The Best Revenge

by Justine Davis

  “Do not vote for me because you loved my father, or because you feel tradition demands having a Hill in the mayor’s office. Although I appreciate the sentiments, those are not good reasons to entrust me with the future of Cedar. Trust me, vote for me because I share your vision of what we want this town we love to be. Because I, like you, want us to proceed into the future without losing the parts of the past that make us what we are.”

  It was good, St. John thought. She was reaching the crowd. And there was a crowd. Not as big as her opponent’s, perhaps, but they were more attentive. He was guessing they were the ones who were more aware, more active.

  “I’m not a politician, you all know that,” Jessa was saying, “because I won’t make promises I can’t keep, just to get your vote. I won’t make backroom deals that result in policies that help the loudest group. I won’t try to buy this office—it has to be earned.”

  That got, as he’d expected, a bit of applause and a lot of buzz started. And that was encouraging, that they so quickly realized what she meant.

  It also had an effect he’d expected; a man yelled out, “Why should we trust you, when you can’t even run your family business?”

  St. John spotted the man, recognized him as an Alden plant he’d seen in the opposition’s campaign headquarters. A man from River Mill, not Cedar. His gaze shot to Jessa, willing her to keep her cool.

  She laughed. “Why, if you lived here in Cedar you would have seen that I posted our profit and loss statements right in the store window, so everyone could see that we’re actually doing even a little better than last year.”

  Yes!

  The triumphant word shot through him as she handled it perfectly, beautifully. In one sentence she countered his false accusation, and pointed out to the crowd that he wasn’t one of them. Her gaze flicked to him, and he read the acknowledgment in her eyes; he’d anticipated this, and that was why she’d posted those figures for all to see.

  “We could do better, of course, if we charged more, carried no specialty items, but we think our customers are special, and deserve the same kind of service we’ve provided for decades. The same kind of service you’ll get from the mayor’s office.”

  That neatly, she brought it back to the matter at hand, and this time the applause outweighed the buzz.

  “Hey, he works for Bracken’s!” someone yelled out.

  And suddenly the tenor of the meeting changed. They were on her side now, local girl versus outsider, and they were looking at the intruder in their midst with suspicion. The man looked uncomfortable, and began to back out of the crowd amid the murmurs. He wasn’t a pro, St. John thought, or he would have stuck it out, been better prepared.

  Alden, he thought, wasn’t going to like this. Which was exactly what he wanted. Because he knew too well what Albert Alden did when confronted with things he didn’t like.

  Chapter 15

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Marion Wagman was saying. “To scream at the poor woman like that, out on a public street.”

  Mrs. Walker, shifting the bags full of groceries she held, shook her head. “It’s hardly Janelle’s fault that the bank is being audited.”

  “She was very upset, I’ll tell you. Said that he didn’t even bank there until a couple of years ago, but acts like he owns it. And the employees.”

  Jessa kept her head down, studying the boxes of cake mix as if they held the answers to all the mysteries of the world. When the women left the store, she wheeled her cart to the checkout, her mind racing.

  When she got home, she found her mother bustling in the kitchen, a pleasant surprise, and her uncle sitting in the breakfast nook, a cup of coffee before him.

  “Hello, honey.” She kissed Jessa on the cheek as she took the bag of requested items. “Thank you.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Next time I’ll do it, I promise.”

  Jessa looked into her mother’s eyes, so like her brother-in-law’s, minus the slightly fey quality. They did seem a bit brighter, more alive today, and if Uncle Larry had accomplished that, she was thankful.

  “They’ll be happy to see you at the market,” she said, knowing it was true.

  “Sit down, visit with your uncle. I’ll get you some coffee.”

  Jessa glanced at the man at the table, saw the very slight nod he gave her, and did as her mother had suggested. The coffeemaker was at the other end of the kitchen, and gave them a few moments to speak unheard. “Thank you.”

  Larry smiled. “Time, not man, is the true healer.”

