroom.

  It took twenty minutes and Jules going in to check the ladies’ room for him to realize she was not coming back.

  Chapter Seven
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br />   “Un-fucking-believable.” Megan Murphy slammed down her now-empty shot glass.

  “Yup,” Bev answered and belted back the Cuervo like a sailor on a twenty-four-hour pass. She signaled the bartender. “Two more.”

  She faced her best friend. Megan was a wonder. Sweet but with an assassin’s tongue when provoked, and quietly beautiful in a petite, faerie package. Bev loved her; she was the sister of her heart.

  They sat on wooden bar stools in the dimly lit bar of Murphy’s Publick House, an institution in Salem. She knew Megan should be operating the restaurant side of things as the general manager, but she was grateful her friend had taken some time for her. She needed it. Megan’s dad ran the bar tonight as well as providing the forget-your-problems juice.

  “Since you aren’t the type to get shit-faced regularly and since you’re walking home, I’ll allow you three tonight.” Murph’s Boston accent was as thick as Joe’s and had a consoling tone to it. “I’ll get Mary to cover tonight, Megan. You take care of your friend. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what’s gotten into you tonight? You’re way too smart to let a man do this.”

  “Thanks, Murph…and, no, it isn’t a man in the regular sense.”

  Murph jerked his head in her direction. “See that she eats, Megan.” And off he went in search of his other daughter, Mary. She was eternally grateful to her friend and her friend’s father. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

  “I literally have no words for how much this sucks for you.” Megan rubbed her knee and then squeezed. “I don’t understand how Reginald could do this to you.”

  Her breath still wasn’t even. She had driven home from Boston in a daze but found she couldn’t go home when she’d reached Salem. Normally, she’d take the fishing boat out on the water to clear her head, but the weather colluded against her. A spring storm popped up and effectively ruined her plan.

  She texted Megan and found herself wrapped in the comfort of the familiar. Happy, loud, and drinky, the bar patrons usually gave her and Megan plenty of people-watching fodder to last an evening. Tonight, though, they had to talk.