by Shay Savage
Birthright
Shay Savage
Copyright © 2020 Shay Savage
All Rights Reserved
Editing: Chayasara
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without the express permission of the author, Shay Savage —except in the case of brief excerpts or quotations embodied in review or critical writings.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by Jada D'Lee Designs
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1—Newbie
Chapter 2—Blocked
Chapter 3—First Date
Chapter 4—Family Meeting
Chapter 5—Loyalty
Chapter 6—Big O
Chapter 7—Questions
Chapter 8—Maples
Chapter 9—Interview
Chapter 10—Funeral
Chapter 11—Fakes
Chapter 12—Dinner Disaster
Chapter 13—Infatuation
Chapter 14—Meet the Fam
Chapter 15—Finally
Chapter 16—Catholic Guilt
Chapter 17—Surveillance
Chapter 18—Confrontation
Chapter 19—Confessions
Chapter 20—Accident
Chapter 21—Clues
Chapter 22—Family Dynamics
Chapter 23—The Treaty
Chapter 24—Unexpected Resolution
Epilogue—New Life
Author’s Note
More Books by Shay Savage
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About the Author
Prologue
Dark suits. Black umbrellas. Pouring down rain. Black shoes caked in mud walk up, place a flower on the coffin, and then move away. My own shoes seem glued to the ground, unable to take that step.
This is it.
This is the day it all begins.
I have always been the underling, never trained for what is to come. My brother should be standing beside me, prepared to run the family, not lying in a coffin. Without Micha, the entire enterprise falls to me.
The family is waiting for me to take the reins, be the man, bring the business back to its former glory, solve the mystery, and continue the family line. They’ll expect me to maintain our profitability, keep the feds away, find Micha’s murderer, and pick out some unfortunate soul to join me in unholy matrimony.
There is no way I can do this alone.
“Don’t worry, son.” My father’s hand on my shoulder is uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ll always be here to guide you.”
Chapter 1—Newbie
I haul a cardboard box labeled “KITCHEN UTENSILS” up the flight of stairs, gripping it tightly against my body so it doesn’t fall when I fish out my keys. It takes some maneuvering, but I finally get the key into the lock and enter my brand-new apartment. New to me, anyway.
The apartment is spacious enough, especially for one person. The door opens to a living room partially filled with boxes of household items and trash bags of clothing. The living room opens into an eat-in kitchen, and I take the last box there. A quick trip back to the car for my hanging pothos plant, and my move-in is complete.
I stand in between the kitchen and the living room for a moment, examining my new surroundings and wondering where to start. I’d like to sit down, but the couch and chair that come with the apartment—a huge bonus when I selected the place—look uninviting to me. They’re not mine, and I feel like I should ask someone if it’s all right to sit there, but there is no one to ask.
“Do you mind if I sit, Vee?” I ask the plant.
The pothos doesn’t respond.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I drop down onto the couch, run my hand over the wooden armrest, get a splinter, and quickly jump up again. “Maybe that wasn’t a no!”
I spend the next hour looking through boxes until I find tweezers to get the splinter out of my finger. I wonder if I’m supposed to call a maintenance person to sand down the couch arms and decide it would be better to just do it myself. Working in Aunt Ginny’s antique shop, I’d refinished a lot of furniture and would likely do a better job than a maintenance guy anyway.
Aunt Ginny.
After spending the last twenty-two years looking after me, her only niece, my Aunt Ginny passed away four months ago, leaving me alone in the world. I wanted to keep her antique shop open after she passed but ultimately had to close the doors to the small building that held way too many memories.
I swallow hard and fight back tears as I reach over and stroke one of Vee’s leaves.
I can still see Aunt Ginny’s smiling, rosy-cheeked face as she woke me up for school or for weekend work at the shop. I remember her hand in mine as we walked to the library on Wednesdays to pick out new books to read, and I remember the smell of her perfume when she hugged me close. I remember the week after my twenty-second birthday when Sheriff Hardy came to the diner where I worked second shift to tell me my aunt was gone. She had been moving an early colonial trunk from one side of the store to the other when she had a massive stroke. There was nothing anyone could have done.
I glance at the sturdy envelope full of papers I had found in the back office of the shop—the papers that brought me here—and then quickly look away. I’m not ready to dive into that just yet.
A knock at my door brings me out of my melancholy musings. I open the door to find an African American woman on the latter side of middle age with a plate full of cookies in her hands.
“Hello there, dear!” she says with a big smile. “I’m Jessie, and I live just across the hall from you. I wanted to make sure my new neighbor got a proper welcome!”
She shoves the plate of cookies into my hands as she shoves her way into the apartment.
“I see they didn’t upgrade the furniture.” Jessie makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “I had to fight for a year before they finally upgraded mine. If you want, I can speak to management for you. Us Eastsiders have to stick together!”
“Eastsiders?”
“Of course, hunny,” she says as she examines the labels on my boxes. “We’re hardly in the west!”
