The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

“When’s Meredith coming back?” David’s voice still held a hint of laughter.

  “Friday night.” Elliott rolled the chairs’ wheels back and forth in small jerky motions. He itched to park the damn chair in the closet and slam the door. Lyles wanted to see him Friday morning. Maybe Elliott would get his marching orders and trade the chair in for a walking boot. He jerked the wheels a wee bit faster, anticipating standing in front of Meredith when he saw her next.

  “Meredith doesn’t have any family, does she?” David asked.

  Elliott shook his head.

  “That means she’s pregnant with the last Montgomery—”

  “Fraser,” Elliott said.

  “What if there’s a connection to the MacKlennas? The baby could be the last MacKlenna, too.”

  A flash of pride grew inside Elliott. “My son will never be the last of anything. He’s the beginning of the rest of my life.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  MacKlenna Mansion – February 3

  TWO DAYS LATER, Elliott sat in his wheelchair in the middle of the kitchen drinking Gatorade from a bottle. Sweat poured down his face. An old, wet triathlon t-shirt clung to his heaving chest. Muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed. His trainer had worked him hard. Too hard. Elliott chalked it up to the fact that Ted was still angry over the way Meredith had been treated. Even knowing that she and Elliott had patched up their differences didn’t improve Ted’s attitude. Elliott cut him some slack and didn’t complain when Ted piled on a few pounds of weight more than Elliott was accustomed to lifting. He’d seen this personality quirk from his trainer before. Ted was slow when it came to handing out forgiveness.

  “Elliott,” David called.

  “In the kitchen.”

  David entered the room, stopped, and glared at Elliott. “There’s a cabinet full of glasses.” He opened the one closest to the sink and grabbed one. “Ye’re not the only one who drinks out of the gallon Gatorade bottle.”

  “Give me a pen.” Elliott took a black Bic pen from David and scribbled his name on the neck of the bottle. “There. You’re on notice. This is mine.”

  David tossed his coat on the counter, along with his hat and gloves, but held on to a rolled up newspaper. “Mrs. Collins needs to shuck those old coats in the hall. Nobody wears them, and there’s no room on the tree.”

  Elliott frowned. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  David paced, slapping the paper against his palm. Unease didn’t slide off him. It rolled in a fevered pitch. Elliott had seen David this agitated only once, shortly after his return from Afghanistan. It lasted a few weeks while he adjusted to being home. The Highlands, the land, and the people made the transition easier.

  “What’d the police want?” Elliott asked, hoping to get his friend to focus a wee bit.

  David stopped pacing as if he’d come to the end of a ledge. “They found the gun that was used to shoot Gates.”

  “Where?” Elliott asked.

  David tossed the paper onto the counter top. Then he cocked his hip against the cabinet, crossed his legs at the ankles, and shoved his hands under his armpits. Frustration tightened his face. “A strung-out freak robbed a convenience store last night. He didn’t make it out of the parking lot. He fired. The police fired back. Killed him.”

  “What does that have to do with the gun that killed Gates?”

  “A ballistics match.”

  Elliott picked the newspaper up off the counter, thumbed through to the local section, found the article describing the shoot-out, and read it quickly. “Jesus. So that’s it? Gates was killed by a strung-out dope head. End of story.”

  David rubbed the back of his neck. “They’ve closed the case. Chuck called off his team.”

  Elliott tossed the newspaper back on the counter. “There’s still a horse killer out there. Call him back.”

  “I did. He said he’s been working the case for almost two months, and there’re no leads. He’s behind with other jobs. Said to call him if anything develops.”

  “Give my babysitter something to do. He’s a retired cop. Maybe he can find something we’ve missed.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” David said. “He’s not needed here now.”

  “As far as I was concerned, he never was,” Elliott said.

  “Ye’ve put thousands of dollars into this investigation. It’s time to cut yer losses,” David said.

