“I see. I’m sorry to have been the one to give you the sad news. Would you like the name of his lawyer? That gentleman can give you more information than I have.”
“Yes, thank you.” Neil wrote down the information, unsure as to whether he would actually contact Cleveland’s solicitor or not. Then he thanked Mr. Benedict for his kindness and ended the call.
He got up and settled himself in one the guest chairs in his nephew’s office. His mind was reeling. Cleveland, dead. No more looking forward to their grand retirement, two gentlemen of means enjoying the fruits of their labor.
He had the villa—they owned that jointly in a partnership agreement. In the event one of them died, the other inherited the property in toto. He also had a good stash of cash, so he’d be all right. But damn it, he’d be alone, without a single friend, and that had not been in the plan.
“Everything well with your friend, then, Uncle?”
Neil hadn’t heard the door open. He looked up and saw that his nephew knew, by the way Bryson’s face registered worry that something was wrong. He chose to be honest with the lad.
Honesty as the pest policy absolutely worked in certain circumstances and, using that, made the intermittent falsehoods utterly undetectable. That had been Cleve’s motto in life—and it had been his, too.
“No. Unfortunately, he’s died. That’s why I haven’t heard from him.”
“I am so sorry!”
“Well, it’s a shock.” He accepted the cup of tea.
Instead of going around to his own chair, Bry sat beside him. “Can I do anything for you? I’ve not so busy an afternoon ahead that I couldn’t clear the deck. Perhaps we could have an early supper somewhere?”
“That would nice.” Neil took a sip and shook his head. “Life’s a curiosity, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle, sometimes it is.”
Neil spent the rest of the day with his only nephew, enjoying the time and the food, and grateful his sister’s son had such compassion in him. He returned to his office for just a bit, dealt with some nominal business, and then headed home to his flat, the same flat he’d lived in since he’d come to England to be close to his only family. He shook his head when he realized he’d been there for more than a score of years already.
Sometime after eight in the evening, as Neil was sipping a brandy and reading the paper, the shock of the news he’d received began to wear off.
And in its place grew an unwelcome and edgy uncertainty. Had Cleveland left anything behind he shouldn’t have? Were there notes and schematics and the plans for their next caper lying about? Had he already begun that work, looking into security systems and detailing the best way to breach same, when he died, and if so, where were those details now? And most alarming, had his friend left incriminating evidence against him, Neil Farnsworth?
After a mostly fitful night of bad sleep, Neil Farnsworth awoke with a very real fear and a brand-new goal.
Benedict had said the business wouldn’t open for some time. That meant, likely, the house where Cleveland had headquartered his business and his life would probably remain untouched for the next little while.
He needed to get himself to Houston and search that house. Cleveland had never told him where, precisely, in the place he’d stashed the loot after their heists. Caution dictated that items be sold strategically, here and there, necessitating a place for the bulk of the items—things such as jewels and the odd bit of expensive trifle stolen by unknown master thieves—to be kept until sold.
Neil became more and more certain, as the day wore on, that wherever the loot was, there would also be any evidence that might implicate him in their nearly fifteen-year moonlighting career as cat burglars.
He doubted he’d get another moment’s true peace until he searched for, and got his hands on not only those goods but that evidence, as well. And if Michael Benedict got in his way?
It had been a very long time since Neil Farnsworth had killed anyone. But he knew he could, and would—if the choice came down to another’s life or his freedom.
* * * *
“Are you all right, sweet girl?”
Abigail blinked, pulled from her thoughts by the husky-soft voice of the woman who’d just spoken to her.
She hadn’t even seen or heard the woman approach her. If it weren’t for the fact she didn’t believe in such things, Abigail might be tempted to think she was speaking to a spirit.
She was, after all, sitting on a blanket on the ground in a very nicely kept cemetery.
Dressed in neat beige slacks with a crisp blue button-front shirt tucked in, her hair strawberry blond and showing strands of white neatly tucked up under a smart straw hat, the woman standing there was no spirit. But such light shone in her blue eyes, such kindness wreathed her face that Abigail didn’t even think to demur.
