Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  “The purchase offer is only good until December twenty-fourth, so the family has to vote before then. If Nikki’s not here to cast her ballot, then the deal is sure to get approved.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tiff left the Lazy S determined to prove to her mother—and herself—she was serious about staying in Lost Trail. She needed her mom, and her aunt, to know they could count on her.

  First step was building her accountancy business. The bookkeeping at Raven Farms took up twenty percent of her time at most. She needed more clients and she was going to begin by approaching the biggest industry in town.

  Luckily, Sparks Construction was owned and operated by a guy she’d gone to school with. Derick Sparks had been a popular athlete back then, while her status as a brainiac had been decidedly lower. A genuine friendship had developed between them though when she’d been asked to tutor Derick so his marks would be high enough for him to stay on the team.

  Throughout the years she’d spent in college and working in Seattle they’d stayed in touch, mostly by Facebook. She’d been genuinely thrilled for him when he fell in love with and then married a local girl, Aubrey Jenkins. And even happier when they successfully adopted a baby boy after years of frustrating infertility.

  Derick’s perfect life had fallen apart in November, though, and Tiff wasn’t sure if enough time had passed that he’d gone back to work. The only way to find out for sure was to call. So she did, and Derick answered on the first ring, assuring her he’d be glad to talk to her.

  The last time Tiff had gone to see Derick at his office just outside of town limits, he’d been avoiding her. She’d had to brazen her way past the receptionist, Nora Morgan, to get to his office. Today, though, Tiff was here by invitation. Nora was friendly as she waved her through.

  Derick’s office was in the second-floor loft area created by the building’s vaulted ceiling. He hadn’t moved into the larger room adjacent that had been his father’s. Will Sparks’s nameplate was still in place on the closed door, a symbolic token from a loyal son.

  Derick’s door was open but Tiff still rapped on it to announce her presence. When he stood she thought he looked smaller. Part of it was weight. He’d lost a few pounds. But it was his defeated posture and his dull eyes that most diminished him. He smiled though and seemed pleased to see her.

  “You’re still in town. Must be a new record.”

  The teasing stung a bit, especially after witnessing Vanessa’s pain and imagining how much it mirrored her mother’s.

  “I’m here for good this time.” If she said it enough times, maybe everyone, including herself, would believe it. “How are you doing?”

  “Honestly? Crappy. I’m living with Mom for the time being. She’s just back from a mini-vacation with Vanessa Stillman. The break was good for her, but she’s pretty down, too.”

  “It’ll take time.” Tiff felt like a fraud as she trotted out the phrase that had been said to her so many times, with the best of intentions. Time did heal raw pain, but some losses could never be overcome.

  “Christmas is going to be brutal. It should have been such a happy time.”

  He would be missing his baby’s first Christmas, not to mention missing out on spending the holiday with his wife. “Are you allowed to see your family at all?”

  “No contact for a year.” He folded his hands on his desk and stared at them a few seconds. Then he sighed and met her gaze. “So what’s up with you?”

  “I’ve decided to start an accounting business here in Lost Trail. I know you have your own bookkeeper, but if you ever need any higher-level accounting services, I’d be glad to help. At the firm in Seattle I had a lot of experience preparing tax returns and financial statements for small to mid-sized businesses like Sparks Construction.”

  She gave a wry smile. “That was quite a spiel. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like a door-to-door salesman.”

  “Hey, it’s good. I bet we could use some expert advice on taxes. Especially this year.”

  His smile disappeared again and the weight of all that had happened to him recently seemed to settle back on his shoulders.

  “Are you and Aubrey legally separated?”

  “She—she wants to finalize the agreement before Christmas.”

  He’d turned away from her to face the window. She heard him swallow as he struggled to keep his composure. Tiff wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and ask if he’d like to talk. But she guessed he would prefer her to keep focused on business.

  “Derick, the way you structure the financial aspects will have tax consequences for you. I’d be happy to explain them.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “If you emailed me the draft agreement I could give you my comments. Then if you find my input helpful, we could talk about some bigger projects with your company.”

  “That sounds fair.”

  There was an awkward pause. She didn’t dare ask about his son, Brody, and whether Aubrey kept him up to date with his life. Small talk didn’t feel appropriate either.

  “Why don’t I give you time to send that email, then we can meet again and work out exactly how I can help you and your company?”

  He nodded gratefully.

  “You should meet Zak and me at the Dew Drop for dinner one night. We’re there once a week, at least.”

  He dropped his gaze. “Thanks. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

  His body language was saying the exact opposite.

  She wanted to say more, that she understood his motives for being complicit in the illegal adoption and that she still thought he was a good person. But he needed to hear those words not from her, but from his wife.

  Zak was eating an early lunch at his desk when Nadine returned from her school visit. She went straight to the coffeepot.

  “God but I need caffeine.”

  “You don’t have any visible bruises. I take it the kids went easy on you?”

  She added cream to her coffee, then went to her work station and perched on the side of her desk. “You were right. The kids were fun. But talk about energy.”

  “Were the handcuffs a hit?”

  “Oh, yeah. But what really got them going was when they found out I used to be a rodeo cowgirl.”

