He swallowed hard; he’d never heard this before. “Good friend.”
“The best. Nearly went broke, but he didn’t care.”
“You knew him.” She must have at least seen him coming and going from the house. “Well?”
“Not so I would sit and have a chat, but, yeah, I knew him. Kinda shy and standoffish with everyone but Mr. K. What’s that word I’m looking for? Awkward, that’s it, awkward around people he didn’t know or if it was anything but business talk. Great lawyer. My, he was a big shot in this town, I’ll tell you. You were in trouble, all you had to do was call him and he’d come.”
“And then what happened?” His curiosity made him ask. If he had been so smart, so loyal, why had so many turned on him?
“First, Mrs. K. passed away. So sad. Mr. K. was devastated. Charlie clung to me, and we got through it together. Then what was it, months—not even a year? Mr. K. walks in with a new wife and two stepdaughters out of the blue. You could have knocked us over with a feather. The lawyer friend challenged him, got right up in his face. I saw it with my own eyes. Mr. K. broke down; said he brought the second Mrs. K. in to do the accounting, save the store. The only way she agreed was if he’d marry her. She’d help him dig his way out from the hole he’d gotten into. She did, too, and brought it roaring back. In exchange, he promised to adopt her girls and always take care of them. He knew he’d made a mistake right off the bat, but he couldn’t turn his back on the girls.”
So much made sense. “She pushed her weight around, I assume.” He’d heard stories of her temper. He handed Dolly the cocoa she indicated.
She flipped the mixer on and slowly added the dry ingredients to the twirling glass bowl with the butter and milk she’d already put in it.
“And how,” she said over the noise. “But he reeled her in, threatened to fire her. She calmed down…until poor Mr. K. got sick himself.” Shutting off the mixer, she continued, “One minute he’s tired, next minute he’s got terminal cancer. Happened fast. He called his lawyer friend right away. The second Mrs. K. didn’t like that one bit. They were holed up in Mr. K.’s study for hours.”
Griffin stopped watching her smooth, even movements as she readied the pans. He jerked his gaze to her profile.
“A will, I’m sure of it. What else could it have been, right? But lo and behold once he passed, there’s this one dated the day before he died. She’d already barred—hey, get it? Lawyer barred? Anyway, she barred the lawyer friend from seeing Mr. K. in the end. The date on the will isn’t the same day as the long visit.”
“How can you be so certain? About the day, I mean?” Griff’s middle churned.
“’Cause the long visit was on my birthday. I remember I offered them some of my cake and homemade vanilla ice cream. When they accepted, I carried it in and saw the papers sitting right there on Mr. K.’s desk. I didn’t have to read but the first line before I figured it was Mr. K.’s will.”
“Maybe he didn’t sign it until later.” His heart thudded and he tried to rationalize this before he jumped to any conclusions.
She shook her head, and then poured the batter into the round cake pans, scraping the sides of the bowl. “Nope, I didn’t read the middle part, but I did see the last page, you know they call that the signature page. It was all done, signed, dated, witnessed, notarized—the whole shebang.”
“And that was how long before he passed away?” Could it be true? Could Dolly be a witness?
“Two weeks to the day.” Her voice grew sad. “I miss him still. The girls never got over it.” She lifted the spoon and pointed at him, saying, “But now you asking, I wonder what happened to that paper?” Her eyes held sadness. She shook her head. “Maybe it wasn’t a will, maybe something else. Another paper and the two got mixed up, one page of one and another page of another…”
“You doubt what you saw?”
She dropped the wooden spoon back in the bowl. It clanked against the ceramic. “I been holding it back for so long, not wanting to think it was. Not wanting to think the worst.”
“The worst?” He held his breath.
“Coulda been Mrs. K. got Mr. K. to sign another one she’d drawn up the day before he died, forged one of her own and she sold everyone down the river, or the lawyer friend was the thief she claimed he was all along and she had to bring in her own lawyer to protect the King family.”
His middle dropped. Would uncovering the original will expose the truth about all of them, including his father?
***
“What’s this? Something smells delicious in here,” Priscilla cried when she walked in the back door a few hours later with Edward trailing behind her. “Edward picked me up and wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”
She looked to Griff. He shrugged, nodding to the glass cake stand. “Surprise.”
“For me? Chocolate ganache cake.” She squealed with delight, rushing to him and throwing her arms around him. He hugged her back and she kissed him on the lips. “Thank you for thinking of me. You’re so sweet.”
“That has to be a first,” he muttered.
“Funny,” she said, wiggling out of his arms and going around the counter to hug Dolly. “Thank you so much, Dolly.” She kissed her on the cheek.
The older woman blushed. “Ah, shucks, honey. Mr. G. called and said you’ve been working so hard and doing such a great job, he thought of a reward for you and here I am. I made lasagna, too; it’s in the oven on warm.” She tugged off her apron and folded it neatly before storing it in the waiting box. “You two enjoy—”
Griff cut her off. “You’re invited to stay.”
