Mending Fences (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Lorin Grace

  School turned into another disaster. Memories of the football players’ glares at her and the female teachers’ smiles made it difficult to focus on her work this evening. She didn’t send Rodrigo to the office for his cartoons about the coach’s arrest. But she had kept them. It wasn’t her fault he was arrested, as the administration had fielded complaints for years.

  Abbie and her brother traded off following her. Apparently Daniel still hadn’t testified. The Vandemarks had brought in several experts, and the news channels were calling the trial the most snooze-worthy of the century. Good. Daniel needed some boredom in his life after all those dates.

  Not having a single idea for the photo, Mandy went in search of sustenance and found Candace and Abbie eating popcorn and watching Candace’s favorite cable channel.

  The eight o’clock show started—a celebrity gossip affair. Daniel Crawford was the lead story. The three women sat glued to the screen, mouths agape at Summerset’s back hug. Photos of all his dates over the past week flashed across the screen—the kisses, the hugs, and the lick.

  There were no tears to prick Mandy’s eyes. Instead, her stomach rolled, threating to send back up the popcorn.

  She ran to the bathroom as fast as one could run in a medical boot and rinsed out her mouth. A wicked thought entered her head. Dr. Christensen would disapprove, but she couldn’t resist. The idea was original, and it would push her skills to the limit, requiring hundreds of manipulations. Did such a place even exist outside of the Old West? Possibly in Nevada. Mandy hurried to her room and turned on the screen. She had research to do.

  Tacky hot-pink buildings, garish signs, and suggestive names filled one screen. Mandy flipped through the mansion photos, wishing she had one taken from a drone. But then, with the crutches, she had only been able to take the photos from a few angles. Still, better than the fence shot.

  Oh! That gave her another idea, and her favorite stock photo site obliged.

  Early the next morning, Candace tapped on her door and entered. “Didn’t you sleep? I came to see—Oh no! You can’t!”

  Mandy didn’t look up from her work. “Why not? I think it is a perfect use of the building for him and all his friends. Even men like Coach Robb would find the place enjoyable.”

  “But it is a brothel!”

  “Bordello, aka brothel with some class.”

  “I know you are mad at him, but this is going too far. And the hot-pink shutters are too tacky to be called classy. The swimming pool looks like a—No, Mandy! I can’t believe you would do this.”

  “Look closer.” Mandy zoomed in on some of the windows. One had vinyl lettering: “No tops allowed, bottoms optional (but frowned upon).” Several other windows boasted activities worthy of bodice-ripper romance covers.”

  “You can’t do this. Isn’t it slander?”

  Mandy shook her head. “Every photo I used is from a stock-photo site, and although some of the men may be blue-eyed, tall, and sandy-haired, none of them are DC.”

  “Where on earth did you find statues and topiary so … so … risqué?” Candace pointed to a garden and maze and a large gazebo with a bed at the center. “They are like tripleX versions of Rodan’s Kiss.”

  “They are highly manipulated stock photos from a pretty trashy site.”

  “Trashy or pornographic?”

  “Technically art nudes, but I have seen some rather shocking things.” Mandy gave the tiniest of shudders.

  Candace sat down on the bed. “Mandy, I am sure this is good therapy, but you realize this image can never leave this room. He only took you to dinner and kissed you once.”

  “Yes, and thanks to that, I have had death threats and my schoolroom vandalized. I’ve been humiliated on TV—okay, that was our fault. And the same lips that kissed mine—did you see those photos last night?” Mandy burst into tears, all the pain of the last two weeks trying to leave her body at once.

  Candace wrapped her arms around Mandy and let her cry. There wasn’t enough fudge extreme ice cream in the world to solve this one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dr. Christensen’s voice was tight on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I have seen more risqué pieces from my students, but are you sure you want to do this?”

  Mandy squashed the twinge of doubt like she would a spider daring to invade her bathroom. “I only have a few working hours. This is the best I have short of a tornado piece, and you know I can’t do one of those after the one hit three years ago. And I already did a car burial ground, and I think a cemetery is too cliché.”

  “Very well, change the shape of the swimming pool and soften some of your statues. The work needs to be appropriate for under eighteen, and those aren’t exactly Michelangelo.”

  Abbie came into the room, and Mandy quickly hid her work.

  “Thanks, Dr. C. I’ll send the finished one over on Monday morning.”

  Abbie stepped around easels. “Alex got word Daniel is testifying after lunch. If all goes well, you’ll be rid of me in a few more days.”

  Too bad. Other than not being artistic, Abbie was a great roommate.

  The moment the defense had waited for had come. Daniel Crawford took the witness stand.

  The attorney got right to the heart of his questions. “Last week in another trial you testified you tried to help Miss Vandemark by using her inhaler. Why did you think her inhaler would help?”

  “Over the past couple of years, Miss Vandemark has had three such fainting spells in my presence, all of them brought on by a combination of stress and alcohol.” Daniel looked at Summerset’s father, hoping he would understand the danger his daughter had become.

  “Had she been drinking?”

  “She had one glass of wine at lunch, although I cautioned her not to.”

