“I don't think so. Not when it involves my grandfather. Losing this place would kill him. You know that!”
“I don't know anything of the sort.” His eyes flashed with anger. “I would never purposefully hurt your grandfather. Cara, surely you know me better than that.”
“I thought I did. Why were you trying to put him out of business? This place is Poppy's life!”
“Not hardly. It's his death warrant, not his life. Besides, he has his family.”
“All he has is me! And my son! My father just died. Mom passed before he did.” I felt the heat rise up my neck. “Or did you conveniently forget about my mother's passing because you held a grudge against her?”
“That's not fair, Cara.” Cooper shook his head. “I'd heard you had a son. I knew Poppy still had some family. I figured I'd find you here at the gas station. I had planned to tell you that I was sorry about your father. And about your mother, too. Although I'll never forgive her. She ruined our lives.”
“Ruined our lives? Speak for yourself, Cooper!” A sudden image of Tommy came to me. Yes, my mother had manipulated us. True, my life might be very different and happier if Cooper and I had never parted. But how could I count my life as ruined when I had a wonderful son?
“She did not ruin my life.”
“She sure as heck ruined mine!” he growled. “I lost my football scholarship in Tampa because I couldn't concentrate. My grades hit rock bottom. My mom started drinking again.”
“That's not my mother's fault.” His mother had always had trouble with alcohol.
“The heck it wasn't! My mother knew I was miserable! It drove me nuts that I couldn't contact you. My mother was broken-hearted when I dropped out of school.”
“That was your choice. My mother was broken-hearted when I took up with you!” I couldn't believe I was defending my mother. But I was. Now that I was a mother, I had a keen understanding of guilt—and an equally developed sense of personal responsibility. Cooper's accusations didn't seem fair.
My mother had done all the wrong things, but she'd done them for all the right reasons. I'd come to terms with her fallibility as a parent as I watched her die slowly and painfully. She never asked me for forgiveness. In fact, she'd made a point of saying, “Remember when I'm gone that I did what I did because I loved you. You can disagree, you can fault the outcome, but don't you dare take issue with my intentions.”
“Even if my mother made mistakes, and I'm not saying she did, why take that out on Poppy?” I glared at Cooper.
“I'm not taking anything out on Poppy. I'm saving him from himself.”
“Really? And you don't stand to make a boatload of money by opening a competing business?”
“Is that what this is about? The money? Is that why you lied to Hal?”
Now I was steaming mad. I whirled on Cooper and shouted, “I never lied to Hal Humberger. That idiot didn't give me the time of day. He never bothered to ask who I was! He shoved those papers at me while he bragged about running Poppy out of business.”
“That's not what he told me. He told me that you misled him on purpose. You want to hear the voicemail?” He reached for his phone.
“No, I don't. I don't need to hear it, because I was there, and if that's what he said, it's not true. It's awfully convenient that he's dead, because now I can't defend myself, can I?”
“You can't defend yourself because I have paperwork that proves you misrepresented yourself. You stole that building out from under me. I never thought you'd turn into a liar, Cara.”
“Well, I didn't think you'd turn into a creep!”
“I'm a creep? You're the one who tricked Hal!”
“I was protecting my grandfather,” I said. “The person you should be blaming is the person who was supposed to meet Hal Humberger and didn't show. Why aren't you yelling at her?”
“Because she's my fiancée, and she was running late after finalizing the arrangements for our wedding!”
CHAPTER 25
Fantasies travel at warp speed. In my mind. For a few moments, I imagined that Cooper and I were back together—and nothing would ever break us apart.
Boy, was I ever wrong.
We were spitting mad at each other. Cooper's hands were clenched into fists and mine were, too, when Poppy walked out of the Gas E Bait. Obviously, he'd parked his truck in the back and strolled through the building. I wondered how much of our quarrel my grandfather had heard.
Poppy’s arrival forced Cooper and me to break eye contact. I don't know what I was more upset about, the fact that he'd called me a liar or that he was getting married.