  All Elliott had believed about the case had been proven wrong. He squirmed in his seat. How could he have been so misguided? “What about Harrison? He’s too spineless to have orchestrated the killings, or done it himself, but if he’s gambling, that could cause problems for the farm.”

  “We’ve checked with bookies from here to Vegas. Nothing. Chuck combed through his trash and his bank accounts. Nothing. He looks clean.”

  “The farm’s lost thirty million dollars. Even selling off part of the land won’t cover the loss. One horse, maybe. Two, never. Some asshole set out to ruin us and succeeded.” Elliott had gone over the numbers a dozen times. He’d reread the insurance policies and the syndication agreements. No matter which way he sliced it, MacKlenna Farm was saddled with the liability and headed for the auction block.

  “What’s next?” David asked.

  Elliott took several swallows of Gatorade. As he replaced the cap, he said, “Bankruptcy. The only hope is that another Henryk de Kwiatkowski will come forward and save it from liquidation like Kwiatkowski saved Calumet.”

  “Any superheroes on the horizon who could do that?”

  Elliott shook his head. “No one was expecting Kwiatkowski to rescue Calumut Farm before the gavel dropped.” He blew out a long breath as he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his wet t-shirt. “You’ve done your job. Time for you to go home.” Although he knew David needed to go, he hated losing him. Not only was David a friend and confidant, but Elliott needed someone around to kick his ass when he got out of line, He could count on David to do that.

  “Ye’ve got the money, why don’t ye’ bail it out?”

  “If I was a MacKlenna, I’d do it, but the Highland’s estate is my home place now that Da is gone.” Elliott glanced out the large window overlooking the south paddock. Stormy trotted around the boundaries like a king surveying his domain. Maybe the land didn’t belong to Elliott, but Stormy did. Kit had surprised him, leaving a Bill of Sale for the horse with her journal. Stormy wouldn’t be shackled with a new owner.

  “When ye’ heading back to Scotland?”

  “Probably not until summer,” Elliott said.

  “I’ll stick around and go to Napa for the launch. Book a flight home from there.” David opened the fridge and gathered up eggs and bacon. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. What was the deal with the joint compound you created?”

  “What brought that up?”

  David cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and added salt and pepper. “I found a loose sheet of paper in the box with the journals. Looked like Sean jotted down a few notes but never included them in the daily book.”

  “What’d it say?”

  David placed several strips of bacon in the microwave. “Nothing specific.” He placed a skillet on the stove and turned on the burner. “The note mentioned that Doc wanted to discuss the compound. Sean agreed to set up a meeting after the first of the year, but he died. The meeting never happened.”

  “Did you ask Doc?”

  “He brushed it off. Said he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “I don’t know what he could have wanted from Sean. Doc wasn’t involved. He’d made a couple of suggestions during the experimental stage that didn’t pan out.”

  “So he didn’t get a share.”

  “No reason he should,” Elliott said.

  David poured the eggs into the skillet. “It’s made ye’ a multi-millionaire.”

  “My Apple stock did that.”

  “So Doc wasn’t pissed that he was cut out?”

  “How could he be cut out of a gig
he wasn’t part of?”

  With one hand, David moved the eggs around the skillet with a spatula. With the other he removed the bacon from the microwave and placed the slices on a paper towel. “Ye’ two have never gotten along.”

  “Has nothing to do with the compound. Why the interrogation?”

  “I wanted a gut reaction.”

  “Well,” said Elliott.

  “Sounds like he had a problem. He went to Sean who agreed to a meeting, but Sean died. Ye’ and Doc have worked together without incident this past year. I don’t think there’s anything there.”

  Kevin entered the room, dripping in sweat. “Anything where?”

  David scraped the eggs onto a plate. “With Doc.”

  “You talking about him being pissed because he got cut out of the joint compound? I’d be pissed, too,” Kevin said.

  “He didn’t get cut out,” Elliott said.

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “What’d you hear?” Elliott asked.

  Kevin pinched a slice of bacon. David slapped his hand with the spatula. “Ouch.” Kevin glared at David. David glared back.

