Jameson's Salvation

by Riley Edwards

  I didn’t have to turn and look at my mom to know she was beaming. It filled the room right along with her hope of a spring wedding.

  15

  Jameson

  After calling three repairmen, Jameson had finally found one that would replace Lola’s line and refill the system for a reasonable price—and more importantly he could do it that afternoon. He could’ve replaced the line himself, but decided he’d rather use the time to investigate Reggie Coleman.

  The man had decided a financial attack was the best way to get to Kennedy. He was draining her resources, forcing her into ruin so he could scoop up her land. It would also compel her to take whatever shitty deal he was offering.

  Jameson tossed his phone on the conference room table and went back to his laptop when Nixon filled the door frame.

  “You’re in early,” Nix noted.

  Jameson glanced at the clock on the corner of his screen—ten after seven wasn’t all that early but he sensed his friend had a point to make so he sat back and waited.

  “How’s Kennedy?” Jameson remained quiet. Nixon’s question wasn’t really an inquiry, it was a lead-in. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.” There it was. But Nix had more to say so Jameson patiently waited. “You know her father was murdered.”

  “I know,” Jameson finally spoke, not liking the direction of the conversation. “She told me.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah, she did. She also told me she was there to witness it. And told me about her mother’s breakdown.” Jameson stopped to take a breath and held his friend’s gaze. Nixon had a point to make but so did Jameson. “She also told me about the night she got shitfaced and tried to get you to fuck her.”

  Nixon’s brows hit his hairline and deep frown lines marred his face.

  “She told you about that?” Nix scowled like he was remembering something dirty. “I never—”

  “I know you didn’t. And I know you never would, even if it wasn’t Kennedy coming on to you and just some random drunk girl. I’m only bringing it up so you’ll know she told me what she did and what you said to her that night.”

  “So she told you I was a dick to her.”

  “Yep. And she also told me what you said to her opened her eyes to the person she’d become and she didn’t like what she saw so she changed.”

  “Could’ve taken more care, I regret being such an asshole that night. But I was young and my temper got the best of me. Kennedy and I were friends, I liked hanging around her, she was always sweet and funny and palled around like she was one of the guys. And she was pretty back then, but I never thought of her as someone I would date. We were too good of friends. But that didn’t mean half the guys in school didn’t see her as a challenge, and that’s how they saw her because she turned them all down. Then her dad was killed and the change in her was immediate, a switch flipped and she was someone I didn’t know. So that night, when she came on to me, I lost it. I was so fucking angry my sweet, funny, pretty friend had turned into…” Nixon stopped and shook his head. “I shouldn’t’ve been so hard on her, I ruined our friendship. She avoided me for a long time after that. To tell you the truth, I was shocked to see her at the house. I knew she’d been close to my dad, but I was gone by then. It sucked losing her, first to the sadness of losing her dad, then again after that night.”

  “You shouldn’t regret a thing. She avoided you because she was embarrassed about how she behaved. And I’m not breaking confidence when I tell you, she still to this day thinks of you as a friend. Her words were, ‘a friend I can trust with my life.’ You didn’t take advantage of her that night, and she was so drunk, you know you could’ve. Instead you saved her from a life of misery.”

  Nixon nodded and continue to stare.

  “What else is on your mind?” Jameson invited.

  “Never seen you spend the night with a woman.”

  “Nope,” Jameson unnecessarily confirmed.

  “I take it you’re not sleepin’ on her couch playin’ sentry.” Jameson didn’t answer, he didn’t need to, Nix wasn’t stupid. “Right. And you’re good?”

  “More than.” Jameson smiled and so did Nix.

  “Suppose you are. Where are we at with Reggie Coleman?”

  “Can’t prove it, but either he drilled a hole in Lola Lane’s AC line or he had someone do it.”

  “Hittin’ her in the pocketbook.” Nixon echoed Jameson’s thoughts.

