Suspicions: A Twist of FateTears of Pride

by Lisa Jackson

  “Only temporarily, until Ben returns from Mexico.”

  “Have you talked to either Ben or his son and asked them if they might consider extending the loan?” Sheila asked, her tired mind finally taking hold of the situation. Without help from Wilder Investments Cascade Valley Winery was out of business.

  “I’ve had trouble getting through to Noah,” Jonas admitted. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’m still working on the insurance company.”

  “Would you like me to call Wilder Investments?” Sheila asked impulsively. Why did she think she could get through to Noah Wilder when Jonas had failed?

  “It wouldn’t hurt, I suppose. Do you know anything about Wilder Investments or its reputation?”

  “I know that it’s not the best, if that’s what you mean. Dad never mentioned it, but from what I’ve read, I’d say that the reputation of Wilder Investments is more than slightly tarnished.”

  “That’s right. For the past ten years Wilder Investments has been walking a thin line with the S.E.C. However, any violations charged against the firm were never proven. And, of course, the Wilder name has been a continued source of news for the scandal sheets.”

  Sheila’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I know.”

  Jonas tapped his fingers on the desk. “Then you realize that Wilder Investments and the family itself are rather…”

  “Shady?”

  Jonas smiled in spite of himself. “I wouldn’t say that, but then I wouldn’t trust Ben Wilder as far as I could throw him.” His voice became stern. “And neither should you. As sole beneficiary to your father’s estate, you could be easy prey for the likes of Ben Wilder.”

  “I guess I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”

  “Don’t you realize how many marginal businesses have fallen victim to Wilder Investments this year alone? There was a shipping firm in Seattle, a theater group in Spokane and a salmon cannery in British Columbia.”

  “Do you really believe that the Wilder family wants Cascade Valley?” Sheila asked, unable to hide her skepticism.

  “Why not? Sure, in the last few years Cascade has had its trouble, but it’s still the largest and most prestigious winery in the Northwest. No one, even with the power and money of Ben Wilder, could find a better location for a vineyard.” Jonas rubbed his upper lip and pushed aside the moisture that had accumulated on it. “Your father might not have been much of a businessman, Sheila, but he did know how to bottle and ferment the best wine in the state.”

  Sheila leveled her gaze at Jonas’s worried face. “Are you implying that Wilder Investments might be responsible for the fire?”

  “Of course not…at least I don’t think so. But regardless of who started the blaze, the fact stands that Wilder Investments is the only party who gained from it. Ben Wilder won’t pass up a golden opportunity when it’s offered him.”

  “And you think the winery is that opportunity.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  Jonas thought for a moment. “Approach you, unless I miss my guess.” He rubbed his chin. “I’d venture to say that Ben will want to buy out what little equity you have left. You have to realize that between the first and second mortgages on the property, along with the note to Wilder Investments, you own very little of the winery.”

  “And you don’t think I should sell out?”

  “I didn’t say that. Just be careful. Make sure you talk to me first. I’d hate to see you fleeced by Ben Wilder, or his son.”

  Sheila’s face became a mask of grim determination. “Don’t worry, Jonas. I intend to face Ben Wilder, or his son, and I plan to hang on to Cascade Valley. It’s all Emily and I have left.”

  Chapter 2

  The door to Ben’s office swung open, and although Noah didn’t look up, his frown deepened. He tried to hide his annoyance and pulled his gaze from the thick pile of correspondence he had been studying. It was from a recently acquired shipping firm, and some of the most important documents were missing. “Yes,” he called out sharply when he felt, rather than saw, his father’s secretary enter the room. He looked up, softening the severity of his gaze with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Noah, but there’s a call for you on line one,” Maggie said. Over the past few months she’d become accustomed to Noah’s foul moods, provoked by his father’s business decisions.

  “I’m busy right now, Maggie. Couldn’t you take a message?” He turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork cluttering the desk. Maggie remained in the room.

