Arrest of the Heart

by Judy Kentrus

  “Have a seat.” Margaret reached for the carafe of coffee on the credenza at the rear of her desk. An array of dark purple and pale pink violets thrived in earthenware pots under the sun’s rays and added warmth to the typical law office. She refilled her own cup and poured one for Lincoln.

  “How do you take it?”

  “Black,” he replied, and gratefully accepted the mug.

  Margaret studied the rebellious teenager, who had left Laurel Heights eighteen years ago. She wasn’t surprised to see his long hair. Lincoln had refused to get the haircut his grandfather demanded. The patch over his eye made him appear dangerous and forbidding. He’d always been a good-looking rascal. It was no surprise he’d turned into a handsome devil. “When I suggested you make a grand entrance, I didn’t mean for you to cause an uproar in our police department. My daughter was not to be used as a tool, or be made to appear the fool.”

  “Judge, it wasn’t planned.”

  “You haven’t told anyone why you’ve returned or about your security and investigation company.”

  “The police didn’t even know my name until this morning.”

  “When I received the letter from the firm that handled Buford’s trusts and holdings, I immediately contacted them to see if there had been a mistake. Your grandfather led everyone to believe you were dead. His Will also stipulated that I handle the estate once he died, and to keep your status confidential.”

  “The Army must have notified Buford I was missing in action, and he let everyone believe I was dead. Luckily, a search team found me, along with three others.”

  “So, you haven’t had any contact with him since you left town?”

  “None.”

  “We better get down to business before my inquisitive daughter comes in here demanding to know what’s going on. Let’s sit at the table.” Margaret picked up a legal-sized brown envelope from the corner of her neatly cluttered desk.

  Linc sat in a wooden armchair at the long conference table, bordered by floor-to-ceiling legal tomes. Margaret removed a sheath of documents from the envelope. The one on top read, Last Will and Testament Buford Adams.”

  “Before you go any further, I don’t want anything from him.” Linc tried to control the hatred he felt for the man who’d called him a worthless, good-for-nothing bastard. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Donate everything to charity.”

  “I wish it were that simple.” Margaret sighed deeply. This was going to be a lot harder than she’d anticipated. “He bequeathed financial gifts to a number of individuals and organizations, but there are two major beneficiaries. You and the municipality of Laurel Heights, split right down the middle.”

  Linc spoke up quickly and without hesitation. “Why? He hated my guts. I’ll sign my part over to the town.”

  Margaret squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Again, it’s not that simple. The Will stipulates you must live here for one year. If you don’t, the entire estate goes to charity.”

  “Ah, shit!” he cursed, shaking his head, thinking of the how the complications would alter his life. “I still don’t want it!”

  Margaret placed her hand atop his that rested on the table, hoping to reach the heart of the kind, caring boy she remembered. “Lincoln, this town is dying. We need that inheritance from Buford Adams. Many stores on Main Street are gone, and the ones left are barely keeping out of the red. Homes are for sale, but the real estate market has hit rock bottom. The governing body is made up of narrow-minded fuddy duddies who won’t give up the reins and accept the fact that the world has grown beyond our rural community. This is confidential, but Henry Long has a proposal to build a four season resort in conjunction with the seasonal campground and cabins he already owns. A good portion of his holdings are lakefront. This would bring in tourists year-round and create much-needed jobs. I recognized his son in court this morning. You appear to be very close.”

  “Russell Long is one of my best friends, and he is aware of my wishes to never bring up the subject of Laurel Heights.”

  Margaret wasn’t surprised by Lincoln’s statement, but continued her plea. “Henry permitted a major firm to drill for natural gas in the shale on some of his farmland properties. The same company has installed numerous pumps in Stevensville. The farmers are able to grow crops, and the cattle are not disturbed in any way. It’s a win-win situation. A portion of your inheritance is in acreage currently leased to farmers.” Margaret held up a sheath of papers. “This is a proposal to pump for natural gas. The revenue could amount to millions. Lincoln, please give this decision careful consideration. If you don’t accept your bequest and fulfill the one-year residency requirement, you might be responsible for the death of an entire town.” Margaret stood up and walked across the room to refill her cup.