  “Cowgirl trumps deputy?”

  “If you’re eight years old, apparently it does.”

  He wasn’t surprised. Her barrel-racing past impressed him, too. “Did you show them any of the YouTube videos of your competitions?”

  Her eyebrows went up. “How do you know about those?”

  He munched on his sandwich.

  “You’ve watched them, haven’t you?”

  “When the sheriff hires a new deputy, of course I’m going to check the person out. The videos are pretty amazing.”

  “I still can’t handle watching them. Not yet.” She drank some coffee, blew out a sigh, and went to her chair behind her desk. “It took a lot of effort to relive those days with the kids. I focused on the good parts, and avoided the harder stuff.”

  They’d talked before about her reasons for quitting the rodeo. The death of her horse, Mane Event, had hit her hard.

  “Still thinking about buying Making Magic?”

  “There’s a ten-acre place for sale about ten miles south. It’s in my price range. Sort of.”

  “I know the one. Small barn with four stalls. A corral with a water line. And a creek on the western boundary.”

  “That’s it.” She grabbed a spec sheet from her desk and handed it to him. “Would you come look at it with me on the weekend?”

  He hesitated. He knew so much about the property because he was interested in it too. But if Nadine bought the place and the horse, then she’d stay in Lost Trail. “Yeah, sure, let’s check it out.”

  The second Cora Christensen took a chair in his office, Justin could tell she had a plan. Her eyes were sparkling and she had a tight, two-fisted grip on the handle of her purse, holding it like it was a safety bar on a roller
coaster ride.

  “I want to put Lacy’s house on Airbnb.”

  He was surprised. “You’ve heard of Airbnb?”

  “I’m old, not living under a rock. I’ve done my research. You can earn a lot more renting a home on Airbnb than with an old-fashioned six-month or yearly lease.”

  “That depends on the location. Lacy’s home is too far from the ski hill to attract families on a ski holiday.”

  “Lots of people would love to take a holiday on a real, working ranch.”

  “Yes, but that’s assuming the people on the ranch are willing to cater to them. Take them on trail rides, let them try milking a cow and gather eggs from the chickens. That sort of thing. You know the Stillmans won’t do any of that.”

  The Stillmans would be rude, some of them bordering on hostile.

  “I don’t care.”

  From the gleam in her eyes, that was the point. To annoy the Stillmans.

  “How long is this probate thing going to take? I’m not a young woman. I’d like to start moving forward with my plans as soon as possible. And I was hoping you could help me with the paperwork.”

  Great. Just the position he wanted to be in, setting up an Airbnb that would annoy the hell out of his biggest clients.

  “I’m still working on the formal notice to beneficiaries and creditors. Next I’ll have to prepare an inventory and appraise the estate assets. All of this is going to take many months. I suggest you use that time to reconsider your plan. Is the extra money going to be worth the hassle?”

  “It doesn’t seem like much work to me.”

  “Someone has to handle the bookings, the transfer of cash and keys. And after each booking someone has to clean the house and do laundry. That’s assuming you have nice, respectful guests. You’d need to be prepared for guests who cause damage to—” he checked his natural impulse to say Lacy “—your house or to the neighboring Stillman properties. Insurance would cover the cost, but there’s still the deductible plus the work of lining up tradespeople for the necessary repairs.”

  “It would be such a shame if irresponsible renters trashed the place.” Miss Christensen lowered her gaze, but her twitching mouth gave away her secret. “I suppose I’ll just have to take the risk.”

  She wanted Lacy and Jack’s home to be trashed. Justin wondered if he would ever stop being shocked by people. He’d known Cora Christensen had a mean streak. But this ugly vindictiveness was tough to stomach.

  A movement from the doorway caught his eye. Silently his father held up a bag from the Snowdrift Café. Justin nodded.

  “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have right now.” He went to help Cora out of her chair. “I’ll keep you posted on the progress with probate. As for the Airbnb idea, I suggest you do some serious thinking about whether you want to go that route.”

  Miss Christensen frowned and seemed about to argue, but when she spotted his father in the doorway, she became all sunny smiles.

  “Good day, Clark. You must be so proud of this boy. He’s quite the lawyer.”

  “I’ve always been proud of Justin,” his father said quietly. He set the lunch bag on the table in the corner. “May I walk you out, Cora?”

  The hint to leave worked.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ll take the elevator.” She glanced back at Justin. “Call me soon, young man, but don’t expect me to change my mind. I won’t.”

  Justin’s father closed the door after her, then turned to his son. “I presume I can’t ask what that’s about?”

  “It’s minor stuff, I guess. I had no idea that woman could be such a headache. What did Jack Stillman see in her?”

  “She was pretty in her day. I know it’s hard for you to imagine. Plus Cora can be charming when she wants to be. But let’s forget about her. There’s something I want your approval on, though I have to admit I’ve already taken the first step.”

  Justin had already pulled out his lunch—Janet at the Snowdrift made a terrific Greek wrap—and taken his first bite. The flavors of the marinated chicken, feta, olives and crunchy lettuce were fabulous.

  It took a minute for his father’s words to sink in. “What step is that?”