  “I know you’re busy,” she assured him, “but Miss Lindstrom is the woman waiting to speak with you.”

  “Lindstrom?” Noah repeated, tossing the vaguely familiar name over in his mind. “Is she supposed to mean something to me?”

  “She’s Oliver Lindstrom’s daughter. He died in that fire a few weeks ago.”

  The lines of concentration furrowing Noah’s brow deepened. He rubbed his hands through the thick, dark brown hair that curled above his ears. “She’s the woman who keeps insisting I release some insurance money to her, isn’t she?”

  Maggie nodded curtly. “The same.”

  All of Noah’s attention was turned to the secretary, and his deep blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Lindstrom died in the fire, and according to the reports, arson is suspected. Do you suppose that Lindstrom set the fire and inadvertently got trapped in it?” Without waiting for a response from Maggie, Noah reached for the insurance report on the fire. His eyes skimmed it while he posed another question to the secretary. “Didn’t I write to this Lindstrom woman and explain our position?”

  “You did.”

  “And what did I say? Wasn’t it a phony excuse to buy time until the insurance investigation is complete?” He rubbed his temple as he concentrated. “Now I remember…I told her that everything had to wait until Ben returned.”

  “That’s right.” Maggie pursed her lips in impatience. She knew that Noah had complete power over any business decision at Wilder Investments, at least until Ben returned from Mexico.

  “Then why is she calling me again?” Noah asked crossly. That fire had already cost him several long nights at the office, and the thought of spending more time on it frustrated him. Until the insurance report was complete, there wasn’t much he could do.

  Maggie’s voice was tiredly patient. She had become familiar with Noah’s vehement expressions of disgust with his father’s business. The insurance problem at the winery seemed to be of particular irritation to him. “I don’t know why she’s calling you, Noah, but you might speak to her. This is the fifth time she’s called this afternoon.”

  Guiltily, Noah observed the tidy pile of telephone messages sitting neglected on the corner of his desk. Until this moment he had ignored them, hoping that the tiny pink slips of paper might somehow disappear.

  “All right, Maggie,” he conceded reluctantly. “You win. I’ll talk to—”

  “Miss Lindstrom,” the retreating secretary provided.

  In a voice that disguised all of his irritation, he answered the phone. “This is Noah Wilder. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Sheila had been waiting on the phone for over five minutes. She was just about to hang up when Ben Wilder’s son finally decided to give her a little portion of his precious time. Repressing the urge to slam the receiver down, she held her temper in tight rein and countered his smooth question with only a hint of sarcasm. “I certainly hope so—if it’s not too much to ask. I’d like to make an appointment with you, but your secretary has informed me you’re much too busy to see me. Is that correct?”

  There was something in the seething agitation crackling through the wires that interested Noah. Since assuming his father’s duties temporarily last month, no one had even hinted at disagreeing with him. Not that Noah hadn’t had his share of problems with Wilder Investments, but he hadn’t clashed with anyone. It was almost as if
the power Ben had wielded so mightily had passed to Noah and none of Ben’s business associates had breathed a word of opposition to Ben’s son. Until now. Noah sensed that Miss Lindstrom was about to change all of that.

  “On the contrary, Miss Lindstrom. I’d be glad to meet with you, but we’ll have to make it sometime after next week. Unfortunately, Maggie’s right. I’m booked solid for the next week and a half.”

  “I can’t wait that long!” Sheila cried, her thin patience snapping.

  Her response surprised Noah. “What exactly is the problem? Didn’t you get the letter I sent?”

  “That’s precisely why I’m calling. I really do have to see you. It’s important!”

  “You’re hoping that I’ll reverse my decision, I suppose?” Noah guessed, wondering at the woman’s tenacity. He thumbed through his phone messages. Maggie was right. Sheila Lindstrom had called every hour on the hour for the past five.