  Buford, you cagey old son-of-a-bitch. Even from the grave you want to control my life and make me do things your way. Linc could never live with the knowledge that he might have been able to save Laurel Heights. He’d declare residency, spend the weekends here, and conduct business in the city during the week. “If I agree to the terms of the Will, this would fulfill my obligation to you?”

  Margaret walked back and sat down. She had a second set of papers in her hand. “Yes and No. The members of the town council are aware of the division of properties and the petition to drill for natural gas, but are sworn to secrecy. The town’s original charter states that the mayor has the power to override a vote if he feels the measure is beneficial to the people. I’m the deputy Mayor.” She slid four sheets of paper toward him. “I’ve received emails warning me what would happen if I voted for the drilling of natural gas.”

  Lincoln read the darkly worded messages that stressed harm to her, as well as her daughter and granddaughter. Jessie had a daughter?

  “Do you know if any of the other council members received threats? What’s Jessie doing about these strong-arm tactics?”

  “No one has mentioned anything to me, and could be just as worried as I am. As for my daughter, this is personal, so Jessie is to be kept out of the loop at all costs.”

  “I’m sure you realize that threats via email should be reported to the FBI’s Cyber Crime Unit. I have a personal friend who can make this happen.”

  “Absolutely not!” Margaret adamantly refused. “All I need is this town crawling with FBI agents.”

  “Have you spoken to the chief about the threats?”

  “You are the only person I’ve told. The warning specified I tell no one, but I’ve taken a huge risk, bringing you into the mix. That is why I don’t want anyone to know about Adams Security. Let everyone think you’re a carefree bachelor who inherited a lot of money from your grandfather.”

  “You are wrong keeping this from Jessie and the police, but I’ll respect your wishes, for now.”

  “Am I to understand you are going to save the town?” For the first time in four weeks, Margaret felt a sense of relief, knowing she no longer had to face these threats alone.

  Linc never anticipated a payback favor would alter his life to such a degree. He couldn’t leave Margaret Taylor at the mercy of some sick individual. “I hated that old man, but you and the people in this town shouldn’t have to suffer for what my grandfather did to me. Probate the damn thing. I’ll get my cyber team to start back tracking the origin of these emails. If you get any more, let me know. I’ll be in touch.” Linc stood up and headed for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Linc turned back with a questioning frown. “To check on my car. If it’s drivable, I’m heading home. I’ve a business to run.”

  Margaret relaxed a little further into the chair. A cunning smile brightened her lovely eyes. “I don’t think so. Did you assume I would ignore the assault charge?”

  Linc cocked his head forward. “You’re kidding me!”

  “Absolutely not. If I let you off, I’ll be drawn and quartered. The headlines on the Laurel Heights Courier would read ‘Grandson of Town Philanthr
opist Assaults Police Sergeant. Judge Slaps Hands.’ You will be expected to pay your traffic fines and are hereby remanded into my custody. The furnished apartment above my garage will be your home for the next ninety days. You lived there as a teenager. Treig bunks there occasionally, so I’ve made some improvements.”

  Linc couldn’t believe this nightmare was happening. “What about my business?”

  “The apartment is wired for cable and internet. Being close at hand will give you the advantage to find out who wants to kill me.”

  “And what kind of excuse are you going to give about me living in the apartment above your garage?”

  “For the next ninety days, you will be my personal handyman.”

  Linc was still fuming when he took the stairs and replayed the past hour in his mind. He’d accepted his inheritance to save a dying town. Fate and his grandfather had kicked him in the ass, big time. He stood at the top of the steep marble steps that overlooked Main Street. It wasn’t a Mayberry or Hill Valley from Back to the Future, but ran a close second. Linc could relate to Marty McFly; life as he’d known it had just made an about face. He was at loose ends, and had no other choice but to walk to the Taylor residence.

