While Willie rambled, Lucius’s thoughts ran off on tangents. Two years ago, Lucius took on an assistant. Darren Engle stole nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of tools the first time Lucius left him alone at a job. Lucius developed a trust for the man, was fooled, and got burned. Other people’s money: that was a huge responsibility. Safeguards were crucial in Willie’s profession. Lucius understood that. Willie understood it better. Lucius could almost feel the guilt creep up, just thinking about the possibility a security breach remotely associated with Willie being rushed too quickly into a move.
Typical for Willie, his ramblings were a verbalization of his thoughts jelling into a forecast for a committed strategy. That was more than half the battle with his beloved. If the house sold, the standard thirty days given to vacate the premises would coincide with the critical time Lucius must devote to the depot’s final punch list. Timing and weather were a problem. He wanted all the outside work completed before the weather turned. The platform wasn’t finished. A temperature drop would prevent the very necessary application of a weather sealant to the wood.
The depot’s dedication by the town fathers was just six weeks away. If Willie asked him to help arrange an auction of household goods, Lucius would feel the bind. Selling a house and training a replacement had a punch list, too. Neither could Lucius bungle the depot restoration. After that, he’d get busy and finish the cabin. It looked like Lucius’s and Willie’s schedules would come together the first of the year, a reality which Willie repeated right on cue.
“First of the year, it’ll be you and me in Baron.”
Lucius smiled. They were in absolute synch.
“I’ll need to make frequent trips to Cassel, though. Don’t forget about that. Gradually, it can be done. I can operate fully from the cabin. Hell, my clients retire and need to communicate from Hilton Head, Martha’s Vineyard, the south of France. No reason my setup can’t be in that cabin.”
“It’ll work fine,” Lucius said with cheer he now felt.
Willie’s response used a softer tone. “I’ll be there, Lucius. I promise.”
Lucius knew that assurance was fully underwritten with affection.
Willie grinned. “And I want a bloodhound to sit at the foot of my chair.”
Lucius didn’t think he was serious, but with Willie, one never knew.
“Oh, another thing: With Isabelle’s bombshell and other things I need to get going, I won’t pull in until Saturday.”
Lucius’s shoulders slumped. “Not Friday? We’ve got our dinner party with the ladies?”
“Tell them Saturday. Extend my apologies. I’ll make it up to you, sweetness. You know I will.” He gave Lucius his best naughty look, the one that made Lucius’s socks roll up and down.
“Oh, Willie,” he cooed, “behind closed doors.”
. . .
Thirty minutes later, Lucius pulled into Heatherwood’s drive and got out of the truck. Both vehicles were gone, but he took a chance someone was there to receive the change in plans for the dinner party. He cleared the corner of the cabin, ready to mount the steps, and saw Arnett angling through the yard toward the dock. Oddly enough, she wore a baseball cap. Her nose was tipped to several sheets of paper. Then he saw another odd sight planted in the river. Pleasantly plump Beebe Walker and—as he looked closer—tiny Tim O’Malley from next door were each wearing rubber waders and casting fishing lines into the shimmering water.
Lucius hustled around the porch to intercept Arnett. “What you got there, jellybean?”
She stopped short, clamped the papers to her chest, and then after a second, relaxed her hold. “A fax for Beebe. I was just taking it to her. It must have been delivered while we were out. It was there on the table, under the vase.” His gaze followed hers back to the porch. “I was going inside when I saw it.”
She was jabbering, trying to make her actions appear quite innocent, but she provided too much information, as a guilty party would. Lucius cut to the chase. “And you sneaked a peek, didn’t you, Arnett?” He bounced on his heels. He would bet Willie’s new bloodhound she found and read Beebe’s anticipated employment agreement. “Where’s the envelope it came in?”
“There wasn’t one.”
They eyed each other suspiciously, but she told the truth. The pages showed no sign of folds, even though Beebe told him in the cemetery Sarah would fold the fax into an envelope for delivery.
“Let me take it to her.” Hand out, he took a step forward. As if timed to music, she took a step back.
The grin of a Cheshire cat crossed her face, and she waved the pages. “You already knew about this employment contract in Larkspur, Michigan.”
“Yes, I knew, and I’m going to be honest with you, Lizbeth and Callie do not. Beebe’s worried how they’ll take it. She wants to tell them herself, but not before whatever time is needed is given to fixing things between you and Lizbeth. It’s to your benefit, and Chad’s,” he added, pointedly, “to keep it under your hat.” He smiled when her eyes rolled up.
“You think I see this as ammunition?” she said.
“I think leverage might be a better word.” Given the right circumstances—for instance, to get the spotlight off Arnett, Lucius thought, she would spout out Beebe’s plans in front of the others. Lucius didn’t think Beebe could be bribed if Arnett went to her privately to strike a deal. Beebe would just make her announcement prematurely. Arnett owned a streak of meanness. Confidences were only kept if the keeping was beneficial to Arnett. Arnett’s mind had just worked out the same scenario.