“You know what? I am, I think.” She looked at the headstone she sat before. “It’s been a tumultuous few weeks. My mother died, just a few months after my grandmother, Maude. I believed that from that moment on, I was all alone in the world, no family. Then I found a box in Maude’s bedroom—the same room my mother didn’t clean out as she’d said she’d done—and now…well, now I think I probably still have family here about, but…”
“That would be quite a tumultuous series of events.” The woman sat down beside Abigail and nodded toward the headstone.
“The Parker-Jones were the third family to settle here in Lusty. The first were the Benedicts. Two former gunslingers and the love of their lives, Sarah Carmichael, came here by way of a very interesting adventure. Then, nearly a year later, her cousin, Amanda Dupree, arrived from Virginia. Amanda fell in love with two lawmen—one a Texas Ranger by the name of Adam Kendall, one a lawyer, Warren Jessop. They became the Jessop-Kendalls because Adam and Warren were lovers before they fell in love with their Amanda.”
The woman stopped and then tilted her head. “Are you with me so far?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The information resembled the words Maude had written in her journal, although she hadn’t mentioned any names.
The woman grinned. “Shocked by that last revelation?”
She thought of the photograph of her great-grandparents, the one that had captivated her. A puzzle piece slipped into place. “No, not at all.”
“Excellent. Well, to carry on. Amanda wanted her mother, a woman who’d earned her way in life as a demi-monde and who lived in Virginia, to join her. So, Amanda’s friend, Terrence Parker, and his lover, Jeremy Jones, agreed to serve as escorts for Amanda’s mother, Emily, and her friend and companion, a former working girl named Phyllis MacNab. During the long trip, those three—Terrence, Jeremy, and Phyllis—fell in love. And so, when they arrived here, they decided to stay and form a forever family.”
“Are there…” Abigail nearly didn’t ask. That’s not like me. I face things head-on. She inhaled deeply and stiffened her resolve. “Are there by any chance any descendants left here in Lusty?”
“Oh my, yes. After we have some tea, I’ll be happy to arrange for you to meet them. Is your last name still Parker?”
Abigail knew her surprise showed. Then she realized, she’d somewhat given herself away…except, how did this woman know that neither her grandmother, nor her mother, had married?
“It is. I’m Abigail Parker.”
“It’s good to meet you, Abigail. I’m Kate Benedict.”
The woman had a strong grip. “I imagine you have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Benedict said. “Between us, my mother-in-law and I could likely answer them. Grandmother Chelsea—that would be Chelsea Benedict Jessop-Kendall—may also have some information for you on Maude’s brothers.”
“Morgan and Logan?” When Kate smiled, Abigail shrugged. “There was a photograph taken when Maude looked to be two or three, sitting on the lap of her mother. Their names were written on the back of it.”
“Yes, Morgan and Logan, who stayed in Lusty and married a young woman also from Lusty, Carmelita Mendez. By tradition, if
not actual blood, most people here consider themselves family. So, cousin, would you like to meet some more of your kin?”
The question implied that she’d already met one. “Yes, thank you.” She got to her feet and extended a hand to the older woman. Kate took the assistance and then a moment to brush off her pants, though there was not so much as a twig clinging to her. Abigail took up her blanket, and they began to walk toward the small parking area where she’d left her Buick.
“I don’t see your car,” Abigail said.
“No, I walked today. I’ll be happy to ride with you, if you’ll have me.”
“Of course. Just point the way. Are there a lot of the Parker-Jones here?”
“Well now. You’ve got your Parkers, and your Jones, and your Parker-Jones. Morgan, Logan, and Carmelita had eight children, all boys.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “Eight! They had eight children? All boys?”
Kate chuckled. “They don’t call this place Lusty for nothing.”
Abigail found that hilariously funny. Her mother and grandmother, who’d been, well, kind of prudish despite having been single mothers, had sprung from a town called Lusty.
Funny how little twists of fate make life interesting.
“Are you just passing through, Abigail, or do you have a day or two to spend with us?”