  “But you’re helping.”

  “Perhaps.” Then, as his sister-in-law approached with two steaming mugs, he shifted subjects. “Heard an interesting rumor in town this morning.”

  “Is this about Alden’s public meltdown? I heard,” Jessa said, secretly delighted that her mother had joined them; too often she simply retreated, a shadow of her once vibrant self.

  Larry lifted a brow at her. “Now, I hadn’t heard that one. What happened?”

  She relayed what she’d overheard, adding as she finished, “It’s really not like him. He’s too conscious of his public image.”

  “And more charming than any honest man needs to be,” Naomi put in.

  Jessa held her breath; it had been so long since her mother had offered an opinion on even the weather, let alone anything requiring more thought, that she was afraid to speak lest she destroy the moment.

  “Quite true,” Larry said smoothly. “A man with no rough edges is either a fake or has worked on the outside until it’s slippery, neglecting the inside.”

  Jessa couldn’t stop her grin at that. “Uncle Larry, you are one of a kind.”

  “Blessedly so,” he said, grinning back at her. “Only room for one Loony Larry in this little town.”

  The careless ease with which he accepted the disrespectful nickname the less charitable citizens had given him long ago was just another of the reasons she adored this man. Their inability to see the wisdom hidden in some of his more outlandish statements was their loss, she thought.

  The idea flashed through her mind that following Uncle Larry’s flights of fancy had been good preparation for following St. John’s choppy shorthand.

  “So what was it you heard?” she asked him. “Was it the reporter thing?”

  “Heard that, too,” Larry said, “but that’s not what I meant.”

  “What reporter?” her mother asked.

  “From the Ledger,” Jessa said. “Nosing into Alden’s life.”

  “Interesting,” Larry said. “I wonder what brought it on, why the sudden interest on the county level?”

  Jessa had an idea, just as she had on the bank’s audit, and they both had St. John’s name on them. But she didn’t say anything. She had no proof, after all.

  “Well, whatever the reason it’s a good thing, after the shabby way the Cedar Report has treated you,” her mother said, surprising her. She hadn’t thought her mother was aware of that much of what had been going on. “I’m so disappointed in them. We’ve always supported them, and then they endorse that…charlatan.”

  “They didn’t have much choice,” Jessa said. “Turns out Alden owns a sizeable piece of them.”

  “Why…that’s outrageous!” her mother exclaimed. “They shouldn’t have endorsed anyone, then.”

  “Just how,” Larry asked, looking at her thoughtfully over his mug of coffee, “did you pick up that little bit of information?”

  “I didn’t, really,” she said.

  “Ah. Our mysterious friend and benefactor.”

  She’d almost forgotten Larry had been there the first day St. John had arrived. And although to her knowledge that was all he’d seen of the man, her uncle had a remarkable knack for sizing people up quickly.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “And the rest?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

  “I suspect he’s capable of moving mountains of any ilk,” Larry mused in his not-quite-in-the
-present way.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Jessa said, her mouth quirking.

  “Who is this?” her mother asked.

  “A man who’s helping,” she said. “It’s a long story, Mom,” she added at her mother’s curious look. “I hope to be able to tell it all to you soon.”

  Her mother’s gaze switched to her brother. “Larry?”

  “I’m watching,” he said.

  Touched by her mother’s concern, more that she had bestirred herself to feel it, Jessa swallowed past the tightness in her throat. She noted her mother’s nod and the easing of her concern, and envied her uncle that knack, as well.

  And wondered exactly what he’d meant, if he was watching her, the situation or St. John. Or all three.

  “We still haven’t gotten to what you heard, Uncle Lare,” she said.

  “Ah. Rumor has it someone’s made an offer on Riverside Paper.”

  Jessa’s brow furrowed. “An offer? I didn’t know it was for sale.”

  “It wasn’t, but in these times solid money talks. And if what I heard is true, this is very solid money.”