  The houses in the established neighborhoods were well kept Victorians and Cape Cods. He walked seven blocks, and passed nine “For Sale” signs, before he located the Taylor’s home. The white siding on the Victorian, two-story appeared newly painted. Dark green gingerbread trim complemented the gently swaying fronds of the two Weeping Willow trees in the front of the house. A late spring bed of yellow daffodils and orchid crocus bordered the walkway.

  He suffered a case déjà vu as he followed the paved driveway around to the rear of the house. The rusted metal basketball hoop centered between the three garage doors had been replaced with a newer ring. He and Treig had spent many an hour playing one-on-one when they were teenagers. Guilt tugged at Linc’s memories of his best friend in high school. Treig didn’t know Linc was still alive.

  He gripped the wooden hand rail on the side of the garage and his eye traveled up the stairway like a small child facing the enormous challenge of venturing up a flight of steps for the first time. The apartment had been his home the last four months of high school. Three hours after graduation, he stuffed his meager belongings into a military green canvas backpack, grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper and three packs of cheese crackers, and slammed the door on his hellish teenage years. He had five-hundred dollars in his pocket, the money he’d saved from working at the Spoonful Café. Sallie Mae had cried, but understood why he had to leave. He’d hopped on the motorcycle he’d rebuilt from used parts, and closed the door on all he had known and wanted to forget. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that eighteen years later he’d be returning to a place he swore he’d never return.

  Then Linc remembered he was no longer the troubled teenager who wanted to escape the bonds of a man who deemed him a lazy, worthless bastard, but a man who’d succeeded beyond all expectations. He had two friends who supported his idea to start Adams Security, one of the top agencies in the country. Thanks to his connection to Nate Haines, the brother of Russell’s sister-in-law, he was now doing specialized investigations for the FBI. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

  When something brushed his pant leg, he glanced down at a burnished tabby with dark russet stripes and white-booted paws. A tan triangular patch separated amber colored eyes. The tinkling brass bell attached to the neon green collar sounded musical.

  “Are you my official greeter?” Linc lifted the cat and read the engraved name plate on the back of the collar. He was momentarily stunned: Abbie Lincoln. The cat purred when Linc’s hand swept the top of her head. “How does your owner know about the late jazz vocalist?” he said out loud, knowing he wasn’t about to get an answer.

  “Okay, Ms. Abbie Lincoln, I’ve stalled long enough.” When he set the golden haired beauty on the black-paved driveway, the feline stared at him as if to say, “You’re too stingy with your affection. I’m going to find someone who will give me what I need,” and flicked her long tail before sauntering on her way.

  Lincoln smiled at the feline’s sassy attitude and headed up the creaking steps. He turned the old fashioned glass doorknob and stepped inside. A musty odor struck him in the face when he reached for the light switch on the side of the doorway. Two jug-style lamps on the round wooden end-tables lightened up the dim interior. The three-cushioned couch was enveloped in a slipcover splattered with plate-sized sunflowers and dark purple hibiscus. It was ugly as sin. Frayed white piping outlined the seat cushion of a recliner from a bygone era. An oval area rug, woven in navy and blood red, hid the majority of the dusty beige linoleum floor. The décor shouted second hand store, something Alexis Long would love. She also owned Mary Maids, a cleaning service. He added her name to his growing to-do list.

  In the passing years, a small microwave had been installed over the four-burner, white enamel stove. The door was ajar on the white refrigerator that looked like something out of the fifties. An oval table with two, red-painted chairs completed the kitchenette.

  He headed into the bedroom with its two, small naked windows that over looked the rear open fields. The sparsely furnished room consisted of a headboard-free, queen-sized bed, a lone night stand with a single brass lamp, and a double-length dresser. None of the pieces matched. Out of curiosity, he walked over to the naked mattress and lifted the corner. He smiled at the sticky note that replaced a box of condoms. “You left in such a hurry, you forgot your body armor.” It wasn’t signed.