I could just imagine his fiancée. She was probably younger than me. Prettier. She wouldn't have the inevitable wear and tear that came from being a mother. I bet she was a blonde. Tall. Thin. Snooty. Perfectly dressed.
I hated her.
What a creep he was.
Let her have him, I told myself. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
“Good to see you, Cooper,” said my grandfather, as he extended his hand for a friendly shake. “So you dropped by to talk with Cara, eh? Isn't it great she's back?”
“Yes.” Cooper gripped Poppy's hand and smiled at him. “It sure is, isn't it?”
How could he be so two-faced! After calling me a liar, he was happy to see me? Huh! Oh, and here he'd admitted he wanted to run my grandfather out of business, but he was acting as though they were old friends!
“Cooper was just leaving, Poppy,” I said.
“Cara, you need to rethink your position,” Cooper scowled at me. His face was tight with tension.
“No,” I said, as evenly as I could. “I don't believe I do.”
“You don't have all the facts,” Cooper said.
“Wrong. I think I know everything I need to know.” With that, I turned and walked back into the building.
Engaged? How could he?
I grabbed a scrub brush, threw myself to the floor, and went at the old linoleum with a vengeance. For good measure, I turned around and stuck my butt up in the air, delivering a silent message of contempt. I could hear the male voices outside, but only barely, as the brush skritch-skritch-skritched against flooring.
Work has always been therapy for me. The harder and more physical it is, the better. I could have been perfectly happy living on a farm or a dude ranch. Getting sweaty was better than crying any day.
At least, that's what I told myself.
Even as I spent my fury on the floor, I knew that I was being ridiculous. Cooper Rivers had every right to be engaged. To get married. A nicer person would have wished him well. Would have planned to send a gift. Would have asked to meet Cooper's lovely intended.
But I wasn't that person.
Not today.
I was me, and I was ticked. Instead of considering how to make nice with Cooper and his bride-to-be, I pinched myself really hard to take my mind off his announcement. So what if he was getting married? Until five minutes ago, we'd gone our separate ways, and although I'd thought of him nearly every day of my life, I'd assumed he already was married. I'd written him off. Tucked him away as a sad memory, a “what if” that could never be explored. I'd moved on with my life and so had he.
Then why was I upset? Why was I feeling like my heart had been ground into tiny shards of glass? Why was I finding it impossible to swallow the lump in my throat? Why did I want to throw the scrub brush through the plate glass window of Dick's Gas E Bait?
I needed an affirmation. Something to help me get my head straight.
“Cara, you're ahead of the game,” I said out loud. “You don't need Cooper and you've stopped him from hurting your grandfather. You bought Essie's building right out from under him. You go, girl. Mister and Missus Cooper Rivers will have to make a new plan.”
I rocked back on my heels and noted my progress, talking to myself the whole time. “Yep, guess what Cooper? You can't have your wedding cake and eat it too, pal! Nothing you can say or do will convince me to bail on this real estate
deal.”
I was not a quitter. I would not give up that building. The Universe had intervened to snatch The Treasure Chest out of Cooper's grip. I had proof of that. To gain possession of Essie's building, I'd endured a case of mistaken identity, a blank line on a contract, a shouting match with my grandfather, a dead body, two interviews with the police, and the wrath of Cooper. I had single-handedly saved my grandfather from early death.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Poppy and Cooper were still talking. Chatting amiably. At least that's what it looked like.
Why wasn't Poppy angry? He had admitted to me that his work was important to him. He felt strongly that I had been tricked into buying The Treasure Chest. Cooper was the actor behind the scenes, the man who set this farcical play in motion. Why was Poppy acting so chummy with Cooper?
It didn't matter.
Nothing could change the way I now felt about Cooper Rivers.
He obviously couldn't care less about me.
Cooper and my grandfather continued to talk about the weather, or fishing, or whatever men talk about when women aren't around. Men have an amazing ability to compartmentalize. I'd seen it in my father a million times.