  “That must be worrying for all the people who work there,” her mother said. Jessa felt an odd combination of emotions at the words. Gratitude that her mother was participating so much this morning, and a dull ache because those would have been her father’s first words, as well.

  “Actually, not so much,” Larry said.

  “But if some outsider is taking over,” Jessa began.

  “Yes. But that outsider is Redstone.”

  Jessa blinked. “What? What on earth would they want with a paper company way out here?”

  “Redstone?” her mother said. “You mean Joshua Redstone? Jess admired him greatly. But don’t they do airplanes, resorts, that sort of thing?”

  “And dabble in highly advanced prosthetics, medical equipment, high-tech gadgets, whatever their R & D department comes up with,” Larry said. “I’d give a lot to meet their inventor. Not a lot of genuine inventors around anymore. Everything’s done by committee.”

  “You seem to know a lot about them,” Jessa said.

  Larry shrugged. “They’re fascinating. A powerhouse, privately owned company that size that is run the way it is, whose people sing its praises with no prompting, and that seems to spread benefits in ripples wherever it goes….”

  “I’ve heard that,” Jessa agreed. “But I still don’t understand why they’d want to come here.”

  “That, I don’t know,” Larry agreed. “They’ve not dabbled in that particular line, that I’m aware of. Which makes this all the more interesting.”

  Especially given Alden’s huge investment in Riverside Paper, she thought. And it occurred to her, somewhat belatedly, to wonder if all this wasn’t connected.

  At the idea, a string of images popped into her head. St. John, muttering about phone calls and vanishing. St. John, turning up the information on those investments.

  St. John, saying with cold, deadly certainty, “I will destroy him.”

  A new emotion filled her as the implications roiled around in her mind; utter awe. Was it truly possible? Could one man have done all this so quickly? Even a man as driven and intense as St. John?

  He could if he had the weight of Redstone behind him, she thought.

  It was a leap, she knew, but not necessarily a blind one.

  I will destroy him.

  She shivered inwardly. He’d meant every word. She’d understood, accepted, even welcomed the thought; after all, she’d gone into this to stop Alden, not because she wanted the office.

  But there was one last image she couldn’t quite put out of her mind, and it might just be the one that would trump all else. It was of a young boy, hesitantly, longingly looking at a big golden dog.

  A young boy who was trapped just as St. John had once been, in Alden’s twisted world.

  “You think you can get away with this?”

  Jessa instinctively stepped back, regretted the cowardly action, and covered it by wiping at her face. “You’re spraying,” she said with a distaste she didn’t have to feign.

  She’d known it would infuriate the man, but they were standing in front of the copy store, with several curious early-morning onlookers, and she felt relatively safe. Especially since one of them was Uncle Larry, who, curiously, was standing back silently. But then she saw Alden’s right hand curl into a fist, and suddenly wondered if she’d pushed him too hard.

  “You’re behind all this,” he hissed. “This is all your fault.”

  “I don’t do conspiracy theories before noon,” Jessa said, earning a laugh from the onlookers, who were growing in number. Which only made Alden redden even more; he was not a man who took kindly to being laughed at. She had the feeling he was barely managing not to strike out at her, or even at those who had chuckled.

  “I don’t know how you’ve managed to do it, but I’ll find out.” He nearly spat it out again.

  “Mr. Alden,” she said, in the tone of a parent explaining to a child his flaw in logic, “you simply cannot have it both ways. I’m either too stupid to run the family business, or I’m brilliant enough to have put together whatever conspiracy it is you’re accusing me of.”

  She glanced at the small crowd, saw her uncle grinning at her proudly. She heard the murmur, knew her point had registered with those who mattered, those who would then tell their friends, their families. She knew Cedar, knew how it worked. This was the town where when Adam Alden had allegedly—she knew he hadn’t, because he’d been with her—sprayed graffiti on the Welcome to Cedar sign, everyone had known about it before the paint even dried.