  “You’ve got to! If we hope to rebuild the winery and have it ready for this season’s harvest, we’ve got to get started as soon as possible. Even then, we might not make it—”

  Noah interrupted. “I understand your problem.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice that bothered him. “But, there’s really nothing I can do. You understand that my father is out of the country and—”

  “I don’t care if your father is on the moon!” Sheila cut in. “If you’re in charge of Wilder Investments, you’re the man I have to deal with. Surely you can’t be so much of a puppet that you can’t make a simple business decision until your father returns.”

  “You don’t understand,” Noah began hotly in an attempt to explain, and then mentally cursed himself for letting this unknown woman force him into a defensive position. It really was none of her business.

  “You’re right, Mr. Wilder. I don’t understand. I’m a businesswoman, and it seems utterly illogical to me that you would let a growing concern such as Cascade Valley sit in disrepair, when it could be productive.”

  Noah attempted to keep his voice level, even though he knew that the woman was purposely goading him. “As I understand it, Miss Lindstrom, Cascade Valley has been running at a loss for nearly four years.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Sheila Lindstrom was studying the weight of his words. Her voice, decidedly less angry, commanded his attention. “I think it’s evident from this discussion that you and I have a lot to talk over,” Sheila suggested. Though she sounded calm, a knot of tension was twisting her stomach. “If it isn’t possible for you to meet with me today, perhaps you could come to the winery this weekend and get a firsthand impression of our mutual problem.”

  For a moment the soft, coaxing tone of her voice captivated Noah, and he was tempted to take her up on her offer. He would love to leave the problems at Wilder Investments, if only for a weekend, but he couldn’t. There were situations in Seattle that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the business; there was Sean to consider. A note of genuine regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry, Miss Lindstrom,” he apologized. “It’s out of the question. Now, if you would like to make an appointment, how about the week after next—say, June eighth?”

  “No, thank you,” was the curt reply. She was furious when she slammed the receiver back into the cradle of the pay telephone. The city of Seattle, usually a welcome sight to her, held no fascination today. She had come prepared to push her pleas on Noah Wilder, hoping to make him understand her desperate plight. She had failed. After being put off by his secretary, placed on hold forever, and making five fruitless telephone calls, Sheila wondered if it was possible to reason with the man. He was obviously just a figurehead for his father, a temporary replacement who held no authority whatsoever.

  Sheila was lost in thought as she walked down the rain-washed sidewalk before wandering into a quiet bistro that had a view of Puget Sound. The cozy interior of the brightly lit café didn’t warm her spirits, nor did the picturesque view of the shadowy sound. Her eyes followed the flight of graceful seagulls arcing over the water, but her thoughts were distant.

  Absently, she stirred a bit of honey into her tea. Though it was past the dinner hour, she wasn’t hungry. Thoughts of the winery sitting charred and idle filled her mind. It just didn’t make sense, she reasoned with herself. Why would Ben Wilder leave town and let his obviously incapable son run a multimillion dollar investment business? Pensively sipping the tea, Sheila tried to remember what she could about her father’s business partner. Tiny, fragmented thoughts clouded her mind. Though her father had been partners with Ben Wilder for over seventeen years, the two men had had little personal contact. Ben’s son, Noah, was a mystery. He was the only heir to the Wilder fortune and had been a rebel in his youth.

  Sheila ran her fingers through the thick strands of her shoulder-length hair as she tried to remember what it was about Noah Wilder that kept haunting her? Slowly, vague memories surfaced.

  Although she hadn’t been meant to hear the whispered conversation between her father and mother some sixteen years in the past, Sheila had listened at the closed kitchen door with all the impish secrecy of a normal fifteen-year-old. From what she pieced together, Sheila understood that her father’s business partner’s son had gotten some girl in trouble. The family disapproved. At the time Sheila had been puzzled by the conversation and then had quickly forgotten it. Although she had always been interested in Noah Wilder, she didn’t know him and had dismissed her parents’ secretive conversation.