“I’ll keep her secret,” she hissed her chosen word, “because I’m worried she’ll change her mind and not go if I get in the middle. I know when to stick to the sidelines. Thanks for the info, Lucius. This has made my day.” She passed the pages.
Holding them, he couldn’t help but notice the large, centered type at the top of the facsimile cover sheet. Just one word. Crossroads. It aptly summarized most people’s lives, and it was the name of the organization run by Vincent Bostick.
He heard tires crunching gravel and looked around. The absent SUVs returned. Callie and Lizbeth were out quickly and coming his way. Hastily, he folded the pages down and slipped them into his back pocket. Giving Arnett a wink, he touched an index finger to his lips. He knew she understood his sign language because she gave him a rebellious look.
Lizbeth caught sight of the activity in the river. A brief word passed between her and Callie. With loping strides, Lizbeth headed down to the riverbank. Lucius took up the chase. Callie and Arnett fell in behind. By then, Beebe and O’Malley were coming in.
“Don’t get behind me, Tim,” Beebe laughed. “If I rock backwards, I don’t want to take you out.” She took a few tentative steps, using her arms to maintain balance. “Boy, this was a lot easier when I was a child. Which is to say many, many pounds lighter.” She laughed again.
Lucius and Lizbeth met her at the shore and hauled her in. While river water still streamed from Beebe’s over-the-knee boots, Lizbeth said, “I need a conference. I’ve got something for today’s group.”
Beebe’s eyes darkened to serious. She waddled around Lucius and took Lizbeth under her wing. “Scatter, everyone,” she said. “Give us some space.”
Lucius waited around until the huddle between Beebe and Lizbeth ended, then he got five seconds alone with Beebe on the porch. He changed the dinner invitation at Bullwhip from Friday to Saturday while he helped her pull off her waders.
When she was again in pink clogs, she said, “You can’t stay for the caucus, Lucius.”
“I know,” he said quietly, looking around. All appeared safe, so he slipped the folded pages from his jeans pocket. “The fax arrived. Arnett had it when I got here. She read
it.” He watched Beebe’s face show signs of concern. “She said she’d keep the contents to herself. Will she?” He shrugged. “She’s Arnett.” Lucius pecked her cheek and headed for his truck.
. . .
Lizbeth led Beebe to her bedroom. They stood between the bed with its yellow corduroy spread and the small dresser beneath the window. The top drawer was open. Lizbeth scooted aside nylon underpants and nightgowns. She extracted a file folder containing evidence she brought from home, evidence that would unmistakably make her case.
“This is what I was telling you about outside,” Lizbeth explained. She handed the file over for Beebe’s review.
“Okay. But remember this, judgment without mercy is nothing of which to be proud.” Beebe put up a hand to silence Lizbeth’s comeback. “I say that for guidance sake, not for response. Take a moment to reflect on that. Arnett is a person with feelings.” Beebe handed the file back, then walked to the end of the bed. “I don’t like seeing you this way. You booked this as a peace summit. At your behest, we all took an honesty pledge. And, yes, I think for full disclosure, this needs to come out. Just take care with how you present it. That’s all I ask.”
“But you saw her in Callie’s front yard and with the vase.” Lizbeth jabbed her finger in the general direction of the porch.
Beebe bobbed her head. “You’ve got the upper hand already. There’s no reason to grind her into the dirt. Present the facts calmly. Wait for a response. And above all, leave an opening.”
“For what?” Lizbeth said, puzzled.
“For healing. The purpose of the quilt. That was your original reason for having one sewn for Arnett.” Beebe had the doorknob in her hand. She swung the door wide. Callie and Arnett waited. “Let’s take seats. We’re ready to begin.” Beebe crossed to her chair at the head of the coffee table.
Lizbeth arranged her papers on the table behind the couch where Callie sat. Arnett occupied the other. Lizbeth remained standing, using the sofa table like a short podium, considering which of her secrets to reveal first. It made sense to follow chronological order.
“Arnett, in deference to our honesty pledges, I want to ask you a question. It just occurred to me that you may not be aware of the information I’ve learned.” Lizbeth slid Beebe a look and received tacit approval for her cushioned approach. “I assumed from the first, you did. I may be wrong.” She took a breath. “Do you know the name Ruth Parker?”
Arnett’s eyes widened, her cheeks paled. Suddenly, words burst from Arnett’s mouth. “Where did you hear that?”
Good, Lizbeth thought. First hurdle crossed. She didn’t deny it.
Callie sat with her back to the couch arm to keep Lizbeth in view. “Who’s Ruth Parker?”
Watching Arnett, Lizbeth answered Callie. “Dad’s first wife.” From the file folder, she passed Callie the duplicate marriage license she obtained. It represented a time when photostatic copies were white on black. “Dan knew nothing about his father being married before. Why the secret?”
“It wasn’t a secret,” Arnett said too quickly. “I never denied he’d been married before. Once we were married, there was just no reason to bring up the past. Why bring it up now?”
“Because it’s a sin of omission, Arnett.”
Arnett turned quickly to Beebe. “Are those your words?”