Just because Cooper and Poppy weren't at each other's throats, it didn't mean they weren't at odds. Perhaps Poppy was better at hiding his emotions than I was.
I paused to wipe my sleeve across my forehead, sopping up the sweat that threatened to roll into my eyes. Then I tackled the floor again with a vengeance.
Cooper and I were going our separate ways. Again.
He was getting married. I meant nothing to him. He meant nothing to me. I was going to buy Essie's building. He would have to do without. Tough luck, buddy!
Oh, and because his lamebrain real estate agent had bumbled the deal, I was a suspect in a murder case.
This was all Cooper's fault.
My mother had been right. Cooper Rivers was nothing but trouble.
CHAPTER 26
Cooper gave my grandfather a friendly clap on the shoulder as a gesture of goodbye. I craned my neck to watch as he crossed the street and climbed into a shiny black Escalade. What a phony. Growing up, he'd claimed to care about the environment. Now he was driving an Escalade? Really?
“Right,” I muttered to myself, imagining the poor gas mileage he was getting. Cooper obviously thought he was all that and a bag of chips (as Tommy and his friends like to say), but I was not impressed. I was tired of being pushed around. Ever since I'd arrived in Stuart, I'd been out of control, which was a feeling I hated. In that way, I was absolutely my mother's daughter. Mom used to say, “Better to take action and be wrong than to sit like a dummy in the middle of the street and become roadkill.”
Of course, sometimes that action backfired, but nevertheless, when it did, she'd shrug and say, “I'd rather be wrong than to be a victim. Victims never win. They are too busy feeling sorry for themselves and blaming other people.”
How many years had I wasted mourning my lost relationship with Cooper and feeling like I'd been victimized by my parents?
I was over it now.
Time to take action.
I called Humberger Real Estate, and sure enough, although they were closed today (which I figured), the cheerful voice on the answering machine said they'd be open tomorrow, regular business hours. I planned to be there first thing in the morning when they unlocked their front door.
Next, I called Ed Wilson's office. When his secretary tried to fob me off, I laid down the law.
“Look, Ed Wilson has been on my family's payroll for thirty years. Either he finds the time to talk with me, or my next call will be to the Missouri Bar Association.” I left my number and hung up.
Five minutes later, a very nervous sounding Ed Wilson called me back. He gave me the name and number of Dell White, supposedly the finest criminal defense attorney in all of south Florida, and Brad Houston, a civil attorney in West Palm Beach who specialized in commercial real estate transactions.
“I've told both men to expect a call or visit from you, Cara.” Not surprisingly, Wilson's tone was completely conciliatory. He added, “Here's their fax and phone numbers. A good start would be to share any paperwork you have.”
Borrowing Poppy's truck, I drove to an office supply store. First I faxed a note to Dell White, along with the photocopy of my police statement. I took Detective Murray's card out of my purse and shared those details, too. Next I faxed the contract for The Treasure Chest to Brad Houston's office. On the cover sheets, I requested that both attorneys call me ASAP.
Brad Houston called me back almost immediately. I quickly explained what had happened and why I bought the building. Because I wanted independent verification that I'd gotten a good deal, I asked him to work up a set of comps, comparative prices. His office was in nearby Port Salerno, so we agreed on a time to meet.
Although I had done my best to sound professional, I knew my voice was shaking over the phone. My adrenaline had surged when Cooper and I were arguing. Now it was fading fast. I had gone from fight to flight in less than fifteen minutes. Tears prickled at the back of my eyes.
In the parking lot of the office supply store, I tried to call Kiki, but her cell phone went to voice mail. In her honor, I drove to a 7-Eleven and bought a Diet Dr Pepper. A few sips later, I felt more like myself. I was the “old” Cara, the woman who took charge.
Not surprisingly, I felt better. Marginally so, but better. Certainly, I felt energized.
I would not let Cooper Rivers get the better of me or of my grandfather. I would not be hassled by the local police. I would either rent out The Treasure Chest or find someone to buy it from me. I would not lose money on the deal. Once I off-loaded the building, I would get the heck out of Stuart. I'd had it with this town.