  Which brought her to the true irony of this encounter; Albert Alden could very well be, in a way, right about her being behind his troubles.

  As the man swore at her and then departed, with a sharp bark of the tires on his expensive Swedish sedan, she heard the murmurings of the people who’d been drawn by the unusual—for Cedar anyway—disturbance. She saw among them Missy Wagman who, besides being the first to jump on any new bandwagon of negativity, was also the main server on the exceedingly efficient Cedar information network. Word of this encounter would be all over before Jessa even got to the store with the box of file folders she’d stopped to pick up.

  She looked at the group, who were either shaking their heads in shock or nodding in agreement. Except for Larry, who was looking at her with such approval in his eyes that she felt a flood of encouragement.

  “Hope he doesn’t take that mad out on Tyler.” Like he used to take them out on Adam, she added to herself.

  She saw the comment register, saw the frowns, the furrowed brows, knew that some of them, at least, were wondering.

  “Two accident-prone sons?”

  Uncle Larry had said it, in that vague, thoughtful way of his, as if it were simply a curiosity. But there was nothing vague in his expression, and Jessa knew he’d done it with full intent.

  “And one of them dead,” someone said, eliciting another round of murmurs. Some of the group were too young to remember, but many had also gone to school with her and with Adam, and would remember his endless parade of bruises and injuries.

  “Not to mention a wife who committed suicide,” Missy muttered, true to form and jumping on the newly formed, questioning bandwagon.

  Larry moved then, taking Jessa’s arm. “Come along, honey,” he said, adding when they were out of earshot, “our work here is done.”

  She looked at his face, and nearly laughed at his satisfied grin.

  “I’m proud of you, girl. You handled that perfectly, turned an attack into an advantage, and gave people a glimpse of the real man. A glimpse they’ll remember.” He shifted his arm to drape it over her shoulders and give them a squeeze. “More important, your father would be proud. Because you also handled it with class.”

  The words meant more to her than she could manage to tell him past the knot in her throat. She fought tears, slipped her arm around his waist, and hugged h
im as they stopped on the corner and waited for one of Cedar’s three traffic signals to change so they could cross the street.

  “I love you, Uncle Larry.”

  “I know. An accomplishment, since I don’t make it easy.”

  “It’s easy for me,” she said. “And anybody who thinks for themselves.”

  “That would be you,” Larry said, pleasing her all over again.

  But the feeling faded, replaced by concern. “I meant what I said, though. I hope he doesn’t take this out on poor Tyler.”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on the lad,” Larry said as they got the green light. “He visits, now and then.”

  Her eyes widened; she hadn’t known. “You never said.”

  They headed down the last block to the store. “He asked me not to. Couldn’t betray that.”

  “Of course not.” Her uncle had always been a safe repository for any childhood secret. And she guessed Tyler had a few. Just as Adam had. “I’m glad he comes to you.”

  “He likes the gnomes. And they like him.”

  Jessa laughed as they reached the back entrance to the store and paused while she dug the keys out of her pocket. “Don’t ever change, Uncle Larry.”

  “That’s not,” he said solemnly, “what most of the world would say.”

  “Their loss,” she said, hugging him again.

  “I’ll go check on your mother,” he said. “I think I may be able to get her to go with me over to Stanton’s this morning.”

  “That would be wonderful. She—”

  Jessa stopped abruptly. She’d stuck the key in the back door lock automatically, focused more on her uncle than the task. But that hadn’t prevented her from realizing something was wrong.

  The door was already unlocked.

  She frowned, puzzled. “I know I locked up yesterday.”

  “Of course you did,” Larry said, moving between her and the unsecured door. “You always do.”

  It was his movement rather than his words that drew her full, sharpened attention. The meaning of it hit her abruptly. Along with two possibilities. And she didn’t like either one of them.

  Either this damned campaign had escalated to true nastiness, or a serious sort of crime had come to her beloved Cedar.