  Adjacent to the bedroom was a windowless bathroom that sported an old-fashioned, claw-foot enamel tub, surrounded by a frosted plastic shower curtain. He spread the flower-patterned ruffle that skirted the white-enamel sink and frowned. An open shadowbox held an assortment of burned aromatherapy candles in a variety of glass containers. He lifted one out, sniffed the contents before reading the label. “Lavender Vanilla” a scent to relax the body and soul or seduce the unsuspecting. He wondered if an “unsuspecting male” had been seduced. He made a mental note of everything needed to make the place livable. His first call would be to Cindi, his assistant, to apprise her of his status. Then he’d reach out to Mary Maids.

  Jessie parked her radio car in front her mother’s garage. This errand was going to be short, but not sweet. She was still fuming over this morning’s debacle. It had taken her eight years to gain the respect of the citizens of Laurel Heights and her fellow police officers. It was shot to hell in a matter of minutes by a bitch lawyer and her playboy client. She couldn’t wait till this evening and had confronted her mother, but the judge refused to answer any of Jess’s questions, other than to say she’d made her decision. Lincoln Adams was under house arrest and would be occupying the apartment over the garage for the next ninety days. Jess was far from satisfied with her mother’s cockamamie explanation, but planned on doing a little investigating on her own. Then her mother had the audacity to pass Jess a list of items needed to make the apartment livable. She’d wanted to yell, “What the hell do I look like, the damn Welcome Wagon?” Jess lugged the cloth sacks up the stairs and managed to knock before opening the door. “Delivery.”

  Linc glanced away from his cell phone to see Sergeant Taylor hefting two heavy bags. “This is a surprise. Let me get those.”

  “No thanks, I’m not some weak-kneed female.” Jess plunked them on the kitchen table, noting he’d tossed his suit jacket and tie on a kitchen chair, making himself right at home.

  Linc crossed his arms over his chest. The vibes of anger radiating from her body were almost palpable. “Who do I thank for my welcome goodies?”

  Jess rested her hand on the handle of her Sig, holstered high on her right hip, and spoke in a clipped, no nonsense tone. “The judge sent over new sheets, a blanket, towels, and soap.” She walked over to the refrigerator, set the interior thermostat, and closed the door. “You’ll find a couple of TV dinners.” She’d purchased the worst selection she could
find. “Nuke the food in the microwave. Eating utensils are in the drawer. The apartment doesn’t come with a dishwasher or maid service, so you’ll have to get your lily-white hands dirty.”

  Hostile. He couldn’t think of any other word for the curvy female body that filled out the sharply creased navy police trousers. A quilted, sleeveless-black vest covered her dark blue, long-sleeved shirt that proudly displayed her sergeant stripes and the triangular patch of the Laurel Heights Police Department. The peak of her cap shadowed most of her face, but her lips were full, and he recalled how soft they were. If he didn’t do something to rectify the explosive situation between them, the taste of her sweet mouth would become just that, a memory. No time like the present.

  “Thanks for helping me get settled. I’m sorry things got out of hand this morning. Embarrassing and humiliating you was my lawyer’s idea and the reason I fired her.”

  “That half-assed apology is supposed to make everything alright? You fired her too late! The damage had already been done. I have to live with the people in this town. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the hell away from me.” Jess stormed out and deliberately slammed the door.

  “That is one pissed off lady.” Linc suddenly remembered he didn’t have any transportation and ran down the stairs. She was just opening the door to her Eddie Bauer Ford Explorer. The rust surrounding the wheel wells and fenders was obvious. Why was she driving such an old vehicle?

  “Before you run off, any idea where I can borrow a set of wheels?”

  Jess closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Sparring with and disliking Lincoln Adams was sapping her strength. Whether she liked it or not, he was here to stay. She inserted a key in the padlock on the first garage door and lifted the handle. The space was filled from top to bottom with furniture, stacked cardboard boxes, crates, and an assortment of un-named tools. There was only one clear path, right down the middle.