  “Yep. And I’m not sure if Kennedy has drawn the correlation yet or not, but she told me the organic grocery store flat out cancelled their long-standing order to stock her honey. And there are two more smaller shops in town where she sells the candles she makes and some jewelry. They didn’t ask her to take her stuff out but they moved it all the way to the back of the store and haven’t sold anything in a while.”

  “Goddamn it,” Nix muttered, then leaned back from the door frame and shouted down the hall, “Holden. Bring your shit down here.”

  A few seconds later Holden entered the room and both men sat at the conference room table.

  “Who owns the property Nature’s Choice rents from?” Nix asked.

  Holden went to his computer and a minute later he had what he needed.

  “Chester River Holdings owns the building. Willow Realty handles the rental.”

  “Who owns Chester River Holdings?” Jameson asked.

  “Hold on, I’m looking.”

  “Kennedy also told me that sales have been down at the farmers market, too, but she’s blaming that on the weather, says when it’s hot attendance goes down.”

  “It shouldn’t be this hard to find out who owns Chester River Holdings, but I can’t find it. We can ask Micky—”

  “Ask Micky, what?” She popped her head in the conference room and smiled.

  “What are you doing here? I figured you’d spend the day sleeping off your birthday celebration,” Holden teased, and McKenna’s face flamed red.

  “Eh, it wasn’t—”

  “Don’t think you wanna go there.” Nixon smiled at his girlfriend.

  “You don’t know what I was going to say.” She continued to smile wide.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say, these idiots will take your words, twist them, and use them to bust my balls.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want your balls or my words twisted.” She laughed. “What do you need me to do?”

  Holden explained the searches he’d tried and asked her to find who owned Chester River Holdings, though Jameson already had a good idea who that search would show.

  “What’s the name of the other two stores?” Holden asked.

  “Five oh Five Cannon and Betty’s on the Bay,” Jameson answered.

  Jameson’s phone rang and it was the AC guy. He excused himself to take the call.

  “Grant,” he answered.

  “Mr. Grant, I’m sorry but I made a mistake this morning with my scheduling. I…um…thought my day was free but it seems I was…mistaken. I’m sorry but I have to cancel.”

  “Mistaken?”

  “Yes.”

  “So when can you reschedule?”

  “Not until…well…perhaps next month,” the man stuttered.

  The more the man lied the more Jameson’s ire rose. He had no doubt that Reggie Coleman had somehow gotten to the man.

  “You wanna explain the real reason you’re cancelling on Lola Lane?”

  “I’m just overbooked, that’s all.”

  “But you weren’t a half hour ago when I called.”

  “Well…I wasn’t looking at my schedule then. I should’ve and that’s my fault. But I’m backed up solid for the next month, maybe two.”

  “Right.”

  Jameson disconnected, not caring that the other man was still speaking.

  “Need to head to Lola’s and fix her AC. That was Sunbelt Air Conditioning. Seems he over-scheduled himself and is busy for the next two months.”

  Nixon frowned and turned to Holden. “See if Sunbelt has tie
s to Reggie. Maybe he uses Sunbelt as a sub-contractor.”

  “Both businesses rent from Willow Realty and the property is owned by Chester River Holdings,” Holden announced.

  “And Chester River Holdings is owned by Reginald Coleman, Clifford Marshall, and Gary Earle,” McKenna confirmed what Jameson had suspected.

  “Clifford Marshall? Is that Peyton’s father?” Jameson asked, remembering the punk that broke into Kennedy’s house.

  Nixon sat back in his chair and shook his head. “No. Peyton’s first name is Clifford. For obvious reasons he goes by his middle name. Why would Coleman go into business with a fuck-up like Marshall? The guy’s a tool. He can’t hold down a job. Reggie Coleman may be a conniving asshole but he’s not stupid. It doesn’t make sense. Babe, can you see what percentage of the company Marshall owns?” That last question was for McKenna.

  “All equal shares.”