  “What’d you hear?” Elliott asked again, annoyance in his voice.

  “I heard him and Kit arguing about the drug. She told him to talk to her dad. Did he?”

  David popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and moved the bacon out of Kevin’s reach. “According to a note I found, yes, but a meeting never occurred.”

  “Ask him,” Kevin said. “Doc hates vetting. He’s planning to retire. A small share of the compound could make it nice for him.”

  Elliott put what was left of the Gatorade back into the refrigerator. “Wonder why he never said anything to me?”

  “Because you’d blow him off.” Kevin attempted to snatch another piece of bacon but settled for a bite of eggs. David threatened him again with the spatula.

  “It’s too late now,” Elliott said. “Sean’s interest in the compound might be tied up in the bankruptcy.”

  David dug into his eggs to Kevin’s chagrin. “The farm’s not bankrupt yet,” David said between bites.

  “There’re laws about transferring assets prior to bankruptcy. It’d never be approved.”

  “I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it by now,” Kevin said.

  Kevin’s phone beeped with a text message. “Susan got us an appointment at the Oncology Department at Markay Cancer Center at ten-thirty. We’ve got to get ready.”

  “Who’re we meeting with?” Elliott asked as Kevin wheeled him out into the hallway.

  “She didn’t say.”

  Kevin’s evasive tone of voice told Elliott he knew more than he was saying. “What is it, lad? What’re you not telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Kevin.”

  “Be prepared, Boss. That’s all I can say.”

  Elliott grabbed the wheels, stopped the chair, and swiveled around to confront Kevin. “For what?”

  Kevin blew out a breath that hissed between his teeth. “They’re going to recommend Meredith terminate the pregnancy.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Markay Cancer Center – February 3

  TWO HOURS LATER, Kevin and Elliott sat in a conference room on the second floor of the Whitney-Hendrickson Building at Markay Cancer Center with a nationally recognized team of physicians. Sean had made a significant contribution to the center following Granny Mac’s death, and Elliott assured the administration that another donation would be forthcoming. If the doctors could cure Meredith, he’d give the center whatever they wanted.

  “Dr. Fraser, our goal is to cure Ms. Montgomery’s cancer. Protecting the unborn child makes this more complex. Both chemotherapy and radiation may be harmful to the fetus,” the chief of radiology said.

  “I thought there were some forms of chemo that didn’t cross the placenta,” Elliott said.

  “Recent studies have found that chemotherapy treatment after the first trimester can be safe for the baby,” the Breast Care Center Director said.

  “Would you recommend a mastectomy followed by chemo?” Elliott asked.

  The chief of surgery and surgical oncology section head said, “I’d recommend terminating the pregnancy, followed by mastectomy and radiation. The risk of birth defects is already high since Ms. Montgomery had the sentinel lymph node biopsy with radioactive dye.”

  “She had a pregnancy test before the sentinel lymph node biopsy. Why didn’t the test show positive?”

  “It was too early in the pregnancy.”

  Elliott scrubbed his face with his hands. “What happens if she does nothing until after the birth?”

  “The cancer will spread, and the odds of a positive outcome diminish,” the Director said.

  “Can you do the mastectomy now and hold off on the chemo until after the baby is born?”

  “Yes, although I’d recommend starting chemo during the second trimester.”

  The doctors might as well have told Elliott he had terminal brain cancer. Their recommendations had sucked the life from him. Why hadn’t he used a condom? If she decided against treatment in order to protect the baby, then his carelessness could cost Meredith her life.

  “It’s also my recommendation to terminate the pregnancy. Then we can fight the disease aggressively,” the Director said.

  Those words formed into sharp needles that punctured Elliott’s skin. He rubbed his arms, but the sensation didn’t go away. He played the one and only card he had. “Do you have any research that proves ending a pregnancy to have cancer treatments improves a woman’s prognosis?”