  The recent problems of the Wilder family were just as cloudy in her mind. Her father had mentioned that some of the bottles of Cascade Valley Cabernet Sauvignon had been tampered with and discovered in Montana, and Sheila remembered reading about the supposed SEC. violations in one of Wilder Investment’s takeover bids. However, she had ignored the gossip and scandals concerning her father’s business partner. At the time Sheila had not been interested in anything other than the fact that her marriage was breaking apart and that she would have to find some way to support her young daughter. Her father’s business concerns hadn’t touched her. She had been too wrapped up in her own problems.

  Sheila set down her teacup and thoughtfully ran her fingertips around its rim. If only she had known what her father was going through. If only she had taken the time to help him, as he had helped her. As it was, his name was now smeared by the speculation and gossip surrounding the fire.

  Thinking about her daughter’s welfare and her father’s reputation spurred Sheila into action. She pushed her empty teacup aside. Despite the warnings of Jonas Fielding against it, Sheila knew it was imperative that she talk with Ben Wilder. He had been a friend of her father as well as his business partner, and if anyone could see the logic in her solution to the problem at the winery, it would be Ben.

  She opened her purse and withdrew a packet of old correspondence she had discovered in her father’s private office. Fortunately the papers in the fireproof cabinet hadn’t burned, and on an old envelope she found Ben Wilder’s personal address. The envelope had yellowed with age, and Sheila realized that her plan was a long shot. Ben Wilder could have moved a dozen times since he had mailed the letter. But how else would she find him? He was a man who prized his privacy.

  Despite the odds against locating him, Sheila knew she had to find someone who might be able to get in touch with him. A phone number was all she needed. If she could convince him that it was in his best interest to reopen the winery, Ben would be able to order the reconstruction of Cascade Valley. Wouldn’t his arrogant son be burned! Sheila smiled to herself and felt a grim sort of pleasure imagining Noah’s reaction when he found out about her plans. He would be furious! Sheila grabbed her purse, quickly paid the check and nearly ran out of the restaurant.

  * * *

  When Noah hung up the telephone, he had a disturbing feeling that he hadn’t heard the last from Sheila Lindstrom. The authoritative ring in her voice had forced him to reach for the file on the fire. After glancing over the letters fr
om Sheila a second time and thinking seriously about the situation at the winery, Noah felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with her.

  In all fairness, the woman did have an acute problem, and she deserved more than a polite brush-off. Or did she? Anthony Simmons, Ben’s private detective, hadn’t yet filed his report on the arson. Could Oliver Lindstrom really have been involved? What about Lindstrom’s daughter, sole beneficiary to the old man’s estate? Noah shifted restlessly in his chair. Perhaps he should have been more straightforward with her and told Sheila about Simmons’s investigation into the cause of the fire. Was he getting to be like his father, preferring deceit to the truth?

  Noah’s jaw tightened. He felt the same restless feeling steal over him that had seized him countless in the past. There was something about the way his father did business that soured his stomach. It wasn’t anything tangible, but there was just something wrong. If only he could put his finger on it. Wilder Investments put him on edge, just as it had in the past. That was one reason Noah had quit working for his father seven years before. The quarrel between Ben and Noah had been bitter and explosive. If it hadn’t been for his father’s recent heart attack and the one, large favor Ben still kept hanging over Noah, he would never have agreed to return, not even temporarily. Noah’s face darkened with firm resolve. At least now he was even with his father, out of the old man’s debt. They were finally square after sixteen unforgiving years.

  Maggie knocked on the door before entering the office. “You wanted me to remind you of the probation meeting,” she announced with a stiff smile. This was the part of her job she liked least, dealing with her boss on personal matters. In this case it was like rubbing salt into an open wound.

  “Is it three o’clock already?” Noah asked, grimacing as his wristwatch confirmed the efficient secretary’s time schedule. “I’ve got to run. If there are any more calls, or people who need to see me, stall them until tomorrow…or better yet, till sometime next week. Unless, of course, you hear from Anthony Simmons. I want to speak to him right away. He owes me a report on that fire at Cascade Valley.”