“I have all the time in the world. I’ve listed my house for sale, and I’m searching—I guess I’m searching for my place. So, I have no schedule”
“Excellent! We have a very large house, and we’d be delighted to have you stay with us as our guest.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Benedict. I’d be delighted to do so.”
“Please, call me Kate. I think you and I are going to be very good friends.”
Abigail put the key in the ignition then turned to face her hostess. She couldn’t help but smile in the face of such open hospitality and welcome. “Thank you, Kate. I think we will be, too.”
Chapter Four
For a woman who’d grown up with two other women, who’d always somehow felt a little out of place in her own home amid her own family, the next couple of hours were a revelation to Abigail.
She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine what it might be like, coming to this place called Lusty and looking for kin. She tended, always, to get her hopes up—a habit neither her grandmother nor her mother had been able to break her of despite their best efforts.
The “very large house” Kate had referred to turned out to be a mansion—at least it seemed so to Abigail. She’d been welcomed as warmly by Kate’s in-laws and her husbands, as she had been by Kate herself. By the time she’d come back downstairs after putting her suitcase in the room she’d been given and taken a few moments to freshen up, people began to arrive.
A couple of her great-uncles’ and aunt’s eight sons and their wives no longer lived in Lusty, but the ones that did arrived. These were people of her mother’s generation, though all were older by a few years than her mother had been.
The first nugget she had to digest was exactly what Kate had said—there were Parkers, and Jones, and Parker-Jones. And they had all been brothers! The first to be introduced to her were Gordon Parker-Jones and his brothers Jonathan and Kenneth Parker—each of them accompanied by his own wife. The three men had retired the year before from ranching. Their sons had taken over the operation, and the ranch itself lay a few miles south of Lusty. Those sons were also each married to a single woman, but that, Gordon had explained, was simply a matter of choice. Now he and his two brothers spent their time tinkering where they could. The three former ranching partners enjoyed working together and kept the machinery humming on the ranch. They even sometimes took on extra repair jobs for neighbors.
Terrence and Marcus Jones had both moved to Dallas and made their lives there, although, Abigail was assured, they came back often with their wives and children to visit. Jonathan and Laura Parker’s son, Creighton, was engaged to be married to Isabelle West. Isabelle was nearly finished with college and upon graduation would be a pharmacist. She’d already been promised a job at the pharmacy right here in Lusty. Jerimiah and Bartlett Jones, first cousins to Creighton, had recently married Ginger Gordon. Bartlett was a photographer, following one family tradition, as Abigail’s great-grandfather, Jeremy Jones, had been a preeminent photographer.
It had been Jeremy Jones’s professional stamp on the back of those family photos. She’d gone to the library and looked him up since the name had seemed so familiar to her. She’d come away astounded that her ancestor and the famous photographer were one and the same.
Bartlett’s brother Jerimiah was a furniture maker, one who built custom furniture for the townsfolk. She might have been confused by that occupation if Kate hadn’t given her a tour of the house, including the master suite. She’d never seen a bed, tub, or shower that big in her entire life.
She supposed it made perfect sense. If there were three—or even four—sharing a marriage bed, it had better be a pretty big bed.
“How are you doing? Are you managing to keep all the names straight?”
Abigail smiled at Miranda Kendall. She’d arrived with her mother-in-law, Chelsea Benedict Jessop-Kendall. The elderly woman was a contemporary of her grandmother, Maude. She seemed very alert, if somewhat delicate. Abigail was waiting to sit with the elderly woman and speak with her. Chelsea asked if Abigail would allow her some time to settle in and visit before they had their own chat. Abigail thought the request odd, but she’d chalked it up to the lady being over eighty years old.
She turned her attention back to Miranda. “I think I might need to write them all down and draw little lines, like a family tree.”
Miranda laughed. “It took me a while, too.” She leaned forward. “And just think, you haven’t met most of the Kendalls or any of the Jessops, yet!” Miranda looked around the room. “I can still recall the shock I felt at how completely I was accepted into the fold. I came to Lusty while my husbands, Martin and Nicky, were in the Navy. I actually arrived to stay not long after Kate came to town. She and I, of course, became fast friends.”