After making a call to my son, who also didn't answer, I drove back to Dick's Gas E Bait.
I'd no sooner pulled into the parking space around back, than Dell White's office called and offered a Skype meeting with me. I knew I didn't look my best after scrubbing Poppy’s store. But then, no one looks really good on Skype, and I wanted legal counsel without driving all the way to Miami, so I agreed. I didn't want Poppy listening in, so I borrowed his truck again. This time I drove to a Starbucks on Federal Highway, found a seat in the back, and opened Skype on my iPhone.
For once, things worked in my favor. My pungent body odor kept the other coffee drinkers a good distance from me. In fact, the lone businessman seated in a nearby chair sniffed the air, picked up his things, and left immediately. Fine by me. I didn't really want anyone to overhear my business, but I was flat out of options.
Almost as soon as I had my cup of coffee, Dell White rang me by Skype video call. He looked more like an aging hippy than an attorney. White listened to my story with his fingers steepled in thought, interrupting when he needed me to elaborate. He'd read the statement I'd faxed over, so his questions were pretty perfunctory. Mainly, he wanted me to expand upon three points. First, what specifically did Detective Murray ask me? Second, what did I say? And third, did I have an air-tight alibi?
“When it comes to the alibi, that depends,” I said honestly. “I don't know when Mr. Humberger died.”
I told Mr. White where I was and at what times, relying on the best of my memory.
“As you might guess, I wish that you hadn't said anything to the authorities. From now on, everything goes through me, agreed? I'll call over and get my own copy of the police report. That’s a precaution in case it’s been amended. Then I'll compare it to your statement, and what you've told me. Until then, don't sweat it. I've never lost a case when my client is innocent.”
That made me feel marginally better.
Brad Houston's office was a few miles away. After doing my best to wash up in the Starbucks' bathroom, I hit the road. His receptionist wrinkled her nose when I arrived. I think she was eager to move me away from her desk because she buzzed him as I stood there. She also offered me a drink. I was already on a caffeine high, so
I figured I'd keep it going with a Diet Coke.
When Houston and I shook hands, I apologized for my urgency and my body odor.
“No problem. I've got a cold actually,” he said.
Houston's white shirt and navy blue pinstripe suit suggested he was very conservative, but his gold surfboard cufflinks and his tan added a preppy vibe. A photo of him with a perky blonde and two towheaded children suggested I'd pegged him right.
“The papers are all in order. Looks like you've got a bona fide contract,” he said, as he slid a stapled set of papers my way once we were seated at a conference table. “Here are the comps on the building.”
I looked them over.
“As you can see,” said Houston, “Mr. Humberger was right. I'd say that you bought the building for somewhere about half its market value. The inspection papers are right here. I paid the guy to expedite them. Figured that this couldn't wait.”
He pushed a packet my way. I opened it.
“The structure itself is in fair shape. Needs extensive interior renovation, but the electrical system is okay. The plumbing works. The A/C is newish. The roof is under warranty.”
I'd obviously gotten a very good deal. Or so it seemed on paper.
“Did you realize that you also own the contents?”
I shook my head. “Really?” I had assumed the contents would be part of Essie's estate.
“The trust allowed an auctioneer to sell off anything he deemed of value, so I'm not certain what was left. Whatever it is, it's yours.”
“From what little I saw, the place had been trashed.”
“I'd heard that,” Houston said with a nod of agreement. “Anything else he said to you? Take a minute and think.”
I did. That’s when I remembered, “Mr. Humberger said something about being allowed to go through the building one more time before the wrecking ball claimed it. I wonder why.”
“My guess is that Hal wanted one last chance to look for the lost Highwaymen paintings,” said Houston.
“The lost what?” I thought I'd misheard him.
“The Highwaymen paintings. Hadn't you heard? Eighty-five of them went missing from Essie's store twelve years ago. They'd be worth a small fortune.”
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