  “Any particular reason for that, Mr. Crawford?” The attorney leaned in.

  “Yes, Summerset rarely is able to stop at one drink, and I knew lunch would be distressing for her.”

  “What reason did you have to believe she would be distressed?”

  Daniel shifted his eyes to meet Summerset’s. She needed to listen this time. “Because I told her I was no longer interested in pursuing a relationship with her, and I felt she needed to enter a sobriety clinic as I could no longer be that for her, since keeping her sober had somehow become my job.”

  The judge hit his gavel three times to quiet the court.

  “And what was her reaction?”

  “She threw her lunch at me.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I signed the bill and left the restaurant.”

  “Did you see Miss Vandemark again that afternoon?”

  “Possibly. A half hour later, I left the hotel to take a walk. I thought I saw her through the doors to the bar, but the glass is wavy, and I didn’t check to see if my assumption was correct. I had previously asked the bartender not to serve her and assumed that if it were her, she would be turned away.”

  “Were you aware the bartender you had spoken with had left for a family emergency around one and had been replaced by another?”

  “Not until the testimonies were given on Wednesday.”

  The attorney checked a paper on his desk, then addressed the judge. “That will be all.”

  The prosecuting attorney rose for the cross-examination. “You say you broke off your relationship with Miss Vandemark that day, but were you not, in fact, leading her on?”

  “No, sir.”

  The lawyer held up three photos. “In the last two weeks, you have been seen and photographed either kissing or holding Miss Vandemark.”

  “As the tabloids will attest, I have been seen with several women over the last several months and weeks. All of them were dates or outings at my invitation. And several of those women have also kissed me. All the times I was with Miss Vandemark, the kissing was at her instigation, with the exception of the Academy Awards, where we had both been invited as guests of one of the nominees for best actor.”


  The voices in the room rose. The judge banged his gavel again.

  “So, you are some type of womanizer?”

  The defense attorney stood. “Objection.”

  “Sustained. Do you have anything relevant to ask the witness?” The judge glared.

  The prosecuting attorney checked with his partner. “No, Your Honor.”

  Daniel stepped down from the stand.

  Summerset jumped from her seat. “You! Liar! You said you loved me! You told me you would help me!”

  Mr. Vandemark tried to pull his daughter back into her seat.

  Daniel continued to walk out of the courtroom to the banging of the gavel and the screams of Miss Vandemark.

  Until the trial officially ended, Daniel was stuck in the city, but at least he didn’t have to endure any more dates with the too-willing women of society. And maybe, just maybe, Mr. Vandemark would do what he should have done months ago and check his daughter into rehab. Closing arguments would be Monday, the verdict no later than Tuesday. He had a Tuesday-night flight to London. He sat down at his computer in the apartment.

  Mandy still answered his calls with texts. I meant it when I said good-bye.

  He’d sent flowers.

  She texted a photo of them donated to a retirement home.

  Now that he could finally explain the dates, she wouldn’t listen. Had the ruse been worth it? Yes, the strategy had shut down any claim Summerset had made about their relationship, left the hotel blameless, and hopefully got Summerset the help she needed. But Mandy also believed he was a player of the worst kind.

  The only good news of the day had come from Morgan via email. There wouldn’t be a trial over the Fowler property. George Fowler had confessed to forging Mae’s and Mandy’s signatures. Mandy’s father surfaced from a dig long enough to be outraged and confirm he had no interest in the property. And the holding company that had bought the land turned it over to Daniel’s possession without a fight. The transaction had been accomplished quietly, without Mandy needing to be involved. He hoped George Fowler possessed half a brain and had invested his $3.4 million wisely.

  He needed some other way to convince Mandy to give him a chance. What had the love therapist been talking about on the radio when the driver had picked him up the other night? Or was it that television noise he had on? What had they called it? The final move? No, the “grand gesture.”

  Daniel logged into the password-protected file and opened the deeds and purchase agreements, then he brought up the land map and called Morgan.

  Then he texted Colin.

  Who needed flowers?

  If this idea worked, Mandy would talk to him and, more importantly, listen as well.

  The image blurred in front of Mandy’s eyes. She bit her lip and finished her diet cola. Doubts filled her. She had toned down several of the manipulations, and none of the men in the windows resembled Daniel. If she had three more days, she would abandon this manipulation entirely, but in five hours, school would start and the image needed to be in. She cleaned the vinyl sign from the window and replaced it with a simple “shirts and shoes optional.” The pool was transformed into a heart surrounded with heart-shaped hot tubs. Chubby cherubs, leaves, and scarves hid things some considered art when sculpted by Italian Renaissance artists.

  It would raise eyebrows, and the student newspaper might even comment, saying she hadn’t pushed boundaries enough, but technically the work was solid. She ran it through several web programs that detected image manipulation and managed to fool all but one. It didn’t like the wooden fence she’d designed, but she was too tired to figure out why.

  She uploaded the photo to Dr. Christensen’s cloud, then set her alarm, half hoping it wouldn’t actually go off.

  Everyone crowded in the courtroom to hear the verdict. Outside, photographers vied for the best spots.

  The attorney for the Vandemarks asked to approach the bench. Summerset’s usual place next to her father was vacant.