Priscilla’s jaw nearly dropped. Her McGruff actually had allowed someone to breach his protective shield, come into his kitchen and cook, and now he wanted his guests to stay. Well, wonders never cease.
“Please, stay,” she said, looking from Dolly to Edward. “Alex is out of town and Charlie is working late, so, Edward, you don’t have to pick her up until later. And why go back to an empty house to fix dinner, Dolly, when you’ve already done so here?”
“Well, I’ll be. What you think, Eddie, you game?”
His wide smile spread across his face. “I love your lasagna.”
“That settles it,” Griff said, going to the cupboard and pulling out the new aqua blue plates.
Priscilla watched in awe as her husband moved with ease, handing her and the others the placemats, silverware, glasses, and utensils. His easy movements told her more than words could ever convey. He was comfortable in his home. Now, that was a first.
She went up to him, sliding her arms around him and leaning her head against his back.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning to her and enveloping her against his chest. His heartbeat, strong and steady, warmed her.
“I like this,” she murmured.
“The surprise?”
“Definitely. But this, too, us. Family.”
His arms tightened around her. “Family,” he repeated, but it sounded like a foreign word coming from him.
***
“Here you go,” Griffin said, handing over the box filled with Dolly’s cooking things to Edward to store in the trunk of the car. “That’s the last of them.”
“Thanks, sir.” His muffled voice came out, and then he straightened and closed the trunk with a definite bang.
Griff held out his hand and shook the older man’s hand. “We’ll have to do this again.” He marveled at the easy way Priscilla and the others teased and joked, even drawing him in a time or two at dinner.
“Nice of you.”
Swallowing hard, Griff wondered if he should ask. “Ex-cop, right?”
“It shows. Ex-military, right?”
He nodded. “You ran my plate that first night.” Griff thought he should thank him; otherwise his pixie would never have shown up on his doorstep with takeout and begun to chip away at the stone around his heart.
“Habit.”
“You still have connections.” It wasn’t a quest
ion.
“Yes, sir.”
“Any that could look into a cold case?”
“Maybe. What you got?”
“A white-collar crime.” His middle gnawed at him. Why was he trying to dig up his father’s past? Shouldn’t he focus on ruining Agnes King?
“Conviction?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t get that far. The guy…died just before the trial began.”
“Why now? You got a stake in the outcome?”
Personal one, yes. “Could be,” Griff said, deliberately evasive. If this guy was as good as Griffin’s prior research showed, he’d figure out the connection sooner or later. So why push it? Griff needed the truth. He looked directly at him, saying, “A lawyer. Charles King’s lawyer, to be specific. It could change nothing or everything for the King daughters.”
Edward seemed to size him up. “You benefit, too. You’re Priscilla’s husband.”
“Not financially, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t want any money. I don’t need any. You can check that out for yourself.”
“I already have.”
Griffin chuckled. “I thought so.”
“Habit.”
“Did you tell Alex or Charlie?”
“Nope. No reason to. Everything checked out.”
“Nice to know someone else is watching out for Priscilla.” The tight band around Griffin’s chest eased. If he couldn’t always protect her, then there were others who would.
“Comes with being family.”
Nodding, Griff looked away as the back door opened and Dolly, clutching leftovers to bring home to Charlie, and Priscilla came out. “You game? Name your price.”
“If it’s bad news, you telling them?”
He wrestled with it. It could only be bad news for him. “They should know. We all should, whatever the outcome.”
“No money. I’ll check around. Gives me something to do during the day while I’m waiting.”
“Can’t get rid of that old cop, can you?” Griff pulled out his cell phone from his top pocket. “What’s your number?”
Edward nodded to the car. “Car number.” He gave it to him.
Griff punched it in his phone, let it ring once, and then hung up. “Now you have mine, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“After nine is good.”
“You got it.”
Griffin realized this was the beginning of the end. He’d have answers, but would he like them?
Chapter 20
With the vibration of the Harley under him and Priscilla sitting behind him with her arms hugging him, Griffin let all his questions go for now. The dark night streets swallowed them up and he welcomed the anonymity.
The fresh air cleared the cobwebs, soothing his troubled thoughts. In the back of his mind, he knew time ticked.
Only the here and now mattered. Her arms, wrapped around him, made Griff feel someone cared for the moment. He’d take that, take what little he could until there was no more.
He rode for miles, mindlessly driving. He’d done it in the past, many times, but with Priscilla it seemed different, intimate. Her sense of adventure coupled with her charm seeped into him and all the tiny cracks in his broken heart.
She sensed his moods. She knew him better than anyone ever had. And she didn’t hold it against him.
Not yet anyway.
***
The next morning, Peg met Griffin at King’s door.
“For crying out loud, the Barracuda is at it again.” His assistant shoved the folded newspaper she held at him.
His middle clenched. He read the headline: “Who is Griffin James?” “Must be a slow news day,” he muttered between gritted teeth. He scanned the rest of the society column; his attention caught the “reliable sources” phrase and he read that quote more closely. “He’s a fraud. He doesn’t exist before the age of eighteen…” Mrs. King had done her homework.