“We did, indeed.” Kate joined them, giving Miranda a one-armed hug while handing Abigail the coffee she’d requested.
Abigail took the cup from the older woman. “Thank you so much. I don’t expect to be waited on, Kate.”
“I know it. But every woman deserves a little pampering every now and then. I’ve the sense you haven’t had much of that in your young life.”
Abigail could feel her face heat. “Being pampered has never been one of my goals in life.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that Maude would be the sort of grandmother who would dote on a granddaughter, so I’m not surprised by the lack of pampering. And I don’t mean that unkindly.” Chelsea, accompanied by Mattie, came over and sat down beside Abigail.
She realized that this was likely what the older woman had wanted—to have Miranda and Kate and Mattie present when they spoke. Abigail had the sense she’d been placed in the midst of the older women in their bid to start delivering some of that pampering they spoke of.
Chelsea laid a soft hand over hers. “Most of us knew Maude wouldn’t live her life here in Lusty before she’d even turned twelve. She was a couple of years older than me. We were cousins, and not unfriendly toward one another, though we were never overly close.”
The elderly woman sat back, and looking at her, Abigail had the sense she was peering back over time. “Maude adored her parents, especially her fathers. She was definitely a daddy’s girl starting out, with two adoring daddies spoiling her, the only girl, rotten. And Phyllis, my how she doted on Maude. What I came to understand as an adult, looking back and recalling some of the conversations I had with Aunt Phyllis, was that when she agreed to come to Texas from Virginia with her friend, Grandmother Emily, she thought the move in and of itself would be the sum total of her fresh start.
“She called her husbands—Terrence and Jeremy—her miracle. She never expected to be
a wife or a mother. There was so much love between them, well, as there was between my parents and my in-laws. That was the beauty of life, growing up in Lusty.” She sat back. “Maude certainly felt it when she was younger, but at some point, something changed for her, and I never knew what it was. I don’t know if Phyllis ever found out or not. But she most definitely changed. She didn’t seem to be as close to her fathers as she had been. Even, sometimes, acting a little cool toward them and her mother.” Chelsea shook her head, and Abigail could hear the confusion in her voice. It sounded as if Maude had become a different person, almost overnight. “Sadly, Maude showed no inclination to marry one husband, and certainly not two. She was quite vocal about it.”
“That never changed. She wanted a child, and so she had my mother when she was thirty-three. As far as I know, my mother never knew who her father was—in the same way that I never knew mine.”
“Oh, dear. That must have been a lonely life for you.”
“I won’t say I never wondered. I will tell you I have had a good life. I never doubted the love of either Maude or Vanessa, my mother. I thought, just after Mother died, I was all alone. I’m very happy to discover I’m not. I have some letters that were sent to Maude over the years. I’ve only read a few of them. I wanted to understand. She wrote a journal, as well, talking about Lusty and her family. She began writing in her journal when she was twenty-six. Again, I haven’t read the entire thing.” She blushed. “Once I learned there could actually be family, I…well, I guess you could say I rushed my fences.”
“And we’re all very happy that you did,” Kate said.
“It seems to me both the journals and the letters aren’t meant to be read in one sitting,” Mattie said.
“It would be a lot of information for anyone to take in unexpectedly—and for you, especially since you’re still grieving for the loss of both your grandmother and your mother.” Chelsea sighed. Then she reached into her rather large purse and pulled out a stack. “And here, I’m about to add to the matter. Phyllis gave me these, not long before she died. She wanted me to see to it that, in her words, they found a proper home. All these years, I’ve kept them. I was just thinking a little while ago, I should pass them on to Miranda. Now, you’re here, and I’m thinking they belong to you. I haven’t read them. They’re letters, written to Phyllis by Maude. The last one actually arrived after Phyllis passed. Because her sons knew she’d given the other letters to me, they also gave me the last one, unopened. I have no idea if Maude also wrote to her brothers, or not, but I suspect she did not.”
Labor Day in Lusty, Texas [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting) Page 4