  “Fuck, man, you got me.” Nixon shrugged. “Unless Peyton has something on Coleman and wormed his way into owning part of the business, I cannot see Coleman willingly allowing Peyton near his business. And I don’t know who Gary Earle is. As a matter of fact, I don’t know any Earles, period.”

  “I’ll look into Gary and see what I can find on Peyton.”

  “Thought you already did a search on him after he broke into Kennedy’s?” Jameson queried.

  “I did, but I was looking for places he’s hiding and checking his criminal record. Now I’ll crawl up his ass.”

  “What’s this, ‘No Bridge to Kent’ business? I see signs saying that all over,” Holden asked.

  “Yeah, Lola Lane has one in her yard.”

  Nixon gave a quick rundown of the state’s plan to build a new bridge over the Chesapeake Bay. There was already one bridge, but with more people than ever living on the eastern shore and commuting to Baltimore and the District, traffic was so bad a second bridge was needed. One of those proposed bridge sites would be in Kent County. A location that a lot of residents were opposed to.

  “Why do you ask?” Nix gave Holden his attention.

  “It seems Reggie Coleman is a huge proponent of the bridge going from the western shore to Kent County. He’s quoted in the paper as saying the economic impact would do wonders for the community. He also formed a group in support of the bridge to combat the opposition.”

  “That would make sense,” Jameson started. “I would assume property value in the area would go up if a bridge was built. People who worked in Baltimore could live in a nice quiet setting outside of the city and only have a twenty minute commute. Not to mention, all the housing developments that would pop up. Which no doubt he’d have his greedy hand in that pot, too. That’s why he wants Kennedy’s property. The land he owns behind her only has fifteen feet of street access. He needs her land which would provide more than five hundred feet so he can build a housing track.”

  “Holden, also check when Coleman started buying up all this property. Before or after the new bridge proposal was made public,” Nixon instructed.

  “By the way, if you need help working on Lola’s AC, call Zack. He’s savin’ up to buy a car, so he’s looking for all the work he can.”

  Before Jameson could answer Nixon about McKenna’s soon-to-be sixteen-year-old brother helping him, an alarm went off on his phone at the same time one went off on Holden’s and Nixon’s.

  Jameson snatched his phone off the table, tapped the app, and his vision blurred as he watched a man dressed in black with a ski mask covering his face cruise by one of the cameras in front of Kennedy’s house.

  “Fuck.”

  His chair scraped on the wood floor before it tipped back and landed with a loud bang.

  He didn’t bother righting the chair, he shot out of the office taking the stairs two at a time, and ran across the street to his truck. His wheels screeched as he gunned it away from the curb.

  After his second call to Kennedy went unanswered, he tossed his phone in the cup holder and jammed on the accelerator.

  The fury seeping into his bones shocked him.

  Maybe he should’ve expected it—he was falling in love with the woman after all. However, he hadn’t known. How could he have? Until Kennedy, he hadn’t had the first clue what love was.

  16

  Kennedy

  My head throbbed like I’d been hit with a two-by-four. Which made sense because I think I had been hit by a two-by-four. That, or a baseball bat. I hadn’t seen anything because I’d been checking on my hives and wearing my hat and veil. Either way, my head was spinning and I was dizzy. I pushed past the nausea and got to my feet.

  I had bigger issues. My bee boxes were on fire, completely engulfed in flames and unsalvageable. I didn’t have time to process what the loss meant for me or how upset I was that all of my bees were dead. It was summer and there was plenty of dried grass and other tinder that could catch and get out of control.

  Moving as quickly as I could, I staggered away from the crackling fire toward my four-wheeler and wanted to cry when I found the key missing. I had to go back to my house to get a bucket of water. My hives were at the edge of my property and there was no well back there. I took off my gloves and reached into my pocket, thinking my best option was to call 911 and get the fire department out here, but came up empty.

  Of all the days for me to forget my phone in the damn shed.