  The verdict was never read.

  Mr. Vandemark apologized to the hotel.

  The rumors flew. Summerset entered a rehab clinic in Idaho.

  Unrest in the Middle East topped the news stories.

  Daniel boarded a plane bound for London and sent a group text to Colin, Morgan, and Bonnie.

  I don’t care how much it costs me. Figure it out. Only funds from my personal accounts. And under no circumstances use a decorator from New York.

  He turned off his phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The long emerald evening gown Mandy wore to the Champaign reception for the opening of her show Friday night had once belonged to Grandma Mae, back in a time when a woman would never have been seen buying groceries without her face done. Candace had put Mandy’s hair up in a French twist and even decorated the boot in case it peeked out under her hem.

  Mandy walked through the exhibit answering questions. The son of the gas station owner beamed as he pointed out details.

  A minister from the denomination who owned the rundown church asked her questions about restoration costs that Mandy couldn’t answer. He didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t an architect or contractor.

  Mr. Alexander stood next to Bonnie and pretended to be interested in an old house from the 1920s as he kept watch over the room. Mandy avoided talking to them. She didn’t want to talk about Grandma Mae’s house. It was what had started the project. The opening photo was the one she’d taken the morning after the tornado, when part of the chimney still stood, along with some of the lath-and-plaster walls.

  Dr. Christensen introduced her to an executive from a software company, the tech guru complimenting her work. Then the dean came and whisked the executive away to see the old grain mill.

  Candace’s natural-looking wig matched Abbie’s dark hair. The two chatted over hors d’oeuvres with Colin near the train-station shot.

  A distinguished-looking gentleman who’d come in with Bonnie was examining the Crawford mansion and chatting amiably with her father. Her mother monopolized Principal Lee.

  Mandy was still in some shock over her parents coming and declaring they would stay in the States through graduation, in late May. They hadn’t mentioned those plans during their weekly phone calls or emails and had planned the surprise for months and even left a dig for her—for an entire month. Of course they would be working on papers and research, but they were here.

  Daniel sent a corsage. She’d worn it because it went with the dress. At least that was what she told Candace. The note indicated he was in London and asked her to make it “not yet” instead of good-bye.

  A reporter asked her a few questions. None were about Daniel.

  Later that night, as she hung up the dress and turned out the lights, Mandy would wonder how she remembered so little of a night she had worked so hard for.

  And the smell of Daniel’s corsage would fill the room like a fairy tale. If only …

  As Mandy walked around the room, taking one last look, the dean hurried in. “Miss Fowler, I am glad I caught you. We had a whole-show bid! That hasn’t happened for eight, no, nine years!”

  “But the gas station man wanted some of those pieces.”

  “Yes, I told the bidder that. He said he would sell a duplicate at a reduced price.”

  Mandy stopped in front of her favorite piece. “What about the two I wasn’t going to sell?”

  “That is the problem. This is an all-or-nothing deal. You can keep the files for personal use and for your portfolio, but you can never exhibit them.”

  “There is one I don’t want ever displayed. I want to destroy it.”

  The dean rung his hands. “Miss Fowler, perhaps you don’t understand the magnitude of this sale and what it will do for the college.”

  “How much is Daniel Crawford paying you?”

  “He isn’t the buyer. The buyer is British. Has the most calming accent I have ever heard.”

  Mandy paused in front of a mon
itor. “Can I stipulate the bordello version of the Crawford mansion never be shown in public?”

  “I don’t know. Come to the office. You can ask. I think it is midnight there, but he insisted I call back.”

  The dean was correct. The man’s voice was calming. Mandy had already forgotten his name—Clarence? Or maybe Terrance? Whomever he was, he responded to her request with “Why do you not want that piece exhibited? It is an excellent piece of manipulation.”

  “It was a mistake, sir.”

  The line crackled. “I saw no errors in it.”

  “No, an ethical mistake. It would have been better to turn the building into a haunted house.” Mandy didn’t want to explain further to some guy, no matter how soothing his accent.

  Even the robust-sounding laughter that came over the line sounded British. “No house is better off haunted if one can avoid it. We have our share of ghosts over here.”

  Mandy tried a different tactic. “Well, the fence is wrong in it. It still shows as fake in the detection programs.”

  “Not an issue. You can tear the fence down or repair it on your copy. But if you insist, it will never be shown to the public. Only in private viewings.”

  The dean studied her anxiously. Mandy knew how desperately the money was needed. “Thank you, sir. I will sign the papers.”

  “Thank you, Miss Fowler. I am sure you have an exciting career in front of you.” His accent made the prediction believable.

  When the dial tone filled her ears, she set the phone down and signed the forms.

  On the way home, she picked up a burger and fries. As she walked into her kitchen, she realized she had forgotten her shake but then remembered the last time she’d had a shake and fries. She tossed the bag in the trash. Food was overrated.

  For days Daniel had nightmares that the New York City decorator had gotten access to his other residences. Terrance and Bonnie laughed when he told them. But he didn’t believe he was safe until he stepped off the elevator into his Chicago penthouse Sunday afternoon.