“What are we gonna do, Boss?” Peg asked, rushing to keep up with him as he marched to the executive elevators. The store didn’t open for another two hours; however, he knew the press would descend soon.
“First, take the knife out of my back, Peg.”
She chuckled, smacking him on the arm. “Thatta boy.”
“Call Charlie. I know mornings are still difficult for her, but she needs to know. Once I read all of this, I’ll draft a statement. And I’ll call Priscilla…” He trailed off. It had to come from him.
The other shoe had dropped.
***
Shaking, Priscilla waited in Charlie’s office for Griffin to join them and Francie. “It’s Mother,” she assured the other two. “When she confronted us weeks ago, she called Griffin a fraud. Riff-raff, too.”
“Yep, that’s in here,” Charlie said, running her finger down the page to find that saying.
“She did it on purpose, so you’d know it was her,” Francie piped up. Leaning over, she touched Priscilla’s arm. “Look, now we’re in the same club. Attacked by Mother club.”
Charlie tossed aside the paper. “Really, someone has got to stop her.”
Griffin entered, saying, “I’m trying. I have been for years.”
Priscilla jumped up from her seat and turned to look at him. “Griff.” She went to him, hugging him. “She’s attacking you to get to me.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then he pulled her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead and setting her away from him. He went to the door, closed it, and then turned back to them. “I think you should sit down for this,” he said to Priscilla.
His eyes were dark and troubled.
She swallowed hard. “What is it?” she asked, but did make it back to the chair that Francie had turned around to face him. Charlie sat on the edge of her desk, touching Priscilla on the shoulder.
For a long moment, Griffin held Priscilla’s gaze. “I have a confession to make.”
Her middle dropped.
“I came here,” he nodded to Charlie, “for the interview under false pretenses. I wanted to destroy King’s.”
Priscilla gasped. The night they’d met. Francie pulled her chair closer, wrapping her arm around Priscilla’s shoulder.
“I assumed, incorrectly, that to get to Mrs. Agnes King, I had to go through the store and ruin it. That goal sustained me for years. However, once I met all of you, I realized that she was gone and to take down the store would mean I would also destroy all of you and your dreams.” His gaze landed on her. “I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Griffin, who are you?” Priscilla asked, shock racing through her veins. She didn’t even know the man she married.
“Not a nice guy,” he said, looking away. “So I did the opposite. I did everything I could to make this store a success.” He spoke to Charlie. “The one-year and five-year plans I gave you still hold.”
“I approved them,” Charlie agreed. “They’re sound, bringing us up to date within months and projecting our future needs. They’re nothing short of brilliant.”
“Mrs. King, if you choose to believe me or not, wanted to pay me to make King’s fail.” He glanced at Francie, saying, “You were right when you said months ago your mother didn’t want this place to be a success. She thinks once this store is gone, all of your misplaced dreams for the store will be over and done with. Also,” he looked at Priscilla, “she thinks then you’ll have no place to go except home to her.”
Her mind swirled with thoughts, but her heart ached. She shook her head, not wanting to believe he could be a part of this. “And us?”
“Has everything to do with protecting you from her.”
“How so?”
“No more men to deal with.” Francie said, “No more trying to control you or the prospective groom. Griff took you off the market and ticked Mother off to no end.”
“Yes,” he agreed. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip. “I did enjoy getting under her skin.”
“You hate her? That much?” Priscilla asked, stunned at
the things he stooped to.
“Yes.” His short, clipped answer rang in the air. “She did get something right in the article. Griffin James did not exist before I became of age.”
“What? You invented him?”
“The name only. My mother’s maiden name and my father’s first name. Mrs. King carved out my black heart when she destroyed my father. He died a drunk, broken man.”
Priscilla felt sick. She recalled the bits and pieces he’d told her. Losing his father when he’d drunk himself to death, in his aunt’s care until she died, then foster care, and then the military. She stared at him. He stood remote and suffering.
All that didn’t excuse him from what he’d done to them, to her. His lies rang in her head. “What’s true?” She wanted to know if at any time were his feelings a sham, too. Could he be that much of a liar?
“We are,” he said with such conviction that it shook her.
“Your eyes,” Charlie said now in stunned wonder, “are like his. I knew there was something familiar about you that first night we met here.”
Griffin reared back.
“Who?” Priscilla demanded.
“James Weatherford, your father’s best friend and attorney,” he announced. “Branded a thief by your mother. Held up to ridicule for seeking the truth. Arrested for supposedly stealing millions from King’s Department Store and the late Charles King.” He halted, allowing that to sink in. “I am his son. I am James Weatherford, Jr.”
***
Priscilla’s head throbbed as she moved with purpose, stowing as many of her clothes in a small suitcase and her toiletries in an overnight bag. The house pulsed with silence. His bedroom, now redone in crisp whites and shades of blue, jeered at her. She avoided looking at the big, king-sized bed she’d made love in with him.
Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 15