“No, Arnett, they’re my words,” Lizbeth said, drawing her mother-in-law’s fire.
“How did you find out about Ruth?”
“Quite innocently. My cousin’s hobby is genealogy. She was researching both sides of the family for Geoff and Chad. She found it. Of course, I claimed ignorance.” Lizbeth threw open her palms. “No family keeps secrets like the Sebrings keep secrets.”
Casually, Callie raised one finger in the air. Beebe called on her. Callie glanced up to Lizbeth. “Could I just jump in here?”
“Sure. Jump away.” She gave Callie a double-take. “Did you know about Ruth?”
“Just a minute, Lizbeth.” Callie twisted head, shoulders, and her still-pointing finger toward the other couch.
Arnett glared back defensively. “What did John tell you? He gave me his word.”
“And he kept it,” Callie said.
“Then who told you?” Arnett gasped, assuming. “It was that old loon, Miss Petey.”
Beebe spoke Arnett’s name and gave her head an infinitesimal shake, chastising her for name-calling.
Lizbeth whipped around the end of the couch and sat down next to Callie, who pressed on. “According to Petey, yes, there was Jack’s divorce.” She interrupted herself to scratch an ear. “And there was Arnett’s annulment.”
Every eye darted. Arnett should have felt as pierced as Callie’s pincushion. The desperate look on her face told Lizbeth the accusation was true. She glared at the woman who was so full of bluster concerning her husband’s hidden life with another woman, but who’d built her own family life on a foundation of secrets. The scheming hypocrite, Lizbeth thought.
“There’s more,” Callie said, fiddling absently with the ring on her index finger. “The reason Petey gave me this history lesson—and it came after Jack died—was really to make another comparison entirely.” She shifted in her seat to face Arnett. “You broke up Jack’s marriage with Ruth, so you could have him.”
“Arnett!” Lizbeth said, stunned.
“None of this is true,” Arnett argued.
“Oh, I think it is,” Callie said calmly. “You stole him away and consummated your relationship by pointing a gun at his head. You called that love, and then had the nerve to fuss and fume when I committed the same act—minus the weapon. The difference now being, you, not Ruth, lost Jack. I still can’t believe you didn’t suspect after nineteen years. If I was the Scottish Tart, what did Ruth call you?”
Silence spun through the room. On its tail, another point registered.
“Arnett, a gun? All these years you had your grandchildren in the house with a gun?” Lizbeth’s shock drove her voice down several decibels.
“What’s wrong with that? I grew up with guns in the house.”
“Do you still have it?”
Lizbeth watched Arnett consider her options, but it was Callie who answered.
“She still has it. Or at least she did when she caught Jack and me at the driving range. Jack mentioned it. He was worried she brought it. My concern was, he had to go home to a woman who was angry and armed.”
Beebe rocked forward, her forearms crossed over her lap. “Arnett, you would be willing to dispose of the gun,” she said in an affirmative tone. “I can see the suggestion coming, and I would agree that our negotiations should come to an end if you don’t concede on this point, right here, right now.”
In Lizbeth’s mind, memories roiled. John Sebring commented offhandedly about Kentucky Oldstones, back-alley justice, and how they got things done. She opened her mouth, but Beebe waved her quiet.
“I certainly have no problem disposing of the gun. With John gone, I don’t know who I’d shoot with it anyway.” Her coffee-brown eyes held a mischievous glint she cast at Callie.
“Good. A decision made. Let’s move on,” Beebe said.
“Wait.” Lizbeth, not so quick to cap the problem, said to Callie, “What’s the story about Arnett pointing a gun at Dad?”
Lizbeth held one finger to her temple in disbelief while Callie filled everyone in.
“Well,” Lizbeth began, “since Callie’s and Dad’s secrets are out in the open, and now yours, that just leaves mine.” She watched surprise flutter across Arnett’s face, then she reached around to pluck the next sheet of paper off the table. “Both Dan and I were married before, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Arnett argued. “Of course you weren’t.”
Laying a marriage certificate on the coffee table, Lizbeth said, “Yes, we were. Four months before the wedding you arranged, we married each other in Harmony, South Carolina, on our graduation trip.”
Arnett’s eyes dropped to the original certificate. “Why didn’t you tell me? This makes me look foolish, planning another wedding.”
“Dad knew. He told us not to tell. Mother’s privilege.”
“Mother’s privilege?” She blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lizbeth basked in the glowing confusion emanating from Arnett’s face and felt the strength that came with an exchange of power. “Mother’s privilege was my indoctrination into the family, although it was a concept in place long before I heard it. I suppose it was the closest thing to hypnotism I ever witnessed. Dad said the words and whatever he decided would keep peace in the family, his sons went along with. From Dad’s view of the world, you being left out of your son’s South Carolina wedding would not have been peaceful.”
“You’re making this up!”
“Do you think I have some kind of perverse creativity? Just say mother’s privilege to Gary.”
“Just a minute,” Beebe intervened. She flipped back through the pages of her tablet. “Mother’s privilege was something Jack set in motion? That’s what you meant by ‘under-the-table control’.”
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