  The Director shuffled papers, stalling. Finally, she said, “No. There isn’t any.”

  Elliott threw up his hands. “Then I know Meredith won’t agree.”

  “I have in my notes that Ms. Montgomery initially put off treatment because she has an event next week,” the Director said. “Why don’t we give her time to get through that, then meet again the following week? She may be more open to treatment options.”

  The medical team consulted their calendars and agreed to set another appointment in two weeks. Elliott left the meeting with a painful lump in his throat. His limbs felt too heavy to move, and for once, he was thankful to be in a wheelchair. The drive home, although only a few miles, was a slow, quiet trip.

  Kevin pulled into the driveway and passed through security. Elliott waved at the guard. “If I’d only used a condom . . .”

  Kevin pushed the garage door opener and watched the door rise. “I think there were two consenting adults in that bed.”

  Elliott opened his door and got out. He stood on one foot, waiting for the chair. “It’s ultimately my responsibility.”

  Kevin lifted the wheelchair from the trunk and pushed it toward Elliott. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? But it’s her body, and her decision to make.”

  “Then I’ll have to make sure she makes the right ones going forward.” Elliott scrolled through his contacts and called his jeweler.

  “This is Elliott Fraser. Is Shelia there?”

  “She’s with a customer, Dr. Fraser. Can I have her call you?” Shelia’s assistant asked.

  Elliott tugged on his chin. “Tell her I called and wanted an update on the ring I ordered.”

  “She told me this morning it would be ready on Friday. I’ll call and tell you when to pick it up.”

  Elliott disconnected the call just as Kevin opened the door to the mudroom and yelled for David. “I win the bet.”

  “What was the bet?” Elliott asked.

  Kevin laughed. “That you’d propose this weekend.”

  Elliott stood and stepped across the threshold. Kevin lifted the chair, then Elliott sat back down. “I don’t have a plan in mind.”

  “Nah, Boss. You’ll give it to her. You won’t be able to wait.” Kevin began humming Here Comes the Bride.

  Fear crawled through Elliott’s stomach, punching and kicking along the way. “The bet shouldn’t be when I’ll propose,
but if she’ll accept.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Montgomery Winery – February 13

  MEREDITH SAT ALONE at a round table for ten under the giant, rectangular tent erected two hundred yards from the winery’s welcome center. Miles of vineyards surrounded the tent. After hosting dozens of fundraisers for nonprofits over the years, her father had had a concrete pad built and installed underground utilities. Not only did the winery hold special events there, but several nonprofits held annual fundraisers. The money spent on constructing the facility provided a tax write-off for the winery, and offering the grounds to nonprofits guaranteed sold-out events for the charities. Good for the community. Good for business.

  She sat back in a white folding chair with a white padded seat. On event day, the one hundred tables, providing seating for a thousand, would be covered with white tablecloths. Lush, dreamy floral arrangements in a variety of colors would decorate each table. The napkins, in a coordinating bright green mum color, would also provide splashes of color. If she closed her eyes, she could see the space as it would look on the sixteenth—eye-poppingly gorgeous.

  The week had been exhausting, and nausea had plagued her non-stop. Knowing that she was sick because she was pregnant made the queasy stomach and occasional vomiting tolerable. Cate’s constant nagging to make an appointment with a specialist, however, created a problem. After the launch, Meredith would have to bring her assistant into the loop.

  Experience from hosting dozens of events had stenciled a last minute checklist on her brain.

  • Portable kitchen installed and functioning

  • Port-a-pots

  • EMT, police, and fire scheduled

  • Lights and sound check scheduled

  • Trailer for celebrities

  • Valet parking

  • Photographers

  • TV stations notified

  • Dress/shoes/hair appointment

  Cate had a list, too, but this time Meredith trusted her to get it done without looking over her assistant’s capable shoulder. Memories of Elliott’s staff wigging out before the MacKlenna Hogmanay played over and over in her mind. Meredith didn’t want people making faces behind her back.