  “I’ve contacted BE THE MATCH and offered to host a donor drive at the clinic. I want to run it next week. The earlier the better.”

  Justin chewed his food thoroughly before swallowing. “Are you sure, Dad? It sounds like a lot of work. And the chances of finding a match that way, well...”

  “I know. The chances aren’t high. But I need to feel like I’m helping in some way. And if the drive doesn’t find the right donor for you, maybe it’ll help someone else.”

  Justin was touched by the emotion in his father’s eyes. He’d always cared so much. Always put his son’s best interests ahead of his own.

  “If you’re sure, then I’m fine with it. It’s one way to spread the news about my cancer without me needing to tell everyone.”

  “Have you told Geneva yet?”

  Justin’s mouth went dry. “Not yet. Soon.” He’d finished reading the book from the psychologist. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “Keep it simple, Son. She’s only four. Now about the donor drive, I need to pick a day.”

  Justin picked up his phone and scrolled through his calendar. “I’d like to show up and thank people. Next Thursday is good for me.”

  His father hesitated. “Um, how about Wednesday? Or even Monday?”

  “I’ve got to go to Missoula for some more tests on Monday. Wednesday is fine, though.”

  “Does my right knee look swollen to you?” Zak looked down at his long, thin limbs. He’d rolled up his pant legs and was standing in the center of the room facing Nadine. The two of them were alone in the office. “I think it’s swollen.”

  Nadine refused to play along. “I have no interest in examining your skinny legs, Zak Waller. If your knee is swollen you should consult a doctor.”

  Zak smiled, satisfied. He unrolled his pants and then grabbed his coat. “Good suggestion. I’m going to run over to the clinic right now before they close for the night. Are you okay to watch the phones until six and then lock up the place for me?” He didn’t think Ford or Butterfield would be making an appearance this late in the afternoon.

  Nadine narrowed her eyes at him. “You just set me up, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. See you tomorrow morning, Deputy.” He waved on his way out the door.

  Outside the frosty air got his blood moving. It was already dark—the sun set around four-thirty at this time of year. He paused to admire the colorful Christmas lights sparkling against the layers of fresh snow on the ponderosa pine outside the sheriff’s office.

  Then he began to move, his boots crunching on the hard-packed snow as he headed north on First Street. One of Sparks Construction’s white trucks drove by on the freshly plowed road. Zak thought he recognized Derick behind the wheel. They exchanged a wave of hello, and then Zak turned right onto Tumbleweed Road.

  About a half dozen vehicles were angle parked on Lost Trail’s main road. Most of them were at the far end of the road in front of the Dew Drop Inn, but one was near the medi-clinic. Out of habit Zak glanced at the driver’s license on his way by.

  Local. Not one he recognized.

  Inside the waiting room was empty. Gwen Lange looked up from the reception desk and smiled. Her older brother had been friends with his brother Jake—the least obnoxious of his older siblings.

  Gwen liked to dye her hair weird colors and experiment with piercings, which made her stand out in their conservative town. Today her hair was purple.

  “Hey, Gwen, any chance I could see the doctor today? I’ve got some pain in my knee and I think it’s a bit swollen.”

  “He’s with his last patient. I’m sure he could squeeze you in. I’ll let Farrah know you’re here.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Instead of taking a chair, he went up to the counter. When Gwen returned he asked about her family.
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  “They’re all fine. You must miss yours now that they’ve all left town.”

  “Not really.”

  She looked surprised, then she laughed. “Yeah, my brother told me your older brothers could be pretty intense. I love my folks but I’m ready to move out. Rusty’s trying to convince me to move in with him.”

  “How long you guys been seeing each other?”

  “Not long at all. Mom thinks Rusty’s moving too fast.” Gwen tapped the end of her pen against her cheek. “She might be right.”

  “Yeah, sometimes the old folks actually know what they’re talking about.” He took a breath. “Speaking of old folks, it was sad about Lacy Stillman dying.”

  “Wasn’t it? She was just at the clinic the day before her heart attack. Honestly, she looked healthier than most of our clients.”

  “She was quite a character.”

  “And she was always smiling, wasn’t she? Though she got into a pretty intense conversation with Marsha in the examining room.”

  “What about?”

  Gwen frowned. “Marsha accused me of eavesdropping, but the door was ajar and I couldn’t help hearing a few words as I walked by. I swear that woman is getting crabbier by the day.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking—what were they talking about?”

  Gwen shrugged. “At the time it seemed interesting, but it couldn’t have been that exciting because I can’t remember now.”

  She glanced down the hall, as if checking for someone. Then she leaned over the counter and continued, in a quieter tone. “Marsha’s been arguing a lot with Doc Pittman lately, too. I wonder if they’ve been having a secret affair and now one of them wants to break it off.”

  The sound of a door shutting startled them both. A man in his early forties emerged from the hallway, Farrah Saddler right behind him.

  “We’ll see you again in a month, Mr. Benson. Make sure to apply the ointment morning and night.” Farrah glanced over at Zak. Dark smudges under her eyes betrayed her fatigue but she smiled kindly. “I can take you now, if you’ll come this way.”