  With no other choice, I started to make the mile walk back to the house. I had to pick up the pace—at this rate the back field would be on fire by the time I got to a phone. But my legs were wobbly and refused to move any faster. My stomach rolled and I had to stop to catch my breath. It was hot as shit outside and I was covered head-to-toe from tending the bees. I tossed aside my hat and veil and ripped my long-sleeved shirt off, not caring I was only in my bra, but it did nothing to stop the vomit I felt rising in my throat.

  I bent forward and heaved, my head swam and my vision darkened.

  No, no, no. I couldn’t faint. I had to get home.

  Sweat dripped down the back of my neck in rivers. My head spun. I plopped down on my ass, and gave into the hazy darkness.

  The first thing I noticed was I was freezing, and considering the last thing I remembered was being burning hot, I was confused. And thankfully I no longer felt like I was going to throw up. I slowly opened my eyes, harsh light blinding me through the slivers and I quickly shut them again.

  “Take it slow, baby.” Jameson’s large hand pressed on my forehead and I relaxed.

  Then I remembered. “Fire,” I croaked. My throat was dry and scratchy and it felt like I swallowed nails.

  “Shh. Everything’s been taken care of.”

  Thank God!

  “I’m so cold.”

  A blanket was pulled up to my neck and I cuddled in.

  A blanket?

  I started to open my eyes again but all I could do was blink. The motion made me light-headed and my stomach woozy.

  “Where am I?”

  There was no smell of grass and wood burning. It almost smelled clean, like the scent of bleach hung in the air.

  “The hospital.”

  “The hospital? Why?”

  “Babe.” Jameson’s voice sounded strangely thick. Not like his normal deep, honeyed tone. Like he was wrought with worry. “You lost consciousness.”

  What the hell? I did? I remembered sitting down so I didn’t fall forward and land in my own vomit, but I didn’t remember passing out. And I certainly didn’t remember going to the hospital.

  “How’d I get here?”

  Maybe one of my neighbors saw the smoke and called 911.

  “I drove you.”

  I took one more chance and tried to pry my eyes apart slowly, and finally Jameson’s handsome face came into view, albeit blurry.

  “Hey there,” he whispered. “Welcome back.”

  Welcome back? What did that mean?

  “I’m a little freaked out. I can’t remember what happened.”

  “You were hit in the head and
you have a concussion.”

  “I remember that part. It hurt so bad, and my boxes were on fire. I tried to get help but don’t remember what happened after that.”

  Jameson’s frown lines deepened and his thumb gently grazed my forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Beyond the obvious?” His head tilted and his eyes roamed my face.

  I started to nod but the tiny movement sent a shock of pain all over and I winced.

  Good God, my head hurt.

  “I need to ask you something,” he started and his lips twisted in indecision. I wanted to prompt him to go on, but it hurt too bad to move. “Do you know why your shirt was off when I found you?”

  My shirt was off? Panic started to bubble in my chest as I searched for an explanation.

  Then I remembered. “I was hot. I cover up when I’m collecting the honey frames so I don’t get stung. The key to my four-wheeler was gone so I started walking home to get water. I was sweating so bad, I took off my shirt.”

  Relief washed over his features and he leaned forward to kiss my head. It hurt like a mother, but I wasn’t going to complain. Jameson’s touch was the only thing keeping me together.

  “Who hit me?”

  “Don’t know yet. He had on a ski mask.”

  “How bad was the fire? Did it catch the hedgerow?”

  “No. Holden got it under control and called the fire department.”

  “Holden?”

  “I’ll explain everything later. For now you need to rest.”

  “When can I go home?”

  “The doctor said forty-eight hours after you woke up. I’m going to get the nurse to give you something for your head.”

  “No. Don’t leave me.”

  Fear set in and I didn’t want him to leave my side. I felt oddly vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. I needed Jameson next to me, to protect me, keep me safe, keep me from flying apart and breaking down. As long as he was next to me, no one could hurt me.

  “I’m not leavin’ your side, babe.”

  He reached over me and nabbed the plastic call button. A moment later a woman’s voice came through the speaker and Jameson explained I was awake. The nurse’s relief at the news hit me as strange.