“I guess not.” I thought Ohio was considered a midwestern state, but I wasn’t going to argue the point with her. I shake my head a little as Jessie takes the plate of cookies out of my hand and takes it over to the Formica-topped kitchen table.
“Do you need some help unpacking?” Jessie asks. “I’m great at organizing things! I used to work at one of those space-organizing shops. You know, where you come in and they start by handing you a couple of plastic tubs and then talk you into rebuilding your whole closet?” She laughs. “That was before I retired. I’m retired now, you know. And only fifty-eight!”
“That’s...great.” I try to sound enthusiastic, but it doesn’t really work. I’m a little overwhelmed by Jessie’s energy and not sure how to respond.
“I have a great financial advisor,” she says. “Do you have one? I can give you my guy’s number. He doesn’t usually take on new clients, but I can put in a good word for you. Oh! I love that plant!”
“That’s Vee,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“You name your plants?” Jessie turns on me with narrowed eyes.
“Well, um, I only have the one. My Aunt Ginny gave me a cutting from one of hers years ago. It’s the only plant I’ve managed to keep alive.” I laugh nervously. “I’ve got a black thumb, I guess.”
“Hmm…” Jessie eyes me suspiciously for a moment. She raises one eyebrow briefly before she co
ntinues on. “Why Vee?”
“After my aunt, Virginia.” I glance at the plant and then down at my feet. “When she gave me the cutting, she swore that if I could keep anything alive, it would be a pothos plant. I’ve always been pretty bad about watering plants, and Vee the pothos just curls up her leaves when she needs water, and eventually I notice.” I laugh nervously. “I even killed a cactus. Watered that one too much, I guess.”
“Oh, that kind of Ginny!” Jessie seems oblivious to my blabbering and continues to focus on her own. “I thought you said Jenny. That makes sense, then.” She nods and then gives me a big smile. “You should bring Vee over and introduce her to my mother-in-law’s tongue, Marie. Named after my own mother-in-law, God rest her judgmental soul.” Jessie places her hand over her heart and looks up at the ceiling before breaking out in laughter. “That woman could give a tongue lashing like no other!”
I bite my lip, not sure if I should laugh at the joke or not.
“She never fit in with the Eastsiders, that’s for sure.”
There’s that term again.
“What exactly do you mean, ‘Eastsider’?” I ask.
Jessie pauses for the first time since she walked in. Her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down for a long moment. Just as I’m starting to get rather fidgety under her stare, she starts talking again.
“Are you not from here?”
“No, I’m not,” I reply. “I just moved here from Maryland.”
“Oh my goodness, girl! I didn’t realize you were a newbie!” She laughs and shakes her head. “You live on the east side of Cascade Falls. Everyone who lives east of Main Street is an Eastsider. The Westsiders are kept on the other side of Main.”
“Kept?”
“Yes, kept.” She makes the clicking sound with her tongue again. “My goodness, I’ve got a lot to tell you. Can’t have you roaming the streets all willy-nilly. Sit down, girl.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me to the couch.
“There are some things you should know about Cascade Falls, Ohio,” she says rather ominously. “For starters, you settled yourself on the east side, which is a blessing. Here, we take care of each other. The Westsiders are greedy bastards who only look out for themselves. When you go to do your shopping, you stick to the Eastside Shopping Plaza. That’s where you find your Kroger and your Target stores for everything you need. There’s a nice little salon there, too, and I’ll tell Sally about you so she’ll give you a discount on your hair and nails.”
“Oh, thank you. That would be nice.”
“Sally is a riot. You’ll love her. Do you dance?”
“I like music, at least.”
“There’s a nice club with a bar and a dance floor just a mile from here. All the young crowd goes there. I can’t remember the name of the place, but my nephew Reynolds is the bouncer at the front door. I’ll text him.” She pulls out her phone and taps at it for a moment. “There’s a cover charge, but all that money goes back into the community.”
“It does?”
“Oh yes. The owners are quite the philanthropists. The Orso family has been in Cascade Falls for generations—own most of the property around here—and they’re very big about giving back to the Eastside community. They don’t actually own our building here, but if I were ever to move, I’d definitely go to one of their buildings. This one is owned by one of their associates, though, and that’s a blessing, too!”
“Why?”
“Security. They’re big on security.”
“I guess that would be a plus. Is there a lot of crime around here?”
“Oh, no, no!” Jessie looks toward the window, her shoulders tense. “I mean, there aren’t any break-ins or burglaries or anything like that around here. Maybe some petty stuff every once in a while. Kids getting into fights and whatnot, but you can blame that on the booze.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll just avoid those kids.” I grin, but Jessie doesn’t seem to notice as she goes on to the next topic of interest.
“With the Winter Lodge place so close, there are a lot of tourists who come through. Cascade Falls is big on its tourism.”
“I’m sure that brings a lot of money into town.”
“Absolutely! If you ever want to stay there, it’s quite nice, and they give residents a discount. At Christmas they have a beautiful tree lighting ceremony with Santa and elves and everything. You aren’t Jewish, are you?”
“No,” I chuckle, “I’m not. I celebrate Christmas.”
“Oh, good. I didn’t want to sound insensitive. It’s a very nice ceremony and not really religious or anything. We are very commercial about our holidays here. Hot cocoa and maple candy are more common than mangers, and there isn’t a wise man to be found anywhere!”
Her laugh is infectious, and I can’t help but join in. She gives me a quick overview of her late husband’s antics with power tools, and I’m pretty sure the stories all come from old episodes of Home Improvement, but I don’t say anything. I can barely keep up with her rapid change of topics, and my head is starting to spin, but I’m definitely starting to like her. I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since she attacked me with the cookie plate.
“Did you know we make maple syrup and candy here?” Jessie says, changing the subject yet again. “That’s one of our big industries.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh, yes! The woods north of town is one of the largest maple forests in the United States! We have a big maple syrup festival in the spring. Cider and fresh donuts! They go right to the Winter Lodge afterward, so if you can’t make it to the festival, you can still get some there. Now, there’s a tourist shopping area near the lodge. Unless you want a Cascade Falls keychain or something, you shouldn’t need to do any shopping there. Do you use credit cards?”
“Well, uh, yeah. Sometimes.” What a strange question!
“Cash is better, dear. My finance guy would tell you that.” She reaches over and pats my hand. “Don’t use your credit cards unless it’s at the Eastside Plaza.”
“Why not?”
“You never know,” she says with a tight-lipped smile and then immediately changes the subject. “Do you need a quilt for your bed?”
“A quilt?”
“Yes, hunny. It gets cold here in the winter, and everyone needs a quilt for their bed. I’ll make you one.”
“Make me a quilt?” I shake my head rapidly. I know how much work goes into making quilts. Aunt Ginny always priced them high at the antique shop. “You don’t have to do that!”
“Nonsense! I need to keep busy, or retirement will send me to an early grave! What’s the point in saving up to retire early if I die of boredom at sixty?”
I try to protest, but she won’t have it. In the end, I tell her my favorite color is blue, and she goes into the bedroom to measure the bed so she’ll get the right fit. I stay in the living room, casually opening one of the unmarked boxes and wondering where to start with the unpacking. Jessie returns from the bedroom, tapping at her phone.
“Reynolds says the club is called Big O. No wonder I couldn’t remember it. I can’t even remember what a ‘Big O’ is.” She laughs hysterically. “I’m sorry, hunny, did that make you uncomfortable? I shouldn’t be so risqué when we only just met though I think the club is somewhat to blame for starting the whole thing.”
Before I can let her know that I’m not offended, she’s off again.
“Do you cook?” Jessie asks as she roams back to the kitchen. “I have a brand-new frittata pan I could bring over for you. My son gave it to me for Christmas, but I can’t stand eggs. Do you like eggs?”
“Yeah, sure. I guess so.”
“They are a good source of protein. That’s what he told me. He’s a personal trainer and always on me to eat healthy. I don’t listen, but that doesn’t stop him from talking!” Her laugh permeates the small apartment. She stops abruptly and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Cook
.”
“When I have to, I guess. It’s not my strong point. I’m more likely to nuke my evening meal than anything else. I haven’t managed to get to the grocery yet, so all I have right now is some microwavable noodle bowls.”
“I guess that will do for now.”
“Does your son live here in town?”
“Oh, no! He moved down to Florida a few years back—his sister, too. They keep getting on me about moving down there or at least becoming a snowbird, but I like the change of the seasons. I’ve lived here my whole life and don’t plan to change it!”
“You have two children, then?”
“Four!” Jessie laughs heartily. “Can you believe that? Three with my husband. He was a package deal, so I was stepmom to the oldest, Richard. Being a stepmom is so difficult. You need them to follow all the rules and do what’s expected, and all you get for your troubles is, ‘You’re not my real mom!’ He’s in his late twenties now, and we get along just fine, but when he was a teenager—look out!”
I smile, wondering what it would have been like to grow up in a house full of people.
“Do you have brother and sisters?” Jessie asks.
“Me? Oh, no. It was just me and my aunt.”
“No cousins?”
“None.” I try to smile.
“Hmm.” She taps her finger against her chin, and then her eyes go wide. “Look at me, all up in your business and not giving you a chance to get your place in order.” Jessie sprints the ten feet from the kitchen to the living room and wraps me in a bear hug. “If you need anything at all, you just let me know!”
“Thanks! I’ll do that.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Jessie says as she heads out the door and then suddenly stops. “Oh my lord, I didn’t even ask your name!”
“That’s okay,” I say with a chuckle. “It’s Cherry. Cherry Bay.”
“Well, it is a pleasure to be your neighbor, Cherry Bay!”
“It was great to meet you, Jessie.” I consider shaking her hand, but since we’ve already hugged, the point seems moot. “Thanks a bunch for the cookies!”
“More where those came from! I love to bake!” She pats her stomach and laughs. She heads across the hall, singing the lyrics to Mister Roger’s Neighborhood.